Choices of the Starving Sea

The salt-stained hull of the wrecked fishing trawler lurched awkwardly against the grey rocks, abandoned but far from forgotten. Eve stepped on board, her breath hitching from the biting chill that swept off the grey sea, now reduced to a tedious stretch of roiling water, devoid of life and colour. It had been four years since the last harvests had yielded anything but despair. Since then, humanity’s grasp on survival had been plagued by desperation, and the starving sea held its bounty in memory alone.

“It’s just an old boat,” she whispered to herself, shaking off the unease that crept along her spine. It had been nearly a month since Evie had ventured away from their barricaded settlement – the last community before the wilderness twined with marshland beyond the cliffs. The raiders, once a distant rumour, were now a tangible threat, picking at their dwindling supplies. She needed food. They all did.

Inside the decaying belly of the ship, a pungent scent of brine and rot clung to the air. Her flashlight beam danced erratically along the shimmering remains of neglected fishing nets and rusting machinery, weaving through memories buried beneath the detritus. In a creaking cubbyhole, she glimpsed supplies arranged haphazardly on a collapsed shelf. The strong odour of something rotten mingled with the stale scent of old fish. Her stomach twisted as she scanned the scattered remnants of canned food, battered and rust-dusted but perhaps salvageable if they held any hope of trapping the pestilence of decay within their curved metal shells.

She reached out tentatively. The dull scrape of her fingers across a tin lid jolted her. A memory rushed through her – a group of them huddled around warm fires, sharing last year’s harvest, laughing, telling stories. A clink of tins that had once been a joy now symbolised the gnawing emptiness of a world gone quiet. Still, she had to take the risk. The alternative was too grim.

Suddenly, the creaking of the boat grew louder, snapping Eve from her thoughts. With a sense of foreboding hanging over her like dark rain clouds, she crawled deeper into the ship’s bowels. A sense of dread settled over her, clinging like the clammy water that lapped hungrily outside. And then she heard it—a low thrumming noise, rhythmic and unsettling, pulsing from the far end of the hull.

Her heart quickened. Before she could convince herself it was simply the wind, she pressed forward, gripping the flashlight, its beam quivering in the air thick with tension. The sound rippled against her mind, teasing at ancient fears buried deep within her.

What if there were still people on this boat? Desperate, starving souls who had lost their way like she had?

Drawing closer, she spotted a door, slightly ajar, the squint of stagnant light streaming through from a dim-lit room beyond. She resolved to leave, to retreat with what hope she had before curiosity turned into folly. But the sound grew louder, now layered with a hum of voices – maddened whispers gently beckoning her closer, weaving tales of their despair and hunger.

“Help… join us…”

It was seductive, perilous, and a thread of something deep inside her tangled with the call. She shoved the door wider, its rust-encrusted hinges shivering in protest, and slipped through.

Before her lay the remnants of a small crew’s quarters, furniture upturned and adorned in seaweed, the damp air heavy and cloying. A further scattering of cans caught her eye, piled as if abandoned mid-feast, and visions of nourishment flooded through her imagination. As she stepped over a battered table, the floor creaked ominously, making her hesitate.

And that was when she saw them. In the corners of her vision, shadows shifted, murky figures rising beyond the veil of time and decay. The emptiness loomed larger, their forms shuddering out of focus, drawn in close, watching her. Not merely premonitions of death, but rather echoes of those who had succumbed to the pleasures of the watery abyss.

Panic latched onto her throat, urging her to flee, but just a step back cast a ripple of obstacles between her and the door. Voices grew louder in their chorus, many-limbed shapes moving with the inexorable pull of the sea, their blanched faces thin as paper.

“Join us, join us… Share your sustenance, your strength.”

Eve forced her feet to move, retracing her way back toward safety, yet the shadows swirled like a funeral shroud, constricting, coaxing her with languid, clawed fingers. Hunger gnawed at her, deeper than mere appetite. It was hunger for belonging, for a family long lost in the world’s decay. Desperation surged like poison through her veins, whispering promises of warmth and understanding.

A sudden crash echoed behind her – a flurry of movement as something burst forth from the gloom, something more than shadow. The figures flooded her vision, malformed and gaunt, eyes big and watery, mouths dribbling with dark liquid. It wasn’t simply food they sought; it was her essence, her life, the taste of hope mingling with despair, seeking to drain her existence.

“Join us. There is more than enough.”

In a moment of profound clarity, Eve understood the transactions she was now embroiled in. The tide would take her too, forever consigned to a rhythm, doomed to become a husk of desperation others would find in their own wanderings. Instinct kicked in; she wasn’t ready to join their throng—not yet.

Turning, she dashed toward the door, but fingertips grazed her wrist. The shadow’s grasp was icy, and she recoiled as the figure loomed close, dripping shadows as darkness pooled around her.

“Feed us,” it hissed, the chorus rising in cold intensity, the echoes blending into an anguished symphony that enveloped her. “Share your bounty, Eve.”

With a desperate cry, she wriggled free, darting through the doorway. The air pushed cold as she sped back through the narrow path, weaving past memories of lost humanity, pulsing visions of dozens trapped in the waiting sea, cursed to return.

Breakneck, she stumbled, disoriented until the sharp light outside began to carve away at the thick fog of despair gathering behind her.

She clambered over the edge of the deck, barely managing to leap free of the grasping figures – but not before one clawed at her shirt, tearing a seam. With a final glance, the ship shimmered behind her as shapes writhed and twisted, swirling into when it had once been alive.

Outside, the wind pierced her skin anew as the light returned to dull echoes of a mournful sea, and she awoke from the freezing hold of her slumber. But the price had been paid.

That night, as her brethren huddled close around the cracked fireplace, laughter echoed like a distant memory, hollow and strained. The shadows in her mind lingered, whispering secrets of her true hunger. Each time she caught a glint of metal in her hands, she saw the outlines of desperate hands reaching toward her. Eve remained with her people, but every meal tasted of salt and despair, every bite a cut deeper than any knife could carve.

The sea had chosen; hunger fed upon her, day by day, as her savagery grew worn and frayed at the edges of her heart. They were there with her, always—echoes of the shadows she could not untangle. Only the flickering flames held her company as they reached out, tantalisingly close, asking only for a taste of what she had wrought.