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Three, azure-tailed Merfish
swam inside a giant school of Roosterfish, deep in the waters near Mexico.
“Stay close. Keep swimming,” said Septimus, the sound gurgling through the
gills on his neck.
“I’m swimming as fast as
I can,” said Nema.
She swished her tail and
extended her arms and hands like the prow of a ship.
Septimus grabbed the anal
fin of the fish in front of him, laughing as the fish jerked away suspiciously.
Nema—swimming slightly behind Septimus—watched the dorsal fins to her right,
admiring the black bands that curved down the scaly bodies and the wild, flowery
crowns that topped the roosters’ backs. She wished she had a crown. Instead,
she had golden hair, uncouth strands of silk that tangled.
The Merfish followed the Roosters’
every move, precisely, perfectly: left, left, right. Up, up, down. Forward,
steady. Forward, fast. Forward, slow. The swarm of fish kept moving, never
stopping. The three Merfish stayed close, almost magnetically, with the kind of
synergy that came from swimming together for miles every day.
Phin—the youngest and
fastest—swam slightly ahead of the others. Sometimes, Nema caught him looking
up towards the water’s surface, where flashes of brilliant light lingered.
But Nema couldn’t swim as
fast as the others. She was growing weary, struggling to keep up with the
streamlined Roosterfish. Silently, she chastised her useless arms and the round
bumps across her glistening chest.
“We’re almost there!”
cried Phin.
Nema watched the water change
from indigo to turquoise. Suddenly, a red stain formed before her eyes.
“Blood!” she gurgled, pulling hair from her face. She turned, looking through
the maze of fish heads and tails. “Sharks!” she cried.
Septimus grabbed Nema’s
hand. Phin grabbed the other. Together, they swam faster, holding steady inside
the mass of Roosterfish. Outside the core, three sharks circled the school with
toothy, menacing smiles. They looked hungry.
A silver shark dove into
the school, then another. The sharks thrashed; Roosterfish snagged between
bloody teeth. Nema wondered if the Roosterfish tasted like chicken. She
wondered if she also tasted like chicken.
The water grew murky with
guts and blood. Nema gripped the Mermen’s hands; they gripped hers. The Merfish
looked around; there were only bubbles and gore, chaos. Nema’s gills throbbed;
her muscles ached.
The seafloor appeared—they
were close now. Septimus swam faster, tugging Nema with all his might. Phin let
go of Nema’s hand. “I can swim faster alone. I can outrun the sharks! I’ll
divert their attention,” he gurgled, swimming away like a jet engine.
“No!”
cried Nema, watching the sharks follow Phin with blood-stained teeth.
Soon,
a buffet of brains appeared in front of them. Nema and Septimus swam into the
reef while the school turned on a dime, swimming back to deep waters. The ocean
floor swirled with sand and plankton. Still, they could see a faint, toothy smile
outside the calcified wall. It was Phin.
