The creature was long, silver, and serpentine, thrashing in the shallow water. It was easily twice the length of his rowboat, its body shimmering and twisting like some kind of... sea monster. Grandpa was clinging to it, his small frame being tossed around like a rag doll. He was shouting, but his words were lost in the roar of the waves.
My mind raced. What the heck was that thing? A giant eel? Some kind of... prehistoric creature? I had never seen anything like it. And Grandpa... he was losing. Badly.
The creature, thankfully, seemed to be tiring, but it was still incredibly strong. Its silver body, slick with seawater, writhed and twisted, and every movement sent a spray of water and sand flying.
“Grab that end!” I yelled to Clare, my voice hoarse from shouting over the waves. I grasped of the thickest part of the fish's body, near where its head (if you could call it that) was. Grandpa was further down, his face set with grim determination, his hands gripping the slippery flesh.
Clare, to her credit, didn't hesitate. She scrambled around the thrashing tail, her boots sinking into the wet sand. She grabbed hold. I was seriously impressed. Most people would have been screaming and running, but she was in there, her muscles straining beneath her T-shirt, breath hitching with each pull. Sweat trickled down her temple, mixing with the grit on her skin.
My own fingers burned, slipping but holding firm, nails caked with sand. Every tendon in my arms screamed, but I refused to let go.
“Heave!” Grandpa grunted, and we all pulled in unison. The fish slid a few inches up the beach, leaving a glistening trail in the sand. But then it gave a powerful flex of its tail, and the force nearly ripped us off our feet.
Clare lost her footing. She stumbled backward, right into me. We both went down, crashing into the shallow water, a tangle of limbs and flailing fish. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder as I landed awkwardly, and the world went momentarily blurry.
But then, I felt Clare push herself up, her hand finding my arm. “You okay?” she gasped, her face inches from mine. She was soaked, her hair plastered to her face, but she was grinning. Actually grinning.
“Yeah,” I sputtered, trying to untangle myself from her. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
Then she actually laughed. A real, genuine laugh, even though we were both covered in sand and seawater.
I stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. This woman was incredible.
“Come on!” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Let's get this thing onto the beach before it decides to go back home. I’ve got to take some pictures for the blog.”
Grandpa was also smiling, sitting on the sand with his arms wrapped around his folded knees.
And with renewed determination, Clare and I heaved again. Slowly, painstakingly, we dragged the creature further and further up the shore, until it finally lay still beside Grandpa, a massive, shimmering testament to its power... and our combined, slightly insane, effort.
“It’s an oarfish,” Grandpa said. “They live in the deep. This one must be sick, or else he’d never come to the surface.”
“What are we going to do with it?” I asked.
“I’m calling Hector at the Marine Institute,” Grandpa said. “He’ll be thrilled.”
CHAPTER THREE
