Page 4 of Churn

“Not bad,” he said, leaning back on his board as he caught his breath. “But you’re gonna need more than a head start to stay ahead of me.”

Kendra smirked, water dripping from her hair. “Keep dreaming, old man. You’ll be lucky to keep up.”

Their friendly banter floated on the breeze as they turned to scan the horizon once more. The waves kept rolling in, eachone a new opportunity, and neither of them was about to let the other take the next ride uncontested.

The impact came without warning; sudden, violent, and utterly disorienting. Kendra’s board pitched sharply to one side, nearly throwing her off. For a split second, the world dissolved into chaos, the ocean erupting around her in frothy, churning violence. The familiar rhythm of the waves was gone, replaced by a primal force that felt hostile and unforgiving.

Then came the pain. It was searing, an agony that tore through her leg with merciless ferocity. She realized too late what was happening. The shark’s jaws clamped down, its razor-sharp teeth slicing through the wetsuit and deep into her flesh. The pressure was unimaginable, a crushing, vice-like grip that sent shockwaves through her body and shattered her focus.

Another bite followed, this time on her side, but the agony and pull on her leg didn’t stop. The predator’s teeth tore through her like jagged knives, ripping away not only flesh but the fragile tether of reality. The agony blurred into something otherworldly, surreal in its intensity.

The water turned red in an instant, a cloud of crimson blooming around her, vivid against the churning surf. It rose toward the surface, even as she was pulled deeper. Her ears filled with the relentless pounding of her heartbeat, and she screamed; a raw, guttural sound swallowed instantly by the water. Salt stung her nose and throat as she inhaled a panicked gulp of seawater. Her body convulsed, every instinct screaming to fight, to survive, but the attack was too quick, too brutal.

Her hands flailed uselessly, striking nothing but water. The leash of her board tugged against her ankle, a cruel reminder of what she was leaving behind. In her last moments of awareness, she saw the faint outline of the board floating above her, growing blurrier with each second as the shark dragged her deeper into the abyss.

The pain dulled, her body succumbing to shock. She was barely conscious when the predator gave a final, bone-shaking thrash. Something else struck her, hard, unrelenting, but Kendra didn’t register it. The darkness had already taken her.

She was gone. The ocean, indifferent and unforgiving, swallowed the evidence of her struggle as if it had never happened.

Part IV

Pacific Horizon Research Institute

Four months later

Dr. Graham Stirling stared at Kendra’s note, his eyes scanning the familiar lines for what felt like the hundredth time. JX-170 and NX-642 teamed up again. Even now, months after her death, his mind struggled to fully grasp the brutal reality of the attack that had taken her life.

She had been so young, too damn young. Research assistants had come and gone over the years, but Kendra was different. Her love for the ocean and its creatures was contagious, an enthusiasm that could light up even the dullest of days in the lab. Yes, she had the quintessential California surfer look: sun-kissed skin, blonde hair that always seemed to catch the light, and a smile as sharp as it was charming. But that wasn’t what had drawn him to her.

Their relationship had been built on intelligence that turned into a friendship, and not attraction. She was 26, full of life and energy, and he, two decades her senior, had found no temptation in her youthful beauty. What had captivated him washer ability to connect with the sea, and the very heart of the work they did. Her joy, that infectious spark, had been irresistible in the best possible way. Now, the silence she left behind felt like a gaping wound he couldn’t mend.

The findings from Kendra’s death investigation lay spread out before him, a collaborative effort from an array of agencies: local law enforcement, marine safety officials, the medical examiner’s office, the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, forensic experts, the Coast Guard, and finally, the International Shark Attack File (ISAF). Their separate conclusions had been distilled into one meticulous, 213-page document. He’d poured over every word countless times, each reading an attempt to extract meaning from the senseless.

It always circled back to two identifiers etched into his mind: JX-170 and NX-642. The reports didn’t explicitly state it, though they confirmed two distinct shark bite patterns on what little was recovered of Kendra’s remains. Yet, deep in his soul, Graham knew the truth. Those sharks hadn’t just found her, they had killed her.

Graham had never believed in coincidences, and yet here he was, staring at what could only be described as the most extraordinary fluke in marine biology history. Beside him sat another thick report, this one over a decade old. Eleven years prior, a great white shark had systematically stalked and killed a man, narrowly missing his wife and young daughter. Now, that same daughter was set to join his yearly research program, a program designed for graduating seniors focusing on elasmobranch studies, the specialized field of sharks, rays, and skates with his own narrowed research of shark partnerships at the forefront.

Ryan Carter wasn’t yet seventeen and wouldn’t officially graduate for another year, meaning she was completing a four-year degree in just three. It took many students six years. HerIQ was almost off the charts, and she outpaced even Graham, who’s own had been considered exceptional in his field. He begrudgingly acknowledged that her brilliance was evident. Still, he anticipated challenges. Ryan was, after all, a Carter. Her grandfather, who was known for his work on stingrays, was another figure Graham held in reluctant esteem. They weren’t what you’d call friends, but their paths had crossed in professional circles, and twice they’d spoken at the same conferences. Dr. Sawyer reached out and asked if Ryan could join his team, which Graham had reluctantly agreed to.

And then there was Ryan’s stepfather, a man who had rankled Graham’s nerves for years. The man had beaten him out for an award Graham felt was rightfully his, publishing a groundbreaking paper on male shark relationships just as Graham was finalizing his own research on the subject. It still stung. But here was Ryan, stepping into his program, and Graham wasn’t sure if it was brilliance or a marine biology family legacy that would stir the waters most.

He wasn’t even certain why he’d agreed to let her join. She had the grades and determination, but maybe it was the potential to glean some insight her stepfather, Dr. Cordova, might have missed. Maybe it was the chance to push his own research further with a mind as sharp as hers. Or maybe, deep down, he just couldn’t resist the intrigue of having Ryan Carter in the mix. Whatever the reason, one thing was certain, this was going to be a year like no other.

The desk drawer had been taunting him all day. With a resigned sigh, Graham opened it and pulled out the bottle of whiskey nestled inside. He’d never considered himself much of a drinker, but since Kendra’s death, the amber liquid had become his crutch, his way of enduring the endless hours in the lab and the even longer nights where Kendra being eaten alive filled his dreams. He poured a generous measure into a snifter, downedit in one burning gulp, and poured another, repeating the ritual with mechanical precision.

The warmth spread through his chest, dulling the edges of his thoughts. He set the glass down with a soft clink and turned his attention to the Carter report. Flipping it open, he stared at the familiar pages, deciding to read through it yet again. Kate Carter, Ryan’s mother, had refused to let her daughter be interviewed after the attack. Graham had understood the decision. She was only five at the time, after all, but he couldn’t help wondering if Ryan’s precocious intelligence had picked up on details others might have overlooked. It was a thought he dismissed as quickly as it came. He was an idiot for giving the idea any credit.

His hand drifted back to the glass, and he took another long sip, the bitterness mirroring his mood. No, he didn’t look forward to having Ryan Carter in his program. She would be a spoiled prima donna, coddled by her family’s name and their reputation. She’d be a disruption, a problem he didn’t want and certainly didn’t need. Yet, despite himself, a part of him remained curious. Whether she lived up to his low expectations or surprised him, Graham knew one thing for sure: her presence would make this year anything but ordinary.

While his head spun, Graham flipped through the Carter report, skimming pages he had all but memorized. The words blurred together:Sam Carter, killer shark,and the infamous breach. A shark breaching onto a human had never been recorded or witnessed before Sam’s attack. It was a singular event, one that defied every precedent in marine biology. And yet, Graham wasn’t sure if he believed it. There was an account of the shark breaching again when Kate Carter was lifted out of the water. He also found that hard to believe. The systematic destruction of their yacht was another anomaly. He respectedthe intelligence of sharks, and understood there was a vast ocean of knowledge science had yet to uncover.

His thoughts drifted to the groundbreaking advancements in animal communication. The speaking buttons now being used with dogs and cats were a phenomenon, offering tangible proof of mammalian intelligence and reshaping what was understood about non-human cognition. Whale communication was another frontier slowly being deciphered; researchers were on the cusp of unlocking the complex coding behind their songs.

But sharks. They were different. They lacked the vocalizations of mammals or cetaceans, yet their ancient lineage spoke volumes. Sharks had existed for over 400 million years, predating the dinosaurs and surviving mass extinctions that wiped out nearly all other life. Their evolutionary resilience and adaptability made them one of the most successful species on Earth.

Graham leaned back in his chair, the weight of the report heavy in his mind. The more he studied, the more he questioned. If science was unraveling the intelligence of whales, dogs, and even household cats, who was to say sharks didn’t harbor their own complex, uncharted intellect? He’d been on the cusp of proving it for ten years, and it somehow escaped him. He flipped the page. Perhaps the breach on Sam Carter wasn’t an anomaly after all. Maybe it was a glimpse into something humanity wasn’t yet ready to understand.

Graham poured another snifter, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass as his hand wavered. He decided he’d sleep it off in the small bedroom tucked away in the institute’s back wing. A space that had become a refuge during these endless, haunted nights. The pages of the report blurred before him, and his elbow bumped the bottle, sending it teetering dangerously before he steadied it with a clumsy grab.

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