Survival

The hot afternoon sun beat down on Hank’s back as he lay on his small raft, head hanging over the side, watching the fish swim by just out of his reach. His arms were half submerged in the salty ocean water, and he hoped a fish would mistake his wriggling fingers for worms. The self-proclaimed “survivor man” lay as still as possible as the gentle ocean waves moved his raft up and down in a calming rhythm. He knew that if he could just catch a fish, he would have enough to survive for one more day. The eyeballs of the fish would contain water, and the flesh would have the protein he needed, and he might even be able to find a use for the skin as well.

               Hank closed his eyes and breathed in and out deeply several times, trying to regain his concentration. His mind drifted to the beginning of his journey when his raft was double the size, he had food and water stores, and he could see islands drifting by slowly as he paddled out to sea. This idea had started out to prove to his friends that he could survive in the great outdoors, but slowly formed into a grander idea that he could beat the world record for a man surviving alone on the ocean with very little provisions. The first several weeks went as well as they could have, excepting a few minor storms and a small part of his raft coming away from the main bulk.

The real problem began when he wasn’t paying attention one morning, and the current ran his raft into a small cluster of jagged rocks, seemingly jutting out of the ocean at random. The rocks made short work of the bamboo raft and essentially sliced it in half. Hank lost his shelter, water, and half his food provisions in one fell swoop. He tried desperately to jump into the ocean and retrieve what he could, but the accident had given him an injury and his arm made it difficult to swim. He barely made it back to the raft just in time to see the banana leaf shelter he had made slip beneath the small waves.

Since that day, everything had been a struggle. Hank was no longer able to protect himself from the sun’s harsh rays without his shelter, and getting water was next to impossible. He was able to collect a bit of rainwater using the clever idea of making a sort of funnel and collection device from an empty water bottle and several foil wrappers from protein bars. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him from dehydrating in those first few days after the accident.

Now, as he lay on the half-defeated raft, back looking like leather, and trying desperately to catch food, Hank regretted ever starting this God-forsaken adventure. It hadn’t rained for days and he was nearly out of what little water he had been able to collect. He dared not drink the last of it until he couldn’t stand it anymore, for fear he wouldn’t find more. The food was also gone, but he knew he could survive for a while longer without nutrition if he had to.

No matter which direction he looked, he saw nothing but ocean, sky, and sun. The night was his only respite from the sun’s harsh rays, but even then, the burns on his body hurt so bad he could barely sleep. He had told his friends and family of his plans and let them know where he would be in the ocean to an approximate degree. However, with the disaster that had occurred a week ago, he could be off course for all he knew. He had given them strict instructions not to come looking for him unless he didn’t check in via satellite phone each week. The life-saving phone was lost with the wreckage just over seven days ago…so he held on to the hope that they would now be beginning to worry and hopefully send out a search and rescue team.

The day slipped by at an agonizingly slow rate, or so it seemed. His analog watch had stopped working when it slammed into one of the jagged rocks, so he had no way to tell time. He only knew how many days had gone by since the accident by making small notches with his pocketknife into the bamboo raft that barely supported him. His vision began to go fuzzy as he waited, hoping against hope that some fish would be small brained enough to take his “bait”.

Just as Hank was beginning to fade away into a sun-induced nap, he felt a tap on his finger. His eyes shot open and he looked at his left hand…and saw nothing. ‘Probably just seaweed’, he thought to himself, though he wished he could have grabbed the plant to dry out and eat. It would be a mistake to eat it before drying, as the salt in the plant would overwhelm his system. It was a moot point however, since there was no seaweed to grab.

His eyes closed again, if not out of boredom then out of sheer exhaustion, and that’s when he felt two more taps on his right hand, in quick succession. He glared down at his hand and once more, saw nothing. Could he finally be going crazy? There was no way he wouldn’t see what was touching him…the water here had a visibility of several feet at least. Angry, determined and desperate now, he closed his eyes almost all the way. Enough to give the appearance of them being all the way shut but allowed for a bit of vision. Then he saw it.

A thin, snake like tendril emerged from the depths, uncoiling as it grew longer, stretching out towards his hands. It was all Hank could do to not scream, pull his hands away and move as far away as possible. He let the tendril touch his hand once more but didn’t open his eyes. Seemingly encouraged by Hank’s ignoring, the tendril stayed put…touching his fingers and hand and lower arm tentatively, inspecting every inch. The tendril felt much like an octopus tentacle might feel, but it lacked suction pads. The feeling was akin to slimy but more like touching sand underneath water.

From Hank’s point of view, he could not see anything below the depths but more and more tendril, until the blackness of the ocean swallowed up whatever main body might be below. This gave the sunburnt man a deep feeling of dread. Whatever creature this tendril belonged to must be massive. He was picturing a giant squid or even a sea snake, but neither really matched what he was seeing. The long “arm” as he began to call it, kept touching both of Hank’s arms all over, really inspecting them at the finest detail. Once, the tendril landed on the broken watch hank wore around his left wrist and the creature spent a great deal of time touching it, almost with a sense of wonder.

Slowly…ever so slowly…Hank opened his eyes. Either the creature had grown accustomed to him by now, or simply didn’t notice the human’s eyes open. Which got Hank to thinking…how was this creature able to realize before when his eyes shot open? He could not see any visible eyes on the tendril and found himself musing about what sort of creature this was all over again. Seemingly forgetting his dread for a moment, he moved his hand to touch the tendril. This was a mistake.

The creature’s arm instantly grabbed Hank’s wrist tightly, and there was a seething pain not only in his arm but throughout his entire body. He felt paralyzed. Confusion and shock consumed him as he now felt a very sharp, stabbing type of pain in his wrist. The creature’s arm had doubled in girth and now sported very sharp teeth? Or claws? Hank had no idea. Then the pulling began.

The creature was pulling him overboard inch by inch with seemingly endless strength. Hank regained some of his senses and pulled out the only weapon he had, his pocketknife. He dug the knife as deep as he could into the tendril, but all that seemed to do was enrage the beast as it now pulled harder and faster than before. All at once, Hank was in the water, being drug towards the bottom of the ocean by some unknown creature. He hadn’t had a chance to take in a large gulp of air prior to his descent, so he quickly ran out of air and began panicking. The ocean’s murky depths were approaching quickly, reaching up to greet him as he was being pulled down.

For a moment, Hank quit struggling. The ocean’s cool waters felt amazing on his sunburnt skin and the quick descent coupled with his lack of oxygen made his brain very fuzzy. His hands relaxed and he closed his eyes, ready to accept defeat and death. Maybe this kind of quick death was better than the slow one that faced him back on the raft. Maybe it was time to give up.

Once he relaxed however, the beast stopped pulling and relaxed its own grip on Hank’s arm. He barely noticed this however, as his body was beginning to shut down. The human floated there for a moment, the creature still gripping his arm but not as tightly, and there was no more pain to be felt from it.

Pictures of friends, family and other loved ones began to surge through Hank’s mind. Moments of love, pain, loss, happiness and friendship came over him as each memory came and went. Suddenly he felt that he needed to fight. With whatever last ounce of strength he possessed, Hank tried to break loose of the tendril. It seemed, however, that the creature was just biding its time. As soon as its prey began to struggle, the monster regained his terrifyingly painful grip and drug Hank further downward.

It was no use…he couldn’t fight whatever massive force was behind his demise. He sunk faster and faster into the depths and looked up to see the last light from the surface fade. His own light was fading as well. Muscles straining and cells dying from lack of oxygen, he was only barely able to see and comprehend what was beneath him.

A massive blob of flesh, tendrils, teeth and claws lay in wait for Hank. Each tendril so long he could never measure it, and they were all pointing upwards, fishing for more prey. The hungry beast at the bottom of the ocean finished reeling in its prize for the day, seemingly sucking its tendril, and Hank right along with it, back into its fleshy, disgusting body. The tiny human would barely account for 10% of the food this beast required to keep living each day, but it was enough to keep it going for a while longer. The monster had been stranded here for some time, hoping to catch enough prey to keep it alive. The beast directed its attention to another tendril as it felt something near the surface.