Chums

As things began to settle down, Jacko became aware of a patch of light, a brilliant, jagged banana of summer sun biting into the darkness. The shape rotated gently, a slow kaleidoscope of glittering sand, splattered and looped into a Jackson Pollock of slimy fluids that pattered and plopped into the soft grains. He peered at the image and tried to draw a line from it back to anything in his memory that could explain what he was seeing, but he was finding it hard to focus. The only image he could summon was a cloud of candyfloss pink foam, frothing and churning as the blue sky bucked and spun above him. The significance of the crazy dance eluded Jacko. He felt like he might have once understood it fully, been acutely aware of its meaning to him, but since he’d been in the dark, time seemed to have lost traction and started to wheelspin, slipping around him and going nowhere. Jacko felt fragmented, lost. Try as he might to pull himself together, his concentration was not helped by the smell. The air around him was like the wet breath of a seagull that lived on a rubbish dump. The salted tang of rusted iron filled the surrounding blackness and made it solid. He was vacuum-packed in a claustrophobia so dense that it was not just hard to breathe, it felt like he didn’t possess lungs at all. Jacko’s world was turned upside down and he felt the first searching tendrils of nausea confirming his dread that something was very, very wrong.

“Aloha, buddy!”

Jacko felt the words vibrate through the sausage-tight blackness around him. Did they come from the direction of the patch of light? Or was there someone in the dark, impossible space with him?

“Weird, isn’t it?” said the cheerful voice from a place so close it could have been one of Jacko’s own thoughts. “Believe it or not, you kind of get used to it.”

Jacko felt his own fear-hardened voice push out into the black. “Who’s there? Where the hell are you?”

“Same place as you, buddy. ‘Cept, I’ve been here a lot longer.”

“What’s going on? Who are you?”

“Name’s Milo, and I’m your new best friend. Looks like we’ve got a lot in common, you and me.”

“Where are we?”

“Ah, it hasn’t come back to you yet. It does take a bit of time. The old brainbox gets a bit overwhelmed with all the adrenaline and whatnot. You need a bit of distance, to get things in perspective.”

“What are you talking about? Why is it dark? What time is it?”

“Wouldn’t worry about that, dude. I know there was just me and Hoss for a while, and now you’re here too, so I guess time is sort of still a thing, but it doesn’t really matter like it used to. My parents were hippies, proper flower children, they would have loved the idea that time stopped mattering.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Who’s Hoss?”

“Ah, dude, you already met Hoss. I named him Hoss ‘cos he’s got a hell of an appetite and I’ve been riding him around for ages. Well, I think for ages, since before you got here anyway. In fact, I saw you coming. We were gliding around off Pismo when Hoss got your scent. Greedy ol’ Hoss saw your board and followed you up into the wave.”

“Wait, yeah,” said Jacko, a sensation forming in the dark, a glinting swell building under him, lifting and pushing until saline air rushed against wet skin, “I remember. I caught a massive one. I was up, it was curling, I was in the tube.”

“Yeah, you were! It was beautiful, man. You were carving through that tube like a boss. We saw you. Damn you were moving! But Hoss, he’s quick. He got you in the tube.”

“Got me?”

“Half the board and both legs in one bite.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Sorry, man, it’s some heavy shit. Hoss; carcharodon carcharias. You don’t mess with Hoss.”

Jacko always knew it was a possibility, he’d had nightmares about it before, 3AM sweats about getting taken out by one of the locals, terminated by one of the muscular fellas in grey suits. He never really expected it to happen, but the account of his new friend helped the story to rewind from the candyfloss foam and take shape in the dark.

He was paddling off Pismo, ocean-lean and care-free. New board and fancy waterproof watch, a birthday present from Patti. He saw her turquoise sun hat on the distant beach, glimpsed in an instant before he felt the swell building and the wave claiming all of his attention. Then he was flying, rushing through air across water, then inside the rolling geometry of the wave as it curled up and over him, a bullet in a barrel of bliss shooting towards the beach. Then pressure, a change in his pulse that signalled the death of time, and then the pink, churning candyfloss foam and a last thrashing dance under the California sky.   

“Yeah, like I said, dude, I saw you coming, out of the front window, if you will, rushing towards us, framed by Hoss’ choppers. Feel pretty bad about it to be honest.”

“You feel bad about it!” screamed Jacko. “You mean that’s it? I’ll never see Patti again?”

“Well to be fair, dude, I think all things considered it’s probably best if Patti doesn’t see you. Not in this state. Hoss has pretty much turned you into a really difficult jigsaw. Look, if it’s any consolation, you went down swinging. You tried the old punch on the nose trick, even though half of you was already basically a casserole. It was a top effort, man. It was more than I managed. He got me while I was just chilling on my board, half stoned if I’m honest. Never knew what hit me. Savage brute. You’ve got to respect his skills though; Hoss is a machine. No shame in losing a fight with a great white.”

“And if it’s any consolation, the punch on the nose thing has never worked.” The new voice was like a cello stroked with a frayed bow.

“Who was that?” shrieked Jacko. “Milo, there’s someone else in here too?”

“Not as far as I know!” said Milo. “Wait, hang on a second. Hoss? Is that you?”

“Hello, Milo,” came the groaning cello.

“Jesus, Hoss, since when can you talk?” said Milo.

“Since they got me, not long after I took out Jacko here. They got me hooked on a drumline and shot me.”

“Bastards. Sorry, man, that’s heavy. I was wondering what had been going on. Things have been a bit different recently, and Jacko here was blocking the view.”

“Sharks can’t talk, they’re murderous dead eyed bastards,” interrupted Jacko.

“Well, to be fair, dude, I’m not sure dead guys are supposed to be able to talk either,” said Milo.

“We couldn’t have talked to each other when we were alive,” sawed Hoss’ cello voice, “but we have a lot more in common now. I’m not a shark anymore, I’m a dead shark. You’re not people anymore you’re dead people. We’re all dead before we’re anything else. We’re speaking the language of the dead.”

“Riiiight,” said Milo. “Makes perfect sense. Wow. It’s, like, limbo lingo, man.”

“Makes perfect sense? What are you talking about, you crazy hippy bastard! This monster ate us!”

“Don’t mind him, Hoss. He’s still a bit uptight. It’s all a bit new, he just needs time to adjust,” said Milo.

“I’m sorry, Jacko,” lowed Hoss. “You were irresistible.”

“He was only doing what comes natural, Jacko,” said Milo. “And they got him for it too, hooked him and shot him. We’re all in the same boat now.”

“I hope they put your jaws in a gift shop,” said Jacko, realising for the first time what gave the crescent shaped patch of slowly turning light it’s jagged outline.

“So, do you reckon the three of us are together for ever now?” said Milo.

“I don’t know, dude. I’m only a shark,” sighed Hoss. 

On Pismo beach a commercial fisherman approached a huge shark that hung from a gibbet on sturdy ropes, slowly turning in the warm saline breeze. He posed for a photograph before using a very large knife to open the beast’s smooth white belly. Jacko, a jigsaw with several missing pieces, tumbled out and lay in a gory heap with a long-haired skull and a shiver of slick piscine organs. The face of an expensive new watch winked in the California sun.