Title I Didn't Choose Pt. 1

The mists were thick upon the loch that night.  I was staying for the first watch shift, not something I would normally do.  But tonight wasn't a normal night. The men were all sleeping soundly below, surprisingly, seeing as not an hour ago they were as
nervous as giddy schoolboys.  Most of these men were hardly men at all, but boys thrust into a very adult world.

There was Chris Bocian, the ship's navigator and wisecrack, and his partner in crime, Jonathan Shev, the cabin boy.  We had to find an extra-large-sized cot back in Calcutta, because of their inclination to sleep in the spoons position together.

There was the ship's surgeon, Brittany Gonzalez, never quite the same after the plagues.  She had seen more than any of us could have, even in our worst nightmares.  The vibrant glow of her youth had long since gave way to a quiet sadness.  She hardly ever smiled anymore, and when she did, when one of Bocian's witty quips would crack the side of her lips into a grin, she seemed almost guilty afterwards, and that soft melancholy would return again.

There was Nate Smith, helmsmen.  Many a time have his broad shoulders led this ship out of certain disaster. There was Brandon Lewis, with his constant erection, Nathaniel Kroeker, with his body tattoos, and Ashley Penrod, the hardbitten butch lesbian. Then there was my trusty first mate, Billy Gaechter. He, as always, was sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed, head resting on a burlap sack loaded with potatoes.  He made the excuse that he had grown too accustomed to sleeping at someone's feet from back in the years he spent in the white slave market.  I knew though that ever since I rescued him, he had loved me deeply-the way a dog loves his master, but love nonetheless.

Finally, I mustn't forget the ship's Rochester Terrier, Enrique Iglesias.  He stood now, panting, tail wagging, looking up at me with a desperate longing for a treat, a pat, or even a sideways glance. We named him after the famous latino singer/songwriter, because of a small mole-like protrusion that Nate noticed located to the left of his anus, reminding us all of Mr. Iglesias' balmy face. 

But back to the business at hand.  I looked across what I could see of the loch of San Andreas, hoping to catch some fleeting glimpse of our quarry.  Back in 2005, the great earthquake had created this strip of lake, streching from what was once South San Francisco, all the way to Gilroy, which has since become a thriving port town.  In fact, we're set to return there once we've caught what we're after.  What we're after-I hardly even want to think about it.

Suffice to say, some people that survived the plagues would have been better off dead. The creature in question had been raiding shipping routes up and down the loch for months now.  Other mercenary captains had tried, and failed.  By I am no ordinary Captain.  I am Alexis Nakamura, Captain of the S.S. Raymond Blurr, and I will kill Alex Cesario Siquig, the one true love of my life.

The villagers called him "El Cesario."  He had become something of a legend.  First, he had terrorized Japantown with his cheesy weblog full of in-jokes no one got, and now he haunted the deep, creeping out onto land to feed on the whatever lived.   All one had to do to send a local into a fright was to imitate the siren call he would let out before chomping down on a goat.

NOOOIIIIICE!!!

I heard it.  It was faint, but I knew it couldn't have been just the wind.  No. That was Alex Siquig.

"All hands to your stations!" I cried.  "Alex-sign off the starboard bow!"

By the way, starboard is right, you idiot.

With hardly a moment's notice, the crew snapped into action.  Except for Chris Bocian.  He took his fucking time.  The rest of the crew had the ship battle ready in no time.  Billy Gaechter stood at the ready behind the main cannon, scanning the northern side. Suddenly, the beast came into view.  The huge hulk was rushing dead-on towards the starboard side of the ship.

"There!  Gaechter, fire at will!"  I yelled.

"With pleasure," he barked back.  No seriously, it totally sounded like a bark.

The giant harpoon flew into the monster, puncturing it's think shell carapace.  Nathaniel Kroeker and Ashley Penrod were already prepared with the net, ready to bring in our lifeless prey.  About this time, Bocian finally dawdled out onto the deck, smoking from his corn cob pipe.

"Well, looks like I missed the party," he quipped.

"Oh shut up, you lazy fuck.  Plot a course back to Gilroy," I shouted.  I gazed down at the lizard like skin of the former proud heir of the Siquig family, wondering-wait, lizard like skin?  But the villagers described him as. . .

"Mr. Gaechter, reload the cannon!  We're not out yet!"

"Arf?  I mean, aye aye!"  he snapped back.

"Jon?  Where's Jonathan?"  Bocian whined.  "Sweet cuppin' cakes, where are you!?"

But Jon was nowhere to be found.  Mr. Shev had moved himself to an unnecessarily safe distance from the decoy hulk we had thought to be el Cesario.  He had been up against the port side, with a noticeable damp spot beneath his belt.  I should never have hired a cabin boy to do a cabin man's job. Before I could dwell on the subject any longer, we heard him again.

NOOIICE!

I was much closer this time, and coming from the opposite side as before.  Just then something hit hard into the main sail.  Billy took aim, but I signaled him to wait.

"No!" Bocian screamed.  "Noooo!"

It was Jon. Or what was left of him.  He had lost both arms, and most of his right leg had been gnawed off.  Probably the only reason why he was still alive was because of Alex's legendary pickiness.  Shev had always been a scawny fellow, and his meat was probably not much better than that of a shivering chihuahua.  Brittany Gonzalez pushed the sobbing Bocian out of the way, to examine the half-conscious cabin boy.

"I'm sorry,"  she declared.  "But if we don't get back to port and fast, he's not going to make it."

"Well then let's go back, dammit!"  Chris shouted.

"He can still pull through!"

"Dammit, Bocian, we've never been this close and never will be again!"  I replied.  "How many more have to die because of that damned Junior College student?"

"You're insane!  You're obsessed with him!"  he protested.  "I say we get out of here while we still can!"

He looked to the crew for support, but their cold gazes stopped his mutiny before it started.

"I need to get him below, give me a hand," Brittany told Chris, stopping his attempted rebellion.

"Al-alright,"  he whimpered.

"Wait!"  It was Jon.  "Chris, we both know I won't make it either way."

"Yes you will!  Don't talk like that!"  I had never seen Bocian so emotional.

"Tell Ms. Miller that I love her"  he was fading fast.  "And one last thing."

"Yes?  Anything you ask."

"Get that bastard."  He sighed and shuddered, as his life left his mutilated body.  Without even a sideways glance, Chris stated coldy,

"Get me a rifle."

to be continued?