Breaking
“And so I explained to her that I was trying to work,” Sal said. “But you know, it’s somethin’ about you octolings. I really couldn’t blow her off.” The rustling of food-filled wax paper in Sal’s hands added itself to the city soundscape of voices, footsteps and other forms of noise pollution as he spoke, followed by the soft crunch of teeth into fried snacks. Beside Sal stood his friend (buddy? acquaintance?) of many, many years:Tripp. Tripp burst out laughing at the ‘octoling’ remark and nearly dropped his own greasy meal. Someone flashed him a look as they walked past, and he shot them a wide grin in response.
“Was it that funny?” Sal grunted sarcastically.
“No,” Tripp answered without hesitation. “Well, it’s funny to imagine someone is capable of moving your stone-cold heart. But sometimes I just laugh to get you to shut the hell up.” He gestured at the news broadcast playing from a window shop nearby. “I’m trying to focus on what’s going on there.”
“From across the street?” Sal snorted. “Go over there and look instead of telling me to shut up, moron.”
“Fuck you.”
Mere moments after this dubiously spiteful exchange, Tripp and Sal found themselves at the storefront Tripp had pointed to moments ago. “See, look,” Tripp mumbled over a bite of food. “There’s something going on with Grizzco.”
Sal furrowed his brows, his gaze fixed on the TV Tripp gestured to without actually taking any of the information in. “You had us walk over here to watch an ad for Grizzco? Don’t you think I get enough of work without having to watch it in my free time?” He turned away to resume people watching and sank his teeth into his food.
“Would you look at the damned broadcast?” Tripp laughed with a few unnecessarily strong slaps on Sal’s shoulder. “That’s not an ad. Somebody crazy is out there. Wow, look at ‘em go!”
In lieu of a retort, Sal returned the gesture with a hard swing of his own and focused his attention on whatever had his octoling acquaintance in a tizzy. On the large, HD display above them was the image of salmonid’s murky green waters with a ragtag boat tearing through them. It was certainly odd, but not interesting, and Sal turned to look at Tripp just to roll his eyes at him. The octoling took another bite of his food and swallowed it down without sparing longer than a second or two to chew, then pointed at the TV again. “Hang the fuck on, keep looking.”
“That’s what I’m doing, keep your panties on,” Sal said dryly. “Why the hell is there a boat out on the water? Those were ruled unsafe and made obsolete ages ago.”
“Maybe they’ll tell us if you look for more than three exact seconds.”
The inkling and octoling’s eyes kept a steady pace of flicking from image to closed-caption bar text as the televised scenes continued to play out. ‘WE ARE JUST RECEIVING WORD THAT THE THIEF HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED’ the text read. ‘AS A TWENTY YEAR-OLD WHITE INKLING MALE NAMED--’
A pale palm slapped the glass as the signal suddenly went out. Just as Tripp howled in agitation, Sal hit the window one more time for good measure and the picture magically returned in nearly an instant. In the brief moment of signal failure, the helicopter news crew seemed to have inched closer to the boat, just enough to finally zoom in and capture the movement of the now visibly decrepit fishing boat. The boat jumped as it met the crest of a small wave, and a panel of steel flew off the side and slid across the surface of the murky ocean before sinking pitifully in its opaque sludgy abyss.
“Holy shit,” Sal said with an edge of disbelieving laughter in his tone. “That guy’s gonna die out there. That boat’s barely hanging on.”
Tripp shot a glance at his friend. “You think so? That’s kind of scary, actually. I don’t wanna see anybody die.”
“Weird considering how desperately you were trying to watch this a moment ago.”
The pair ceased speaking immediately as text returned to the screen. ‘IT IS CURRENTLY UNKNOWN HOW HE GAINED ACCESS TO DECOMMISSIONED GRIZZCO BRAND FISHING BOATS. HIS INTENTIONS ARE ALSO UNKNOWN. RESCUE HELICOPTERS HAVE BEEN CALLED.’
“Just now!?” Tripp snorted. “Nobody thought to order a rescue as soon as they noticed a broken boat flying through death-water?”
The camera, which had been focused on the boat as it jerked and stuttered through increasingly churning waves, zoomed in closer until the inkling’s profile was much more clear. He was pale with slightly pink-tipped ears, a distinct lack of eyebrows, and a pair of long yellow tentacles tied up in a bun. He wore a sloppy-looking brown and yellow plaid button up and an equally shabby looking bandana. His eyes were bright yellow, tinged with red around the irises, and the skin around his eye mask seemed to be reddened. He looked quite ill.
“No fucking way,” Sal’s jaw dropped. “Zuna!?”
Tripp whipped his head around to look at Sal. “You know this guy!?”
Sal took a small step backward and shot a glance at the massive stairway behind them, as if he’d see Zuna wandering the square instead of in the collection of pixels he occupied on the TV before him. “Yeah,” Sal said, turning his head back to the screen. “He’s my coworker. That guy is obsessed with salmonids, he always tries to steal chum or smallfry and bring ‘em back. I think he wants to be one.” He curled his lip and shuddered. “He even named himself ‘Zuna’ after the Cohozuna. So fucking gross. How anyone can stand being in the presence of chum without killing it is beyond me.”
“Wow,” Tripp covered his mouth with a hand. “So you think he stole a boat to be one with his brethren?”
“I don’t think shit,” Sal answered. “Thinking about anything in that guy’s head is a waste of time.” As he said this, the boat on screen lurched violently and began to list.
“Oh, hell,” Tripp gasped, his fingers clenched around his forgotten meal and the other hand gripping his friend’s shoulder. “Dude, dude, dude, Sal, your coworker! He’s sinking!”
The two cephalopods watched with bated breath as the boat began to slowly but surely lose momentum and sink into the water. The water gushed and sloshed oddly at the base of the boat, and in a few moments, the figures of chum and cohocks became discernable as they rose from the water and attacked the ship. Tripp’s jaw was on the ground as he watched the salmonids beat mercilessly on the boat with pans and caused it to list harder. Shortly after they'd begun their assault, the boat came to a painful, dragging stop, and Zuna’s figure became visible as he abandoned the helm and climbed the side of the boat. Soon it was parallel to the water, and Zuna stood upon it as the salmonids surrounding him continued to pound dents into the sinking object. The closed captioning was eerily absent as the camera shook violently and a hand covered the lens just as the salmonids began to breach the shrinking surface of boat steel.
Tripp and Sal met one another’s eyes silently as the broadcast was suddenly interrupted by an advertisement. When the news returned, they had quietly moved on from the incident as if nothing had occurred.
“You…” Tripp murmured, just barely audible over the soundscape of city noise. “You think he’s gonna make it?”
Sal simply gazed back at him, genuinely rendered speechless. He shrugged a shoulder, took another bite of food and left the storefront. Tripp, dazed and awestruck, followed suit.