The sun rose blood-red over the ranch. Harry worked at the gunsmith bench, his supplies from the footlocker arrayed on the shelves. A vein throbbed along his temple as Marcia’s words rang in his mind.
Died in vain.
He funneled a precise measure of powder into a shell casing and heard the words again.
Died in vain.
Harry saw his brother’s face, frozen in death. “Died in vain.”
Hands tightened on the press handle for another stroke. “Died in vain.”
Harry flashed back to the crimson surf of Wonsan, North Korea, scuba regulator bouncing below his chin. Mortar strikes geysered around him, flinging Marines.
Died in vain.
Sweat rose on Harry’s forehead as he assembled his ammunition. “Died.”
Finished rounds stood upright—brass glinting in the early sunbeams, bullet tips daubed green to disclose steel cores. “In.”
A row of Egyptian columns for a house of eternity.
“Vain.”
Later that morning at the ranch marina, workers loaded supplies onto a thirty-six-foot Chris-Craft Corvette. Wearing shorts, a halter top, and Ray-Ban Wayfarers, Marcia supervised the preparations. Ranch foreman Ed Brown looked on, shaking his head.
“Mrs. Barton, the Vagabondia is ready to sail.” Ed pointed to the moored 100-foot yacht, used by the 1956 expedition to capture the creature in the Everglades after it escaped the oceanarium. “Let’s switch to the big boat with a full crew.”
“Jennings said the creature will avoid larger craft. We want to draw it in, not drive it away.”
“Yeah, and look where that got him.”
“We’re taking precautions this time.” Marcia nodded toward the path leading to the slips.
Harry stood sentinel above the marina, clad in a sport shirt and trunks, the Model 29 in a shoulder holster. Squinting behind Ray-Ban Aviators, he appraised the dockside action. Harry and Marcia locked eyes through tinted lenses.
Harry took the cruiser into the open bay. Marcia came out of the cabin in a one-piece swimsuit. She pointed to a rack of buoys at the stern. “Each buoy contains a remote-control model of the sonic beacon. Jennings developed the system with a scientist from Stanford, Bainbridge Wells. The frequency is tuned to trigger a psychological response in the creature, acting as a lure.”
“Jennings and I used to play around with crystal radio sets when we were kids. Figures he’d come up with a gadget like that.”
Marcia approached the helm. “You said people could tell you apart once they got to know you. Did you have anything in common?” She smiled. “Besides your looks?”
He nodded. “We were determined to poke our dad in the eye. We technically lived in Potrero Hill but really grew up on the road with his preaching circuit. Nothing but fire and brimstone and baloney sandwiches in the backseat of that old Ford.”
“What about your mother?”
“Mary Jennings-Callahan. She was the rock when we left Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl. Died when we were young. After that, my brother became a bookworm like Dad, but he studied science. Very unbiblical, the old man said.”
“And you?”
“Traded church for sports in high school. Enlisted in the Marines the morning after I graduated. Joined the police force after Korea. When I was a kid, Dad tried to literally beat the Beatitudes into me. I chose a life where turning the other cheek wasn’t an option.” Harry stared into the swells. “Dad died in ’54. Now, Jennings checks out, all for a glorified fish”—he paused—“but he made his choices.” Harry finally looked at Marcia. “You said it. I don’t want him dying in vain.”
Marcia put her hand on Harry’s shoulder. She checked a chart. “Slow down. We’re getting near the location for the first buoy.”
Harry eased the throttle until Marcia signaled him to stop the boat. The pair moved to the rack of buoys. “We’ll create a line of beacon transmitters from here to the cove at the ranch.”
Marcia motioned to the first buoy. Harry tipped its anchor over the side. The weight plummeted into the bay, the attachment line paying out before yanking the buoy into the water. Harry and Marcia returned to the helm and piloted the cruiser to the next positions to repeat the process with the second and third buoy.
When the final float hit the water, it turned on its side and slowly sank.
“What’s wrong?” Marcia said.
Harry unbuckled his holster, stripped off his shirt, and hoisted scuba gear. “Anchor line’s probably caught on something, dragging down the buoy. I’ll try to clear it.” He strapped on the tank, fitted the mask, and donned an acoustic headset with earpiece and throat mic, connected by a reeled cable to a transceiver.
Marcia handed him an underwater spray gun. “Rotenone spray, triple the strength of what Jennings used.”
Harry ignored the offering and grabbed a spear gun. “No thanks. At least I know this’ll have an effect.” He squeezed into flippers and fell back into the water.
He dove along the straining anchor line. A mass of metal appeared in the swirling silt. He pressed the mic. “Shipwreck. Looks like the line is tangled in it.”
A boom striped in rust and coral dangled from the hulk, snagging the line. Harry pushed against the encrusted surface and yanked the line. The line popped free and straightened, but the effort sent Harry tumbling. The boom swung behind him. Thrashing to arrest his movement, Harry turned to see the slow-motion peril. The boom struck his chest and pinned him to the hulk’s rotting deck.
From the bridge, Marcia heard Harry’s muffled calls and the dull clank of collapsing metal over the radio.
“A boom fell on me.” Harry’s voice echoed over the transceiver speaker, punctuated by his labored breaths. “Sit tight. I still have plenty of air. I’ll work my way free.”
The buoy broke the surface near the boat’s stern. The float rolled on its side before righting. The beacon wailed, and Marcia panicked.
“The beacon turned on by itself,” Marcia said over the mic.
“Probably damaged by being pulled underwater.” Harry grunted as he tried to shift the boom.
The sonar pinged. The long blip on the screen was unmistakable. “Harry, it’s coming.” Marcia said. “It’s coming!”
Harry pulled his arm from under the boom and gripped the tethered spear gun. A school of stickleback swimming to his left exploded in different directions. Harry turned his head to the disturbance, giving him a critical extra moment to spot the creature rising from deeper water at stingray speed. He had to wait before it was almost upon him to manage a shot.
The Gill-Man’s forearm deflected the spear.
The creature heaved the boom aside. Harry pulled his dive knife, a Vulcan prototype model with a curved hand guard like a cutlass. The serrated blade gashed green skin but glanced off a band of purple scales. The creature shoved Harry into a corner of the superstructure, trapping him. Trailing a spiral of blood, the creature pressed in.
A white cloud filled the enclosed space. Grasping its face, the creature fell away. Marcia reached through the billows for Harry, the rotenone spray gun dangling from her accessory belt. Harry re-sheathed the Vulcan, and the pair kicked for the surface. Harry pushed Marcia over the bulwark and clambered after her. They dumped their scuba gear, and she took the helm while he cinched his holster around his wet torso.
The water churned at the stern. The buoy slipped beneath the surface again. Harry peered over the edge of the boat, his Model 29 drawn and cocked. “He’s grabbed the line.”
The beacon bobbed in a mad dance as its anchor line was jerked from below. It sank almost out of sight, and then rocketed back to the surface as if it had been shot from a cannon—or as if whatever was jerking it had suddenly let go. The beacon smashed into the bottom of the boat, making Harry recoil with the impact. Marcia leaned hard on the throttle, but the boat mustered only a feeble lurch. Harry looked over the edge again.
“The buoy’s anchor line’s fouling the props.”
He watched for patterns in the water that would signal the creature’s impending attack. When the splash he’d anticipated finally came, the Gill-Man’s silhouette didn’t follow it. Instead, an iron missile catapulted toward the boat—the buoy’s anchor, with the line whipping behind. Harry threw himself over Marcia as the anchor smashed the bridge canopy. He was clearing canvas and framing shards when the bay erupted again.
The creature leaped onto the stern, balancing on the balls of its feet, clenching and curling its claws. Harry fired a .44 Magnum slug into the creature’s shoulder. Marcia came beside him, shooting as well, but with a Polaroid Pathfinder instead of a firearm. Glowering at her, Harry shielded her with his left arm while leveling the Model 29 for another shot, but lost the target when the wounded creature toppled back into the sea, raking at its wounded shoulder.
“You wanna shoot with me again,” Harry growled through gritted teeth, “stick to the Browning.” Marcia’s eyes daggered him in response as she pulled the long paper tab out of the camera to begin developing the instant photo.
Harry moved to the stern, eyes darting, scanning for the monster. With his left hand, he cut a loop of the anchor line and pulled the bunched cord free. He called over his shoulder, “Starboard prop’s knocked out. Try it again.”
Marcia coaxed the throttle, and the boat wobbled to half-speed. Harry looked down, and in the creature’s blood splatter on the deck he saw a small metallic plate, cracked from the bullet’s impact. He picked up the object and brought it to the helm. Marcia opened the back of her Polaroid camera to extract the finished picture, which she held up.
“Like Jennings said, the gills have grown back,” she said. “Scales too, but they’re different from before. Purple as we saw, and irregular.”
“That round should’ve taken its arm off. It’s like he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.” Harry pointed out a bleeding cut on the creature’s torso. “But I caught him here with my knife. No scales.”
Marcia pointed at the metal in Harry’s hand. “What’s that?”
“I’m thinking it’s part of this thing here.” He pointed to another spot on the photograph. A flat collar sat beneath the creature’s gill line. “Did your husband’s team put that on him?” She shook her head, and he looked at the photo again. “Then somebody else besides your guys has been playing with the Gill-Man.”
The sonar pinged. Harry glanced at the screen. “Looks like I’m still up for that bonus. He’s coming back for more.”
Marcia flipped switches on the sonic beacon controller. She picked up the radio mic. “Ed, do you read me, over?”
A hollow voice from the radio answered. “Roger.”
“I’ve activated the remaining buoys and the beacon in the cove. We’ve bringing him in. Over and out.”
Harry shook his head at Marcia’s confidence. “Got him right where we want him.”
NEXT IN CHAPTER 4: Harry and Marcia lead the Gill-Man to a holding pen at the Barton Ranch. Can iron bars stop a mutated Creature from the Black Lagoon?
An atomically recharged Gill-Man is a big deal. But if you want monsters that are even bigger…
Jason William Karpf does not own the Dirty Harry and Creature from the Black Lagoon franchises or any of the related characters. Warner Bros. is the owner of the Dirty Harry franchise. Universal Studios is the owner of the Creature of the Black Lagoon franchise. The story also features cameos from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea characters, a film and a TV series released by 20th Century Fox.
Harry Julian Fink and R.M. Fink wrote the original Dirty Harry screenplay. Harry Essex, Arthur Ross, and Maurice Zimm wrote screenplay and story for Creature from the Black Lagoon. Milicent Patrick designed the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Irwin Allen and Charles Bennett wrote the screenplay for the theatrical version of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. Many talented writers created additional characters and dramatic situations for the Dirty Harry sequels, the Creature from the Black Lagoon sequels, and the Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea television show, some of which are also used in this story.
“Creature from the Dead Pool” is a work of fan fiction, intended strictly for entertainment and education, and is outside the original canons. The work is distributed for free, and the author does not make a profit from it. Warner Bros., Universal, and Fox have not produced, distributed, or authorized this story.
Videos, still images, and other communications related to “Creature from the Dead Pool” are fan art, curated audio and visual containing the works and likenesses of a vast number of talented professionals. Jason William Karpf claims no ownership or rights for this content, and he does not make a profit from it. Still images are AI-generated.
“Creature from the Dead Pool” and related materials reflect Jason William Karpf’s lifetime love of the aforementioned franchises. His transformative works are presented in tribute.
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