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Sardines

by Andy Sheng | Grade 10 | Scholastic 2023 | Short Story | Gold Key

[Trigger Warning: Gore & Profanity]

“Get the little bastard!”

A thrust — Splash.

James slid his forearm out of the sea. A sardine sagged from his fist. Still wet, the fish flung salty droplets that bounced and melded back into the ocean, rippling against the water, which was so motionless that James could almost step out of the raft and walk out on the surface.

Besides him, Kane dug through a mound of empty cans, brushing through the aluminum with a rusty can opener. “We’re officially out of everything,” he muttered to himself.

The orange lifeboat bobbled against the steps of its two passengers, a box radio sliding back and forth against the black text: 7TH INFANTRY CORPS.

The man at the other end of the boat snatched the microphone and clicked the radio’s call switch. A faint static emerged from the damp speaker. “7th Infantry Corps, this is Reginald Kane and Timothy James. We are still at sea. I repeat: we are still at sea, in low resource. Seeking help immediately. I repeat: seeking help immediately. Coordinates unknown and no sign of land. Over.”

The radio hissed back, but no words came out.

Kane waited a moment, then sighed. But upon catching sight of the wriggling fish in James’ hand, he edged closer, a sly grin rising up his right cheek. “That’s a healthy looking sardine right there. Surely at least a couple years old…”

A twist — Crack. James broke the sardine’s neck and set the fish down on the raft deck.

“I’d put that one on my mama.” He sighed and leaned back. Empty ration bags, dry water cans, and a single, dull can opener lined the outer rim of the boat, a half-empty rain collector sloshing beside the kneeling men.

Kane peered down at the shining creature. “Oh, goodness. What I would do for a smoking hot grill and a squeeze of lemon…” He stroked a single finger down the sardine’s rugged spine, even gave the fish’s eyeball a little poke.

“Christ, Kane!” James swept the sardine back into his hands and leaned away. “You’re lucky I’m a sharin’ guy, but get yer hands off a’ my fish! Can’t no Bama soldier trust a Yorker soldier, ‘specially at a time like this.” He paused, and gave the fish a kiss on its stone-cold lips, laughing. The chuckle came out like a dry gust of air, rattling within his protruding ribcage and wriggling out of his sun-dried throat as a shaking wheeze.

“Fine, alright, which part do you propose I can get?” Kane asked.

“I sure as hell don’t know, fella. ’Cause I’m the one who caught the fish. And it ain’t a big one either.”

“Okay, well why don’t you choose first then, lieutenant James?”

“Hmm… How about I eat as much as I want, then you can have what’s left, like the eyeballs and brains or balls or somethin’,” James chortled.

Kane said nothing. He narrowed his eyes and looked up to the sky instead as if offering a silent prayer. Overhead, the wind stitched the waters in a uniformed, patterned motion, pulling the graying clouds under the sun and over the boat and weaving them together like strands of an atmospheric garment, a gargantuan shadow over an infinitesimal ship. The duo watched each other in silence. They eyed the slimy sardine as it began to rain.

“Well sheet, all I”m sayin’, it’s jus’ a little reasonable to me that I don’t got any obligation to share, ‘specially since I’m the one who caught the damn fish in the firs’ place!” James scoffed.

“And who’s the one trying to save us, huh?! Does your small southern skull comprehend that a fish isn’t saving your life? A rescue team is our only chance! You better appreciate that I know how to operate this radio!” Kane lifted the radio by its antenna and dangled it back and forth before James’s nose.

“Operate? I ain’t heard nuthin’ butta whole buncha static!” James swung his forearm and knocked the radio from Kane’s hand.

It splashed and submerged beneath the fizzing froth.

Kane furrowed his brows and parted his lips, only to be interrupted by a tear of thunder. The storm grew angrier. Raindrops beat against the black rubber handholds as screaming waves lobbed seafoam into the lifeboat. The two turned from each other.

Suddenly, just a crack of thunder rocked the horizon, Kane grasped the can opener and lunged.

“You know what, man? We can split-” James turned, head still bent down at the sardine.

Crunch.

Metal rammed into James’s skull; it carved into his eye socket, slid deeper. Kane pulled the tool out, a steady trickle of brain matter coating James’s suspended eyeball.

He froze, stared at Kane, his bony jaw agape mid-sentence.

He fell.

The rain ceased, pooling in the raft like a crimson-stained stew as the stench of blood and iron swirled. Flying vapor clouded Kane’s vision, surrounding his visor like swirling smoke. He clutched the fish in his left hand, the bloody can opener in his right. Dripping hair fell before his eyes, his overgrown mustache slithering into his mouth. The waves dwindled and the ocean once again became still.

James was nudged overboard and the sun emerged from the clouds.

The splash shattered the glass stillness of the ocean and sent a singular ripple that rocked the lifeboat before fading away, the body drifting along the surface of the ocean for a second before disappearing beneath the waves.

A meager spurt of bubbles rose to the surface, a final remark.

***

For a second, Kane almost felt guilty. But then he hunched over the fish, chomping and slurping on the raw remains of the sardine, teeth stroking the spine before tearing off the meat. And when the meat was gone he took to grinding his jaw against the fish’s skeleton. Kane finished bones and meat and tendons and all, everything save for the lonely triangular skull. He tossed it over his shoulder and it drifted, until it was full of water and it sank beneath the ocean too.

A contented burp followed by a sigh rose out of Kane’s throat. And after that, he slept.

***

Foh-foh-foh.

Kane tilted his head up and raised an arm to block the sun. A dried fish eyeball lay dangling from his beard, shreds of sardine brain still clinging to his mustache. A helicopter. Its rotors spun in a lagging blur, the black paneled body glittering under the beaming sun. The great metal beast remained stationary against the force of the oceanic gusts, the side of the machine painted in bold white text: USA COAST GUARD. It hovered above the lifeboat before dropping a black and orange fabric ladder.

Kane waved and hollered and climbed, the protruding tendons and joints of his elbows straining with each rung until an unknown pair of arms grasped his arm and pulled him into the rescue helicopter.

He saw a woman. She had short blonde hair, a pair of wide sunglasses on, and a burly headset. Her torso slid back into the pilot seat as she buckled Kane into the passenger side. A towel was tossed in his hands and he wrapped the warm terry around the sunburns on his shoulders. A headset of his own was fitted onto his head, microphone bent towards his gaping mouth.

“You doing alright, sir?” The woman turned her head.

“Fine…” Kane stared out the window. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“No man left behind, right?” She smiled. “Were you the soldier on the radio?”

“I was.” Kane hesitated. “I mean, I am.”

“I recall you said that there was another one of you?”

“Did I?” Under the towel, Kane rubbed his thumb against a bruise on his chest. “Oh, yes, I did…he couldn’t make it…”

“I understand, sir.” She laid a hand on Kane’s shoulder. “When you get home, you’ll be a hero.”

“You think so?” Kane asked, but she had already turned back around.

They flew for some time in silence. The horizon stretched through the sunset as the constant drone of the rotors vibrated the fibers of Kane’s mesh seat belt.

“Would you have anything to eat, by chance?” Kane said after a while.

“There are some canned sardines in the glovebox. I know it’s not the best, but it lasts forever before going bad. Oh, and there should be a can opener as well. Help yourself.”

A tear — pop.

Kane snatched the can and ripped the lid off with his bare hand, salivating. For a second time that day, he ate everything, leaving nothing behind.

The helicopter was quiet. Kane rested his head against the window. On the other side of the glass, the sun began to submerge below the horizon. The brilliant gleam painted a gradient upon the sky and radiated rays of blood red upon a stranded cloud. A single crystalline beam shone across the turbulent waters as if to point at Kane himself. The soldier heaved and closed his eyes with exhaustion, but it was difficult to sleep.

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