Thalassophobia in the Late Cretaceous
Content Warning (click to expand)
mass extinction
by Chase Anderson
The creeping heat of sunrise wakes the hunter. He permits the sounds and vibrations of the world to fill his mind.
There’s no wind whistling grasses, scampering claws, terrified heartbeats. Only a gentle rocking, too fast for giant prey, too smooth for the chaos of a herd.
He blinks to assess the situation. Freezes. He recognizes what he sees, but not the meaning.
He lifts his head, scans the horizon. It’s all the same. A single, terrible truth.
He is alone in the big water.
• • •
When he’d first caught her scent on the wind, he’d thought it a fluke. An odd, unexplained thing that happened in the world. A falling star. Lightning on a clear, summer sky.
But the second time, he knew there’s a lone female, her only traces floating on air like licks of down.
But it blew from across the big water, the one place his strong legs and stronger heart couldn’t traverse. He’d stare out into the blue expanse, hoping to catch a glimpse of land, a flash of her tail. That she was near, and he could find a way to her.
• • •
The water is too big to comprehend. There is no burning line of land to see, no scent of dirt or mushroom or any sign of his world on the wind.
The only proof that land ever existed is he and the battered tree that bears him.
• • •
The storm was another fluke of the world, sudden and violent. He was ripped from the riverbank, clambered onto a tree that’d suffered the same fate, his killing claws gouging its bark.
The clouds were as thick as stone, blocking all light. He clung to the tree, waiting for daybreak to gather his bearings and find his way home.
• • •
Thoughts of the female feed his empty stomach. She’s somewhere, living, with food and water that isn’t poison.
He knows things live in the big water, sometimes washed ashore. But with no legs, no claws, how do they hunt?
A dark shape slides below the surface. The castaway leans over for a better look. Giant prey?
The shape pauses, tilts upwards. The trapped tenses, searching for someplace to hide, something to get between him and—
The predator slams into the log, flinging him into the air. Sunlight fractures on the ever-shifting surface of the water that slams into his body. Wet feathers pull him down, down, and the teeth of the massive hunter sink into him.
• • •
New prey is always exciting. It breaks the monotony of swimmers and fliers, these strange creatures that do neither. But the hunter doesn’t question it. She knows it’s a fluke of the world, unknowable, unexplained.
About the author and the piece (click to expand)
Chase Anderson tells us that this story not only killed the anthology it was supposed to be in, but the publishing company of the anthology as well. He is a gay animal person inside of your phone, which means he cares a lot about living things, the arts, and cybersecurity. He can be found sorting your recycling, posting cognitohazards in the group chat, and telling people about the many benefits of bollards, the best security control. If that hasn’t scared you away and you want to read more of his work, you can find it at chasej.xyz and follow him on Bluesky, which is also chasej.xyz.
©2026 by Chase Anderson. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.