Dave Freedman - Natural Selection

Dave Pelligro smiled at his date. “We’ll get there soon.”

Theresa nodded, eyeing the tree-lined shore. “I’m not in a rush.”

But Dave was in a rush, or at least his stomach was. Gabby had made some special salami, ham, and cheese sandwiches just for him, and he couldn’t wait to devour them. He squinted behind his ninety-dollar sunglasses, trying to see the western tip. “I think I see it.” It was just off the black rocks, right near the pack of seagulls.

But then Dave saw something else. Something leaped out of the ocean then flopped right back in. A single animal. He squinted anew. What the hell was that? A jumping fish? He walked to the bow and pulled off his shades. Only birds were there now. He decided not to mention it.

As they motored closer, Gabby eyed the seagulls herself. “Keep away from those birds, Chad. We don’t want them pestering us.”

“Yeah, I wish I had a gun.” And the pseudoyachtsman meant this; the damn birds were in the exact spot in which he wanted to anchor. But as they rumbled closer, the birds scattered, and Chad didn’t consider why. “Hey, Dave, get the anchor.”

“OH MAN, I’m stuffed.”

They’d just finished lunch, and Dave Pelligro was proud of how much he’d eaten. Standing next to Chad, he glanced at Gabby and Theresa, in bikinis now and stretched out on lounge chairs in the back of the boat. “I could go for a little sun myself.”

Chad nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a sec.” He wasn’t in the mood to tan yet. As Dave joined the women, Chad leaned over the guardrail and stared at the sea. It felt good to get away from the office. He blew out a deep breath and watched the tiny breaking waves. He didn’t notice the wind pick up.

THE WINGED creature was fifteen feet below the boat, its horned head pointed straight up. Its eyes were wide open, but it didn’t see Chad. It didn’t even see the boat. It was blind. A mutant gene had led to the deficiency, just as it occasionally did in humans.

The creature was by itself now, every one of its brethren long gone, many thousands of feet away. This one hadn’t leaped from the sea earlier because it hadn’t been able to. With all the churning caused by the others, it had become disoriented and literally couldn’t figure out which way was up. But it had a sense of direction now. It could feel the wind.

It began to rise. Slowly at first. Then much faster.

I HOPE the wind dies down, Chad thought, eyeing the ripples as a gust blew his collar back. He suddenly squinted. What is that? It was something ten feet down. He leaned over the guardrail to get a better look.

It looked like a pair of beer bottles. Litterbugs, he thought. But then he saw the bottles were rising. Rather fast. Wait, they weren’t bottles at all. Jesus Christ, they were eyes!

He jolted away frantically.

Noticing, Gabby rose from her chair. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Dave stood. “You OK, Chad?”

Chad backed away as fast as he could when suddenly a thick winged ray shot out of the sea. It simultaneously caught the wind, then, out of control, blew straight toward him.

Trying to get away from it, Chad backed up faster but tripped and fell.

The thing rushed closer.

He tried to get up but couldn’t.

It was going to land on him….

And then it did. Catching his arm and the deck.

“Jesus!” He yanked his arm away but quickly realized he was all right. Breathing in gasps, he just watched it.

They were all watching it.

DAVE PELLIGRO thought it was a cool-looking creature, its entire body—horned head, torso, and wings—a single, seamless aerodynamic form. Flat on the white fiberglass deck, it looked like one of those black army planes he’d seen pictures of. What were they called again, stealth bombers? This thing was a miniature version, albeit with horns the size of shot glasses sticking out of its head. It had the rough dimensions of a fat Sunday paper, nearly as thick in its middle, its longest side across the wings, which tapered to cardboard thickness at their tips.

It didn’t move. It simply lay on the textured white fiberglass.

Dave had never seen anything like it. “What the hell is it?”

Chad rubbed some slime off his arm. “Who cares what it is? Just throw it off my boat.”

“I’m not picking that thing up.”

They all slowly circled it, maybe ten feet away. Gabby stepped closer, peering down. It was a tough-looking little thing, muscular and solidly built, maybe twenty pounds. She surveyed its entire body when she noticed its eyes. They were the size of golf balls, cold and black, lodged in deep sockets at the base of the horns. They were horrifying eyes.

How come it’s not moving? she wondered. Was it dead? She leaned in even closer and studied the skin. It was jet-black and slick, like wet vinyl. “It’s pretty cool-looking, isn’t it?”

Then she heard something. It was making a noise of some kind, and she tilted her head curiously. “ What’s that sound?”

Chad felt nervous. His wife’s face was getting close to it and he gently tugged her arm. “Just get away from it, Gabby.”

Dave suddenly leaned down. “I think I hear it too.” He stepped closer, listening. The creature was emitting a wheezing sound, labored but slow and steady, apparently coming from underneath it. Dave dropped into a push-up position and watched it from another angle. The little form was gently rising and falling. He studied it for several moments then stood, visibly stunned. “Jesus Christ.”

Chad turned, annoyed. “What?”

“I’m not sure but it looks like… It’s breathing.”

“It’s not dead. Why shouldn’t it be breathing?”

Dave gave his friend a you’re-a-moron glare. “Because fish don’t breathe air, Chad.”

“Maybe it’s still removing oxygen from the water in its gills.”

Dave turned to Theresa, surprised by the sophistication of her comment. “What?”

Theresa inched toward it. She’d been watching the creature more closely than anyone. “I think it’s some sort of ray.”

Theresa was the youngster on the boat, her college days only a few years behind her. A University of Southern California grad, she’d once taken a course called Introduction to Oceanography and Ichthyology. Oceanography referred to the ocean’s physical geography; ichthyology, to the study of fish. The creature on the white fiberglass was definitely some sort of ray, Theresa knew. Rays were cousins of sharks. Most rays were docile except electric rays and stingrays. But Theresa was certain this animal was neither of those. She didn’t see a barbed tail. Many rays looked like disks or tiny flying saucers, with varying degrees of thickness. They varied tremendously in size. Some were huge, literally as big as small planes, others smaller than a human hand.

I’ve got a pretty good memory, Theresa thought, congratulating herself. She didn’t recognize this particular ray, but there were tons of different species. This one was certainly thick. Her eyes settled on the horns. Unlike those on a kid’s Halloween devil costume, these horns didn’t stick up and out of the flattish head. Rather, they were parallel to it, flat against the boat deck and part of the body’s same seamless form. The horns looked familiar, but Theresa couldn’t say why. She again noticed that the creature didn’t have a tail, so it definitely wasn’t a stingray. How harmful could it be?

“Why don’t we just toss it back in?”

Chad nearly laughed. “Be my guest.”

Theresa shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much to worry about.”

Dave and Gabby shared a look. Yes, Theresa was a crazy woman.

“Most rays are docile,” the crazy woman said. “I’m sure it will be fine.” She circled behind it. Then reached toward its back.