Noreen

Mussel

I freeze. My instincts scream at me to run back to the jeep, to call 911 and get help. I can hear mom's voice from ten years ago, desperate, pleading as I stood on the edge of our boat, staring at the partially submerged trawler smashed on the rocks. "Don't go in," she said as our boat bobbed in a rainy mist. "Don't make it harder on rescue crews."

There's a good chance I'm hearing things, that I'm projecting because I couldn't save Chris, that that thrashing grey form really belongs to a seal. That's a seal, I tell myself, trying to calm down.

And even if it wasn't,  its attacker absolutely is a shark.

A piercing, moaning plea splits the waning sunlight. "Help!"

And again, the sound strikes me, blasting over the gentle surf.

It can't be a seal. It can't.

"This is everything you're not supposed to do," I murmur, feeling a chill take my breath and run along my spine. My sneakers come off first, then the socks and jeans. I throw off my hoodie and waded into the dark waters. "Here!" I gasp, my lungs constricting at the rush of ice water. "I'm here.  You're not alone."

Ahead, the violent back and forth motions still. The splashing stops. Red waves crash against the shore.

Panic flickers in my heart as a tall waves rises against my chin and pushes me back toward shore. Am I too late? I wonder, my numb toes dragging along the sand, one slow kick away from treading water.  Blood, orange in the sunset, slaps my cheek on another wave.

I give another minute, yelling for the voice, then start heading back. There's a shark in the water, after all. A seagull screeches over ahead, and then there's just the wind and my frozen, wheezing breaths. I turn back toward my jeep, back toward civilization, and start to kick in with the waves.

 The water beside me smashes apart. A huge seal's head cuts through the surf with an awful screech. Ribbons of blood pour from its back as it twists and leaps. The weight of its body smacks my chin, plunging me into black water. Its muscular body wriggles and twists to escape me and I'm just as eager to escape from it. Something, not the shark, not the seal, pulls against my foot as I kick to the surface.

A rope. No, a net.

With closed eyes I reached down, feeling along my ankle, feeling my chest burn, feeling another force take hold as the seal dives toward deep water. Momentum goes in its favor, and I'm dragged right behind in the directionless pitch, spinning, catching weak gasps of air as my face breaks the surface and the waves crash down once more and the seal dives again.

The net slips. My foot burns as it slides out, and there's fresh blood in the water. I kick for the surface, burst beneath the darkening sky and orient myself toward land, toward the glint of sun on my windshield. Not a far swim, not a bad swim. I can make it. I have to make it.

The seal's head bobs to the surface twenty feet away. Its brown eyes—large like a fawn's and just as innocent—seem to watch me. Then it drops below, resurfaces before me, sluggishly rolling onto its bloody stomach, showing off the net and a horrific bite. The blue steel of a hook is wedged underneath one flipper.

"No way, buddy," I say, grabbing an edge of net and pulling it with me toward the shore. "We need dry land for this."

It's slow progress, hauling in the weakening seal and myself through the cold twilight. And every so often out of the corner of my eye a wave breaks with a distinctive fin-shape. If the hairs on the back of my neck weren't wet against my skin, I'd have goosebumps.

Finally, at last, my toes brush the sand again. The seal swims, partially exhausted, more just floating, about three feet behind me, as far as the net allows. As I get firm footing and turn to walk it in, something rough brushes my leg. When I look down, I can't see my leg in the grey surface, just a dark shape where it's supposed to be, and the pale, rolled eye of a shark. Adrenaline sets in. Pressure mounts as it thrashes, flips me off my feet. Blindly I punch my fingers into the darkness around my leg. The jaws release. Crimson clouds the water.

The seal grips my arm so hard it punctures skin. With a tremendous tug it hauls me through the surf, until cold air nips my knees and I scramble backward the rest of the way. With a strained, terrible sigh it lurches beside me, muscles twitching where sharp teeth had sliced through.

Sand sticks to my leg as I lift it up, wincing, too numb to feel the pain I knew would come. The thick muscle of my calf is split in several spots like fleshy rose petals—but I had my leg. Stitches, I thought, but I could live through this.

Maybe that's the optimist in me speaking, I decide as the sight of blood and bone makes my stomach shiver and I puke. I feel nauseous. The stars above us flicker and dim and disappear. The night sky blends with the ocean, and then the sand, and I realize I'm a lot worse off than I think.

It's a November night. There's no one here to help me.

I have to help myself.

Somehow, I manage to get onto my feet, dragging my leg as the numbness starts to tingle and burn. My phone lays tucked away in the pocket of the hoodie. I scramble forward, collapse when my leg fails, and drag myself the rest of the way. Once my sticky fingers grip the soft sweatshirt material, the phone call's quick. I just have to make tourniquet, apply pressure, and wait until the ambulance arrived.

The seal grunts, and I remember its condition is just as bad. Once I've done my best to wrap  my calf, I crawl back to the seal, who looks about as dizzy and dazed as I feel. Carefully, I reach out and lay a hand on its chest. The big body quivers at my touch. It lifts its head around to look at me, and then drops back down on its side. 

"Sorry, buddy," I murmur, feeling for the spot where the hook had sank in. There's only way to get it out on short notice. Bracing my hand against its cold flesh, I feel for the shape of the steel and rip it out.

The seal barks, turning in a violent motion that sends blood and pink flesh into my face. It flashes its teeth at me, lunges forward, and collapses back onto the sand inches from my face.

Underneath the ripped grey pelt is a smoother, paler skin. The seal shivers, and the rest of its skin loosens and sags into the sand, pouring off like rippled water. Stretched out in its place is a naked, unconscious man.

Clutching my calf, I apply more pressure, close my eyes and count to ten and ground my thoughts in agonized heartbeats. I'm losing it. I'm hallucinating. Where was the ambulance?

When I dare to look again, there's still a naked man laying on top of a bloody seal skin. Only now his soft brown eyes are peering into mine.