Read Online The Journey Prize Stories 28 by Kate Cayley - Free Book Online Page A

its fishbowl start; there’s a film over everything. The yellow rain gear Diane passes out is a relief. She points to the river—a couple of the Mossom Creek guys are already stringing barrier nets at either end.
    â€œThis is Station 1. If you want to work in the river, put on the hip waders,” Diane says. “Station 2”—she puts a bucket and some plastic bags on the picnic table—“eggs and milt.”
    A volunteer emerges from the bushes with a decapitated Coho. He pulls out a knife and sits at the table. One slit, and carnelian-coloured eggs spill out of her belly.
    â€œSushi,” Lucky says and elbows me. “No, really, that’s brain food right there.” I move to the other side of the table, next to Lara.
    â€œIt’s true,” Diane says, “want some?”
    â€œNah, my brain’s already wasted.” Lucky laughs again. Everything’s a big joke. She points to the fish bonkers Diane’s unloaded from the truck. “I’ll kill ’em.”
    â€œStation 3, eh?” Diane glances at the guard, who shrugs.
    Lucky sees this. “Come on, better the clubs than the knives, right?”
    â€œIt’s no problem, Lucky,” Diane says. “Lara?”
    â€œWhere do you want to be?” Lara asks me.
    â€œAs far away from Lucky as possible,” I say, quiet. She nods. We pull on the hip waders.
    â€œAll right, Fishing Bear, show ’em how it’s done,” Lucky calls.
    Diane, unsurprisingly, looks horrified. Half of me is horrified too, the other half kinda wants to laugh.
    A few steps in and the river is pushing me around, a downstream shove over polished rocks. Now I’m in the way of progress. Around me, the Coho are boiling. Their panic is tangible but so is their resolve. Green ghosts shoot forward to snap at my calves, then scoot away. Encased in rubber, I still shrink from the contact.
    A net proves useless; it bends and pulls when I dip into the current. I slip a little and swear under my breath. Sweat collects along my backbone.
    â€œHow do you do this?” I call to Lara, but she’s too far away and the river drowns me out. Shouldn’t have had that coffee; my heart is pounding. Tweaked. A feeling I’ve been trying to avoid. My legs stiffen and the force of the river increases, so I bend my knees. This can’t be as bad as handling a hive full of bees for the first time, when they seem terrifying, before you realize that you’re the Godzilla. I look down. The water is full of fish and all I have to do is reach in and grab one. Inhale, plunge a hand into the river, and connect five fingers with a solid body. It fights and escapes. I swing the net around, tie it onto my back, and try again, with both hands this time. I’ve never seen Coho teeth, not sure how much damage they’d do. Lara watches for a sec, then she ditches her net and gets in there next to me.
    Got one this time, right at the base of the tail. Heave and he’s in my arms. I was not expecting this: hook-faced, black-lipped, red-bellied sea monster. One eye missing, ripped fins, torn skin. He’s winding me—fights with more strength than seems possible from a body already half decomposed.
    I hang on, restraining a Mossom Creek Coho at the unforeseen end to his homecoming. Whispering hollow assurance: Lara’s percentages, chances of increased fry survival. Don’t be afraid. Do not fear that woman on the shore, your executioner. You won’t meet death in your own river, what you were hoping for, I admit. But your DNA will be preserved, and that’s what it’s all about, really.
    I don’t know if he hears me. He stops fighting. Diane andthe others are waiting on the shore with clubs and knives. Salmon enhancement. Nature’s Little Calipers. I think about the bees at the end of their
productive life cycle
, but there’s no time to think, really, before the river shoves me back toward