Guest post by William Faulkner
At first, there was nothing but the waves, the unending rhythm of waves that were in constant motion yet so consistent a presence that they were unnoticeable. Surfers dotted the ocean, their bodies nought but specks, their sounds unheard over the distance, consumed by the waves, the waves, the waves. From the shore, the ocean began to swell with the presence of fins heralding hunters from the early days of time, before Nova so named herself, before George claimed a common barstool as his property, before Finley and April’s hot vows were lost to the cold destruction of salted water, high tides, and time.
Where else would a surfer work but at the beach, his bar merely a distraction to the distraction that was his passion, his passion that was the waves? The waves did not call to Finley ‘Fin’ Shepherd because the waves were the blood that fueled the pumping of his heart. Fin did not go the water, but returned to it, reclaiming his place in the great expanse of blue that had brought him love and fortune and then taken both of them away. It was the still, calm, predictability of life spent on land that was his curse and none who knew him knew him at all without understanding that his heart belonged to no woman, no man, no child, but only to the board, the long, curved board that he paddled into the deep and then rode back to land on the waves that were his blood, but always rejected him, sending him back to the land that he tolerated but would never embrace.
Though busy with midday business, Fin had left the bar behind in the care of the young Nova, who had half of his years and wanted all of his heart. As first George’s eyes, seconded by hands, roamed her bared, tanned skin, drawn to the horrific scars on her shapely legs, Fin was ignorant of the arrival of sharks from southern waters, the rolling waves offering only a glimpse of the great expanse before taking it away, replacing the view of the world with the image only of waves. He did not see the first shark, but was called to its presence by the painful, frightened scream of his friend Baz, who sat astride a waverunner, his leg caught in the jaw of a shark that wanted to pull the human body to his realm, the land of infinite salt and growing blood.
The shark’s eternal hunger was left wanting as Fin came to Baz’s aid, and the two men, friends long enough to become brothers, took haven in the bar that Fin owned and readied themselves for the arrival of a storm that stood as testament to the cruelty of God.
In times of great crisis, lost men try to find themselves by acting to protect those they have disappointed, and so Fin called the house bought with his money but given to the woman the law recognized as his wife, and the ocean knew to be his mistress. Neither April nor his daughter wanted anything to do with the man that had abandoned them, but still Fin went to them, the temporary drive to be with them supplanting his near-present drive to be with the ocean.
Perhaps it was the sharks, he would think later, when the threat was over, that had sent him running for dry ground for the first time in his life. It was now the sharks that came in waves, and they came with all of the destructive force only Fin had been able to deliver to Fin. The dual fists of an angry God came at Fin, the storm destroying his bar and the sharks destroying his patrons. That the Pacific Ocean would be the site of his death, Fin had long embraced, but he had always thought he would die in its arms and not in the jaws of its master hunter.
The City of Angels was beset by the Hounds of Hell. George was lost along the way, his lecherous past redeemed in part through the rescue of a dog trapped in a car.
Nova’s desire for Fin was tested by the light of Revelation, the unsettled ocean churning up half-buried truths: Fin’s wife, Fin’s daughter, Fin’s son, and so it was that the heart of the woman half Fin’s age exchanged her want for him with a newfound want for his son.
God’s wrath came at last in the form of three waterspouts, a childish name for a destructive column of water connecting the ocean with the sky, and then the sky with the land. It was the son of Fin who devised the plan to stop the spouts, and he took flight in a machine that mocked winged fauna, and Nova did drop bombs into two of the waterspout, their heat negating the cold spinning Sharknados.
With the raining of sharks onto Los Angeles, it was up to the man nicknamed for the only part of the shark comfortable out of water to end the threat. Why was it left to this one man to risk his life and sacrifice his truck? Where was the military when the country needed them to stop an angry God from destroying this city of sin? Their absence cost lives but the city was not lost thanks to the actions of a man who rebuffed the advances of an extraordinary woman only to lose her to his son, and regain a spiteful wife whose presence on this day was unwanted, unnecessary, and unfortunate.
The Sharknado did thusly destroy a city, but as Fin cut himself and Nova free from the belly of the great oceanic hunter, the sharknado did also rebuild a family.
Please check out Mark Bousquet’s published works:
The Haunting of Kraken Moor (horror)
Gunfighter Gothic (weird western)
Stuffed Animals for Hire (children lit)
Dreamer’s Syndrome (urban fantasy)
Harpsichord and the Wormhole Witches (cosmic pulp)
Adventures of the Five (children lit)
Marvel Comics on Film