Seals of Kinney

by C G Dalton

  “You wouldn’t have been able to tell Fisk from the others underwater anyway. Come on, Cyril,” Francine urged, taking his hand and pulling him to her boat. They threw the bags in and waited until Fisk finished his transformation. The moment he hit the water, so did they.

  The island girl didn’t mess around. She aimed her prow straight for the nearest mainland port and gunned her engine. Boyd clutched the side of the boat, trying to follow Fisk’s form shooting through the water around them.

  It was too much to hope they’d just sent the girls to try and convince Fisk. They didn’t get much of a head start before they were spotted. Two boats had been set as sentries; one peeled off to raise the alarm, the other quickly pursued.

  Boyd was impressed; other than one terrified squeal at the sound of the first gunshot, Francine did not waver, though she did hunker down to make herself less of a target. Boyd returned fire, but knew he didn’t hit anything, not in the darkness, fighting to aim against the motion of the boat banging over the breakers. But it kept the other boat at a distance. Suddenly the pursuing boat stalled, and smoke poured from its motor.

  “Woo hoo. Go Fisk,” Boyd whooped, just knowing the seal had done something. And indeed, he had—Fisk had dragged a crab pot off the nearby ocean floor and tossed it into the boat’s propellers. These quickly became wound up and jammed by the galvanized aluminium wire mesh the pot was constructed from, burning out the motor.

  But they were far from in the clear, and Fiskknew it as he rocketed through the water after his friends. It wasn’t long before other sleek shapes sliced through the surf after them.

  It was the strangest chase Boyd had ever participated in. For one thing, he wasn’t used to being the quarry. And second, it barely felt like they were being pursued, even though he knew better. There was just enough moonlight to catch glimpses of shining shapes darting around the boat, a sort of aquatic battle taking place beneath them. The sick feeling came back to Boyd’s stomach. He couldn’t bear the thought they might escape without Fisk. He wasn’t sure he wanted to make it without the selkie.

  The hours passed in surreal fashion, just him and Francine in the small boat, racing through the dark towards the lights of the mainland growing closer on the horizon. It might almost have seemed like a pleasure trip were it not for several jarring collisions that nearly cut the trip short—the enemy selkies trying to capsize them—but the girl knew what she was doing and kept the boat steady and moving.

  While on the surface things seemed mostly calm, beneath it, Fisk was in a desperate struggle. Three selkie bulls had come after them, including Sheriff DawsonMcMare. Though Fisk was faster and smarter than that unholy trio, three against one was no easy feat.

  Only the fact that McMare and his companions weren’t bright enough to work together well kept them from mobbing him and finishing him off quick, which would have been the end of Boyd and Francine as well. The fact they were concentrating on stopping the boat instead of collectively dealing with Fisk also hindered them as he darted between them, causing as much havoc as he could manage.

  It was not without risk, and more than once he was raked by the huge tearing canines of the other angry selkies. Likewise, his teeth left their share of gashes in the others’ hides. When McMare’s great bear-like maw caught one flipper in a crunching, tearing bite, Fisk thought he was dead.

  McMare was certain he had crippled the other selkie and spit Fisk out. His main goal all along had been to ensure the interloper and the traitor did not escape. He would deal with Fisk after the others were lost beneath the night black waters.

  Fisk knew they were close, so close to freedom; the water around them was shallower, and light pollution from the harbour could be seen even under the surface. He made a final great effort to ensure that his lover and his friend escaped. Gathering himself, he ignored the pain, and darted after McMare with the last of his energy. If he could just keep him from turning the boat over one last time, they would make it.

  It was pure and unadulterated luck that was with Fisk in that moment. He rocketed into the giant seal, meaning to deflect him from ramming it. The smaller seal rallying and coming from nowhere was unexpected, and McMare rolled sideways through the surf, right into the path of Francine’s powerful outboard propeller. The spinning blades sliced into McMare’s face and neck and down his back, shooting him out behind the boat, a bloody mess.

  “Stop the boat.” Boyd screamed when he saw the larger seal wallowing on the surface, the other selkies milling around him. He had felt the impact and he could see in the moonlight one seal at least was gravely injured. Where was Fisk?

  “No. Fisk said don’t stop. Not for anything,” Francine countered.

  “I said stop the goddamn boat.” Boyd roared.

  Francine compromised only by throttling the engine down, so they were still moving forward, but not as fast. The harbour was in their reach and she meant to get there. She need not have worried; McMare’s henchmen had forgotten all about the pursuit and were now in a desperate race themselves—to save their leader.

  Frantically, Boyd scanned the inky depths calling out. “Fisk.Fisk, where are you? Come on, baby... Fisk” His heartbeat wildly and he thought it would break in two.

  Francine started to cry. “He saved us you know. Andy would have had us before we made the harbour.”

  “Just... just shut up okay. I can’t... just don’t,” Boyd stammered, voice harsh and fighting tears of his own. He put his face in his hands. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t gone back, Fisk would be alive. Alone with his books, but alive.

  His head jerked up when Francine gasped and cut the motor entirely.

  “Fisk,” she exclaimed, rushing to the side of the boat. Boyd was right beside her in a moment.

  “Shit... shit.” Boyd grimaced and reached over the side to touch his lover. Fisk was also a bleeding mess. “We got to get him in the boat.”

  “Boyd, he weighs like five hundred pounds. There’s no way the two of us can get him in the boat.”

  “We have to get him in the boat,” Boyd insisted again. “Look at him, his right flipper is half off, he can hardly swim.”

  “Look, you lean over the side. Hold his head up and we’ll tow him in. Selkie are tough, Cyril. He made it to the surface alive, if we get him to shore he’ll heal.”

  At that moment Cyril hated Francine. It didn’t matter if she knew more about selkies than he probably ever would and that she was right. He was beside himself, but when he tried to pull Fisk up over the side, the boat tipped ominously. So, Boyd did as she asked. He hung half over the side, doing his best to hold onto the slick hide of the selkie. He encouragedFisk to roll so that he could hook an elbow under his intact left front flipper. “Okay, I got him. Go.”

  Francine got the boat moving again. “I am going to go a little faster. You have to hang on tight. That much blood in the water is bound to attract sharks. Let’s hope they go for McMare and his asshole buddies first.”

  “Yes, great. That’s just fucking great,” Boyd muttered, so grateful to her for adding a new level to his panic.

  Thankfully they were close. And as it was very late, the harbour was largely quiet. Instead of the docks, Francine steered to a nearby boat launch that was deserted. As soon as he could, Boyd was out of the boat and helping Fisk wiggle up the ramp.

  The seal let out a big sigh and collapsed at the top of the ramp—only his head and shoulders on land—unable to go a bit further.

  Boyd sat half in the cold sea beside him. “Francine, go in my bag and throw me a couple t-shirts. I need something to staunch the blood.”

  Tying off the boat to a nearby cleat, Francine complied. She climbed out of the boat with a handful of Boyd’s clothing, and thrustthe bundle at him. She pettedFisk’s face as he whined while Boyd wrapped his ruined flipper.

  “Fisk, you need to move again. We can’t stay here on the launch. If someone spots you they’ll call for help and Cyril and I will have to break you out of an oceanarium,” s
he encouraged, watching Boyd as he found the various places Fisk was bleeding from and did his best to staunch the flow with pieces of his own clothing.

  “Where the hell is he going to go? Fisk, baby, change back into a man. Then I can carry you...”

  “He can’t,” Francine said, sounding exasperated.

  “Why not?” Boyd asked, worried that the girl had lied, and Fisk was worse off than she had said.

  “Because he got hurt as a seal. If he changes now his hide won’t heal and he’ll be crippled,” she explained, standing and looking to see if anyone was nearby.

  “He needs a hospital... a veterinarian... fuck. I don’t know. He needs medical attention,” Boyd argued.

  “No, he doesn’t. He just needs time and quiet. We just have to get him under cover. This launch is in a park. It’s partially woodland. If he can make it up and into the bushes so he’s hidden, then we’ll figure something out.”

  “Francine—”

  “Cyril,” Francine cut him off. “Look, I know what I am talking about. Please, you have my word.”

  The seal snorted and weakly shook his head yes. Fisk did know Francine was right. The selkie forced himself up onto his three good flippers and began to limp up the ramp. It was probably as agonizing for Boyd to watch as for Fisk to endure.

  After crossing the roughest twenty yards of his life, Fisk collapsed again, hidden by a screen of shrubs. Boyd and Francine knelt beside him, reapplying makeshift bandages. Boyd was filled with gut-twisting worry, but Francine was all smiles.

  “You are totally my hero, FiskColwin,” she murmured.

  Boyd’s gut clenched in a new way as a surge of jealousy coursed through him. But it eased, when Fisk nosed her gently, but then lay his head on Boyd’s thigh.

  “I’m going to rent a truck,” Boyd said flatly, anxiety still coursing through him. That’s what he would do. He would rent something big enough to get Fisk into and then get them out of there. “Could you get our bags then stay here with him?” The last thing Boyd wanted to do was leave his lover’s side while he lay injured and trapped in his animal form, but he seriously doubtedFrancine had a credit card or even a licence to get them a vehicle.

  “Yes. That will work,” Francine agreed.

  Thankfully, Fisk’s hearty selkie constitution and Boyd’s first aid at the water meant he hadn’t left too much of a blood trail. Boyd rinsed away what there was with seawater dipped out of the harbour in the bait bucket from Francine’s boat. He did not want anyone drawn to Fisk’s hiding place to investigate.

  The boat itself, they left tied at the launch. After a few days the local authorities would trace its registration and return it to Francine’s parents. Like true Kinney islanders, they were disappointed by the reminder the embarrassing traitor in the family had made it to shore.

  Colwin ended up spending the next twelve hours or so lying in that small thicket, though one or both of his friends were always beside him. Boyd had been forced to wait until morning for the business hours of the nearest truck rental place to begin. Then even after he procured a van, they had to wait for nightfall to usher the selkie to it under the cover of darkness. There was a brief scare that Fisk would not be able to climb inside, except he managed it, to all their great relief.

  Not willing to stay in Maine and needing to reassure both his employer and his family he was alive, Boyd pointed the rental van towards Chicago. He knew he could make it home in a day if he pushed it, but instead he drove slowly, taking it easy to give the injured selkie lying in a pile of padded moving blankets a restful trip. It annoyed him that Francine couldn’t drive, that she was always the one sitting in back, cradling his boyfriend’s head in her lap. But he felt guilty for that jealousy; she was Fisk’s friend, and she’d been instrumental at saving their lives at the expense of the only home she had ever known.

  Boyd stretched what should have been a twenty-hour drive into a two-day trip. They spent the night in a rest stop, Francine sleeping in the passenger seat while Boyd stretched out beside the selkie. He was quite surprised at how improved Fisk had been in the morning.

  At Francine’s advice, before they resumed their trip Boyd pulled off the highway and bought out a local supermarket’s fresh seafood department. He smiled for the first time since they’d began their escape as they took turns feeding Fisk the fish. That protein did wonders, and Fisk was no longer so listless by the time they hit Chicago.

  Fisk spent the next week in Boyd’s garage, lounging in the moving blankets Boyd had kept when he returned the rental. He enjoyed the near constant attention of his two friends.

  Boyd took a leave of absence, citing exhaustion and stress from being shipwrecked. Holed up in his home, he avoided his friends and family while they nursed Fisk back to health. Everyday there was visible improvement, and even the fin Boyd thought for sure would be forever useless seemed to regenerate. Boyd kept switching supermarkets and hoped he never had to explain why he was buying ten pounds of fresh fish a day.

  A week to the day after fleeing Fisk’s island, the selkie shrugged out of his sealskin—all the holes in it had fully closed—for the first time since his injuries. Boyd was greatly relieved. He’d been having nightmares that the seal in his garage wasn’t actually Fisk and though he had known it was not true, it was still comforting to hear his voice and wrap his arms around Fisk the man once again.

  It was that moment, still standing in his garage—Fisk naked, the bruising and scars of his ordeal so much more visible on pale human skin—that Boyd told him he loved him for the first time. Fisk joyfully returned the sentiment. He moved from the carport to Boyd’s bedroom.

  Boyd’s family was relieved when his period of isolation was over and embraced his guests into the family, even if they found it a little odd that he had brought people home from Maine with him. Fisk, they could understand. Before he had returned to the island, Boyd had described his saviour to them after his accident. Even over the phone they had recognized that their son and brother was smitten. What they didn’t quite get was where the girl living in Boyd’s guest room fit in. But they took Boyd’s word for it when he insisted he was helping her because she had helped him.

  What they did not like or understand at all was when he broke the news to them shortly thereafter that he was taking a posting at the academy. Boyd had promised Fisk they would live by the sea and he wouldn’t break that. Boyd did not share that promise with his family. His explanation to them was that it was pretty much his dream job, which was true.

  Arrangements to transfer between branches and move to a new home were made. Better yet, Boyd convinced Fisk to apply to work for his employers as well, banking correctly on them being very interested in his intellect.

  An unexpected complication was Francine’s refusal to return to the coast. She was too frightened that the selkies would come after them. She told Fisk and Boyd she would rather stay in Chicago, or even move farther away if she could. Boyd ended up paying for her to move to Hollywood. There, he paid the rent and utilities on a small apartment while she got her feet under her, so she could build a new life.

  Fisk was under no illusion that they had ridden off happily ever after into the sunset, that everything was over. He knew that, in the islanders’ eyes, he and Francine were still a liability to their way of life. That, at any time, McMare or his henchmen might appear to harass or harm them again.

  As a safety precaution, Fisk had his mother moved from Maine to get her far away from the coast and the selkies, but far away from him. The arid city was someplace they were unlikely to willingly venture. It made him sad to have her so far away from him, but that added another level of security. She enjoyed the fact a card and a small gift came every day now instead of once a week.

  While he and Boyd did not let the possibility become a fear that ruled their life, they did maintain a certain level of alertness. Especially when Fisk was in the water. And he never ever let his skin out of his possession, carrying it balled in the bottom of his ever-present
book bag.

  {{{

  “Cyril, this is brackish water,” Fisk complained, dipping his toe into the bay off the dock behind their new home.

  “Is that a problem?” Boyd asked, sitting down beside his boyfriend and handing him a glass of iced tea.

  “It’s a bay. Not the ocean. Too much fresh water flowing in and mingling with the seawater. My other self does better at a higher salinity, but I can survive fine in this, I guess.”

  “You guess?” Boyd chuckled. “You knew it was on the bay when we chose it. I suppose if it’s not salty enough for you, cutie, we could sell this house we only just bought and move to the actual coast. We’ll only have a three-hour-plus commute each way to work.”

  “A three-hour drive in the morning,” Fisk repeated, making a disgusted noise when Boyd nodded yes. “I knew that. I just...” Fisk missed the open ocean, but the bay was nice and their new home lovely. “I can live with brackish. Even if swimming in it is exhausting. Do you know how much less buoyant you are in fresh water? The accepted average salinity of seawater is two-point five percent...”

  “Fisk, I understand buoyancy.” Boyd ruffled Colwin’s hair, laughing when he got swatted at. “I love you,” he offered in a spontaneous burst of affection.

  Grinning, Fisk leaned into his lover, laying his head on Boyd’s shoulder. “I love you too.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Cyril, I swear I saw him again,” Fisk said, setting the takeout on the break room table and beginning to unpack the bags. He had gone out to pick up Chinese takeout for everyone. While only the two of them were in the room, Fisk took this moment to express his dismay.

  “Baby, it’s been over two years. We don’t even know if he lived, he was cut up pretty bad. Francine said sharks might have come,” Boyd said.

  For the past two weeks,Fiskhad kept imagining he saw DawsonMcMare, lurking, watching them. Boyd knew it was a possibility, but it seemed remote. Even to protect a village’s secret it seemed unlikely a small-town sheriff would travel from Maine to Portland to stalk us. It scared Boyd, seeing his life partner becoming increasingly paranoid.