Fisher Berry- The Conclusion...
Short Fiction by Jon Christian
Authors Note:
This is the conclusion of Fisher Berry. I hope you’ve enjoyed this journey. If you need to catch up, please do so by clicking the links below:
Part 1: Fisher Berry Part 1
Part 2: Fisher Berry Part 2
Part 3: Fisher Berry Part 3
Part 4 Fisher Berry Part 4
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Cloaked in a swirling shroud of dark clouds, The Reggio Emilia bounced in heavy waves like some kind of carnival ride. With the sun hidden behind fierce layers of density, it may well have been twilight at noon. Fisher grabbed hold of the railing and stabilized himself. Two untethered traps skated across Fisher’s path, and broke into wooden planks when they smashed into the rails.
“Fisher, tie up the traps those aren’t cheap,” Sam called from the intercom.
“Straighten her out!” Fisher yelled.
“I’m tryin’. The wind’s gettin’ real nasty.”
As Fisher secured the traps, Sam arrived at a second commercial buoy. “I need you, Fisher.”
Fisher tied down another pot. “But there’s still one more to secure.”
Sam waved his arms. “Forget that for a second, I’m in position. Look.”
“This has to be the last one, Sam. I can hardly stand straight in these swells.” Fisher reached the gaff overboard.
“I’m with ya,” Sam called. “We’ll head to safer waters as soon as we are done haulin’ this pot.”
Fisher grabbed the buoy and positioned the rope onto the hydraulic walker. He turned it on and nothing happened. The walker died. “What? Come on.”
Fisher tried the walker again and looked into the cabin. Sam wasn’t paying attention. “Hey! It’s broken! I’m gonna let this trap go so we can get out of here.”
Sam’s voice cracked over the loudspeaker. “Just pull it in by hand. It’s not like our heavy ones. It’s light.”
Fisher reached for the rope and tugged. “I think it’s stuck. Can you help me out?”
Sam came out and anchored himself behind Fisher. It took two people and several generous tugs, but the trap emerged from the ocean. lobsters crawled over each other within the pot.
“Ha! It’s so worth it,” Sam said. “I found you little bugs!” He raised his hands to the air. A wave struck the Reggio Emilia. The boat listed starboard as water filled the deck. Fisher stumbled backwards, but managed to stay upright. The engine sputtered and seized. They were at the mercy of the sea.
“Fisher,” Sam said, his voice still calm. “This is a good learning experience. I need you to get the engine up again.”
“Let me help you with the pot first,” Fisher said and ran towards Sam.
“I’ll take care of this. I want you to work on the engine. Do you remember where the water intake is?”
Fisher nodded.
“I need you to check it.”
Fisher ran to the engine and immediately checked the water intake. Seaweed and garbage sneaked its way in. He pulled out the debris and tossed it haphazardly into the water. He tried again, but nothing happened. Heat radiated from the engine and Fisher knew it needed to cool before it would start again. He picked up a monkey wrench and struck the engine block. “Damn it.”
On the deck, Sam unloaded the trap when another big wave struck the boat. The final unsecured pot tumbled towards Sam.
“Look out!” Fisher yelled as he tried to stand up.
The boat listed and Sam stumbled. He dodged the pot as it smashed into a rail and slid overboard. The trailing rope caught Sam’s knees and brought him to the deck. The rope entangled Sam’s leg and dragged him towards the rail. Sam reached for his knife and slashed wildly at the rope. He sliced the buoy off, but couldn’t free his legs. The sinking pot pulled Sam with it.
“Fisher! Sam called out. “Grab me!” He reached his hand out, dropping his knife in the process.
The boat righted itself and Fisher moved to Sam. He was two feet away when his body became paralyzed by terror.
“Fisher! I’m right here, come on.” Sam flung his arm forward. “Grab my hand.” Sam’s eyelids fluttered urgently as rain pelted his face. Those same confident eyes that brought them here
and steered into the storm, were painted with the gray color of fear.
Sam’s hand slipped further out of reach. “Why won’t you help me?” His body slid away fast and Sam’s head smashed against the railing with a grotesque thud. Sam’s head bent at an impossible angle and the conscious escaped his face. The pot tugged him overboard. The last bit of rope snapped from the deck and disappeared into the sea.
Fisher’s legs finally unmoored. “Sam!” He ran to the rail and looked overboard in time to see Sam’s hand sink into the frigid, swirling ocean. Sam was gone.
A bitter blast swept across the ocean, carrying with it the suddenly vulnerable souls of ancient sailors. Those from whom the ocean vowed to keep secret their vices. He heard screams of terror and sobs of distress. These were the ageless voices of sailors whose fates flashed across Fisher’s mind.
Fisher heard the remorseful echoes of August Tenora, a teenaged loyalist, instructed by his government to board an exploration vessel and murder its crew to prevent them from discovering freedom. August used a serrated, dual-edged blade to sever the head of his captain. Then he set fire to casks of whiskey; sinking the ship and the rest of the crew within an hour.
The screams of pain from Charlotte Kacy whose husband, Troy, pushed her during an argument over missing socks. Her bones shattered and her neck twisted as she tumbled down the stairs. She lay at the bottom, contorted in an unnatural way, until her heart stopped. Troy slid garbage bags over her, dumped her overboard, then reported her missing two days later.
The internal torture of Emma Blackstone, who was fired from her teaching position, lost everything important to her, and couldn’t find comfort from anyone. She hid herself from the community for fear her negative vibes would infiltrate society in the most deleterious of ways. Police found her empty boat and a note washed ashore several months later.
Fisher’s body trembled. Sam was wrong, the ocean is not a keeper of secrets. These stories turn to vapor, rematerialize in the clouds, and drop from the sky like messages in a bottle. The ocean reveals these secrets to certain living souls in their most vulnerable moments. Every adventurer will tell you there are voices out here—muffled murmurs from the deep. For whom these truths are revealed, the burden of knowledge drives one to madness. No, secrets cannot drown here; the ocean offers only a portal for redemption.
Maybe if Fisher could save Sam the voices would stop. Fisher ran to the engine, it had cooled and roared straight to life. He went to the cabin and took the wheel. Surrounded in a haze of thick clouds, he lost sight of Sam’s mark.
Fisher circled an area and noted what looked like a rope from the pot that brought Sam underwater. He cut the engine, tossed a life line, and waited. He folded his wrinkled hands together and watched for Sam’s body to emerge from the ocean.
The further the boat floated from the rope; the nearer Fisher’s reality became. Sam’s voice became one of the souls living in Fisher’s mind. He shook his head to stop the voices—yet they returned, louder than before. There were too many to understand. He released the lifesaver into the ocean. “Just in case you’re out there, Sam.” Fisher’s foot kicked something on the deck. Glistening in the sun, was Sam’s prized pocketknife. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
Fisher’s head pounded in pain. He could take no more. The broken radio dangling from a cord. He grabbed it and squeezed the talk button until his fingers turned pale “This is the Reggio Emilia. I am Stranded at Georges Bank in a Nor’easter. Send help! Repeat—S.O.S.! Georges Bank. Over.”
An inaudible voice crackled over the radio. A giant wave rocked the boat, and Fisher fell hard. Pain shot up his back, but he maintained handle of the radio. “S.O.S. This is the Reggio Emilia. If you can hear me, send help to Georges Bank.” Fisher relayed the coordinates from the GPS. The radio remained eerily silent.
The boat shook and the engine stopped again. The rain pounded on the cabin’s window like fists. Fisher spoke into the radio. “I’m disabled. S.O.S. Send Help to Georges Bank.”
Another wave struck the boat. Fisher fell over, striking his head on the way down. The pain was instant and intense. He could not move his body. As his world went dark. He heard the radio crackle to life. “United States Coast Guard… Hear you. Please… Status… Storm is too strong…Over.”
Ω
Fisher stirred. Thin pink clouds covered the western horizon like layers of scritta paper. The sun hung low to the east, ready to emerge for another turn of the earth. Black shadows of seagulls flew in the sun’s orange morning glory. Fisher staggered to his feet. His body shivered, but the voices had ceased, at least for now.
Static emanated from the radio. He tried it, but nobody responded.
He made his way to the guardrails and looked overboard, half expecting to see Sam’s bloated body floating in the water. He scanned every direction, but the only sight was a swollen sea.
He leaned over the guardrails and looked deeper into the water. Had he not been frozen in fear, Sam would be alive. The voices returned. There were so many, but then Sam’s distinct voice broke from the clutter of noise. “This was always supposed to happen, Fisher. There are secrets to keep, and some I will reveal. Take my money and do not let them know about me. Do not let them know.”
From the horizon emerged two helicopters. The sound of whirling blades echoed across the ocean. Fisher’s heart pounded as he waved his hands. The choppers turned direction and headed straight toward him.
Fisher turned his attention to the lobster holding tanks under the deck. He lifted the door and live bugs teemed within. Fisher lay prone on his belly, everything hurt, and a part of him wanted to die here. Fisher reached into the tank and pulled out a lobster. Its claws flailed about, unable to break free of the tight rubber bands. He carefully removed the band, looked at the bugs’ swiveling little black eyes and returned it to the ocean.
The second tank opened with a wooden clank. The smell of stale air and moldy wood escaped the hole. Fisher reached in, and felt the blue duffle bag on the bottom. He took hold of the black straps, hoisted the bag out of the tank, and placed it on the deck. He pulled on the rusty zipper, but it was stuck. He tugged until it finally opened. Inside were Ziploc bags stuffed with cash. Sam even had enough wits to put the cash in waterproof baggies. He missed him already.
He hugged the bag tight against his chest as the chopper hovered above his head. A basket came down and Fisher jumped in. He felt like a lobster in one of his traps as they slowly hauled him up.
“United States Coast Guard,” a man said to him. “You’re going to be all right now. Is there anyone else on your boat?”
Fisher looked squarely into his rescuer’s bright eyes. “My name is Fisher Berry. I am the captain of the Reggio Emilia. And I was the only one aboard this boat.”
The End