by Toby Neal
Bea stood looking at the peaceful scene, feeling a longing deeper than jealousy.
There was no question that the Apucan family would come and help her, but this was her errand. They’d worked hard, they’d survived, and so had their house. The least she could do was let them have a restful evening for as long as that lasted.
She wished there were some way to let them know that Jaden was safe, that they’d found each other—but there wasn’t, without creating a scene she wouldn’t be able to leave.
Bea turned and walked quietly back to the main road.
Outside the town, the night sky flared into a million snowflake bits of starlight, and Bea craned her neck, looking for any trace of the phenomena, which seemed to have completely disappeared. She hadn’t realized until it was gone how even the minor light pollution of Lanai City washed out the vault of celestial gems.
Bea kept moving, her heart thumping with exertion—and tension. What if she rescued her father just so she could then try to manage him while keeping Sam safe? Still, he was strong, knowledgeable, and a grown-up. He was all the family they had now that the rest of their relatives were inaccessible on Molokai. And maybe this crisis would bring out the dad he used to be—if he was even still alive.
The spot where the truck had gone off the road was hard to see in the dim light. The road had begun its narrow descent to the working harbor. It ran along a dry gulch filled with boulders and a few scraggly guava trees, a gulch Bea knew well in the daytime—but now all dark mystery.
Bea spotted the crushed lantana bushes that a vehicle had driven over as it left the road, lit by the light of the rising moon. The woody, drought-resistant shrubs had already partly sprung back up. Bea clung to one of the bushes and looked over the cliff into the black depths.
Her stomach cramped as she realized how unrealistic it was for her to do anything to actually rescue her father. She regretted not bringing the Apucans, after all.
Bea scanned the darkness of the gulch and didn’t spot the truck until the white glow of the moon picked out a reflection of taillights.
“Oh God. Please let him be alive,” Bea said. “Dad! Are you down there?” she shouted. Her voice bounced back at her.
There was no answer. She called again. Her heart pounded now, a band of terror tight around her chest. She couldn’t imagine how he could be okay. If he were able, he’d have tried to get back to them.
Bea cast about for something to tie the rope to—it was only about twenty feet long, but it would have to do for the first sharp drop at the top of the cliff. She could probably climb down the rest. She tied one end of the rope around the sturdy metal post of the guardrail—a guardrail that hadn’t extended far enough around the curve of the road to stop the trajectory of her father’s truck.
Bea yanked on the knot tied to the metal post one more time and slipped off her rubber slippers. She emptied the cloth bag of all but the pruners, water, and food, which might be useful, and set the rifle and other contents under a bush in case anyone came by. She pulled on the leather gloves and carefully lowered herself off the edge of the cliff.
Chapter Ten
Gravel and dirt from the crumbling cliff edge bit into Bea’s abdomen as she pushed herself out into space, wrapping the rope between her thighs and holding on to it with both hands. She wished the gloves were smaller—they seemed to roll on her hands, affording little protection, and all that kept her from falling was her grip on the rough hemp.
You can do this. It’s only a little way to where you can put your feet on the rocks, Beosith said in her mind.
She swiveled and swung in the darkness as she tried to move down, and a hysterical laugh threatened to explode—Beosith, her guardian angel `aumakua, was all that was keeping her going. His very existence made her sanity questionable.
“I’m too old for an imaginary friend,” she muttered, and could swear she heard a dragonly snort in her mind.
The moment of terror and hysteria passed. She scooted down the rope, feeling it burning the sensitive skin of her inner thighs even through her jeans, but she lowered herself a few more feet, reaching for a boulder with her toes. Bea’s hands cramped and her arms trembled as her foot fumbled in space, reaching for the rock. Her bare foot found it, settling onto the rough, still-warm surface. She cautiously transferred her weight from the rope to the boulder and let go of the line.
From there, she climbed down, foot by careful foot, to the bottom of the gulch.
The truck was wedged hood-first between two large boulders whose bulk partly hid it. Bea couldn’t see anything in the dark and felt her way down the side of the Ford to the front of the cab.
“Dad? Dad!”
Bea felt along the side to the bent but unobstructed door. She grabbed the handle and yanked. Nothing happened. The window was open, and she moved up, bracing herself to look inside.
A welter of white airbag hid the steering wheel, but the cab of the truck was empty.
“Dad!” she cried, looking up, around. The sound of her voice bounced off the rocks. “Where are you?”
I don’t know.
Find him!
No. I helped you with this, but that isn’t my mission. I’m here to help you.
Helping me is finding him! The thought of the climb back up the cliff was just too much for Bea right now. She climbed into the front seat and sat in the padded plastic space that had held her father’s body.
There was a weird chemical smell from the airbag, but she could smell him in there, too, that tang of sweat and booze that had become such a part of her father. She looked around in the dim glow of moonlight. There was no blood, so he hadn’t been injured.
Will Whitely’s battered metal lunch box had fallen against the opposite door, and the John Deere hat lay on top of it.
“Dad’s alive.” All Bea’s conflicted feelings for her father rose up in a tangled, inarticulate ball to choke her. For the first time she felt all the tiny wounds of the day, burns from flying cinders, abrasions from the rope, soreness from all that riding—and a deep, abiding tiredness. Tears prickled her eyes, stinging like ant bites.
“I’m just going to rest a minute,” she said aloud, wadding the airbag into a pillow to rest on. A feeling of protective reassurance came from the mo’o dragon.
I’ll be watching over you.
Sam felt like the trek back to the house through the dark would never end. Even on horseback, he was tired and sore and kept nodding off. Beginning to slide off the mare jerked him awake repeatedly, and he snapped upright again when he felt Jaden’s hand on his leg. Rainbow had come to a halt, her head hanging.
“Get off, Sam.”
Sam slid down. His bad leg buckled, and he caught himself by leaning on the mare, her warm horsey smell filling his nostrils. The moon was a pale round, rising behind Molokai along with a cache of stars. Last night’s ribbons of light had disappeared.
Sam could tell by Jaden’s tense silence and the tight hand on his shoulder that the older boy was on high alert. They had stopped outside the stand of trees that marked the Whitely house. “Let’s leave Rainbow here. Move up quiet to the house and check it out,” Jaden whispered.
“Okay.” Sam slid the bridle over Rainbow’s ears and dropped the bit out of her mouth. The mare chomped in relief as he kept the bridle over her head and pushed it back around her neck, a makeshift noose. He tied the leather reins to a bush, turned back, and unbuckled the strap that held the riding blanket onto her back, and slid it off. It was damp with sweat, and he draped it over another bush. “Bea would want me to rub her down.”
“We can do that later, if the house is empty,” Jaden said. “Follow me and stay quiet. We’ll get closer and see what’s up.”
Sam imitated Jaden’s hunched posture as they moved into the stand of avocado and mango trees that had been planted fifty years ago when the house was built. The boys walked as carefully as they could through crunching leaves—but even somewhere as familiar to Sam as the grove had now become a f
oreign land peopled by bogeymen in the dark.
Sam bumped into Jaden’s back. In the shadow of the mango closest to the house, Sam peered around the older boy to see what had brought him to a halt.
There was a light in the window.
“Damn,” Jaden whispered. “I mean, shoots. You didn’t leave a light on, did you?”
“Nothing was working,” Sam whispered back. “The generator was broken; all the wiring was melted.”
“Looks like a candle or a lamp. Someone’s inside.”
Chapter Eleven
Sam felt his throat close as tears threatened. He was so tired. He just wanted to go home, get in his bed, and sleep for a week. Oh—and maybe have a little water, too. And some food would be nice.
“Stay here, Sam. I’ll try to sneak closer and see if I can tell how many there are.” Jaden didn’t wait to see if Sam obeyed—the older boy just shifted forward and was gone, elusive as a moth.
Sam leaned his cheek against the rough bark of the mango tree. He stuffed down his tiredness and anger—there was something he could do, too. They’d have to hide Rainbow somewhere. She couldn’t stay tied up with her bridle for long—and she was sure to need water. Jaden wouldn’t know where her tie-out rope was, or her water bucket. Fortunately, the lean-to shelter where they were stored was away from the house.
Sam mustered his energy and sneaked to the edge of the grove, where the barbed-wire fence of Rainbow’s paddock began. There was no cover in the paddock, but scudding clouds had moved over the moon. He had to chance it.
Sam slid between the barbed-wire strands as he’d done a hundred times and trotted across the dusty paddock. No one shouted and no cry came from the house. He made it to the shed where they fed Rainbow, and she got out of the elements. Coiled against the back wall was a halter and tie-out rope for when they moved her around to eat grass. Sam took that and picked up her water bucket.
They’d have to get water, and that could be a problem. But he only had room in his brain for one problem at a time. He hurried back the way he’d come, straight to the back fence and into the trees.
Jaden hissed at him from the blackness. “Where did you go?”
“I had to get Rainbow’s bucket and tie-out rope. We have to hide her.”
Sam could feel Jaden’s irritation as he headed back to the horse, who was peacefully foraging. He slid the halter onto the mare’s head and buckled it on. “I know a place we can tie her out and the people won’t find her.”
“Okay.” Jaden followed. “I think we should stash her, then try to sneak back into your cave for the night. You put food and water in there, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, we took everything that wouldn’t spoil and hid it in there. How many people are in the house?” Sam led the mare over the bare, stony ground with its bunchy grass toward another buttress of rock.
“There seem to be a lot, at least six. I can tell by their clothes they’re people from the plane.”
“They won’t be mean, will they? I mean, do we have to keep hiding?”
“I don’t know. How long will the food in the cave last?”
“But someone will come rescue them soon,” Sam said. “Right?” The outcrop of rock was getting closer, but his bad foot was acting up again. He held on to a hank of the mare’s mane to take the weight off.
“I don’t know, Sam. My dad thinks the explosion could have affected the bigger islands, too, maybe even the Mainland. It could be a long time before anyone comes looking for that plane.”
They reached the rock formation. Several scrub guava trees grew around the base, and an underwater spring kept a good-sized patch of grass green even in the summer. Sam tied the twenty-five-foot rope to one of the guava trees. “She still needs water.”
“I have a canteen full, and since you’ve got more in the cave, we can give it to her.” Jaden poured the contents of his metal canteen into the bucket. “Let’s try to get into the cave.”
Back in the grove, the boys worked their way to the tree growing closest to the jutting cliff that sheltered the house from wind and elements.
“Bea put boards from our woodpile over the entrance,” Sam whispered. The entrance to the cave was about fifty feet from the back of the house. “We’ll have to be really quiet.”
Jaden nodded and moved forward. Sam followed—and stepped on a brittle branch. It broke with a crack that sounded like a rifle shot.
They both froze.
“What was that?” they heard from the house. The back screen door creaked as it opened—Sam knew that sound well. They were still invisible in the shadow of the trees. A long moment passed.
“Must have been an animal or something,” someone said inside. The screen door creaked again, closing this time.
A few minutes later, Sam and Jaden had all the wood moved aside. Getting the wood back up to cover the doorway was another matter; they were able to balance only a couple of boards back upright.
The cave was so black inside that Sam couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
“I think Bea put a flashlight inside the doorway.” The sound of Sam’s voice was muffled by the cave walls. He swept his hands along the rock and down. He found the flashlight, a big plastic camping one, and pushed the button. Nothing happened. “Darn.” Sam thought hard, trying to remember the layout of the cave. “I think we have a lighter and candles on the shelves.”
He felt his way across the blackness until he hit the shelves, began touching and feeling. Everything felt unfamiliar beneath his fingers, just meaningless shapes until he encountered the coffee cans Bea used for seed drying—and then it seemed like his brain switched on and he could tell what he was feeling. Cans of food, the bags they’d hastily brought out from the house, jugs of water, and finally the box of candles, and next to it, the barbeque lighter with its long wand and bulb of fluid.
He pushed the trigger and a finger of flame came out, so bright it stung his eyes after the utter blackness. He lit a candle from the box and handed it to Jaden. They kept the candle going long enough only to locate three sleeping bags, the jug of water, and a couple of granola bars. When Jaden blew it out, the blindfold of darkness dropped over Sam.
“I hope Bea comes back soon.” He munched his granola bar in his sleeping bag, his eyes on the faint shape of Jaden sitting in the slit-like doorway, watching.
“I’m sure she will. She’ll go carefully and look for us here.”
“Okay.” Sam took another sip of water from the jug beside him and snuggled down into the padded nylon. He relaxed, exhausted, into a dark so complete that there was no difference with his eyes open or closed. He wasn’t even aware of falling asleep.
Bea woke up, a cramp in her leg making her gasp and move, bumping her head on the doorframe of the truck. She’d fallen asleep, and her sore muscles had seized up. She reached down to knead a golf-ball-sized charley horse in her calf.
Bea uncurled herself from her wedged-in position in the seat. “Okay, I better get some energy going to climb back up.” Speaking aloud made her feel less alone. She took the water bottle from the bag and unwrapped the crushed malasadas.
Bea closed her eyes to savor the sweet, smooth filling, the chewy dough, the crunch of sugar. Even the smell of the coconut haupia pudding felt like a solid substance, providing energy and comfort. She felt a pang of guilt that Sam wouldn’t be able to taste this treat. With that thought, she rewrapped the second malasada, her stomach rumbling in protest.
“Let me see if there’s anything we can use in here.” Bea opened the glove box and found a universal Leatherman tool, a roadside emergency kit, a first aid box, and a battered flashlight—which didn’t work. She stowed the items in her canvas bag and looked in her dad’s lunch box. She recognized the food Sam had packed that long-ago morning.
Bea sipped the black coffee from the thermos, draining it, and climbed back out of the truck. It was still deep night, but the moon cast silver light over the steep ascent topped by the dangling rope. Looking up at the rop
e, Bea could tell she didn’t have the upper arm strength to ascend the cliff that way.
Bea worked her way sideways along the rocks at the bottom of the gulch until she found an area where she could climb to the top, coming out well below the steel guardrail that shielded a turn in the precipitous road. She walked barefoot back up to where she’d stashed her things and had tied the rope. She pulled the rope up and untied it, coiling it into her bag.
“Dad must be okay—he got out. Maybe he’s home by now.” The idea was reassuring—for all Will Whitely’s temper and the drinking, he would know what to do next. He was her dad, and his presence was familiar—and in this post-explosion world, familiar was good. Bea swung the gun onto her shoulder along with the canvas bag and set off back up the road with renewed energy, fueled by coffee and sugar.
The house was dark and motionless in the silver light of the moon when Bea finally got there. Still, Bea didn’t approach it right away. She didn’t see Rainbow in the paddock, and when she snuck up to the porch, she could see unfamiliar backpacks in a jumble on the step.
People were in the house. She wondered if they’d discovered the cave with its cache of food. She needed to check, and somewhere to sleep.
Bea worked her way through the grove to the trees against the cliff and noticed right away that the lumber had been mostly moved away from the opening into the cave. Jaden and Sam must be inside. Bea moved carefully to the opening and lifted one of the boards away.
A hand shot out of the darkness and closed on her wrist. She stifled a scream as Jaden yanked her inside.
“Shh,” he hissed, and they both stilled, listening. Bea was much too aware she was pressed against his lean, hard body, and he smelled like smoke and boy. No sounds came from the house—and Bea sidled by him into the absolute blackness, keeping a hand on the wall.
“Where’s Sam?” The walls of the cave absorbed sound, giving her voice a muffled quality.
