They left the Blizzard’s compound (which, because of its owners death, had begun to melt for no good structural reason) and continued their search for the Red Herring. After having looked for so long, however, all three were prepared to acquiesce to the fact that they would probably never –
“Oh look, there it is,” said John, pointing to the Red Herring.
Yes, he had found the Red Herring. It was sitting atop a pile of snow, its deep crimson scales standing out sharply against the white homogeneity of the Antarctic. Indeed, it was a magnificent fish, at least twice as magnificent as the next most magnificent fish. The three were thrilled.
“Comrade! We have found it!” said Mischa, excitedly hurrying forward.
“Don’t touch it, Mischa. It might be dangerous,” cautioned John wisely, holding out his arm. “Bill, go grab it.”
“Okay!” said Bill, rushing forward, picking up the fish and holding it above his head victoriously.
“Well! It seems that we’ve finally found the Red Herring. I guess now the only question is, what do we do with it?” asked John.
“Do you think that it has special powers or something?” asked Mischa, looking skeptically at the now limp fish in Bill’s hand. “Because if it has special powers, that would be good.”
“Maybe…” said John. “I mean, no one really told us anything about it. I think I’m supposed to bring it to Sanchez or Shamus, but now that I think about it, how the hell am I supposed to do that? We’re stranded here, lost, without any way to get out!”
“Calm down, Comrade!” said Mischa. “I am sure that we will think of something. For now, we should get some rest; after all, no man can tell what tomorrow might bring.”
Nodding, John sat down in the snow, stretching his legs out and sighing. He looked around and let out a deep breath, unsure of the future but glad to have found the Red Herring.
“You’re right, Mischa. We’ll spend the night out here and try to figure out the mystery of this Red Herring tomorrow. Bill, put it down. BILL!”
John had noticed just a minute too late that Bill was eating the Red Herring. Neither John nor Mischa could move or speak; they were paralyzed with awe at Bill’s ineffable idiocy.
Bill, however, was very cheerful, finally having eaten a decent meal. The herring, as it turns out, was quite delicious, despite being raw and full of bones.
“Oh, sorry guys!” said Bill. “I should’ve shared. Mom says I should always share. She’s gonna be mad at me now. I should call her.”
Bill took out his cell phone and tried to call his mother, but the phone had been frozen for weeks and he obviously couldn’t get through. That didn’t deter him though; he just kept at it, giving John and Mischa time to talk.
“He ate it. HE ATE IT!” yelled a furious John, gripping Mischa’s shoulder roughly. “I knew it was a mistake to be nice to him! I knew it was a mistake to bring him here! I knew it was a mistake not to kill and eat him when we had the chance!”
“Take it easy, Comrade. He may have eaten the Red Herring, but at least that means Josiah will never get it,” said Mischa.
“You do have a point,” conceded John. “We may not have it, but neither does the enemy. I guess that means this Red Herring adventure has led to a zero sum situation; absolutely nothing of significance happened, and the whole thing was just an unnecessary digression from other, more crucial events, almost as if it were only a diversion, meant to throw us off the path.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Mischa. “Now, Comrades, let us all get some sleep. Tomorrow we will try to figure out a way to get out of here.”