Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 1

The Fish

“Fucking dream.” Haris got out of bed, walked over to the window, and stared out at the

sea. The dream was wrong. A puny wish dream. Even though he'd stopped wishing for anything.

He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. Right now, the sea was calm, but there were more

rogue waves every year. The only one that counted was the one that had swept Bo away. He

wiped away more sweat. Searched the sky for the albatross. He didn’t believe that fucking myth

about albatross taking souls to heaven. But ever since the wave, one had flown over his house

every day. Haris counted on seeing it.

He grabbed his binoculars. The right lens was cracked, but he could still see everything

he needed to. His cargo container on Mount Helix gave him a good view of what was happening

out there. And for now, it was safe from the storm surges that kept eating up the land. He

squinted. No bird. Beyond downtown San Diego, which was underwater, he saw a swirl of

maroon. Shit. A red tide. He needed to get out and catch some fish before they were all floating

belly up. He missed Bo complaining that he was sick of fish.

Haris dragged his twelve-foot skiff down to the water. It had lost most of its green paint

but still had a few flakes left here and there and the boards were starting to separate. He'd

caulked them as best he could but had run out of caulking months ago. He set his backpack on

the sole of the boat, then glanced up at the sky. No albatross. But early last April the bird had

been late.

He sat and waited. After he saw the bird, he'd troll for fish on his way downtown and

then do some scavenging. The last storm surge he’d found a laptop and cell phone inside the
 Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 2

thirteenth floor of One America Plaza. Collectors' items for those who had money to waste on

useless shit.

The stagnant sun grew hotter. Still no damn bird. He would have to just get on with it. He

didn't believe in that heaven shit anyway.

He climbed into the skiff. Its sail was useless on a day like this. But he’d rigged a solar

panel to the battery, and even though the engine was fucking gutless, it worked. He sat between

the scrap of canvas stretched between two pvc pipes for shade. The sun was brutal these days. He

motored west. Steered around a stretch of debris. Some big plastic pieces with Chinese

characters stamped on them. Some small shit that no one could tell what it had been. He threw

out a line and trolled for fish.

The old- style mercury thermometer in the side pocket already read 103. The day was on

track to break 120. Haris wiped the sweat dripping down his forehead with a ragged towel, then

dropped it beside him on the seat. He leaned over, thinking that he saw the shadow of a rockfish,

but it was just another fucking jellyfish. He hunched back into the shade. Scanned the sky.

An hour later, he maneuvered the skiff into the twelfth floor of Symphony Towers, still

fishless. He tied the skiff to a brass doorknob and got out. The water was past his knees. Waves

rocked the open cupboard doors, and fragments of molding floated along the walls. Once upon a

time, in a fucking fairy tale world, the skyscraper held upscale apartments, penthouses, offices,

even a symphony for the money people. They'd all fled to north to cool their golden asses on the

few slivers of ice left. He looked out the window at the sky. No bird.

Haris scrounged through three rooms, found a good piece of Styrofoam and stuffed it into

his backpack. More insulation for his cooler. He was about to leave when he heard a splashing

noise. Curious, he waded down the hall. Inside a small room on the right, he found a scrawny
 Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 3

dark-haired kid sitting in water up to her waist. She held onto a net with a big fish thrashing

around inside it. Looked like a bass. He hadn't seen a bass in over a year. A crude wood spear

floated beside her. Haris wiped his brow with his forearm. “How the fuck did you get in here?"

Her eyes snapped. “A fucking boat, moron. What do you think, I swam?”

Haris held out his hand. He was sure the dumb kid didn't know how to fillet it. “No

cussing. Give me the fish.”

“No.” She clutched the bag tighter.

“Look, kid, if I got a fight you, I will.”

“Go ahead,” she said, but the whites of her eyes betrayed her fear.

He charged toward her and grabbed for the bag but got her spindly arm. She fell into the

water. He yanked her up. She was sputtering but didn't release the bag. He grabbed her wrist and

pried open her fist, then grabbed the bag and turned to go. She tackled him around the legs. He

buckled. “Son of a bitch.” He landed on his knees. She grabbed the net. He grabbed it back. She

splashed into the water, gagging and coughing. "Take my advice. Don't drink the water."

"Ha ha." She spit at him.

He headed to his boat, struggling through the high water, threw the fish into the skiff and

climbed in. The Bass was still thrashing. How had she caught it? Not with her puny spear.

Luckily, the fish's gut was intact. He rubbed the back of his leg. Might have a bruise. The kid

was tough. She was going to need it, if she wanted to make it to adulthood. He searched the sky.

Desiccated. Blue. Empty.

When he got back, Haris tied up the skiff and scanned the ocean. The kid was paddling

toward him in a small inflatable canoe. He took out his binoculars. The canoe had duct tape

patches all over it but had still lost half of its air. She'd better be able to swim. He stood and
 Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 4

watched her. By the time she beached the canoe, she was sitting in water up to her waist. She

climbed out, stood with her legs apart and put her fists on her hips like some kind of superhero.

Her bare knees were scraped and bruised. She wore one blue and one green flip-flop, a T-shirt

three sizes too big for her, and red shorts. “I’m Korey with a K.”

“I don’t give a fuck how you spell it.”

“That fish is mine. I caught it.”

He laughed. “Possession is nine tenths of the law.”

“I had possession.”

“Not anymore.” He turned and walked back to the shipping container. It was set apart

from the dozen other shacks on Mount Helix. He liked to keep to himself. Years ago, all the

million-dollar homes had been vacated, ransacked, and everything, even the nails, hauled off for

salvage. The 'new houses' were cargo containers or conglomerates of plastic, metal sheets and

cloth. He walked in the door, a gaping hole with ragged edges that could cut you in the night if

you didn't see them while you were sneaking in to steal something. Or stumbled through drunk

on seaweed gin. He’d also cut out a few small holes for wind to blow through. The place was

still an oven, so he spent most of his time outside.

He took the Bass out of the net and set it on a piece of warped OSB set on top of two

rickety sawhorses. The spotted bass was a mutant. They all were. Tumors, three eyes, sometimes

no eyes, lesions. He cut into the fish just behind the pectoral fin using his best a long thin knife.

He stopped at the backbone. Next, he pierced the belly near the tail. The next step was tricky.

The kid would have fucked this up. He ran the knife from the tail to the head and opened the

stomach without piercing its guts. Then he scooped out the contents of the stomach, careful not
 Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 5

to break them open. Just to make sure the red tide toxins hadn't leaked out of the guts into the

flesh, Haris flushed out the stomach cavity.

With his knife paused in the air, ready to carve out two tumors on the side of its gills, he

glanced up through the doorway. The knife clattered to the floor. The girl sat on the ground,

leaning back against the broken life preserver. She'd dug in out from the brush and unwrapped

the plastic tarp around it. He grabbed the red chipped handle and the fish and carried them

outside. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to touch other people’s stuff?”

“What about possession is nine tenths of the law?”

He set the fish on the board he used for a table, walked toward the kid and grabbed the

preserver. “This is one hundred percent mine. Now scam.” He took the ring, wiped it clean with

the cloth hanging from a nail on an old telephone pole, then carried it inside. He’d have to find a

new hiding place.

When he walked back outside, Korey with a K was still there. He scraped bits of plastic,

tumors and guts into the garbage pile. Then he put the fish into the solar oven he’d made from

scrap metal and tin foil. While he chopped up a wrinkled lemon and prickly pear cactus, the fish

cooked. He felt her eyes follow his every move. The smell of fish and lemon made his stomach

growl. He thought he heard her belly growl too.

She wiped her mouth. “That’s too much for one person.”

“If you're a scrawny little shit.”

He took the fish inside, set it on a tin plate, grabbed a fork, then carried everything

outside, and sat down to eat. The Bass wasn’t too bad, mushy, but they all came out of the water

half steamed. As he chewed, he stared through the lemon tree’s brown leaves at the bare sky. No

bird.
 Chelo Diaz-Ludden The Fish 6

Sweat pooled on his upper lip, dripped down his ribs and back, formed a fucking swamp

underneath his legs. Halfway through the fish, he started getting sleepy. The sun was growing

hotter by the second. If he fell asleep, the kid would steal his fish. What the hell. His son-of-a-

bitching eyelids felt iron heavy. He blinked slowly, kept his eyes closed for a few seconds….

He sees the large white wings glide overhead. Just as the wave rises behind them, the

bird dives. Haris doesn't know what the bird knows. That the rogue wave is coming. When it hits,

they sail the wave between the Emerald Plaza skyscrapers. Bo grips the mast. The wave washes

over the boat. When Haris can see again, Bo is gone. A feather falls in front of him.

Haris jerked awake. He looked at down at the fork still in his hand. The plate was empty.

He almost smiled. Stealing that fish was a gutsy move.

“Where the Seawing?” She pointed to the name written on the life preserver.

“Out there.” He nodded toward the water.

She nodded. “So is my family."

"They teach you how to swim?"