Three Fins | Pt. 3

Chief Riley was imprisoned inside of the Oak Bluffs Police Department, juggling relentless phone calls from frantic vacationers, as well as a long line of pissed off locals who crammed their sweaty bodies into the small station. Her sergeant was on crowd control, while her deputy, and clerk, handled the other two phones. Her husband Hayden, the general manager of Nancy's Restaurant, left work early to help his wife regain control of the island. Being the great husband that he was, he stopped at Back Door donuts before going to the station for coffee and his wife’s all-time favorite treats. Cinnamon rolls and apple fritters.

Her deputy, husband, the station’s clerk, and herself were each chained to a telephone - consuming ridiculous and harrowing details from terrified citizens. New calls were now flooding in from every corner of the island. Police captains from Edgartown, Aquinnah, Menemsha, and East Chop were all confirming sightings of large gray dorsal fins breaching the water in and around their marinas. The most concerning fact Chief Riley was forced to accept about all of these calls, was that each sighting reported multiple gray fins. This was Martha’s Vineyard afterall, the home of Jaws, and an Island known for white sharks. Except white sharks are not pack animals. They’re solitary, apex creatures who hunt, and kill to survive.

“Why the hell are they traveling in packs?” She mumbled to herself while a high-pitched voice on the other end of her phone line bickered about the situation being fake news.

Chief Riley’s walkie-talkie suddenly erupted with the scared, staticky voice of Oak Bluffs’ head lifeguard. Placing the confused old man on the phone on hold, she asked Emery to please repeat his message. Listening to his story, absorbing the new information one word at a time, her skull ached from the pressure of what was happening in the water - and how to tell the people the truth. Thundering over the mayhem in the station by pounding her baton on the metal desktop, Chief Riley relayed the discovery to her team.

“Three more white sharks have been spotted in the Vineyard Haven Harbor. Deputy Murray, contact the Tisbury Police Department, and tell them to clear all of their beaches immediately. On your way out, instruct Sgt. Gragg to alert Vineyard Haven’s Harbor Master to halt all ferry rides, and to recall any and all departing vessels. We need to get everyone back on land as fast as possible. One shark sighting wouldn’t be cause for such concern, but six white sharks in two separate locations in a matter of one hour, combined with a potential fatality, is far from normal.”

Chief Riley’s husband was desperately trying to calm down a disturbed caller when the phone was ripped away from his ear, and placed back down on the dock - hanging it up.

“I need you to get to Vineyard Haven and help secure the beaches,” his wife said passionately, “The Tisbury Police Chief is a fat, slow-moving cow and will surely fail to do his job. Time is of the utmost essence. To keep the people safe, we need to execute this evacuation fluidly. Something strange is happening with these sharks. We need to keep everyone on the island out of the damn water. Do you understand, Hayden? There must be no bodies.” She broke down from the stress, then cupped her husband’s face in her soft palms, “For the love of God. There must be no bodies.”

Hayden kissed his wife on the forehead, then on each cheek, then on the lips before exiting the police department with haste. With permission to take his wife’s cruiser, he engaged the siren and sped off towards Tisbury.

Chief Riley required reliable eyes, and capable bodies if she had any hope of containing this aquatic invasion. She took a large sip from her coffee mug, and radioed back to Emery, ordering him to meet Hayden at the Tisbury police station to help evacuate the marinas and beaches. Once she relayed her message, she waited a moment to confirm Emery’s response. Hearing nothing but drowning static, she squeezed the push-to-talk button on the side of the radio, and repeated her orders with more urgency. Continuing to receive nothing but sharp static, a gruesome feeling slowly crept across her skin.

“Son of a bitch,” Riley cried softly, “Answer your damn radio, Emery.”

Back at State Beach, Kyle and Bree were both standing on the flat, red roof of the lifeguard tower with large binoculars glued to their faces. The dorsal fins had increased their numbers. Kyle had eyes on three, and Bree was struggling to identify four more hunting the sand bar about a mile to the right of Kyle’s three. The fire department, with the assistance of animal control, set up an impressive roadblock as well as impenetrable barriers at every entrance trail.

The coast guard had also arrived, floating just offshore in a formation designed to isolate the unusual pack of white sharks. Their tactical teams were able to discover that the bloody water which was washing up on shore, was indeed not human. An unfortunate family of seals had been sunbathing in a patch of sea grass when they were viciously attacked by the sharks. They also discovered that the abandoned sloop Bree spotted earlier wasn’t abandoned after all. The fisherman had just been taking a nap which made the boat appear to be unmanned through the lenses of her binoculars. The sailor was now safely secured below the decks of the Coast Guard’s rescue boat.

Excited to alert her boss that no swimmers, boaters, or beach goers had been bitten or killed by sharks, she radioed Emery with the swell of good news.

“Emery, come in. The blood that washed up on shore wasn’t human! It was from a family of seals. And that lone sailboat wasn’t empty. The fisherman was sleeping, and is now on board the Coast guard’s rescue troller. No one has been bitten, or killed. Are you still at the station? The chief needs to know. Do you copy? Over.”

Receiving only static, Kyle quickly radioed Emery the same message from his walkie-talkie. The combined static from both walkie’s sent sharp shivers up and down their spines. Emery always answered his radio. Even though his position was temporary, Kyle and Bree tended to find themselves looking to Emery for guidance with work, and with life. Kyle and Bree were only sophomores in highschool, and were only working as lifeguards to earn a little extra sending cash. Emery was an ambitious college student from California who traveled across the country to Cape Cod to study the habitats of sharks. They both adored Emery, and valued his friendship. Which is why their stomachs knotted in horrible, tangled messes at the unsettling radio silence.

What the hell is going on?

Arriving at the Tisbury Police Department, Hayden found no evidence of Emery or his red Jeep Wrangler. The parking lot was empty, save for a single Ford fusion, and an unmarked cruiser which belonged to the dispatcher and Tisbury deputy. Inside the station, he asked the two officers if either of them had seen Emery, and if so, where he had gone.

“A lot of people have been coming in and out of the station today, hayden. Hard to know for sure. But I know that I haven't seen him all day, and I’ve been stuck inside for the past three hours. It’s possible he stopped in, but I can’t say for sure.”

Getting the same response from the dispatcher, Hayden radioed back to the chief and alerted her that no one at the station had seen Emery,or his jeep.

Chief Riley thought hard then radioed back with precise instructions to check the Tisbury Town Beach. That’s where Emery said he went when he radioed Chief Riley after leaving the Oak Bluffs Police Department to investigate a distress call about a shark sighting in the Vineyard Haven Harbor.

Hayden got back into the cruiser, and in a few short minutes found himself turning right onto Owen Little Way. At the end of the narrow road, he spotted the red Jeep Wrangler parked off to the side. But no Emery.

He parked next to the Jeep, looked around for clues, then hustled his way through the overgrown trail that led down to the private beach. Breaking through the brush, he found himself standing alone on the warm sand. Something didn’t feel right.

He began shouting Emery’s name as loud as he could while patrolling the shore, questioning a few of the yacht club members along the way. As he ventured closer to the water, his eyes found something strange sticking up out of the sand. Upon further inspection, Hayden saw the purple cord of a Vineyard Vines lanyard being slowly consumed by the rising tide. Realizing what he found, he continued to shout Emery’s name.

Failing to find any other personal belongings, or signs of struggle, Hayden decided to change his vantage point. He sprinted towards the protruding dock of the Vineyard Haven Yacht Club, sinking into the sand with each stride. At the end of the narrow pier, he peered out into the Harbor with his binoculars. Hayden’s heart sank to his gut when he saw what was floating behind a cluster of sailboats, colliding with the hulls with every passing wave. Trembling in shock, his hand struggled to reach the radio holstered to his left hip. Finding the strength to break his wife’s heart, Hayden took a deep breath and delivered his message.

The words were short, sharp and fatal.

“Ryan. We have a body.”