The roar of the engine, the hiss of the air brakes, and the lurching starts and stops cemented Zayzann’s first impression of riding a city bus. His nausea and discomfort worsened with every stop on the route, and he braced against the metallic interior to stabilize himself. He couldn’t even distract himself by reading articles on the shared cellphone, as the bumps in the road jostled the device and aggravated his motion sickness. This bus was, quite possibly, the most abominable technology ever conceived by humanity.
And she rode this to and from work EVERY DAY?
His opinion of Iris improved even more than he could have imagined. It was certain that humans were an adaptable lot, and they would have to be, if this were their alternative to sprouting wings for long distance travel. How Iris could stand the many hours cooped up in this rattling coffin was beyond him. Zayzann stuffed the cellphone into the bottom of the tattered messenger bag and failed to notice the influx of new text messages that vibrated the device in the bag.
Zayzann’s stomach churned and roiled from discomfort and hunger as the bus pulled up to the Port-Side bus shelter. He lumbered off the fiendish contraption and toddled toward the public beach down the way, while he watched his tiny shadow at his feet trail beside him. He kicked pebbles and rocks until he hit the sand, then removed the loaned shoes Iris had kept from her ex-boyfriend and trod barefoot in the warm sand. The river was broad and tranquil, extending its reach with rhythmic waves that moistened the grainy sand of the peaceful beach.
The familiar scent of fresh water carried on a sparse breeze and delicately caressed Zayzann’s skin as he neared the shoreline. For a moment, he was reminded of home. Zhalterra had its fair share of beaches, but none compared to the picturesque, settled beaches of Earth. He found a secluded outcropping on the vast beach and squirreled away the tattered messenger bag out of sight. There weren’t any people around, but he felt better knowing that his belongings were stowed away from interlopers.
Zayzann stripped down to little more than his underwear and shoved the black V-neck and his cargo pants into the messenger bag before treading out to meet the weather-warmed waters. In his hand was the mesh bag that Curtis had delivered Iris’s oranges in, and Zayzann intended to fill it to bursting. He took a deep breath before diving into the river with the bag in hand. The depths were much colder than the shallows, and Zayzann winced at the bracing chill as he delved to the deepest recesses of the river bottom. Zayzann’s eyes peered easily into the darkest corners, and he spied a terrific buffet of fish swimming in and out of the underwater plants all around him.
His human form was poorly suited to catch fish, so he took considerable pains to shift his arms, legs, and tail into their natural state while still under water. Zayzann’s human ears pressed back as he tensed his muscles and concentrated on this special, localized shifting. Even Khazmine was ignorant of this finely honed skill he’d cultivated, and Zayzann made expert use of it now. With a flick of his sturdy tail and kicks from powerful legs, Zayzann churned the waters behind him and darted among the vegetation to pounce on his prey. His elegant pitches and turns resembled a frantic, fearsome underwater dance that left the waters bloody and turbid.
Zayzann surfaced occasionally for air, and to reorient himself to the beach. As soon as his lungs filled once more, he dashed back to catch more fish, latching onto the unprepared animals with vicious talons and eager claws. The mesh bag soon swelled with a bounty of fish, and only then had Zayzann noticed how far he’d drifted from the shore. His vision narrowed and blurred at the edges as his concept of the horizon pitched at a steep angle. He was losing control and could feel it.
Hunger had played a cruel trick on Zayzann by spurning him to this desperate hunt and leaving him with little energy to get back to shore. Exhausted from his repeated deep dives, a disorienting dizziness and painful weakness settled on his body. His arms and legs screamed for rest and comfort, but he refused them, and treaded water to keep from plunging back under the choppy waves. Zayzann felt his prize begin to slip through his fingers, only to be startled into wakefulness at the unexpected appearance of a huge, fluorescent-orange ring drop down near his head.
“Hang in there, mister!” A strained voice called from the inline fishing boat behind Zayzann, who grasped onto the strange ring for support on impulse. “Grab onto the floatie! Come on, that’s it!”
“Pleece!” Zayzann choked between mouthfuls of unwanted water. “Help!”
“Hold tight now, ya hear?” The older man called out as he heaved backwards with his hands pulling adamantly on the rope. “I won’t let ya drown.”
Zayzann’s thrashing in the water obscured his shifted limbs from being spotted, and he called on the last reserves of his energy to transform into his human self. The older man at the prow of the ship grunted as he tugged on the hempen rope to recover the weary, shifted Paxoram, jerking the line up mightily with every bit of strength he had. Zayzann emerged from the water, still clinging to the orange ring, and struggling to keep his hold on the mesh bag.
The older man wheezed and strained to pull Zayzann on board, pausing only briefly to catch his breath between tugs. After a protracted struggle, the angler managed to haul Zayzann onto the boat, drenching the deck with fresh water and causing the weary Paxoram to slip and fall. Zayzann floundered to reach for the perimeter guard railing and prevent himself from falling overboard, finally losing his grip on his catch. The mesh bag plummeted from his feeble grasp and splashed into the angry waters below. Zayzann coughed up a mouthful of water before reaching back to grab at the long-gone bag of fish.
“No-no-no! Our food! No!” Zayzann lunged ineffectively from his crouched position towards the water. “Not the fish!”
“Hey there! Are ya crazy? Ya almost drowned.” The fisher clasped his rope-burned fingers around Zayzann’s smooth skin and pulled him away from the edge of the modest fishing boat. “Just let it go, man! Ya gotta let it go.”
“No! We need it! Pleece, we need that fish!” Zayzann slumped limply to his hands and knees and let out a pained, heart-rending peel of tearful cries. “Pleece…”
It had all been for nothing. The distressing bus ride, the bone-chilling cold, and the feverish struggle to catch food all came to naught. Zayzann’s body shook from shoulders to knees with spasmatic shivers between deep gasps and sorrowful sobs. It was only a bag full of fish, truly, that’s all that it was. But it was also the first promise of a meal he’d had all day, and the first tangible contribution he could have made to help feed his fellow roommates.
The moment he’d dropped his fish into the river, Zayzann’s mouth flooded with the taste of ashes. Losing his entire catch was the most despicable of failures, and he spiraled into sadness at his shortfall. Zayzann shivered and tensed at the thought of how disappointed Iris would be at his lack of success, driving him to the depths of anguish. It was much the same as back home, where unsuccessful hunters returned from their forays to find themselves abandoned by watch-mates and peers. The piercing dread left Zayzann a hollow husk of a person, unable to pry himself from his own feelings of inferiority at dropping the bag.
The elder fisherman retrieved a towel for Zayzann and returned to find him in the throes of despair, trembling and convulsing from an inner pain he knew all too well. Zayzann raised both hands to his face and collapsed into violent tears that surprised the older man with their intensity and volume. The Paxoram was going to give himself a terrible headache from this carrying on, and the fisherman wanted him to stop, if for that and no other reason. A coarse towel that reeked of bleach and ineffective fabric softener encircled Zayzann and the fisherman began rubbing the towel against his quivering body.
“There now. That’s better, isn’t it? Just calm down now, will ya?” He continued the vigorous rubbing as a surprised Zayzann looked on with his mouth agape. “All that noise for a few little fish. Ya’d think ya lost a great white whale out there. Come on now, that’s it. No more tears.”
“But we need it…” Zayzann clutched at his head once more. His muscles screamed at him from the exertion and overuse, but his headache and hunger panged loudest of all. “My family are hungry. That was—”
“I know, lad. I get it, I do.” The fisherman turned to face Zayzann, whose shivering diminished with a deep sigh. “Who says ya gotta go away hungry, eh? What kinda outfit ya think I’m runnin’ around here?”
The fisherman gestured to his humble kingdom of a boat, littered with tools and equipment for fishing the river’s immense expanse. He stood proudly at the prow of his vessel and pointed to a heap of fish in a tight mesh net. The man reached in with his rope-burned hand and grabbed onto a plump, silver-colored fish and handed it to Zayzann.
“Here, take it, son.” He pressed the fish into Zayzann’s shaking hand and used his other hand to give the Paxoram an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “See? There’s plenty to go ‘round. No sense killin’ yourself over a mess of fish now, is there?”
Zayzann’s stomach burbled and growled loudly as he inhaled the tantalizing scent of food. Without a second thought, Zayzann bit into the fish and began rasping at the exposed flesh, much to the fisherman’s surprise. Shame and manners eluded Zayzann at present, and he was a slave to hunger and impulse. The fisherman scratched at the back of his head and ran a hand over the short gray stubble of his three-day beard.
“Man alive, you weren’t kiddin’.” He shook his head at the shocking display of desperation from Zayzann. “You must be starving to not even wait to cook it. Aren’t you afraid of getting sick, son?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Zayzann, as his immune system was decidedly superior to a regular human’s defenses, and he was already resistant to most bacteria and disease, by virtue of his genetic adaptability. He continued, undaunted by worries of contamination. Mouthfuls of fish eased Zayzann’s spirits, and he filled his belly as fast as he could. With the carcass stripped clean of any flesh, Zayzann took a deep breath and looked up at the kindly salt of a man who’d saved him.
“Thank you, sir.” Zayzann squinted up at the outline of the man, ringed in harsh, afternoon sunlight. “For saving me, and for the food.”
“T’weren’t nothing, friend.” The man replied. “So, what’s your name, son? Mine’s Gerald, but the fellas all call me ‘Gerry’.”
“Zayne.” Zayzann swallowed harshly. The taste of fresh fish lingered in his mouth, and he eyed the mesh net with interest. “Zayne Alcazar.”
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