WHO CHEATED DEATH DIES IN HEROIC RESCUE
Rainwater grunted, flicking ash absently to the floor. He looked at the photograph of Mackay, one of him as he should be remembered, a broad, loud voiced man, tough as nails, but warm and friendly. Better at least than Rainwaters last memory, which was of him sitting on the ice, holding the slick coils and contents of his stomach one hand, whilst he smoked a cigarette with the other. Unlike the photograph on the mirror, Rainwaters last image of Mackay was of a frightened man who knew death was coming to him no matter what he did, and there was nothing that could be done about it. In the end, he had been the hero, and had destroyed the giant sea creature in the Antarctic ice cave when he triggered an explosive charge that brought down the roof, and ensuring that the oceans remained safe.
Of course, the government made up their own story to explain Mackay's death, which made headline news in Alaska at least. The wider world had bigger things to worry about than a fisherman. Even so, the official account of what happened was, quite simply, bullshit. The article pinned next to Mackay's photo told a story of how Mackay made a solo rescue attempt on a stranded government vessel called the Victorious , and sadly drowned after saving all but two men, who also went down with the ship. For the government, it was a nice tidy story. They managed to explain away the deaths of Mackay, Russo, and Dexter, along with the sinking of the Victorious without fanfare or anyone being willing or able to prove otherwise.
Rainwater reached for the beer cans on the table, shaking each in turn and hoping to find liquid in one of them. At the third attempt, he got lucky, and although it felt like less than a third of a can, it would do. He held the can towards the picture on the wall.
"Happy anniversary, Mac," he slurred under his breath. "I'll never forget what you did for me."
With that, he drained the remainder of the cheap booze, wincing at the taste. Stifling a sour belch, he tossed the can on the floor with the others and took another drag on his cigarette. He knew he needed to make a change, to get himself clean and back on track. He hated the perpetual misery of his existence. Most of the time, he was able to forget it and bury his head in the sand. Today however - on the anniversary of Mackay's death - the guilt of how much of a mess he had made of his life after everything his friend had sacrificed was almost too much to handle. He promised himself he would do it. He would prove it to Mackay, and do his memory proud. He would get off the booze and get healthy. He would make his life one worth living.
Just not today.
Today was a bad day to try something so extreme. Today was a hard day.
Tomorrow.
Yes, he agreed with the weak voice in his head. Definitely tomorrow. A fresh start. A new beginning. Twenty four hours from now, he promised himself he would start on his journey to be a new man. First, though, he just needed a little drink, just something to take the edge off and help him to get through his day.
Just one. For Mackay.
Yes. Just one more drink, then tomorrow, he would do what he had to. Tomorrow, he would get clean.
II
Tom lived in an apartment complex close to the Florida Keys. The gated property was hardly extravagant, but it was his and that made all the difference. The rent was low, and it was close to where he worked. Joanne had used her key to let herself in whilst her boyfriend was at work, and was sitting at the computer showing Fernando and his friends the evidence from her late night trip into the restricted area of the aquarium.
"You're sure it’s a blue whale?" Clayton said.
"No, I’m not sure at all. All I can show you is the photos I took. Either way, they're keeping something in there out of view of the public."
"So much for your sea monster," Marie said, nudging Clayton in the arm with her elbow.
Fernando looked at them, jealous of how close they were
Rainwater grunted, flicking ash absently to the floor. He looked at the photograph of Mackay, one of him as he should be remembered, a broad, loud voiced man, tough as nails, but warm and friendly. Better at least than Rainwaters last memory, which was of him sitting on the ice, holding the slick coils and contents of his stomach one hand, whilst he smoked a cigarette with the other. Unlike the photograph on the mirror, Rainwaters last image of Mackay was of a frightened man who knew death was coming to him no matter what he did, and there was nothing that could be done about it. In the end, he had been the hero, and had destroyed the giant sea creature in the Antarctic ice cave when he triggered an explosive charge that brought down the roof, and ensuring that the oceans remained safe.
Of course, the government made up their own story to explain Mackay's death, which made headline news in Alaska at least. The wider world had bigger things to worry about than a fisherman. Even so, the official account of what happened was, quite simply, bullshit. The article pinned next to Mackay's photo told a story of how Mackay made a solo rescue attempt on a stranded government vessel called the Victorious , and sadly drowned after saving all but two men, who also went down with the ship. For the government, it was a nice tidy story. They managed to explain away the deaths of Mackay, Russo, and Dexter, along with the sinking of the Victorious without fanfare or anyone being willing or able to prove otherwise.
Rainwater reached for the beer cans on the table, shaking each in turn and hoping to find liquid in one of them. At the third attempt, he got lucky, and although it felt like less than a third of a can, it would do. He held the can towards the picture on the wall.
"Happy anniversary, Mac," he slurred under his breath. "I'll never forget what you did for me."
With that, he drained the remainder of the cheap booze, wincing at the taste. Stifling a sour belch, he tossed the can on the floor with the others and took another drag on his cigarette. He knew he needed to make a change, to get himself clean and back on track. He hated the perpetual misery of his existence. Most of the time, he was able to forget it and bury his head in the sand. Today however - on the anniversary of Mackay's death - the guilt of how much of a mess he had made of his life after everything his friend had sacrificed was almost too much to handle. He promised himself he would do it. He would prove it to Mackay, and do his memory proud. He would get off the booze and get healthy. He would make his life one worth living.
Just not today.
Today was a bad day to try something so extreme. Today was a hard day.
Tomorrow.
Yes, he agreed with the weak voice in his head. Definitely tomorrow. A fresh start. A new beginning. Twenty four hours from now, he promised himself he would start on his journey to be a new man. First, though, he just needed a little drink, just something to take the edge off and help him to get through his day.
Just one. For Mackay.
Yes. Just one more drink, then tomorrow, he would do what he had to. Tomorrow, he would get clean.
II
Tom lived in an apartment complex close to the Florida Keys. The gated property was hardly extravagant, but it was his and that made all the difference. The rent was low, and it was close to where he worked. Joanne had used her key to let herself in whilst her boyfriend was at work, and was sitting at the computer showing Fernando and his friends the evidence from her late night trip into the restricted area of the aquarium.
"You're sure it’s a blue whale?" Clayton said.
"No, I’m not sure at all. All I can show you is the photos I took. Either way, they're keeping something in there out of view of the public."
"So much for your sea monster," Marie said, nudging Clayton in the arm with her elbow.
Fernando looked at them, jealous of how close they were
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