The Secret Lives of Fish - a sequel to The Thirteenth Year

Ch 8 - Scales

The water just by the ferry docks was murky and full of junk. Cody spent only a second there as he kicked with his legs and shot forward into fresher water. His clothes weighed him down and he wanted to kick off his shoes, but he simply pushed forward. He would swim as fast as he could and stay under until his lungs screamed for air.

The usual twenty-minute ferry ride took him only five minutes to swim. Not once did he look back or come up for air until he felt he was far enough out into the ocean that no one would see him. He glanced around as he finally poked his head above water. Off in the distance he could just barely make out the pier. From what he could tell it was much more crowded than he would have liked. To be safe he was going to make a wide arch around the island to find a safe spot to go ashore.

The safest place ended up being the cove by his house. Exhausted he pulled himself up onto the sand and lay there. He had swum for nearly an hour in total, waiting until the coast was absolutely clear. His body ached and his leg muscles twitched. Without his tail he wasn't nearly as strong or as fast as he should have been. He could only hold his breathe for around ten minutes at a that time and it bugged him. In fact, he was a little shocked to realize how much it really did bother him. He no longer felt like he really belonged in the ocean. If today's incident also proved anything, he didn't belong on land either.

Pulling himself out of the surf's reach, he finally kicked off his socks and shoes. His toes were cramping and as he stared at them, he swore the webbing looked thicker and longer. Shaking his head, he tried to stand, only to collapse back to the sand as his knees buckled. He tried again and found that he couldn't get his knees to bend properly or hold his weight.

Now he was starting to panic. He hadn't swum in the ocean like this for a couple months. There had been maybe one or two dips here and there, but nothing to this extent. He had avoided it, afraid that this exact thing would happen. What had it done to him? He reached for his backpack where he kept his phone, only to remember that he'd left it behind on the pier. If he didn't have his phone to call for help, what could he do? The only solution was to go swimming for help. He looked back at the ocean and saw John Wheatly's boat plugging toward shore. How grateful he was to that man and his routines. If he swam fast enough, he should be able to reach him before he docked.

Crawling with mostly his arms and hips, Cody inched back into the mellow surf and swam towards the old, rickety boat. His socks and shoes lay discarded in the sand behind him.

-TSLOF-

John whistled quietly to himself as he steered his boat towards the docks. He was late meeting his son to go over his haul from the day. Today's pickings had been slim, but he didn't mind. He really just enjoyed being out on the water.

The familiar wooden platforms surrounded by fishing boats came into view. He adjusted his hat and realigned the steering while he dropped his speed. The quieting of the engine brought his attention to the voice echoing inside his head. Slightly startled he lowered himself to the main deck and looked over into the dark water.

"Cody!"

Sighing, Cody waived, struggling to keep himself afloat in the boat's wake.

'Mr. Wheatly! Can you stop your boat for a moment?' He swam forward as he projected his thoughts, he legs feeling like rubber attached to his hips.

"Of course. Hold on a just one moment."

Mr. Wheatly momentarily disappeared back up the ladder and cut the boat's engines. Hurrying back down he grabbed the anchor and chucked it over the side. It took a couple minutes, but finally Cody was able to grab the drop ladder in the back and take a breather.