Dunkle’s Bones

A Movie Novel

Craig Eric Zumwalt

All Rights Reserved.

© 2003 Craig Zumwalt

ISBN:

978-1-917116-73-2 (Paperback)

978-1-917116-74-9 (Hardcover)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my family for their unwavering support and love.

My Beautiful Wife, Kim and my wonderful Children Alexa, Ashley and Nick.

My Mother Arlene, My sister Linda and Kim’s Mom Char.

DEDICATION

I would like to give a shout out to my childhood buds. It’s been a long and winding road.

Ken Meeker (Meek), Tad Koford (Crump), Chris Watkins (Fox) Billy Tester and Joe Renard.

I dedicate this book to Chris Watkins and Joe Renard who I lost this past year.

Miss ya Fox, Miss ya Joe.

Would also like to give a special thanks to the Great Glenn Ness for designing my Book Cover.

A word to the the reader

Let me take a short minute to explain what a Movie Novel is.

A movie Novel is a Category founded by myself.

ItisaNovelthatisnotabigolefatbook,chuckfull of page fillers, which sometimes can take you out ofyour attention span

MoreoveritisaNovelthatreadsmorelikescenesin a Movie.

It will have 14 point text that makes reading fast and fun or slow and easy.

Think ofit as watching a Movie in a theater, only this Movie plays in your Minds eye. It begins and once it hits the throttle, it stays on the throttle until the end. Chapter after Chapter, scene after scene

I hope that this form ofwriting helps keep you grabbing one page to the nextwithout the wait time.

Table OfContents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DEDICATION

A word to the the reader

Scene 1 – THE SILENT WAR

Scene 2 – BEATEN AND BATTERED

Scene 3 – GOOD MORNING ALEXA

Scene 4 – FRIENDS TO THE END

Scene 5 – FRIEND OR FOE

Scene 6 – MUD IN THE PUDDLE?

Scene 7 – THE PERFECT PROFESSOR

Scene 8 – THE DARK SECRET

Scene 9 – SOBERLY DRUNK

Scene 10 – WHISPERS OF LOVE

Scene 11 – COMFORT IN A BOX

Scene 12 – BUMP AND GRIND

Scene 13 – IF ALL ELSE FAILS

Scene 14 – DESPERATE MINDS

Scene 15 – THE DUNK IS DEAD!

Scene 16 – HAPPILY EVER AFTER

Scene 17 – STAND BY ME, JIMMY

Scene 18 – BONES!

THE END

Author’s Note

Scene 1 –

THE SILENT WAR

kip decided they’d make one more haul. The skies were white and gray, and the seas a bit unyielding; it was late November. To the conventional angler, it would have made perfect sense to get back to shore and try again another day. But these fishing men made their living on the sea and were accustomed to Mother Nature and her many moods.

It had not been a great harvest for him and his men in the year 1972, but their families were fed.

For weeks, the crew of the Sweet Pea had been fishing for snow crab off the Gulf of Alaska near the Bering Strait. Some 30 miles from their location, a sea cannery awaited the arrival of their fleet to fill the enormous floatingfactory.Becauseofthefactory,thefishermen could stay far at sea for weeks without returning to the mainland. Now, their holds were almost full, and their contract with the cannery would soon be fulfilled.

Skip owned the working trawler. With rising costs and poor market prices, he tended to always be a little on edge. He was a Herculean man, looking like he’d brawled in a bar every other day of the week for 20 years. His hands were rugged and abnormally large. His voice governed respect with a deep, growling resonance.

He wasn’t a hard ass ifyou were doing your job, but you had best not screw up on his dime.

Morale was high that afternoon. It was almost time to start the long journey back to port. The crew’s families and friends would be waiting in great anticipation of their arrival. To a commercial fishing man, after weeks at sea, making port was nirvana.

Now, the last ofthe giant pots was being deposited on deck. Earlee looked up at the bulky pot that swung back and forth on the winch-driven spreader like a colossal pendulum, rolling with each wave of the white- capped sea.

Earlee had been with Skip for some twenty years, working his way up to First Mate. The giant scar extending from his eyebrow to the foot ofhis jaw was the enduring result ofa teenage accident. He’d been fishing with his father when an unbridled downrigger had swung hard to port and found his upturned face.

That was after polio had left him with a dawdling limp.

Never mind any ofit, though; Earlee was the hub ofthe team and did the work ofthree men halfhis age. Many a young pup puked their guts up on the sea- washed deck, venturing to keep his pace.

A delicious-smelling muck dripped onto the deck. This last pot was messier than any Earlee had ever seen, percolating crab guts and broken pieces.

And then the pot shook as ifhell itselfwere trapped inside.

Stop everything! Earlee couldn’t see into the pot through all the gore. No freakin way!

I think we got a shark!" Whatever had popped in foravisitwasdefiningsomekindofclimacticstate ofinsanity.

Shrill screeches came from the pot, along with a deep, monotonous grating. Earlee ordered Rudy to get the Magnum rifle.

Rudy ran for the pilothouse, nervously scratching his bearded cheek. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, not even for his twenty-first birthday party. He pulled his stocking cap as far as it would reach till it strained over his head, hoping it made him look like a tough little man. The truth was he was scared; the sound coming from that pot could have been manufactured in hell.

RudyunleashedtheMagnumfromthebulkhead.

He popped in a clip as he rushed back on deck.

Good boy! said Earlee, grabbing the rifle. Now, ease her down. The giant winch took life, and the death trap began its descent. The pot had almost touched the stained wooden platform when Earlee made the motion to halt.

Heleveledtherifle.Fireinthehole!heyelled,

then let loose three shots.

Instantly, the crab pot was still, the screeching silenced.

Earlee and Rudy stood closemouthed, watching and listening for any more signs oflife. They both knew, though they might not like to admit it that this was no shark. What shark had ever pureed a half-ton ofcrab? What shark had ever made such a sound, like truck tires locked up on a freeway, skidding out ofcontrol in a futile attempt to stop?

It’s amazing how a little lead up your ass will calm you down, Earlee said. Fear nagged around the edges ofhis joke.

Dump it! he directed. The pot slammed to the deck and spewed its contents.

Asingle,shark-likedorsalfinprotrudedfromthe

encumbrance.

Hey Rudy, you gonna stand there all day with your thumb up your rear, or you gonna pull back the guts and feathers so we can see what we got here?

Rudy was staring at the pot as though in an incubus. At Earlee’s command, he jolted to consciousness, grabbing a bent-pronged pitchfork and stabbing at the giant lump.

Rudy jumped back as the crab porridge revealed its main ingredient.

Whatever it was. Something fishlike, not that big, a little over four feet long. The creature’s head was wider than the creature’s long. The dorsal looked like a shark, but the tail looked like a black and white spotted eel. One thing was for sure: it was a predator. Its jagged jaw swarmed with serrated teeth, four terrifying feet of wicked teeth.

Skip was getting riled. He wheeled around from the navigation chair and slammed down his mug of coffee spiked with Captain Morgan. Spilling the hot alcoholic beverage across his wrist added tremendously to his glorious disposition. He launched open the door, yelling with a vengeance down to the deck.

Earl,whatinanalmightyraftofgodistaking so long?

Better come down, Skip, Rudy yelled up immediately. Take a gander at what just puked upon deck.

Skip turned back to his station. He set the autopilot to a crawl and then ambled down the ladder to join Earlee and Rudy.

Damn it, Earl, what the…?

He stopped and stood with his crew, captivated by what he saw.

Whatcha think, Skip? When we picked it up, I thought shark, but as you can see, I don’t think it no more.

It couldn’t have done all this payload damage. Guess it did. Bad lookin’ little mother, huh!

Skip didn’t answer. He carefully repositioned himselfto gain a better vantage ofthe sea creature.

I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Skip. I popped halfa clip in its ass. I don’t think it’s gonna jump up after that. Earlee’s voice was boisterous, but his face looked sickly. Before I magnumized it, he said, that whole pot was electric. I mean, it was just going cluster’ nuts, man, huh Rudy?

"Ohyeah.Itlookedlikeadamnsackacatheadin’

firtheriver."

Holy Joseph and Mary! Jake, the mechanic on the five-man crew, came up from the engine well, where he’d been tightening hose clamps and doing general maintenance.

That about sums it up, Skip said. What the hell is it, Skip?

I’ve been fishing these waterways for 30 years, and Earl’s been with me 20 of‘em…. But unless Earlee has some kind ofan idea….

Earlee shook his head.

Then I think this maverick is a queer retard, of some sort.

Maybe it’s from another planet or something, Rudy said.

Skip leaned down and touched the fish. He searched for a word to describe the unadorned, bone-faced fish, but all he could think ofwas ugly, which didn’t come close to describing the monster.

What’s it wrapped in? Earlee asked. Skip touched it again.

Feels like dense bone. From the dorsal up, I think it’s all bone.

The bitch has a set ofchompers on it, Jake said. That’s a no-brainer, Earlee said.

Skip carefully touched one of the hundreds of serrations in the prodigious jaw. He quickly pulled back, stood up, and put a little distance between him and the creature.

What’s the deal, Skip? Earlee asked.

Those aren’t teeth. It’s like its whole head is its mouth, and it’s all thick bone. The jaw just comes from the head. And let me tell ya, those are some sharp puppies. Looks more like an evil Jack o’ Lantern than anything else.

Hey, Skip, you’re gushing! Rudy pointed at Skip’s

finger. It sliced ya wide open.

Skip’s hand had been lanced from his wrist tothe tipof his finger. It was not a deep cut, more like a long, shallow paper cut, and it was bleeding like crazy. He pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped his hand. The cotton was red in seconds.

That’s weirder than weird. I barely touched it. What are we gonna do with it, Skip?

Well, this guppy looks to me like something that’s not supposed to be on this planet, so I’m betting some hippie scientist with a propeller on his hat would give at least a month’s payload for it. So what say we throw it in the hold and ice it down.

When Skip made a suggestion, it was not up for debate. It was an order. Still, the crew stood uneasy, staring at one another, failing to find the mutual courage they were seeking.

Come on, guys. Earlee rallied his troops. Let’s get this done, and we’ll be dumping our load at the mainland cannery before you know it.

Apprehension gave way to motivation at the thought ofgetting back to their loved ones. Skip sounded the orders, his voice a bouquet of watered-down rum breath, louder with every word.

Rudy, you shag the tail. Jake, you help me with the head. Earl, you keep the rifle on it, and ifit so much as has a dying quiver, blast it.

Earlee slid a hollow-point bullet into the chamber ofthe high-powered rifle, then stood alert, eyes fixed on the fish.

Jake tentatively grabbed one side ofthe grotesque beast’s head while Skip laid hold of the other. Rudy moved around to bear-hug the tail.

Okay, on three! Skip braced himself, and his crew followed suit. At the count, they pulled upward in unison with all their might.

At that instant, the creature’s eyes exploded into roaring consciousness, like cold black marbles injected with fire. With a single eel-like thrash of its spotted black and white tail, it sent Rudy careening over the rail into the deadly cold water.

Earlee took quick aim at the fish and got offwhat would have been an excellent shot had a wave not broadsided the boat, sending it into a pitch.

The bullet blasted Jake square in the face, removing a large portion ofhis skull.

Earlee stood frozen in horror, and the fish struck at him like lightning. He fell, screaming in agony. His leg had been neatly and precisely bisected from the apex ofhisthightothemiddleofhisknee.Theremaining

portion ofhis leg from the knee down toppled over onto the red-spattered deck, sounding a dead thud.

Skip backed away from the fish towards the stern of the boat. The gargoyle ofa creature slithered towards him like a mutant snake, agile and fast. The captain nearly retched as Earlee’s leg rolled between him and the monster, looking like a blood and bone Presto Log.

The fish had come entirely unhinged; it was hissing and shrilling and grating its rambunctious jagged jaws together so swiftly it sounded like the cadence ofa river dance. Then the bogeyfish spied an open transom door and struck towards freedom.

Ned was down in the galley cooking chowder and grooving to ELO when the boat rolled hard. Then came gunshots. He turned offthe burner and bolted topside, wondering with more excitement than trepidation what adventure he would find. To a 15-year-old, a seasonon a fishing boat was one man-making experience after another.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. He stood stock still, in shock, in stunned horror and aversion.

Jake’s body lay on the blood-slippery deck while much ofhis head lay yards away. Earlee sprawled white and comatosein a hugepool ofblood. And wherewas Rudy?

Where was Skip? God help him, where was he? And where was whoever or whatever had committed this massacre?

From the corner ofhis eye, Ned saw what looked like the spotted tail end ofa monster slither through the transom door. He heard its splash in the frigid sea and, at the same instant, realized with sickening horror that the flash ofshiny orange near the creature’s tail had been Skip’s oilskin pants.

Ned knew this was too much for a teenager. This was too much for anyone. But he was too scared to be afraid and ran for the open transom, calling Skip’s name.

Skip who had been Ned’s hero, was the only one who seemed to care that Ned had had to quit school when his father got sick, the only one who’d cared that Ned’s family was sinking. Skip had given