Prologue
Northwestern Pacific Ocean
18,000 Years Ago
Late Pleistocene
And an Ice Age once again dominated the Earth . . .
Officially it had begun some 1.6 million years earlier; ushering in a series of harsh glacial events, each of which lasted tens of thousands of years. Sandwiched between these cold spells were inter-glacial warming periods, the most recent coming to an abrupt end 74,000 years ago when the Toba caldera, a crater formed by a collapsed volcano on Samosir Island, Indonesia, erupted in one of the largest volcanic explosions the planet had ever experienced. This catastrophic detonation released 1,700 cubic miles of debris into the atmosphere, enveloping the globe in a dense blanket of volcanic smog which trapped the Earth's heat, triggering a runaway greenhouse effect. (In contrast, the Mount St. Helens eruption of 1980 yielded a mere 1.5 cubic miles.)
As global temperatures rose, great sections of polar ice from Greenland and the Arctic Ocean began melting. This deluge of freshwater inundated the Gulf Stream's North Atlantic Current, the conveyor belt of warm water that transfers heat to Europe and the Northern Hemisphere. The massive influx of freshwater diluted salt redistribution, preventing the process of down-welling, which, in turn, stifled the current's flow.
The combined effects of the Toba explosion and the cessation of the North Atlantic Current produced cataclysmic results. Temperatures plunged as much as one hundred degrees in a matter of hours, freezing animals in their tracks. Mountains of snow blanketed the Northern Hemisphere, wiping out food supplies. Large segments of human and animal populations starved, the few survivors forced to relocate.
Once more, the ice had reclaimed our planet.
Over the next 50,000 years, glaciers would continue to advance from the poles, with some of these continents of ice towering 13,000 feet. In North America, the Wisconsinian ice sheet would extend as far south as Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois, and as far east as Long Island. In Europe, the Eurasian ice sheet covered Scandinavia all the way to the Barents Sea.
With much of the water now locked up as ice, sea levels dropped over four hundred feet, drastically altering migration patterns. A land bridge formed in the Bering Strait, connecting the Eastern Hemisphere with the West, enticing prehistoric man and beast to cross over Asia into North America.
The Pleistocene Ice Age became a period of great transition. While some species evolved, most perished, unable to adapt. Among the primates, Neanderthal man yielded to Cro-Magnon, eventually giving way to the ascension of a new species—homo sapiens—modern man.
In the oceans, the expansion of the ice-caps around the poles created ideal breeding areas for plankton and krill, which, in turn, lured fish to the colder regions. It wasn't long before this sudden abundance of food began attracting whales. This shift in the food chain influenced the whales to make dramatic changes in their own migrational patterns, and the polar region became their new summer feeding grounds.
Autumn's chill and the return of the ice flows signaled the whales' retreat to the tropics, where an ancient enemy lurked in their breeding grounds, its own kind struggling to adapt to the cooling planet.
* * * * *
Rhinocodon typus moves just beneath the surface of the Pacific Ocean, its striking brownish-gray hide strewn with white dots and a grid of stripes. At thirty-two feet and 29,000 pounds, the juvenile male whale shark will grow another fifteen feet and add five tons to its girth by the time it reaches maturity. Despite its prodigious size, the creature is a docile giant and not a predator, its diet consisting of plankton, krill, squid, and sardines.
Gliding beneath the swarm of krill, the whale shark circles back suddenly, charging the surface with its flat, broad head. The wide slit of its lower jaw yawns open, creating a suction that forces large volumes of krill and seawater against the brushlike gill rakers located in the back of the shark's pharyngeal cavity. As these bristles strain food from the sea, hundreds of file-like teeth gnash the mouthful of planktonic organisms into pulp. The soup-like morsels are then flushed down the whale shark's tight gullet, the seawater diverted out its five-slitted gills.
Slapping its heavy tail along the surface, the speckled shark turns to feed again, unaware that, like the krill, it too is being stalked by a far larger adversary.
* * * * *
The monster glides east through depths cloaked in perpetual darkness, guided by its primordial senses. The shark, gargantuan predecessor of the modern-day Great White, is the most fearsome creature ever to inhabit the sea. At fifty-seven feet and 64,000 pounds, carcharodon Megalodon easily dwarfs its benign cousin, the whale shark.
Endowed with size, power, and senses that would put a nuclear submarine to shame, Megalodon has ruled the planet's oceans for tens of millions of years. It has survived the cataclysms that wiped out the dinosaurs and adapted to climate changes that devastated other prehistoric marine species. Intelligent as it is formidable, the brain of the elasmobranch is large and complex, controlling a plethora of organs that can see, feel, taste, and hear its underwater environment. A rogue hunter, the apex predator of all time is challenged only by members of its own kind.
But this latest Ice Age has done far more than simply cool the oceans, it has caused massive eustasis—a process that freezes titanic volumes of water. As a result, sea levels have dropped, creating land bridges that have cut off tropical currents to vital Megalodon nursery sites. Sheer size, combined with a unique internal heat-exchange system powered by the Meg's swimming muscles, protects the adults against even the most frigid seas, but the smaller anatomies of the Megalodon young have succumbed to the cold.
Mortality rates among the newborns have reached critical levels. Evolution's most savage creation has begun to die out.
The monster that stalks the whale shark is a female, and she is pregnant, nearly to term. Nestled within her swollen oviduct are live young, each four to seven feet long, weighing upwards of twelve hundred pounds. Undernourished, with their bloated mother struggling to find food, the surviving pups have been forced to turn to cannibalism, the larger infants feeding upon their smaller, less fortunate siblings.
What was once a litter of thirteen has dwindled to eight.
A thin current of ocean sweeps inside the female's slack-jawed mouth, frozen in its demonic grin. Concealed behind this mask of complacency are scalpel-sharp triangular teeth, the edges all finely serrated, like a steak knife. The upper front rows are largest, six to seven inches in length, four inches wide along the root. Behind each nightmarish fang, folded back along the gum-line, are columns of replacement teeth, each row ready to rotate into place, supplanting a damaged or lost member. Twenty-four rows of teeth span the upper two quadrants of the jaw, twenty-two rows occupying the lower, in a bite so wide and devastating it could engulf, crush, and swallow a small elephant.
The huntress glides with snake-like movements, her artillery-shell-shaped skull perpetually turning. As the Meg swims, water flows through its nostrils and across an olfactory organ designed to detect a multitude of chemical extracts in water. So keen is the predator's sense of smell that it can locate one speck of blood or urine in a lake-size volume of ocean.
Sensory cells situated along the animal's lateral line were designed to detect fluctuations in the sea over great distances. Internal ears can hear vibrations of sound originating miles away. Its eyes, black and cold, can focus in even the murkiest surroundings.
Then there is the creature's "electrical" sense.
Peppered along the underside of the female's snout are the ampullae of Lorenzini—dark jelly-filled capsules attuned to electrical discharges in saltwater. As if seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling its prey were not enough, Nature has endowed the Megalodon with the ability to detect the faint electrical discharges generated by the whale shark's heart and moving muscles as it thrashes along the surface miles away.
To the starving female and her unborn pups, the beating heart is a dinner bell.
Closing quickly, the Megalodon streaks just below the surface, her dorsal fin towering six feet out of the water, cutting the sea like a blade. Her mouth widens, her prominent snout pushing upward, drawing out her cantilevered upper jaw, exposing row upon row of hideous teeth.
And then the female suddenly breaks away, her primordial senses on fire.
Rising directly beneath the whale shark is the male. Nearly a third smaller than the mature female and not nearly as broad, the adolescent is nevertheless a swifter and far more aggressive hunter, and his presence in these waters is a definite threat to the lumbering female and her unborn pups.
Sensing the challenge, the agitated male pumps its tail harder and charges the surface. Its mouth yawns open as it rises, thrusting forward its upper jaw, exposing rows of narrow triangular teeth.
Soulless ebony eyes roll back an instant before—
Wa-boosh!
The sea erupts, the stunned whale shark exploding clear out of the surf, its impaled belly bursting open in a ring of crimson geysers, its broken body entrapped within its killer's puncturing jowls.
For a heart-stopping moment, the male's upper torso seems to hang in midair, and then both predator and prey fall sideways into the sea, the whale shark convulsing in spasms as it struggles to free itself.
Refusing to release its prey, the Megalodon whips its conical head to and for like a rabid dog. The serrations of its upper fangs saw through the whale shark's thick denticle-covered skin, tearing away a thousand-pound hunk of flesh.
The adolescent male moves off, circling below to swallow as it waits for its prey to die.
The pregnant female keeps her distance. Grapefruit-size nostrils inhale the pungent sea, her hunger gnawing at her insides as he impatiently awaits the scraps.
Sections of the whale shark's intestines drift by, only to be engulfed by swarms of surgeonfish and mackerel, the scavengers feasting on a blizzard of flesh and tissue, cartilage and gore.
Hours pass. Night falls, but the satiated male refuses to abandon its kill.
The pregnant female leaves just before dawn. For two days and nights she will trek east, devouring nothing larger than a tortoise as she continues to expend masses of energy in search of food.
On the afternoon of the third day, the famished goliath, close to death, arrives at the outer rise of a tropical island atoll . . .