Orville looked up and saw Jack holding a lumpy sack and grinning a gap-toothed smile, his back to the sun setting over Elliot Bay.
"What's that?" Orville asked.
"Fish." Jack nodded at the sack. It shuddered wetly. "I finally caught me some fish. I knew they'd come back. I knew it."
Madeline grunted and ran the stump of her tongue over thin lips. She set aside the shoes she'd been repairing and stood upright, knobby legs wobbling. She coughed. Orville stood too, slowly. He favored his game leg as he rose, giving up his nap, his place in the shade.
"How'd you catch 'em?" Orville frowned at the four soggy lumps in the sack Jack held out for Madeline and Orville to inspect. Madeline cooed as she reached out a hand to touch the fish and Jack pulled the sack away, a possessive frown creasing his brow, his good eye glaring.
"Used dynamite," Jack rasped. He hawked and spat something phlegmy on the dirt.
"Bullshit."
Jack shrugged. "I yelled 'Orville's an asshole' and they bellied up, laughed themselves to death. Should have tried that years ago."
"That I believe. Still, it has been a while. Maybe we shouldn't." Jack looked crestfallen. Orville looked at Madeline, at the pleading in her eyes. She grunted a question at him, pointing at the sack.
"Maybe we should, Orville," Jack added. "Huh? After all, I told you. Didn't I?"
Madeline grunted something at Orville. It might have been "Please?'
)
Three old people have survived the wars and plagues, but they're dying. One day, one of them catches a fish. They haven't eaten meat in years. But this fish isn't what it seems. It's part machine, something left over from before. Eat or bury it?
