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Al Gleeson had had a sinking feeling something was seriously wrong ever since he’d heard the call to return to his dorm room. Now the television broadcast he was watching confirmed it.
Lord, what do I do now? What do we all do now?
Al ran his hand through his hair and turned to his roommate, Brendon Monk. Brendon had the pasty white complexion of a man in shock.
“Are you all right, Brendon?”
“I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it! This can’t be happening,” said Brendon, clenching and unclenching his fists. They could hear the buzz of animated conversation as students on the fifth floor of Socrates left their rooms, chattering in the hallway about the news. Al and Brendon were just going to join them when Al’s phone rang.
“Hello,” said Al as he watched Brendon head out into the hallway.
“Did you watch the news?” asked a familiar voice.
It was Tom Chartrand, a close friend. “Can you believe it?” said Al, by way of affirmation.
“I don’t know what to believe,” continued Tom. “Listen, this isn’t a good time, but I have to ask a favor.”
“What is it?” asked Al.
“I just got a phone call from Sturgeon, my biology prof, and he’s asked me and a bunch of the other students from my class to help him with today’s catch. He’s been out in a trawler with his grad students since the classes were cancelled, bringing in whatever fish he could find, and he needs help sorting and classifying the catch. Since you are the fount of all wisdom and a fisherman by hobby, I thought I’d ask you to come along and lend your prodigious talent to this exercise.”
Tom’s optimism was good medicine. Al jumped at the chance to get away. “Your unabashed flattery has won the day. I’d like nothing better right now than to get out of the dorm and do something useful.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you downstairs. Wear your old clothes; you’re going to be a mess when you get back.”
Al changed and headed downstairs. Tom was waiting for him; together they left the building and began the walk to East Harbor, about three quarters of a mile away. A short way from the dormitory they were stopped by a campus patrolman.
“What are you guys doin’ out after curfew?” he growled.
“My name is Tom Chartrand, and this is Al Gleeson. We’ve been seconded to biology, and I just received a call to go to East Harbor to help unload a catch of fish.”
“Who are you working for?” asked the officer in a suspicious voice.
“We’re to report to Professor Sturgeon in biology. He took out a trawler this afternoon and has just arrived back.”
“Wait here!” The officer walked out of earshot and spoke at length on his communicator. Al saw him keep his eyes fixed on them as if he expected them to make a run for it.
The patrolman ambled back. “Okay, you’re good to go! Your story checks out. Here, take these passes and show them to any other patrolmen you meet so you don’t waste their time reporting in. You’re supposed to have these before you head out.” He scrawled a signature on a couple of pieces of green paper and shoved the passes into their hands. “Fill in the blanks later.”
After about twenty minutes they arrived at East Harbor. The quay was deserted except for one lone trawler. A huge tube from the hold of the trawler was spewing fish onto a tarp on the wharf.
“Professor Sturgeon!”
A figure cloaked in rainwear turned toward him. “Oh, hello, Chartrand! Glad you could make it. Can you believe it! I’ve been trawling off these waters for more than ten years, and this is the first time I’ve run into a school of fish like this. I filled up the whole hold in four hours!”
Al studied the professor. In addition to his rain gear, Sturgeon had fine chainmail gauntlets on his hands, like a butcher’s cutting gloves. He was bearded, and his head was framed by bushy long hair that made him look like a bear in his hood. A hook-like nose protruded from the hairy shrubbery of his face, which was broken only by a smile that revealed crooked teeth. His eyes were a contrast to his austere face and showed an uncommon friendliness. Al’s interest was piqued by the conversation.
“Normally, it would take me a week of trawling to catch what I caught today in an afternoon,” said Sturgeon. “You know what else is funny?”
“No, what?”
Sturgeon picked a couple of fish from the mound. “Not only did we catch a lot quickly, but look at these. We have a lot of species mixed in together.” At this point he noticed Al examining the fish. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, pointing at Al.
“Let me introduce Al Gleeson. He’s a fisherman by hobby and has come along to help.”
“Glad to meet you!” said Sturgeon, affably taking off his gauntlet to shake Al’s hand. “Please help me sort the species into piles so we can make a tally. If you need any help identifying a particular fish, ask one of the grad students. I’m afraid I’m going to have to go back to supervise the discharge. Use gloves. Some of the fish have spines. There’s a pile of spares on that box.” He waved in the general direction of a forklift, then turned and bellowed instructions to a student standing on the deck of the trawler.
Al followed Tom as he picked up two pairs of gloves. They got to work on opposite sides of the enormous mound of fish. Al pulled two large Atlantic mackerel out of the pile. Indeed it looked like his area was mostly mackerel. He found a large tarp that already had several hundred mackerel on it, and added his to the growing pile. He found the occasional black sea bass in among the mackerel. It gave him an odd sense of security since he had often caught black bass off Halcyon near the causeway bridge, when he could get away for an early morning fishing trip.
On his third trip back, he saw the tail of what looked like a small black-tipped shark sticking out of the pile. He carefully gave it a pull. It didn’t budge. He pulled harder, and the pile began to shift as the fish came out.
It can’t be! I don’t believe it. His mind reeled as he looked at the forty-pound monstrosity he was holding by the tail. The fish was about three feet long with the dorsal and tailfins of a small shark. But instead of the jaws and head of a shark, he saw a mass of ten tentacles crowning the creature’s head like the snake hair of a Medusa.
Al let the bizarre creature slide to his feet, and then stood there dumbfounded, looking down at the jumble of tentacles. One of the graduate students brought Professor Sturgeon over.
“May I have a look?” he asked gravely. He bent down and grabbed the heavy fish by the tentacles using both hands and spread them to reveal a blunt shark’s mouth with razor sharp teeth.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he muttered. He flexed the fish torso. “It’s clearly a chordate. How can this be? Where are we? What’s happened to us?” He looked around at the gathering crowd. “Just an unusual specimen,” he said in a loud voice. “Please get back to work. We don’t want to be here all night.”
__________
Exhausted and covered in scales and fish oil, Al and Tom walked back to the dorm. Although most of the fish had been familiar Atlantic species, there must have been two dozen examples of species that Al had never seen before.
“So what happened back there?” asked Tom at last, breaking the silence.
Al drew a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. “From what I can tell,” said Al slowly, “Halcyon is not just a few miles from our former location, as O’Reilly was hoping. We found a good many fish tonight that, as far as I can tell, have never been reported off North Carolina, or anywhere else on Earth. Sturgeon said as much.”
“What are you saying?” asked Tom, a current of fear in his voice.
“I do not think the senators were quite accurate in their assessment,” said Al. “When we travel to the mainland, I do not know what we’re going to find, but I do not think it will be North Carolina.”