Extinction: 5th and Final Episode

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read previous episodes: Episode 1. Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4.

In the kitchen, Marissa and her support staff were too busy with their knives and slotted spoons and vats of sauce to look at her. She went into back room where fish was prepared before it was brought, gutted and washed, into the main kitchen. She took a glass off the shelf and filled it at the faucet. Behind her, Rick, one of the assistant cooks, tipped a stainless steel pot over the butcher block counter. Four gorgeous, shimmering sea bass, their eyes flat with death, slid onto the surface. They wiggled to a stop as if they were still alive, leaving a smear of scales on the wood.

Rick pulled a cleaver off the rack and swiped it on a whetstone, ready to remove the heads. She couldn’t watch. She turned to the sink and gulped down the water. She heard Gordon’s voice in the other room, “Where’s Zyra?”

There was a loud thwack as the cleaver came down on the first fish. Tears filled her eyes. She considered whether she should use the hidden filet knife on Rick, stop him from mindlessly removing the heads of the deceased creatures as if it no longer mattered.

The door swung open, slammed against the wall and then swung violently out the other way into the main kitchen. “Please give us a minute,” said Gordon.

“I need to get these guys ready,” said Rick.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Gordon.

Rick trudged out the door, pushing it gently so it fell softly back into place. The room was silent, except for Gordon’s heavy, wet breath. “Turn around.”

She faced him, slipping her hand into her pocket and running her fingers along the handle of the knife.

“Do you want to keep your job?”

She stared at him.

“Remove these fish heads. If you do it satisfactorily, I might give you another chance.”

“No.”

He grabbed the cleaver in one hand and her wrist with the other. He clawed at her curled fingers, trying to loosen her fist, working the handle of the cleaver into her clenched hand. When she wouldn’t relent, he pressed the handle of the cleaver against the back of her hand, squashing the bones until she yelped. Squeezing his meaty hands around her fingers and the handle, he raised the cleaver. Zyra screamed. The cleaver slammed down and sliced neatly through the scales, bones and flesh. It struck the wood surface with a clean point of contact. The head skated across the counter and dropped to the floor.

Gordon let go of her hand. She put her knuckles to her lips, then she slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the filet knife. She waved it at him.

Gordon laughed. “If you want to save the ocean, go live on the beach or something. Why are you even here?”

“Underneath, most people are good. I can make them see what they’re doing.”

“You’re an idiot. Now put that knife away. I’ll go prepare your check and you can leave. Now.”

She pointed the knife at him. “You’re cruel.”

He laughed again. “All men are cruel. That’s how we survive. You think those damn fish are so virtuous? You ever been out on a fishing boat? They’re carnivores, just like us.”

Zyra moved closer, she swiped the thin blade at his knuckles, but he moved slowly out of the way, as if he didn’t have to try very hard to avoid her.

“You don’t have the guts to use that knife on me. Look at a shark sometime. You ever seen one rip apart a sea lion? We’re all animals. And if you aren’t an animal, you can’t survive.”

He grabbed her arm and yanked the knife out of her hand. Zyra twisted, trying to pull herself free. She stumbled back and her heel landed on the fish’s head. She cried out, knowing she was squashing it on the floor. She skidded. Her foot flew out to the side and she collapsed against Gordon as if he’d planned it that way. The knife pierced her neatly just to the left of her sternum. She wrenched away from him, the knife still embedded between her ribs. She fell. Her back smacked the floor with the same sound as the cleaver hitting the table. She felt the air rush out of her lungs. Pain shot down her spine. Strangely, there was no pain where the knife was planted. She saw the eyes of the fish, staring at her from its severed head, even though it couldn’t see her.

She wheezed, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen. Her throat tightened and the edge of her vision turned black. She moved her mouth, but couldn’t speak. All she could do was manipulate her jaw, moving it wildly, gasping for air.

THE END

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

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