The Mudskipper of the Tidal Flats (3)
While the village still lay deep in sleep, I turned the key in my old truck. It was low tide—the hour when the sea had drawn back as far as it would go, laying the vast mudflats bare. The midday heat had long since bled from the air, and the predawn shore was cool and clean. At this hour, the mudskipper I was meant to put down would be doing nothing more than chewing through the mud, not causing any trouble. Conditions for a hunt didn't get better than this.
The truck cut through the dark along a road I knew by heart. Before long, the lights of the police substation came into view. The moment I pulled up, two people who'd been waiting inside pushed the door open and stepped out.
Inspector Park and Officer Lee.
Inspector Park looked for all the world like a man who'd done this a hundred times. He held a paper cup of hot coffee and greeted me with a short, easy nod.
"You're here."
Officer Lee, standing beside him, was another story entirely—ramrod-straight posture, a face set like stone. He'd clearly been wound tight all night. I walked over and gave him a tap on the shoulder.
"Officer Lee, we going to war? You look grimmer than most soldiers."
My deadpan joke finally cracked a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
Inspector Park came over, fished a breathalyzer out of his pocket, took one look at me, and stuffed it back with a helpless laugh.
"Fat lot of good this does on an Awakened. Officer Lee, go get the firearm."
He pulled a key ring from his coat and tossed it. Officer Lee caught it a little clumsily and hurried off toward the gun locker inside the station. The way he went, he looked exactly like a rookie heading out on his first field exercise. I couldn't help smiling.
Clank.
The heavy iron door swung open, and the rattle of security chains dragging across the floor echoed through the quiet station. A moment later, Officer Lee came back, carefully carrying the firearm and a box of ammunition.
While he inspected the gun, I signed my name and the current time in the Firearm Checkout Ledger, the way I always did. Then I mixed myself a cup of mix coffee from the pot in the corner and brought it over.
Officer Lee had his phone out, recording video as he opened the ammo box and counted every last round inside. Thorough, the way a rookie ought to be. For a field Huntsman whose time was worth its weight in gold, that kind of procedure was sometimes a luxury—but getting angry at Officer Lee wouldn't have gotten me anything. I just waited in silence until he finished his work.
Once he'd counted the rounds and finally switched off his phone, Inspector Park, standing beside me, asked in a low voice:
"If we slip you about five extra rounds, that work for you?"
I shook my head with a snort of laughter.
"Come on. It's just a mudskipper."
Inspector Park let out a short sigh at that, then gave me a brief rundown of the day's work.
"Gunshots at this hour, we're gonna get complaints no matter what. Still, the village heads have all told the old folks in no uncertain terms not to set one foot on the flats this morning, so we should be fine. Lee and I'll hold the entrance down to the mudflats. Don't worry about the rest."
I knocked back the rest of my coffee in one go, took the rifle Officer Lee held out, and checked it over. It felt a little stiff since the last time I'd cleaned it, but it would do.
With everything ready, a thought popped into my head, and I said it without thinking.
"So what's the county office saying? Is the mudskipper safe to eat?"
The words had barely left my mouth before Inspector Park and Officer Lee were staring at me, eyes round, as if they couldn't believe what they'd just heard. I waved them off with an awkward laugh.
"Hey—I'm kidding. Kidding."
Leaving their stunned faces behind, I gathered up the ammo and the rifle and stepped out of the station into the dark that still hadn't lifted.
I started the truck again and pulled onto the road. Right behind me, a police car fell in, its silent light bar flashing. Blue and red washed over the dark predawn road in turns.
In the old days, all I'd had to do was sign the checkout ledger at the station, take the gun, and that was that. Things were different now. One by one, my fellow Huntsmen had retired or quit for one reason or another, until I was the only person left in the area who could still do this kind of work. Which meant that taking care of a single mudskipper now required a police escort—a little more pomp than the job really called for.
Still, I couldn't say I minded. Driving a pitch-black predawn road alone was lonelier than having a silent companion along for the ride. I made a friend of the police car in my rearview mirror and headed for today's destination: the mudflats.
By the time the dark night sky had begun to take on a hint of blue, we'd arrived. The sea had withdrawn past the horizon, and the mudflats lay spread before us, their vast flesh laid bare. It was the best possible hour to start a hunt.
The moment I parked at the entrance overlooking the flats, the two of them piled out of the police car, yellow caution tape in hand, and started cordoning off the area. I pulled the old binoculars from the truck and swept the mudflats with care.
Here and there across the wide expanse, I could just make out crabs and gobies—tasty little things. Looking out at that view, I couldn't help thinking a cup of makgeolli would go perfectly with it. But mixed into that peaceful scene was one uninvited guest.
Today's target.
It was just as I'd expected. Unable to manage a body that had suddenly grown enormous, it was slowly chewing through the mud like a grub. Its skin, where it had been left exposed to the sun, was dried out and cracked—as if the creature couldn't quite handle its own bulk.
Before I knew it, Inspector Park and Officer Lee had finished putting up the tape and come over.
"How's it look?"
"I've never even landed a one-foot fish in my life. The one we're taking today looks about eight feet."
I lowered the binoculars and looked at Inspector Park. The joke seemed to have loosened him up; he crossed one ankle over the other and pointed out at the flats.
"You gonna need a tiller just to walk that far? You'll be gassed before you even get there."
I unslung the rifle from my back and took it in hand.
"I've climbed more mountains than I can count. You think a little mud is going to stop me?"
Inspector Park nodded at that.
"All right. I'll be here having a smoke, so go handle it yourself. Officer Lee! You go block the entrance on the other side."
Caught off guard by the sudden order, Officer Lee startled and then hustled off toward the far entrance. I watched his back for a moment, then started pulling rounds from the ammo pouch one by one and loading them.
Click. Click.
The clean, cool sound carried through the dawn air. With everything ready, I took my first step out onto the sucking mud.
With every step, the sticky mud wrapped around my ankles and sank. An ordinary person would have had trouble even walking. For me, it was almost comfortable. I paced my breathing and slowly closed the distance.
The closer I got to the mudskipper, the more it seemed to notice me. The little fin on top of its head stood up like a rooster's comb, and its massive body writhed as it showed me its wariness.
When it had run into Grandma Park, it had probably panicked—a body that had suddenly ballooned, a human it had never seen before—and gone wild. But the creature in front of me now was different. In the space of a single day, it had begun to think of this entire vast mudflat as its territory. It was looking at me as an intruder.
I ignored the warning and kept closing in. The mudskipper leaped. It was an action carved into a mudskipper's instincts—but its enormous body couldn't keep up.
Splat!
The clumsy leap ended in a terrible sound. Its massive body hit the mudflats, and the spray of mud-water and sludge splattered right up to my nose. Seeing it look so pathetic, I almost felt sorry for the thing.
When I started walking again, it didn't give up—it began crawling slowly toward me. I let out a dry laugh inside. Coming to me on its own. How considerate.
At last, it entered effective range. I stopped dead, brought the rifle to my shoulder, and took a slow, steady breath. No matter how pitiful it looked, I couldn't afford to underestimate it. The fact that it was inside my range meant I was inside its range, too. The moment a hunter forgets that, they become the prey.
I lined up the writhing mass in my sights and held my breath. The instant the mudskipper froze, wary of me once more, I pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Bang!
The roar tore through the dawn silence, and the bullet punched clean into its body. A dull thump, and the mudskipper's enormous form thrashed violently.
This was the most dangerous moment. A dying creature's last struggle is never something you can predict. I hooked my finger on the trigger again, ready to finish it—but it moved first. It launched itself at me, or rather, desperately into the air above my head. It was closer to an escape than an attack, but I couldn't let it go. I squeezed the trigger again, tracking the leaping mudskipper.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shots slammed into its body, and the massive form went limp and fell.
Splat!
It hit the mudflats with a sound that made the earlier splash sound like nothing. A wall of mud-water and sludge, enough to blot out my vision, came at me like a tidal wave. I didn't have time to dodge. I got the mudflats from head to toe.
Sticky mud clung to every inch of me, clammy and unpleasant. Muddy water dripped from my hair. Some of it had gotten in my eyes; they felt gritty and stiff. But I wasn't even annoyed. Looking at the thing lying limp in front of me, a satisfied smile came on its own.
It felt like landing the catch of a lifetime for the first time. When I hunted things like wild boar in the mountains, I'd always feel a little sorry at the end—a twinge of pity. But today… this had been closer to fishing than hunting.
I looked back. On either side of the mudflat entrance, Inspector Park and Officer Lee were watching from a distance. I raised the hand holding the rifle high, signaling that it was over. Inspector Park waved me in, gesturing for me to come back.
Today's fishing trip had wrapped up neatly with a single prize catch. I pulled my feet free of the sucking mud and grabbed the huge fin of the dead mudskipper lying slack on the ground. Dragging that enormous trophy behind me, I started the slow walk back.