Octopocalypse

  Octopocalypse

  Joseph J. Bailey

  First Edition: September 2014

  ISBN: 978-0-9894582-8-3

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, ideas, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Joseph J. Bailey. All rights reserved worldwide under the Berne Convention. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the both the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  If you have this file (or a printout) and did not pay for it, you are depriving the author and publisher of their rightful royalties. Please pay for your authorized copy by purchasing it through the appropriate retail channels.

  Cover design by Joseph J. Bailey.

  For more information on Joe and his works, please visit his website or like him on his Facebook Author’s Page.

  Thank you and enjoy!

  Author’s Note:

  Before there was Sharknado, before there was Sharktopus, before Ghost Shark 2 (the trailer), even before Mega Piranha, there was Octopocalypse.

  Or at least the idea.

  This novella had to be written. Please forgive my complete disregard for the laws of physics, chemistry, ecology, and good taste.

  And, for the record, I love cephalopods.

  To those who smile even when things are bad.

  Contents

  Octopocalypse

  What the Hell?

  Jet Squid

  Octocopter

  Camoctopus

  Out for a Jog

  On the Beach

  Reinforcements

  A Moment to Plan

  Shit, Meet Fan

  Teuthological Tautology

  Origins

  Cephalostorm

  About the Author

  Author’s Final Note

  Octopocalypse

  If the thought of eating imitation calamari made from pigs’ anuses disgusts you, then knowing you could become part of a squid’s rectum can’t be much better.

  These are the joys of living in the Octopocalypse.

  This is my job day in and day out.

  Sometimes I’d rather be unemployed.

  My name is Willard P. Hayes and I’m a sheriff.

  Usually being a sheriff means keeping law and order and upholding the peace.

  When there’s no peace to be had, you just hold on to what you can.

  What the Hell?

  “Watch this, Hank!”

  “Watch what?”

  “Just watch!”

  “I’m watchin’!”

  The boat rocked gently back and forth, rolling with the low waves, as he angled the signal light down to point into the black waters. The beam hummed to life with a decisive click as he powered the beam on and watched it disappear into the depths.

  “Here we go!”

  “We’re not goin’ anywhere, Ray. The engine’s off!”

  “Just shut up and drink your beer, Hank. I’m workin’ on it!”

  Moving the spotlight steadily back and forth beside the boat, he waited for any sign of movement.

  “Can we get back to fishin’, Ray? I don’t really care about shinin’ lights into the water… reminds me how deep it is. It’s not like I get to come out often. I haven’t been out on the ocean in years.”

  He ignored Hank’s blabbering. Try to show a friend a good time and all he gets in return is a bunch of whining… Next time he wouldn’t bother.

  “Ray, you see somethin’ down there?”

  He smiled.

  Now for the fun!

  Almost invisible in the wavering deep, faint red and white oscillating pinpricks of illuminescence appeared to be darting around the searchlight’s glow far below.

  “I think I see somethin’. Shine that light over here!”

  He angled the light toward where Hank leaned over the boat’s prow.

  “Lookit, Ray! There’re red lights everywhere! They’re comin’ closer!”

  His grin nearly spread ear to ear.

  Hank looked at him briefly, his look of astonishment clouding. “What’re you smirkin’ about?”

  “Those’re Humboldt squid, Hank. They flash red and white when they’re huntin’. That’s why some fishermen call ’em diablo rojo.”

  “Red devils? What’re they huntin’?”

  “Right now the light’s foolin’ ’em. They probably think it’s a school of fish.”

  “They’re comin’ up!”

  Hank was right. The lights were coming toward the surface quickly. This was quite a large shoal.

  Hank’s tone was grim. “Let’s get out of here, Ray! I don’t like this.”

  “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of, Hank. They’re just squid.”

  “I don’t care. Let’s go.”

  “All right. Give me a minute to start the engine.”

  Turning off the signal light, he walked up to the steering wheel to turn the ignition, grumbling. It was just like Hank to be a spoilsport. He’d been complaining since high school.

  Some things never change.

  Next time he would go fishing alone.

  Weaving between the bowrider’s two seats, where Hank stood looking out to port, he placed his left hand on the steering wheel and turned the key with his right.

  He heard a splash just as the engines revved to life.

  Glancing left, he asked, “You okay, Hank?”

  “Yeah!” Hank’s response came clearly over the sound of the engines’ roar. “What the hell was that? Are there flyin’ fish out here, Ray?”

  “None that I’ve heard of. Why?”

  “Thought I saw somethin’ fly out of the water.”

  Easing back on the throttle as the boat started moving forward, he called out, “Must be some fish the Humboldts scared up.”

  Turning the steering wheel to angle toward shore, he ducked reflexively as a blur flashed across his vision. Before he could follow the motion or its accompanying sound as it cut through the air, he heard a wet smack, and Hank screamed and fell overboard.

  He let go of the throttle and reached out in a futile effort to catch his friend, then jumped up toward where Hank fell in.

  The water churned and frothed as red and white luminescence swarmed about his friend, moving farther and farther below the surface.

  With a half-choked scream, he jumped back into the pilot’s seat and sped to shore.

  Jet Squid

  “Ray, have you been drinking?”

  Sherriff Willard Hayes’s deep voice briefly roused him from his stupor.

  “Yes, Sheriff.”

  “Not now, you idiot! While you were on the boat.”

  Sherriff Hayes was a big man.

  When he spoke, you listened.

  They had played football together in high school. Willard had wrecked the opposition on the defensive line. Ray merely got in people’s way.

  Much like now.

  “No, Willard. Hank was drinkin’. Not me.”

  “And you don’t think his state of intoxication was the reason he fell overboard?”

  “Like I told you, he didn’t fall overboard. A jet squid flyin’ through the air knocked him overboard.”

  Sheriff Hayes snorted. “You allege that a squid, propelled by air forced out of its siphon, knocked him overboard. But it was dark, there was no moon, and your spotlight was off.”

  “There are some squids that can shoot out of the water. Maybe this was one.”

  “Be reasonable, Ray.”
>
  He could tell by Willard’s flat tone that the sheriff believed him about as much as he believed UFOs cavorted in the bay alongside the Humboldt squids. “I know what I saw, Sheriff.” As his frustration grew, his voice got louder. “When Hank fell in, he was swarmed by those glowing red devils and eaten! Just as sure as shit!”

  “Is that really what you want us to tell Hank’s family? Jim and Sally? Julia? His kids? That glowing Humboldt jet squids flying through the air killed their son, their husband, their father?”

  “You know what to say better than me, Will. Tell ’em it’s under investigation. Tell ’em it’s my fault.”

  He sighed, head in his hands. “Because it is. I never should’ve taken him out. We should’ve just stayed in and watched the game.”

  The Sheriff was not impressed. “Something happened out there, Hank. I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  He wanted nothing to do with getting to the bottom of anything.

  Most especially the ocean.

  If he didn’t have to stay, he would already be long gone.

  Octocopter

  The county pier was one of his favorite places to go with his friends.

  He loved the easy access to the water should they want to swim or hang out on the beach.

  But it was also a destination.

  A place providing something to do if they needed it.

  The pier always felt like the focal point for his friends’ summer activities.

  If they were surfing the break and hungry, they could grab a bite to eat at Ruby’s.

  If they caught some fish in the surf or from the pier, they could save them for a sunset cookout after calling in more friends to hang out, goof off, watch the sun burn out among the reds and oranges of the ocean’s horizon, and laze away the warm summer nights with laughter and camaraderie.

  The pier was always there.

  A welcome background.

  A friend standing silent vigil whether you asked him to or not.

  The pier was there and it felt like home.

  Until today.

  Today the world ended, and he didn’t know if he would ever get it back.

  “Come on, Mike! Cast your line and get started. The fish aren’t waiting for your sorry ass!”

  He could take Chris’s abuse. After all, this was one of the few places Chris could let go. When he went home, things would get serious quick and all jokes would be off.

  He always encouraged Chris’s moods. As far he knew it was one of his only releases.

  Today was no different.

  He took things real slow.

  “Did you remember your sunscreen?”

  When Chris just raised an eyebrow, he smirked and added, “Because we’re going to be here a long time!”

  His joke was met with a playful punch in the shoulder.

  “Shut up and cast, man!”

  He took his time, drawing things out, looking down at the waves over the pier’s railing as if studying the perfect spot to lay his line.

  “Okay. I’m not waiting for you any longer, you poser. You just pretend to know how to fish. Stand back and watch how it’s done!”

  “The only thing I’ll be watching is you hauling up another load of seaweed. I hear you supply all the nori to Yoshi’s in town.”

  Chris shook his head. “At least I catch something. All you do is make sure the bottom feeders have full bellies. You always were a bleeding heart, finding ways to give to those in need.”

  Chris had him pegged there. More so than he probably knew.

  “All right. Here goes.” Mike wound up and let go a beautiful cast, his line arcing long and far, just like the balls he liked to throw on the field.

  “Beaut, loser. Are you aiming for the shore or just trying to catch a swimmer?”

  Chris was on a roll today. Mike was going to have to step his game up or else his friend’s head might swell two sizes larger than it already was.

  “I see you’ve caught your first shoe,” Mike said. Chris’s line bent noticeably. “If you hadn’t been so busy trying to cool off by letting out hot air you might have noticed. At least you’ll be halfway to replacing those sad sandals you wear to protect your bunions.”

  Chris’s sandals were in pretty bad shape. Worse than most. But everyone wore grungy stuff anyway.

  What else would you wear to the beach?

  “Your shoes have so many holes that I have to wear cologne just to mask the smell.”

  I snorted. “And I put on my dad’s prescription sunglasses just so I can’t see your crab claws.”

  “Weak one, Mike.”

  “Just shut up and reel in your tire. Maybe you’ll get a new one for your bike. You need it.”

  “I’m trying, idiot. If you’d actually been paying attention, you’d see I’m struggling here. It’s only my superhuman strength that masks my efforts.”

  His rod was bent pretty far down.

  “Doesn’t look like you’re making any headway.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it either. Whatever this is, it’s not getting tired. It’s almost like it hasn’t even noticed I have it hooked.”

  Now that was a scary thought.

  “Wanna cut your line and start over?”

  “And miss out finding out what this is? Maybe it’s a chest of pirate’s booty!”

  “There isn’t pirate’s booty on the West Coast, you idjit! At least not any for you!”

  Chris was starting to sweat.

  His rod wasn’t faring much better. Much more effort and his line would snap. He and Mike hadn’t brought the serious pound test.

  “Want me to spell you?”

  “And let you share in the glory? No way!”

  That’s when he noticed a shadow in the water.

  A big shadow.

  “Uh, Chris.” Chris obviously hadn’t noticed. “I don’t think you’re bringing that up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look down, man.”

  The shadow was getting bigger.

  So were Chris’s eyes.

  “Maybe you should cut the line, man. You’re not reeling that in.”

  “And miss seeing what it is? No way!”

  I already had an idea of what it was.

  An octopus.

  And a darn big one.

  A giant Pacific octopus could weigh as much as a grown man. And this one looked like a contender.

  “It’s an octopus, dude. There’s no way you’re getting that thing up. Just let it go.”

  Chris exhaled with a sigh, letting his arms relax. “You’re probably right.”

  “If we were by the water and had a net handy, I’d say go for it. But thirty feet is an awful long way to haul up a ceph that size on your sad little line.”

  Chris smiled, setting his rod in one of the pier’s rod holders. “Let me get my knife.”

  “I’ve got it.” I reached into my pocket and brought out my grandfather’s old deer antler handled pocketknife. I carried it with me whether I had pockets or not.

  I had a lot of fond memories of Paps. Him showing me how to use this knife was one.

  I cut Chris’s line easily. I made sure to keep my knife sharp and ready just like Pap said it should always be.

  Chris sulked. “You’re right, you know. I never catch anything. I thought today was my day.”

  I didn’t say anything. Mostly because he was right. I could have put him down then. The moment was perfect, but I didn’t have the heart. After all, friends are really there to lift each other up as much as we enjoy putting each other down.

  So I tried.

  “Day’s not over yet.”

  He looked at me with a wicked grin. Plenty of fight left in him.

  “Besides, you’re with me. I always take care of you.”

  He snorted derisively.

  “We’ll be eating mackerel or bass in no time!” I added.

  “You’ll be eating mackerel. I’d rather have a burger from Ruby’s.”

  I laugh
ed. “You’ve got a point there!”

  He pointed downward. “Hey! Our octopus has left! He’s coming up!”

  Man, was it ever! The thing kept getting bigger. Pacific octopuses didn’t get that big. Not even giant ones.

  “Dude! Get your phone out! This could be a record!”

  I didn’t want to let him down, although it would be pretty tough to judge the thing’s size from up here.

  I started filming nonetheless.

  Chris’s brow furrowed. “That thing is moving fast! It’s angling away from us!”

  But it still looked to be getting bigger as it neared the surface.

  With a violent splash the thing broke the water.

  And kept coming.

  It was gigantic.

  A leviathan.

  I wet my pants.

  It was coming right at us.

  “Get down!”

  Chris didn’t hear me or didn’t care. He was in awe.

  “Holy shit, man! An octocopter!”

  He was, unbelievably, frighteningly, unfortunately, right.

  “Get the fuck down, Chris!”

  I reached over and pulled his t-shirt.

  As worn out as his sandals, it ripped.

  “Shit!” I said.

  “An octocopter!” he said more quietly, in disbelief.

  The thing whirled back around through the air like a boomerang, spinning faster than my eyes could track, throwing off clouds of water like a sprinkler.

  And then it took my best friend Chris away from me in a whirling vortex of lashing tentacles and blood.

  Camoctopus

  There was far too much trash on the beach.

  Why couldn’t people clean up after themselves?

  It was, after all, a public resource, not to mention a thing of beauty.

  Who wanted to swim in garbage or frolic on rubbish-strewn sand?

  What was so hard about being responsible?