to attention and bade them look upon the beast, each man in turn, and then upon himself. You see me, said Brant. Fear is gone from me like a fever. In its place is something better. The men felt immediately sorry they had ever questioned their leader, chided him privately, doubly so when he went among them passing out black magic markers, telling them to make ready. Your spirit animal, boys. Our what? they asked. Sacred beasts caged within. Only you know it. The Lieutenant who had suffered much soul sickness at his General’s abnormalities adorned his face with the mask of a baboon. The others chose according to their secret animal natures: parakeets, lynxes, a blowfish. It has been dark, said the General, taking up the binoculars. This night and all nights past. But dawn now breaks. Around Brant his crew were rapt and swollen on pride and animal power and the General’s bad poetry. Out there in the sea, making time on a goddamn ship, that thing! They howled for its blood, beating their chests with their fists. They were prepared to enter the sea and rend the beast with tooth and nail if their beloved General so asked. On the sea monster, very motion sick, Dolson was gathering some spare supplies as the rescue chopper approached. He heard behind him a howl and spun to see Wells, harpoon poised to strike, on an undulating mound above him. Captain, it’s time to go. Mik-a-klik-a-noo! Dolson reached into his gathered supplies and chose the flare pistol. He shot a red fireball at Wells that stuck in the crevices of the man’s armor and sent him tumbling down the flesh hill, hissing and spewing red smoke. In a grump, Dolson helped pull the stinking crab shells off the Captain. My harpoon, said Wells. Gone. You going to behave? I've come to know this beast. Brant can't have it. You’ve been drinking sea water. Anyways, they’re going to detonate it. This news sent Wells into spasms of choking. He thrashed like a fish in the surf before going strangely still. I will die among my kind, he said. But Dolson had already lifted Wells on his shoulder and started toward the chopper’s dangling rope ladder. The chopper pilot’s painted face didn’t reassure him. The man had drawn an otter’s whiskered visage over his own in wobbly black lines. He all right? said the pilot. Are you? Is anyone? At least we’ll have a view, said the chopper pilot.
Matthew Blasi · 69