Octopocalypse
Authors: Joseph J. Bailey
Octopocalypse
Joseph J. Bailey
First Edition: September
2014
ISBN: 978-0-9894582-8-3
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, ideas, and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Joseph J. Bailey. All rights
reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. No part of this document or the
related files may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, by any
means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without
the prior written permission of the both the copyright owner and publisher of
this book.
If you have this file (or a printout) and did not pay
for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties.
Please pay for your authorized copy by purchasing it through the appropriate
retail channels.
Cover design by Joseph J. Bailey.
For more information on Joe and his works, please
visit his
website
or like him on his
Facebook
Author’s Page
.
Thank you and enjoy!
Author’s Note
:
Before there was
Sharknado
, before there was
Sharktopus
,
before
Ghost Shark 2
(the trailer), even before
Mega Piranha
,
there was
Octopocalypse
.
Or at least the idea.
This novella had to be written. Please forgive my
complete disregard for the laws of physics, chemistry, ecology, and good taste.
And, for the record, I love cephalopods.
To those who smile
even when things are bad.
Contents
If the thought of eating imitation calamari made from pigs’
anuses disgusts you, then knowing you could become part of a squid’s rectum
can’t be much better.
These are the joys of living in the Octopocalypse.
This is my job day in and day out.
Sometimes I’d rather be unemployed.
My name is Willard P. Hayes and I’m a sheriff.
Usually being a sheriff means keeping law and order and
upholding the peace.
When there’s no peace to be had, you just hold on to what
you can.
“Watch this, Hank!”
“Watch what?”
“Just watch!”
“I’m watchin’!”
The boat rocked gently back and
forth, rolling with the low waves, as he angled the signal light down to point
into the black waters. The beam hummed to life with a decisive click as he
powered the beam on and watched it disappear into the depths.
“Here we go!”
“We’re not goin’ anywhere, Ray.
The engine’s off!”
“Just shut up and drink your beer,
Hank. I’m workin’ on it!”
Moving the spotlight steadily back
and forth beside the boat, he waited for any sign of movement.
“Can we get back to fishin’, Ray?
I don’t really care about shinin’ lights into the water… reminds me how deep it
is. It’s not like I get to come out often. I haven’t been out on the ocean in
years.”
He ignored Hank’s blabbering. Try
to show a friend a good time and all he gets in return is a bunch of whining…
Next time he wouldn’t bother.
“Ray, you see somethin’ down
there?”
He smiled.
Now for the fun!
Almost invisible in the wavering
deep, faint red and white oscillating pinpricks of illuminescence appeared to
be darting around the searchlight’s glow far below.
“I think I see somethin’. Shine
that light over here!”
He angled the light toward where
Hank leaned over the boat’s prow.
“Lookit, Ray! There’re red lights
everywhere! They’re comin’ closer!”
His grin nearly spread ear to ear.
Hank looked at him briefly, his
look of astonishment clouding. “What’re you smirkin’ about?”
“Those’re Humboldt squid, Hank.
They flash red and white when they’re huntin’. That’s why some fishermen call ’em
diablo rojo
.”
“Red devils? What’re they
huntin’?”
“Right now the light’s foolin’ ’em.
They probably think it’s a school of fish.”
“They’re comin’ up!”
Hank was right. The lights were
coming toward the surface quickly. This was quite a large shoal.
Hank’s tone was grim. “Let’s get
out of here, Ray! I don’t like this.”
“There’s nothin’ to be afraid of,
Hank. They’re just squid.”
“I don’t care. Let’s go.”
“All right. Give me a minute to
start the engine.”
Turning off the signal light, he
walked up to the steering wheel to turn the ignition, grumbling. It was just
like Hank to be a spoilsport. He’d been complaining since high school.
Some things never change.
Next time he would go fishing
alone.
Weaving between the bowrider’s two
seats, where Hank stood looking out to port, he placed his left hand on the
steering wheel and turned the key with his right.
He heard a splash just as the
engines revved to life.
Glancing left, he asked, “You okay,
Hank?”
“Yeah!” Hank’s response came
clearly over the sound of the engines’ roar. “What the hell was that? Are there
flyin’ fish out here, Ray?”
“None that I’ve heard of. Why?”
“Thought I saw somethin’ fly out
of the water.”
Easing back on the throttle as the
boat started moving forward, he called out, “Must be some fish the Humboldts
scared up.”
Turning the steering wheel to
angle toward shore, he ducked reflexively as a blur flashed across his vision.
Before he could follow the motion or its accompanying sound as it cut through
the air, he heard a wet smack, and Hank screamed and fell overboard.
He let go of the throttle and reached
out in a futile effort to catch his friend, then jumped up toward where Hank
fell in.
The water churned and frothed as
red and white luminescence swarmed about his friend, moving farther and farther
below the surface.
With a half-choked scream, he
jumped back into the pilot’s seat and sped to shore.
“Ray, have you been drinking?”
Sherriff Willard Hayes’s deep voice
briefly roused him from his stupor.
“Yes, Sheriff.”
“Not now, you idiot! While you
were on the boat.”
Sherriff Hayes was a big man.
When he spoke, you listened.
They had played football together
in high school. Willard had wrecked the opposition on the defensive line. Ray merely
got in people’s way.
Much like now.
“No, Willard. Hank was drinkin’.
Not me.”
“And you don’t think his state of
intoxication was the reason he fell overboard?”
“Like I told you, he didn’t fall
overboard. A jet squid flyin’ through the air knocked him overboard.”
Sheriff Hayes snorted. “You
allege
that a squid, propelled by air forced out of its siphon, knocked him overboard.
But it was dark, there was no moon, and your spotlight was off.”
“There are some squids that can
shoot out of the water. Maybe this was one.”
“Be reasonable, Ray.”
He could tell by Willard’s flat
tone that the sheriff believed him about as much as he believed UFOs cavorted
in the bay alongside the Humboldt squids. “I know what I saw, Sheriff.” As his
frustration grew, his voice got louder. “When Hank fell in, he was swarmed by
those glowing red devils and eaten! Just as sure as shit!”
“Is that really what you want us
to tell Hank’s family? Jim and Sally? Julia? His kids? That glowing Humboldt
jet squids flying through the air killed their son, their husband, their
father?”
“You know what to say better than
me, Will. Tell ’em it’s under investigation. Tell ’em it’s my fault.”
He sighed, head in his hands. “Because
it is. I never should’ve taken him out. We should’ve just stayed in and watched
the game.”
The Sheriff was not impressed. “Something
happened out there, Hank. I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
He wanted nothing to do with
getting to the bottom of anything.
Most especially the ocean.
If he didn’t have to stay, he
would already be long gone.
The county pier was one of his
favorite places to go with his friends.
He loved the easy access to the
water should they want to swim or hang out on the beach.
But it was also a destination.
A place providing something to do
if they needed it.
The pier always felt like the
focal point for his friends’ summer activities.
If they were surfing the break and
hungry, they could grab a bite to eat at Ruby’s.
If they caught some fish in the surf
or from the pier, they could save them for a sunset cookout after calling in
more friends to hang out, goof off, watch the sun burn out among the reds and
oranges of the ocean’s horizon, and laze away the warm summer nights with laughter
and camaraderie.
The pier was always there.
A welcome background.
A friend standing silent vigil
whether you asked him to or not.
The pier was there and it felt
like home.
Until today.
Today the world ended, and he
didn’t know if he would ever get it back.
“Come on, Mike! Cast your line and
get started. The fish aren’t waiting for your sorry ass!”
He could take Chris’s abuse. After
all, this was one of the few places Chris could let go. When he went home,
things would get serious quick and all jokes would be off.
He always encouraged Chris’s
moods. As far he knew it was one of his only releases.
Today was no different.
He took things real slow.
“Did you remember your sunscreen?”
When Chris just raised an eyebrow,
he smirked and added, “Because we’re going to be here a l
ong
time!”
His joke was met with a playful
punch in the shoulder.
“Shut up and cast, man!”
He took his time, drawing things
out, looking down at the waves over the pier’s railing as if studying the
perfect spot to lay his line.
“Okay. I’m not waiting for you any
longer, you poser. You just pretend to know how to fish. Stand back and watch
how it’s done!”
“The only thing I’ll be watching
is you hauling up another load of seaweed. I hear you supply all the
nori
to Yoshi’s in town.”
Chris shook his head. “At least I
catch something. All you do is make sure the bottom feeders have full bellies.
You always were a bleeding heart, finding ways to give to those in need.”
Chris had him pegged there. More
so than he probably knew.
“All right. Here goes.” Mike wound
up and let go a beautiful cast, his line arcing long and far, just like the
balls he liked to throw on the field.
“Beaut, loser. Are you aiming for
the shore or just trying to catch a swimmer?”
Chris was on a roll today. Mike was
going to have to step his game up or else his friend’s head might swell two
sizes larger than it already was.
“I see you’ve caught your first
shoe,” Mike said. Chris’s line bent noticeably. “If you hadn’t been so busy
trying to cool off by letting out hot air you might have noticed. At least
you’ll be halfway to replacing those sad sandals you wear to protect your
bunions.”
Chris’s sandals
were
in
pretty bad shape. Worse than most. But everyone wore grungy stuff anyway.
What else would you wear to the
beach?
“Your shoes have so many holes
that I have to wear cologne just to mask the smell.”
I snorted. “And I put on my dad’s
prescription sunglasses just so I can’t see your crab claws.”
“Weak one, Mike.”
“Just shut up and reel in your
tire. Maybe you’ll get a new one for your bike. You need it.”
“I’m trying, idiot. If you’d actually
been paying attention, you’d see I’m struggling here. It’s only my superhuman
strength that masks my efforts.”
His rod
was
bent pretty far
down.
“Doesn’t look like you’re making
any headway.”
“Doesn’t feel like it either.
Whatever this is, it’s not getting tired. It’s almost like it hasn’t even
noticed I have it hooked.”
Now
that
was a scary
thought.
“Wanna cut your line and start
over?”
“And miss out finding out what
this is? Maybe it’s a chest of pirate’s booty!”
“There isn’t pirate’s booty on the
West Coast, you idjit! At least not any for you!”
Chris was starting to sweat.
His rod wasn’t faring much better.
Much more effort and his line would snap. He and Mike hadn’t brought the
serious pound test.
“Want me to spell you?”
“And let you share in the glory?
No way!”
That’s when he noticed a shadow in
the water.
A
big
shadow.
“Uh, Chris.” Chris obviously
hadn’t noticed. “I don’t think you’re bringing that up.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look down, man.”
The shadow was getting bigger.
So were Chris’s eyes.
“Maybe you should cut the line,
man. You’re not reeling that in.”
“And miss seeing what it is? No
way!”
I already had an idea of what it
was.
An octopus.
And a darn big one.
A giant Pacific octopus could
weigh as much as a grown man. And this one looked like a contender.
“It’s an octopus, dude. There’s no
way you’re getting that thing up. Just let it go.”
Chris exhaled with a sigh, letting
his arms relax. “You’re probably right.”
“If we were by the water and had a
net handy, I’d say go for it. But thirty feet is an awful long way to haul up a
ceph that size on your sad little line.”
Chris smiled, setting his rod in
one of the pier’s rod holders. “Let me get my knife.”
“I’ve got it.” I reached into my
pocket and brought out my grandfather’s old deer antler handled pocketknife. I
carried it with me whether I had pockets or not.
I had a lot of fond memories of
Paps. Him showing me how to use this knife was one.
I cut Chris’s line easily. I made
sure to keep my knife sharp and ready just like Pap said it should always be.
Chris sulked. “You’re right, you
know. I never catch anything. I thought today was my day.”
I didn’t say anything. Mostly
because he was right. I could have put him down then. The moment was perfect,
but I didn’t have the heart. After all, friends are really there to lift each
other up as much as we enjoy putting each other down.
So I tried.
“Day’s not over yet.”
He looked at me with a wicked
grin. Plenty of fight left in him.
“Besides, you’re with
me
. I
always take care of you.”
He snorted derisively.
“We’ll be eating mackerel or bass in
no time!” I added.
“
You’ll
be eating mackerel.
I’d rather have a burger from Ruby’s.”
I laughed. “You’ve got a point
there!”
He pointed downward. “Hey! Our
octopus has left! He’s coming up!”
Man, was it ever! The thing kept
getting bigger. Pacific octopuses didn’t get that big. Not even giant ones.
“Dude! Get your phone out! This
could be a record!”
I didn’t want to let him down,
although it would be pretty tough to judge the thing’s size from up here.
I started filming nonetheless.
Chris’s brow furrowed. “That thing
is moving fast! It’s angling away from us!”
But it still looked to be getting
bigger as it neared the surface.
With a violent splash the thing
broke the water.
And kept coming.
It was gigantic.
A leviathan.
I wet my pants.
It was coming right at us.
“Get down!”
Chris didn’t hear me or didn’t
care. He was in awe.
“Holy shit, man! An octocopter!”
He was, unbelievably,
frighteningly, unfortunately, right.
“Get the fuck down, Chris!”
I reached over and pulled his
t-shirt.
As worn out as his sandals, it
ripped.
“Shit!” I said.
“An octocopter!” he said more
quietly, in disbelief.
The thing whirled back around
through the air like a boomerang, spinning faster than my eyes could track,
throwing off clouds of water like a sprinkler.
And then it took my best friend
Chris away from me in a whirling vortex of lashing tentacles and blood.