A Likely Story: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology (5 page)

His board was already being pulled ahead of him, dragging him after it. It would have to be sacrificed. Desperate to get away, he reached to tug the cable from his ankle. The movement of the water hindered his actions, but finally he was free, and he watched as his board disappeared into the dark, cavernous mouth.

He twisted around and tried to head for the beach. He sliced his arms through the water, kicking hard and fast in a bid to tear himself from the current as the whale sucked in the water around him. But he seemed to be making no headway. If anything, he was being pulled farther away from the beckoning golden sand.

He gave another effort, swimming with all his might, working until his muscles screamed out for release. But to no avail. He pushed his weary limbs, trying to keep moving, but it grew harder with every stroke, and a glance behind him revealed the whale just meters away, gulping in sea water at an astounding rate. He was drawn closer and closer and he shut his eyes as, with a final deep swallow, the whale closed its jaw, trapping him inside.

THE DARKNESS was impenetrable, thick and viscous as oil. It surrounded him, washed over him, and clung to his skin until he began to doubt his very existence. Was this death?

His flume ride downward was bumpy and uneven, but finally it ended and he slid to a halt, limbs tangled in… something sticky and unpleasant.
It’s probably good I can’t see anything
.

He lay still for a moment as his mind tried to process everything. Judging by the disgusting feeling of whatever was clinging to his skin, and the continuing ache of his overstretched muscles, he wasn’t dead. At least not yet.
How long does death by whale take, I wonder?

He sat up and felt around him, gingerly sinking his fingertips into the goo until he found a familiar shape. As silly as it was, the recovery of his surfboard comforted him. He grabbed hold of the board with both hands, yanking it from the oozing…
whatever
with a slurpy ‘plop’.

“I say, is someone there?”

The sudden question caught Logan off guard and he almost lost hold of his prize. He pulled the board tightly to his chest, unwilling to sacrifice it again, and weighed his options. Chances were he was imagining the voice; an hallucination was no doubt a reasonable response, given his current predicament. To answer it would only be giving in to his disturbed mental state; talking to his surfboard would likely be more appropriate. Then again. …

“Yes. I mean, hello.”

“Thank goodness. Have you come to rescue me?”

“Um. Not exactly.” Logan rubbed his head; his gooey hand stuck to his hair and he had to wrench his fingers free, no doubt taking a few hairs with them, judging by the pain in his scalp. “I was just surfing and—”

“Oh, not you too? Whereabouts are you?”

“I’m… not entirely sure.”

“Sing something. I’ll follow your voice.”

Feeling like a prize idiot, Logan reluctantly began a half-hearted rendition of
Waltzing Matilda
. Why that tourist favorite had come to mind was anyone’s guess, although Logan wondered if it hadn’t been influenced by the clearly English accent of his conversational companion.

A sudden spark of light near his face made Logan jump back. Or at least he attempted to. He hadn’t realized how far he’d sunk into the goo, and the movement served only to send him falling. Thrusting his board downward, he used that to steady himself and regained his equilibrium.

The light flared up again and he caught a brief glimpse of limp, gunk-filled hair, a pale face etched with stubble (also caked in slime), and green eyes. Then they were pitched back into darkness.

“Sorry. I thought it would be nice to be able to see each other for a moment, but I only have the one lighter and I want to conserve the fluid—we might need it later. Good choice of song, by the way—it was a campfire favorite when I was in the Scouts. Were you in the Scouts, too? Oh, sorry, where are my manners? I’m Dr. Whalen. And you are?”

The flurry of small talk made Logan’s already-taxed brain spin, but he gathered his senses enough to respond. “Logan. My name’s Logan. Logan Carter.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Logan. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have some company at last.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“Hard to say. My watch was waterproof, but there’s only so much Swiss workmanship can accomplish. It stopped ticking awhile ago. As near as I can tell… two days.”

Two days! Logan had been inside the belly of the beast for only a matter of minutes and it was almost more than he could handle. How could this guy have kept it together for two whole days?

“How…?”

“Oh, luckily the whale swallowed some of my supplies along with me, so I have a little food and fresh water. It won’t last forever, especially now there are two of us, but we should manage a few more days. Whereabouts are we?”

“Uh, Australia. The Bight.”

“I guessed as much from your accent, but the scientist in me always has to be sure, you know. Our host has travelled a long way. I was picked up just south of Guernsey. I’m a marine biologist, you see. I was out in the boat, conducting field research on the movements of the whale population, when this fellow came out of nowhere. My boat was overturned. I must have blacked out for a moment. The next thing I remember is waking up in here.

“I’m glad some of my equipment made it through with me. I’ve been able to take some amazing readings. The data will help me churn out at least two papers. Assuming we get out of here, of course.”

Logan went to scratch his head, but thought better of it. “You think there’s a chance we’ll get out?”

“Oh, there’s always a chance.” Dr. Whalen clapped his hands. “Hungry? I was just about to have a spot of lunch when you arrived. Would you care to join me? This way.”

Dr. Whalen grasped Logan’s hand and together they slogged through the muck to an accompaniment of squelches and gurgles. Logan still carried his surfboard, plucked from the goo, as they began their expedition. He wasn’t sure why he thought he needed it to eat lunch, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it and risk losing it forever in the gloom.

His companion guided him downward and Logan reached out, wondering what was beneath him. He felt something cool and smooth: a metal box. He gave it an experimental prod. The goo around it gurgled, but the box didn’t budge. Reassured, Logan eased himself onto it, shoving his board down beside him. A few moments later, there was a brief flare from the lighter and something was pressed into his hands. The packaging crinkled: potato chips.

Logan opened the packet and pulled out a chip. He popped it into his mouth and closed his jaw with a satisfying crunch. Salt and vinegar, his favorite. He polished off the rest in no time. Unsure what to do with the empty packaging, he stuffed it into the sleeve of his wetsuit. The foil dug into his skin at first, but eventually it settled down and flattened out. It had been a satisfying meal in its way, but the salt left his mouth dry.

He heard a slosh of water and a flask was shoved at him. He took two swallows, cleansing his throat of the salty remains of his meal and easing his thirst, and then replaced the lid. He could have drunk the entire contents, but he remembered the scientist’s words and figured it was best to conserve the water for as long as possible.

“Dr. Whalen?”

“Yes?”

“What are we going to do?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Logan sensed movement in the darkness. The man sank down next to him and placed a hand on Logan’s arm. “We wait, my friend. I am confident a way out will present itself. We just need to be ready.”

The man’s skin was smooth, his fingers soft. Logan remembered his brief glimpse of the doctor in the glow of the lighter. He was not an old man, for all that he spoke with such authority.

“Can I ask… how old are you?”

“Twenty-four. But don’t let that worry you. I finished top of my class in my undergraduate program and just completed a well-received doctoral thesis. If there’s one thing I know well, it’s whales.” He moved his hand away.

“I’m twenty-two,” Logan offered, wanting to keep the conversation going. “I’m a pro surfer. At least, that’s the plan. …” He clucked his tongue. “Listen, if we’re going to be stuck here together, can I ask your first name? It feels weird to keep calling you Dr. Whalen.”

The silence extended, becoming heavy and ominous. Logan worried he’d said something wrong. Then he wondered if something had happened to his companion. He reached out a hand; waved it around until he connected with skin. An arm: thin yet toned. “Dr. Whalen?”

“Sorry. It’s just that it’s a bit… well… embarrassing.”

“Your name?” Logan couldn’t see the nod, but he felt it in the faint ripple of movement down the arm against which his hand still rested. “It can’t be that bad. And I’m the only one here. You can tell me.”

Dr. Whalen shuddered, finally whispering, “Jonah.”

For a moment, Logan thought he’d misheard. “Say that again.”

“Jonah.” This time, the name was followed with a long sigh.

For a moment, neither man spoke; then Logan erupted into laughter. It shouldn’t have been that funny. But the circumstances in which they found themselves heightened the hilarity and Logan’s reaction bordered on the hysterical.

Eventually, Jonah joined in and the two men sat together, laughing their heads off until they ran out of energy and spluttered to a stop.

Logan realized he was still gripping Jonah’s forearm. He wondered if he should remove his hand, but the human contact was grounding, and Jonah had made no objections.
Perhaps he finds it comforting too
.

The young scientist’s skin was smooth and warm. That, more than anything, made Logan aware it was far from cold in their current abode. In fact, the air was rather stuffy, even humid. For a moment, he wondered how much oxygen they had left and what gases were being given off by the gunk surrounding them. He quickly realized oxygen wouldn’t be an issue. Jonah had lasted two days already, so the air quality couldn’t be that bad.

He ran his thumb back and forth over Jonah’s skin, enjoying the feel of the goose bumps that began to form under his ministrations. It was only when Jonah jerked his arm away that Logan realized what he’d been doing.

“Sorry, mate… got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

“Pleasant ones?”

Had that sounded… hopeful?
“Ha, not so much. I was wondering about air, breathing. That sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Jonah paused. “Well, if it puts your mind at ease, there should be a reasonable circulation of oxygen through the gut.”

“Uh, good.”

The loss of Jonah’s arm had made Logan uncomfortably aware of a stirring in his groin. He gave a silent prayer of thanks for the darkness that engulfed them. At least his new companion couldn’t see the tenting in his wetsuit. This was hardly the time or place to make a move. The guy would think he was some rampaging sex fiend. He somehow doubted the doctor would be interested anyway.

Logan wriggled, adjusting the material to try to alleviate some of the pressure. He wasn’t even sure what had brought it about. He’d scarcely seen the other man; hadn’t had a chance to form an opinion on whether he found him attractive.
Maybe it’s just a weird reaction to the situation. Some coping measure my body came up with to suppress panic.

There was something unsatisfying about the explanation. But it was the best Logan had come up with, so he decided to roll with it. He sat patiently and thought of the least-sexy things he could bring to mind until, at last, the problem subsided.

“DINNER?”

Already?
Since his last conversation with Jonah had fizzled out, Logan had been lost in his own thoughts. He had run the gamut of emotion from anxiety to anger to apathy as he’d pondered his position and its various potential outcomes. If Jonah was to be believed, his internal monologue had lasted for hours.

“Sure.” Logan held out both hands and eventually, with a brief burst of illumination from the lighter, he received his meal. “Chocolate?”

“Hardly a balanced diet, I know. But it’s the best we have for now.”

“These provisions you had with you. Did they contain anything other than junk food?”

There came a cough and the rustling of a foil wrapper. “I study fish all day. I need the sugar and salt quota.”

That would be a ‘no’, then.
Still, Logan wasn’t complaining. Whilst he wouldn’t live off this stuff full-time, and tried to eat healthily to keep in shape, he certainly didn’t begrudge himself the occasional indulgence. His sporting activities more than burned off any extra calories.

He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “So… you have a girlfriend back home, mate?”

The question had just popped into Logan’s head. He did his best to convince himself it had simply been a conversation starter. He still awaited the answer more eagerly than he wanted to admit.

“Girlfriend. No, not exactly. I mean… it’s not really my… thing.”

Logan nearly dropped the rest of his chocolate bar. To avoid future mishaps, he consumed what was left in two quick bites. Having his mouth full at least allowed him time to think. To formulate his response carefully, rather than blurting out something he’d later regret. He decided to play it cool.

“Oh yeah? Same here.” He left it at that; let his answer hover in the air for a moment before he continued, “Got a boyfriend, then?”

There was a pause, and Logan wondered if he’d pushed things too far. Finally, the answer came back, “No. You?”

“Not right now.” Logan scrunched up the chocolate bar wrapper. The crinkling foil was loud in the darkness. He pushed it up his sleeve to join the previous packet. “Been busy, you know?”
Good one, Logan. Very cool.

“Drink?”

“Thanks.”

As Logan took the water bottle from Jonah, their fingers brushed. It had been accidental contact at first, but Logan couldn’t deny he had prolonged it longer than necessary. Here he was, trapped inside a whale, probably going to die, and yet thoughts of escape, of rescue, were fast being supplanted with ones of sex. No, not sex, not quite; rather flirtation.