He turned to the water, feeling good. In fact, better than he had in years. A change of scenery is as good as a holiday, he remembered his dad used to say. He continued to stare, thinking of the paradox he was trapped within — his father or mother wouldn’t be born for another 100 million years. Somewhere in some corner of this prehistoric world, there was a special sort of creature that would evolve into one of his progenitors.
“Better not step on it,” he said with a grin.
Ben paused at the notion — and what if I do? Will I simply cease to exist? Vanish? Will it change the entire course of human evolution and then some other species will rise to be the new rulers of the planet? It made his head hurt just thinking about the paradox.
Ben glanced quickly up and down the coast, not seeing any threats for miles heading north along the sand, and looking down south, it ended in cliffs that rose hundreds of feet. He felt pretty safe with empty beaches, cliffs at his back, and a pod of plesiosaurs more interested in fish than a weird upright, hairy creature on the shore.
He began to walk along the tide line, looking at the strange in amongst the familiar. There were bivalve and coiled shells, crab bodies, and jellyfish. But also, the front end of a creature that might have been a dolphin but had a plated boney head, large disk-like eyes, and backward-curving teeth like those of a barracuda. There were ribbed shark egg casings, starfish as big as hubcaps, and after a while, something else he noticed. It wasn’t something that was there, but something that wasn’t—there wasn’t a speck of plastic — no modern flotsam and jetsam.
He scoffed softly; the ocean was better off before we arrived, he thought. He waded into the shallows of the lagoon and saw sprats darting about over a rippling sandy bottom. He lifted his gaze to the deeper water near the rock barrier and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the still-rising sun.
The lagoon was bigger than he expected now that he was down at water level, running for hundreds of yards to the left, right, and out to the breakwater. Where the water began to deepen, he could just make out colorful weed growing like underwater trees and spiny starfish with long spiky arms hung in amongst them. Shrimp, crabs, and colored fish also moved about, and as he hoped, none paid him the slightest bit of attention — in fact, many of the fish came closer to him to investigate.
“I bet if I fed you, you’d be eating out of my hand in a week.”
Ben looked along the breakwater and mentally mapped out a route along the jagged rocks that separated the lagoon from the sea. It could be navigated, and he planned to try and circle the entire lagoon one day. But for now, even the lagoon depths were an unknown place, and out beyond it, the deep, dark ocean was far too forbidding to even contemplate.
Save that for later, he thought.
The sun had risen a little more and lit the shallows. Golden sand, beneath only about two feet of water — he waded in. It was warm, and he smiled, enjoying it. Fish darted by him. They were only about eight inches long and like silver streaks of mercury.
A little further out, something bobbed mid-water, and he moved toward it. He reached in and lifted it. It was a coiled seashell — striped in brown and ivory, and also occupied. Tentacles emerged and one large eye regarded him with disdain.
“Nautilus, nautiloid, or something like that, right?” He held it up, turning it one way then the other. His stomach rumbled, and he’d eaten worse things, but he had other fare on his mind. He let it plonk back into the water, where it hovered for a moment, and then motored away backward.
He shuffled further out, coming to where the natural edge of sand fell away into deepening water. It was still extremely clear, but it was about three feet there, and then must have dropped to three or four times that further out.
Ben got down on his knees first, and then ducked under the surface and opened his eyes. The water felt glorious on the skin of his face and was so clear he almost didn’t need goggles. Holding his breath, he was always amazed at the sounds of the ocean. He could just make out the clicks, pops, and grainy movements of sand as the sea life went about its business.
He surfaced, flicked his long hair back, and rubbed his face. His heart told him to swim further out. But his brain urged caution and listening to his logical self was what kept him alive so far. He decided that until he knew the waters a little better, he’d take his investigations slowly.
Ben got to his feet and continued his exploration along the edge of the sandbank.
He spun; spear up.
His sixth sense told him he was being watched. He let his eyes move over the water, and peering below the surface, he could see for hundreds of feet below as well. But there wasn’t any dark shape lurking there. There were only lumps of rock or patches of weed gently billowing on the bottom.
After many minutes, he managed to tear his eyes away and walked back into the shallows where he spotted a large conch shell on the bottom. He reached in and lifted it.
“Nice; I would have loved you on my desk back home.” He turned it in his hand for a moment more and then stuck it in his pack.
Ben had almost finished his search by moving back and forth in the shallows. And then, movement, plate-sized, and along the bottom. He raced after it and jabbed down with his spear, receiving a satisfying crunch.
“Yes.” Ben lifted his spear. The large crab came up and he strained to hold it. It was a big one with blue tips on its legs and large claws. It must have weighed in at about five pounds. “You’ll do.”
He walked up the sand and jabbed the spear hilt into the sand. Then he removed the large conch and placed it atop a large rock, like a cap.
“The first of my collection.” He looked at it, and then turned to the splayed crab. “Man’s gotta have a hobby, right?”
Ben feasted that night. But raw crab was a little harder to remove from the shell than cooked crab so a lot was left behind. Still, the claws each held a fistful of meat.
Ben kept the shells with shreds of meat to use as bait for the next day’s hunt. He slept soundly, safely, and his mind relaxed and took him back to a little rib joint in Ohio.
He smiled in his sleep as a dark-haired girl with luminous green eyes and a spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose put a hand over his.
I love you, she mouthed.
I love you too, he said and lifted her hand to kiss the knuckles.
Her expression became sad. I came, but you weren’t there.
What? Ben asked, frowning.
You weren’t there, Ben.
No, no, I was, he beseeched.
You weren’t there, you weren’t there, you weren’t there—her voice became shrill, loud, and squabbling.
Ben opened his eyes and blinked. The pterodons were fighting over the remains of meat in his crab shells.
“Hey! Piss off.” He shooed them away, and then rubbed his face. He picked up a shard of shell and tossed it at a few that were still bickering. “And thanks for fucking up my dream.” He scowled. “It’s gonna cost you a few eggs for breakfast.”
He turned back to the sunrise over the perfect ocean. He sighed as the sight immediately calmed him. He’d stay here for as long as he could. It was safer than the jungle and a hundred times safer than the plateau. Ben headed down to the water to start his new day.
First job was placing the broken crab shells in the lagoon water, and then that day, he decided to walk down along the beach, scouring the tide line, but remaining wary. The open beach had no cliffs at its back, so any hungry or fleet-footed theropods might have run him down if he wasn’t careful.