The One That Got Away

A friend of mine asked me to write a short story for his book. He’s doing his best to save the oceans of the world, and life on our planet, as we know it.

His book will have a collection of fish stories he has collected from many, many people over the years, and, of course, these are “true” stories by people who were fishing at the time. We’ve all heard those stories about the big one that got away, so fish stories may be heard, or read, with at least a slight sense of disbelief. Nevertheless, they are supposed to be factual.

Because I write fiction, I was not sure how that would work in his book. He said to make it about saving the environment, the oceans, fishing and the themes covered in his stories. I then said that my average short story might run 20 or 30 pages, and how much space should I fill? He told me 2 or 3 pages would be the best length. Two or three pages?

So, I accepted his challenge. I stayed within his themes, and his required story length. I suspect that the story will make you think about something that really matters: the oceans of our world.

The One That Got Away

(A short story by Biff Price © 2019)

            The oceans were, for all intents and purposes, dead. Man had killed them with his pollution, chemicals, pesticides, plastic and persistent stupidity. The human population of the world had been decimated as crops failed, plagues raged across the Earth, nuclear weapons had been unleashed, armies had marched forth, and the ravages of radiation had wiped out cities and poisoned the ground for thousands of years.

            There was nowhere left to hide. Apocalypse had come, and Man was doomed.

-0-

            Harrison had left the remains of the dock in Key West by himself. Rachel was dead. There was no reason to remain. The boat was packed with what food he had been able to find, mostly canned goods, bottled water that he had scrounged from a supermarket warehouse, and as much extra fuel in cans as the boat could hold.

            The streets were littered with bodies, and the stench was unbearable. He did not look back. Why he was alive made no sense. He was still healthy. Maybe it was genetics? Maybe it was simply luck, although he did not feel lucky. He felt like he had descended into hell, and he was being punished for still breathing.

            It was 275 miles to the Bahamas, and he hoped to God the weather would hold. The storms were violent, and sailing alone was a challenge under normal circumstances. Life on Earth had not been normal for a decade.

            He was looking for a place, any place, where the fish were not mutated, and where he could avoid the pirates that now roamed the Keys searching for food, booze, and anyone they could enslave and put to work until they died.

            Harrison had stocked as many weapons and as much ammunition as he could find aboard the Fairwinds. The irony of the name of the boat was not lost on him. There had not be a fair wind in recent memory.

            There were 700 islands in the Bahamas. He was going to try and find one that no one was using, with enough elevation to withstand being obliterated by Cat 5 hurricanes, and a sheltered cove where the boat would have some protection. He did not plan to build a structure above ground, but in the ground where he could cower when the storms came.

            He did not expect to be alive for long. Food and fresh water were paramount, and he had no delusions about finding them. He had enough for perhaps a month, but what happened after that was uncertain.

            He had served on fishing boats as a mate since he was 17 years old, and he had lied about his age to his first Captain. At 41, his skin was as dark as the sun could make it, his hair was long and unkempt, his beard was full, and his muscular body was strong. 

            God was kind. He saw an island the fourth day out that had a high elevation in its center, unusually so, and someone had built a strong-looking house of concrete on the high place. There was a cove for his boat on the leeward side, and when he landed, he had a 12-gauge shotgun and enough rounds to wage a small war in his backpack. 

            He approached the house with caution from the side where no windows were visible. He tried a rear door and it was unlocked.

            He carefully went through the small house and discovered two skeletons lying in a king size bed in the Master suite. They had been dead a long, long time – for years. He would clean up the mess and use the second, smaller bedroom.

            There was a locked door in the kitchen, and he broke the lock and saw steps leading downward. He carefully went down the steps using a flashlight he had brought from his boat. There was a short hallway that led to a steel door. Fortunately, the door was unlocked. When he opened it, he discovered what he had dreamed of finding: a treasure trove of canned goods, enough to last for years. There was even a well-stocked wine cellar. Apparently, the late owners had planned for a long haul. They had not planned for the plague.

            Further searching revealed an armory of high-powered weapons, a great supply of ammunition, a hand-cranked radio, and lights that could be powered-up by hand. Best of all, fresh water that could also be hand-pumped in the kitchen. Nature had been good to the island, but not to its occupants.

            The next day he went to his boat, took his favorite rod, and went to the water. He saw movement beneath the surface and he made his first cast. Five minutes later he pulled in a good-sized snapper. It was big enough, and it would be eaten at noon because he had no refrigeration to keep it.

            He carefully examined the fish. It looked healthy. No mutations. He decided that it was sufficient. No sense being greedy.

            Movement caught his eye. He looked out towards the edge of the cove where it led to open water. What had he seen? Then, he saw it again.

            Harrison was stunned. He stood there with his mouth open in sheer amazement. It couldn’t be, could it?

            There it was again. More than one. He counted one, two, three, four…at least five. My Lord, how…?

            They were all dead and gone…weren’t they? But no…they were HERE! In this place…alive and well, and where they were, fish were abundant!

            His favorite sight in the water…dolphins! DOLPHINS! At least five!

            Harrison felt the tears on his face. He shouted, “Whoooppee!” as loud as he could yell!

            Then, he sat down on the sand. The strangest thought of all had come into his mind. He sat there, knees drawn up, and he started laughing and crying at the same time.

            God was kind, indeed!

            Harrison was, after all, the one that got away.