It was dark. The car flicked its headlights from high to low beam. That must be why my depth perception was so out of whack. I thought I had enough time.

I lunged forward and grabbed.

My hand wrapped around a slimy arm.

Was the octopus surprised? Are they capable of surprise?

I remember being out in the tinny once with Jem. We were cruising about with a pod of dolphins, who were surfing our wake. Jem climbed up on the bow of the boat and reached down to where one was coasting along beside us and grabbed it by the dorsal fin, and I swear it started and looked over its shoulder at him, and with that, quick smart, the whole pod disappeared. There was something so human-like about the dolphin’s facial expression.

It was the same thing that night: the octopus started as if it was surprised, turned to me and, somewhat dreamily, curled a tendril-like arm up and around my wrist. Her suckers folded to fit the contours of my skin and she latched on, holding me as much as I was holding her. Together we were caught in the headlights.

The car hit us. Not full on, but still, it was enough to send me flying. I landed heavily on my chest. My breasts compressed beneath me. I skidded on them across the red gravel that edges the road. Momentum rolled my jumper and shirt up under my chin and exposed my stomach and chest. I was shredded. Strips of skin and flesh peeled back to expose the silicone beneath. I ground to a stop. Chin down like a brake. A disembodied octopus arm in my fist. Suckers still clinging to me. She lay a few metres away.

I hadn’t let go. I’d flung the octopus. Ripped her arm from her head. She twitched. Nerves.

Look at us, lying here, I thought, as the world went slack. The octopus and I.

TWO

TWO

A SEAL’S TAKE

A SEAL’S TAKE

The tide is low and the swell is small. This makes the little male seal happy. It means he doesn’t have to ride the green bulge of a wave up onto the shit-stained cliffs of the haul-out; instead he can laze on the beds of lower rocks, which are fuzzy with lichen and limpets and weed. He closes his eyes and steadies his breathing to match the lap of the waves and rolls himself from side to side, letting the texture of the bed massage into his fur and rub at his skin. It’s absolute bliss, but it’s short-lived.

There is a splash, a spray of droplets, a grumpy growl and a presence to his left. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s an alpha. He keeps them closed, halts his rocking and tries to keep his breathing steady, so the alpha will think he’s asleep and leave him alone. It’s a trick he and his friend used to play on the other pups, when they didn’t want to romp with them. It’s the breathing that’s key; they can hear if you’re awake.