Barracuda

The bullet headed leader moved forward in fits and starts. Long
distance travel of this duration was relatively alien to the
cuttlefish. His expulsion valve, used to jet water in order to propel
him along, was raw and aching with the unaccustomed and prolonged
stream of seawater he had passed almost continuously over the last
week. They had been searching for 8 days now, moving mostly during the
day and catching food and rest at irregular intervals of an evening.
Eight days was a long time for any cephalopod to leave his home
environs. To those familiar with these amazing creatures it was indeed
unusual behaviour.

Their leader was cruising 2 metres above the sandy ocean bottom.
Immediately behind him, in a tightly knit threesome followed his
companions. All around them was the deep blue and below them were
endless ridges in the sand stretching like corduroy across the sea bed.
The leader could sense that it would not be far now. Extreme caution
was needed. They had only just left the security of the reef for the
open water, and now they were susceptible to attack from above, below
and from the flanks.

Suddenly, a flash of silver appeared above them at 2 O'Clock.
Barracuda! Like shafts of silver raining downward. The leader could
hear the low frequency moans from his team, moans of distress,
knowledge of impending attack. All four cuttlefish automatically began
to pale in fear. This was an uncannily human-like physiological
response to fright. This team was chosen for this expedition because of
their intelligence, strength and spirit. The well developed brains of
these, the most intelligent of all invertebrates, knew only too well
that camouflage and ink clouds would be useless in the open waters once
spotted by this pack of marauding fish. Seeing the pack straighten up
and arrow in at them from 40 yards away, the cuttlefish leader
communicated with his team through a short series of colour
flashes.

'At my signal squirt and break. Head straight for the bottom'.

'Why now?. We are so close', he thought. He could sense the new
territory.

'The Moyang' were right to influence us in this direction'.

Without warning, screaming in from behind at lightning speed charged an
enormous barracuda. The cuttlefish were focused on moving forward and
and preparing themselves for the inevitable onslaught from the school
off to their left when this rogue fish hit the leader. With a sickening
thud the tooth-packed snout of the barracuda sank deep into the leader,
who sensing its attacker at the last millisecond released his ink
cloud. Immediately his followers spurted forth their own ink screens,
minds blank with fear, two of the followers broke to the left, straight
into the oncoming pack only to be met by these threshing machines of
teeth and scales who wasted no time in reducing their soft, rubbery
bodies into blue-bloodied strips of flesh. The barracudas darted in and
out of the feast of tentacles and meat, snapping up the delicacies as
they floated to the bottom. Like fighter aircraft they banked and
turned back into the slaughter, making short work of the team of
cuttlefish, seemingly unperturbed by the distasteful, dissipating cloud
of cephalopod ink.

Pressed against the bottom, trembling inside with an incapacitating
fear, his three hearts hammering away madly, 'Skiff' had broken to the
right and made it safely to the seabed. Grinding his beak in horror, he
watched these demons as they feasted upon the remains of his
companions. Lifting his mind to 'The Moyang' Skiff made a time honoured
plea for the intervention of his ancestors. As though in direct
response to his plea, Skiff sensed an eerie calm, his triple heart beat
slowed, his skin began to tingle and the surface of his skin gave rise
to ridges and took on the texture of the sandy bottom. Flecks appeared
on his skin, indistinguishable from the small specks and grains of sand
and shell that constituted the sea floor in this area. The cuttlefish
was, for all intents and purposes, invisible.

The barracuda school did a quick sweep of the water above the remaining
cuttlefish, their blank stares with greedy smirking snouts scanning for
any remaining tit-bits. Satisfied that there were none to be had, and
unaware of the remaining cuttlefishes'presence, the pack disappeared
and headed back out into the deep, becoming smaller and smaller until
they disappeared from view altogether.

Skiff, all alone and far from home, grieved for his comrades. He
remained motionless on the sea floor, numbed by fear and a sense of
loss that rolled over him in waves. All three of his tiny hearts were
broken.

To be continued