"Bluff Cove Lagoon" by Llrâc Nôdbé

Bluff Cove Lagoon

by Llrâc Nôdbé

 

Jacob turned his back on his teacher, Mr Summers, and stared past the rows of coin-operated viewing telescopes to the car park beyond, which was rammed with vehicles displaying different coloured windscreen stickers:

Police Aware.

7 Day Removal Notice.

Notice of Destruction.

Officers were removing personal belongings and suitcases, while a tow-truck was winching a car into the air.

Jacob spun around when he heard his name.

‘Am I boring you, Jacob Mullins?’ shouted Mr Summers.

Jacob shook his head.

‘Right, as I was saying. King Penguins here in the Falkland Islands were almost wiped out by whalers in the 1920s. Void of trees, the island’s only fuel were the oily, blubber rich waddling things on the beach behind me. As well as eating penguins and their eggs, whalers burnt millions of them to boil whale blubber to extract the oil. Hell, they even used penguin oil for heating, cooking, and lamps, so no wonder the poor buggers nearly became extinct. Thankfully, the penguin population is increasing daily.

‘Now, all penguins are protected by law and only authorised conservationists, and the Penguin Police in the protective suits and masks you see on the beach, are allowed to enter the lagoon. So, don’t even think about hitting the beach!’ bellowed Mr Summers, before heading towards the café and souvenir shop. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. The school has provided one token each for the viewers, after that, buy your own.’

Thomas grabbed Jacob’s arm and tugged him through the car park, stopping between two abandoned cars, before pulling him into a crouched position.

‘What’re we do—’

Thomas cupped his hand over Jacob’s mouth. ‘Shush. Just wait.’

Apart from thousands of penguins and the men wearing strange, space-like contamination suits—complete with helmets and oxygen tanks—the beach was deserted; not a single islander or tourist in sight.

The boys watched as the suited men collected clothes, towels, bags and cameras off the beach; the owners long gone.

Thomas pointed to steps on their right. ‘Once the spacemen have finished and head back to their admin building, we’ll go that way to the beach.’

Jacob looked petrified. ‘We can’t! You heard what Summers said, and he’s right. My papa also said it’s only tourists allowed. No islanders.’

‘Why should they have all the fun? It’s our island, and anyway, I want a pet penguin. I’m getting an egg.’

***

Jacob shook as Thomas led him down the steep steps that wound their way into the cove.

‘I’ve got cotton wool and bubble-wrap for the eggs. Are you getting one?’

Thomas’ words echoed inside Jacob’s skull. He was terrified; he didn’t want to be punished, plus something didn’t feel right when he placed his left foot onto the sand.

It looked like Thomas was already shedding his rucksack, flip-flops and T-shirt whilst he hurtled towards the penguins and the waves crashing onto the shore, although, heat haze obscured his view of Thomas, so he couldn’t be sure what he was seeing, which was strange as there was little sun to speak of; it had been cloudy for days.

Thomas’ movements became jerky and laboured, and he waddled forward as though he were mimicking a penguin.

Jacob relaxed a little and a chuckle escaped his lips. ‘You’ll scare them off!’ he shouted, but Thomas was out of earshot. He went darker, presumably cloaked in shadow, and shrunk from view.

He must have gone behind a dune.

Guilt, mixed with worry, made him hesitate, unsure whether to plough on or retract his leg from the sand. He looked down at his left foot, which was enveloped in a wall of heat haze, distorting its shape. He tried to dig his flip-flop into the sand, but his left leg was now numb. He wiggled his toes, watched them move, but felt nothing.

What the Hell?

He panicked and tried to pull his foot back onto the step, but it wouldn’t budge; the heat haze was like a oneway forcefield. He tugged and tugged, but it held fast.

‘Mr Summers! Help!’ he yelled, but it was futile; they were at least a quarter of a mile from the viewing platform.

Tears streamed down his face when he looked at his stricken foot, which was twisting and deforming. The skin rippled and flexed, reshaping before his eyes. It blackened, resembling frost bite, and his toe nails cracked and split, and small bones slid forward, forming claws.

He screamed and reached for his foot but, as soon as his hand broke the surface of the haze, he couldn’t bring it back, again. Amputated; that’s what it felt like, although, unlike an amputee, he could still see his limb. He wriggled and squirmed, yet it only resulted in his body edging further forward into the rippling haze. His left ear was inside now, and something moved on the side of his head. Feathers tickled his face and, when his eyes sought out the trapped foot, it was gone—replaced with a webbed one.

A hot stream of piss ran down his right leg, trickled off the step, and pooled on the sand causing his webbed foot to squidge it between its claws.

He screamed. For the teacher. For his mother.

Heart slamming into his ribs, he tried to turn around but his trapped ear prevented him. Searching with his eyes, he spotted a piece of driftwood on the steps, just within reach.

Poking it through the shimmer, he expected it to change, but it didn’t.

While he whacked at his new webbed foot, a strange penguin waddled up the beach towards him—its stomach blue, rather than the usual white belly and yellow neck.

It must be the haze; none of this is real.

As it waddled closer, the blueness slid off it and fell to the sand.

Jacob rubbed tears from his eyes and squinted through the haze, focusing on the object—a pair of blue shorts: Thomas’ shorts.