Free Below by Ryan Lockwood

the back, nearly pushing him over the rail. Sturman managed to keep his balance and turned to face Steve, unsmiling, his face flushed. Steve laughed and slapped him on the back.
    Sturman’s expression slowly melted into a grin. “Watch it, old man.”
    “Just fuckin’ with you, son.”
    Sturman’s old drinking buddy was one of the few people he couldn’t stay mad at. “Try that again and I’m gonna turn around and water down your feet, asshole.”
    “Go ahead. It’s your boat.”
    “By the way, they’re plankton, you dumbass pirate.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “They’re not shrimp. They’re plankton . . . little crustaceans that light up when you piss ’em off.” He had once spent a lot of free time learning about marine biology. There was a time when he thought he would get a degree and study the ocean. But that was long ago.
    “I’ll be damned. You’re smarter than you look.”
    “I’ve never lit ’em up with my piss before.”
    “Where the hell you learn this stuff, son?”
    “You should try reading sometime. If you know how.”
    Sturman finished and watched the glowing plume quickly vanish from the water. “Where you goin’, guys?” Sturman considered for a moment. “You know what, boys? I think I’ll take a swim.”
    “You’re crazy, son. That water’s fuckin’ cold.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    Sturman zipped up his fly, tossed his straw cowboy hat at Steve, then executed a less-than-perfect dive over the rail, directly into the water where he had just urinated. Bud probably wouldn’t follow him in. The dog had gotten bored with the men after they started getting drunk, and was now sleeping in the stern of the boat.
    As Sturman entered the cool water, he opened his eyes and saw that the tiny bubble trail he had just created was aglow. He watched the glowing tracers follow his hands as he waved them through the water. He flapped a hand up and down in front of his eyes, striving to see one of the miniature creatures in the ghostly underwater light, but realized in a sober part of his mind that even with a dive mask on he wouldn’t be able to see the individual critters—they were too small.
    After half a minute, when Sturman felt his lungs burning for air, he kicked for the surface. Floating on the dark ocean next to his boat, he looked toward the bright, artificial lights from shore. How utterly different the harsh white and yellow lights of shore looked in comparison to the soft, supernatural bioluminescence he had just witnessed.
    They were only a mile or so off the coast of Capistrano Bay. The moon was nearly full, the winds were light, and the sea was mostly calm. He savored the moment, knowing it was fleeting. It wasn’t often he was happy to be alive. Now, though, he was drunk. He usually felt better when he was drunk, because it made him forget, and the water was his favorite place.
     
     
    That morning, Sturman hadn’t been in such a cheerful mood. He had been restless all week, following the doctor’s orders to stay out of the water for several days following his accident. Nothing a six-pack couldn’t fix, though. He and Steve had begun the evening by wandering over to one of the tourist-friendly bars to knock a few back. While Steve had tried his luck with two younger cougars visiting San Diego for the weekend, Sturman had been his usual brooding self, to the disappointment of the two brunettes. Things had been going remarkably well for Steve. The women were intrigued by his pirate charm until he had gotten buzzed and started talking about the size of his penis, scaring them both away.
    Only very adventurous or unintelligent women attracted to the criminal type could stomach Steve’s crude attitude and rough appearance. Steve really wasn’t a bad guy at heart. Just really rough around the edges. It probably didn’t matter anyway—those cougars had been looking for super-virile surfer dudes or soldiers in their early twenties. The old pirate never