Oracle--Fire Island

by C. W. Trisef

  Its volcano hemorrhaging, Fire Island was in a state of total and irreparable chaos. Lava had dribbled onto the mainland now, slithering unpredictably across the ground. In very little time, it reached its nearest shore, where it gushed over the coastline and into the ocean, adding torrents of blinding steam to the bedlam. What’s more, the earth refused to be comforted, now plagued by giant fissures that cracked and opened in random order. The island was fragmenting—splintering into yet smaller pieces, through which still more lava began to bubble like miniature volcanoes. Fanned by the wind, the clouds of smoke stretched across the heavens, veiling the sun and turning it blood red.

  Meanwhile, the ongoing battle between both kinds of islanders—floating and fire—had waxed exceedingly sore. Every minute, the dwindling combatants on both sides yielded up yet another casualty, each of which was quickly consumed by the advancing lava. The natives fought with impressive strength, partly to defend themselves against the guards but mostly to prevent themselves from being overtaken by the approaching lava. At the rear of their troops cowered Bubba and Miss Carmen, barking orders and hoping they wouldn’t run out of men before they ran out of land.

  The Coys and the Coopers found themselves in a similar plight—a race against time and space. The balloon was unreachable now: each eruption funneled still more gaseous material into the air. The dire problem was only compounded by the excessive heat rising from the lava, which was covering more surface area every second. Panic-stricken, Ishmael buzzed about the basket, exhausting all resources but inventing nothing useful. Eventually, all he could do was lean over the side of the basket and stare grimly at his trapped comrades.

  The fissuring ground had separated all four of the Coys and Coopers, each marooned alone on his or her own isle, their retreats growing smaller every second by the irrepressible lava.

  “Help!” Paige screamed. “Help us, Ret!” But her plea was without hope, for, in this moment, even Paige was convinced that Ret had already suffered the fate that now lapped at her feet.

  Chapter 17

  The Rescue

  With the seething lava closing in around her, Paige teetered on one foot as another powerful eruption shot from the crumbling volcano’s side. Unlike the other blasts, however, Paige noticed a familiar figure mixed in with all the flying debris. It was Ret!

  “He’s alive!” Paige rejoiced, nearly falling over with joy. She enthusiastically pointed at Ret within the cloud of rock and ash so that the others could spot him and join in her celebration.

  “It’s about time,” Ana complained with relief.

  Aided by the vast amount of heat and gas in the air, Ret initiated combustive reactions at his feet to remain airborne, thus preventing himself from plunging to the ground far below. Given the chaotic condition of things, Ret’s aerial scan of Fire Island was overwhelming. In fact, it was the desperate cries of his endangered friends that quickly grabbed his attention.

  “Since when can Ret fly?” Ana asked, very impressed though slightly envious.

  “He must have collected the element,” Mr. Coy replied, hollering to her from his own isolated island, which was growing ever smaller.

  “HELP!” Paige screamed, now tiptoeing on one foot.

  Noticing her fatal circumstance, Ret soared to Paige’s rescue, fervently hoping to beat the lava. With no other alternative, Paige shut her eyes and jumped straight up as the lava finally overtook the last patch of untouched earth. Relief flooded her racing heart when, instead of landing in deadly molten rock, she felt Ret’s embrace.

  “Oh, Ret!” Paige cheered upon opening her eyes. With both hands, she grabbed his ashen face and pressed her lips to his. For a brief moment, osculating amid the pandemonium, all was bliss.

  “Hey, lovebirds!” the couple heard a familiar voice say. “Sorry to interrupt,” yelled Ana, “but don’t forget about the rest of us!”

  The reminder was well deserved. The lava was oozing dangerously close to Ana, mimicking Paige’s plight, while Mr. Coy stood helplessly and Pauline did all she could not to faint. Knowing he couldn’t carry all four of them simultaneously, Ret anxiously searched for a solution.

  “The statues!” Paige pointed out. “Ret, use the statues!”

  Ret’s gaze immediately fell upon the dozens of giant moai statues that littered the island. Towering unharmed above the creeping sea of liquid rock, they were obviously the only things capable of withstanding the lava. At Paige’s insistence, Ret waved his hand to command one of the moai. He lifted it out of the ground and into the air, the lava quickly rushing in to fill the imprint left behind. Then he effortlessly carried the statue across the island and set it down next to Ana, who immediately climbed to the top of the protective volcanic rock.

  “This doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” Ana called out, sitting safely atop the monolith as the lava lapped at its base. Ret smiled, knowing the purpose of the tactic was to buy some time. He repeated the same procedure with two other moai, setting one by both Pauline and Mr. Coy, who promptly climbed to safety.

  “Good thinking,” Ret remarked to Paige. Now that the others were no longer in immediate danger, Ret flew to a nearby part of the island whose elevation had postponed it from being overrun by the rampant lava. Alighting gracefully upon the unscathed ground, he gently released Paige before heading back to retrieve the others.

  “So, Superman,” said Ana playfully upon Ret’s return. “What took you so long?” With haste, he brought her down to join Paige before launching off again.

  While Ret was away, Ana and Paige witnessed a curious occurrence. Their elevated viewpoint allowed them to overlook a large portion of the island, including the excavation site. The fragile settlement of tents and teepees had been washed away by the large outpourings of lava that continued to burst through the gnarly gash that Bubba and his guards had carved in the side of the volcano. There was nothing intriguing about this until Ana saw a large, steaming boulder roll out of the cavern. With her interest piqued, she turned her attention to the unusual sight and silently bade Paige to do likewise.

  The giant boulder rolled through the excavation site, gliding along the lava in a path so unnatural that Ana wondered if it was being controlled remotely. When it neared the island’s sole beach, the girls noticed a motorboat that had snuck ashore, waiting in the shallow waves.

  As soon as the boulder reached the sea, a brilliant light flashed, and the rock split open like a coconut. Instead of milk, however, water came pouring out, as well as a wretched old man.

  “Lye,” Paige whispered to Ana, alarm in their eyes.

  Looking pitiful, Lye staggered toward the motorboat, from which two men promptly emerged. Like servants, they hastened to Lye’s side and aided him in boarding the craft.

  Meanwhile, Ret had retrieved Pauline. Too exhausted and frazzled for words, she showed her gratitude by planting a simple kiss on Ret’s cheek. He swiftly but softly unloaded her at the site with the other two girls before setting off to fetch Mr. Coy.

  Paige and Ana hardly noticed Ret’s drop-off, so enthralled were they by the hushed event taking place on the beach. Ana was especially intrigued because one of Lye’s two helpers looked very familiar to her. With borderline obsession, she watched this recognizable figure, studying his movements and mannerisms. Though crouched a considerable distance away, she noted his distinguishing features, though careful not to jump to any conclusions.

  Mr. Coy was last to be rescued. “Don’t expect any kisses from me,” he stated upfront, though feeling rather humbled as Ret scooped him up. “But,” Coy added soberly, “thank you.” Ret smiled as he headed to the site where he had deposited the others.

  “So I take it you collected the element?” Coy wondered.

  “Fire element procured,” Ret stated with pride.

  “Did Lye put up much of a fight?” asked Coy, vividly remembering the grief he felt when Lye followed Ret into the volcano wearing the stolen cleats and cream.

  “Yeah,” Ret recalled, “a m
uch stronger fight than last time, at least. I was so surprised when he showed up—alive. I mean, I always kind of felt he survived Sunken Earth, somehow, but still.” Ret shrugged. “If it hadn’t been for Argo, I doubt things would have worked out so well.”

  “Argo?”

  “The Guardian,” Ret explained.

  “So did Lye survive—again?” Coy questioned.

  “I don’t know,” Ret admitted, having learned not to underestimate his enemy. “Possibly—probably. Right before the volcano blew, I saw him hovering over Argo, searching his pockets frantically, though I’m not sure why.”

  Rejoining the others, Ret noticed the captivation that had befallen Paige and Ana. “What are you looking at?” he inquired, curious to know what was so enchanting.

  “It’s Lye,” Paige whispered, pointing at the motorboat that was now speeding away from Fire Island.

  “Unbelievable,” Ret sighed as he looked on, though not too terribly surprised.

  “And he was with two others,” Paige informed.

  “Who?” Ret asked eagerly. “Was one of them Lionel?” He seemed ready to charge forward to rescue his dear friend.

  “I don’t think so,” Paige replied with uncertainty. Naturally, she turned to Ana, who looked like she had just seen a ghost.

  “Mom,” she said in all seriousness, “did you just see that?”

  “Not now, dear,” Pauline dismissed. “I’m still trying to collect myself.”

  “But, Mom—” Ana pressed.

  Pauline was saved from her daughter’s petitions by a sudden bang. Sharp and quick, it was a stark contrast from the long groans and deep blasts that they had come to recognize as volcanic eruptions. Like deer under fire, the Coys and Coopers searched sea, land, and sky to find the genesis of the outburst. Seconds later, they saw a fireball flare up on a nearby part of the island.

  “That was a bomb,” Mr. Coy deduced in disbelief. He traced a faint stream of exhaust from the flames of the explosion to a battleship floating a ways off shore. “That’s the ship I saw earlier,” he recognized.

  “And look!” Ret chimed in, pointing at the speeding motorboat. “That’s where Lye is headed.”

  “But what are they firing at?” Mr. Coy asked.

  As each of them stared in the direction of the artillery strike, Coy’s question was answered when a group of runaways emerged from a concealing valley. Bubba and Miss Carmen were sprinting along the unburned coastline, trying to escape the relentless natives of Lake Titicaca. Every last one of the guards had fallen, and the few surviving natives were overtaking their final two foes when Lye’s ship opened fire.

  Suddenly, another spark appeared from the deck of the battleship, followed by a deadly blast at the island’s coast. A few of the natives at the back of the pack were consumed while the residual ones ran for their lives.

  “We’ve got to help them!” Ret pled in earnest.

  “Don’t look at me,” Coy replied. “You’re the only one with enough fire power to contend with something like that.” He motioned at the imposing battleship.

  Despite Ret’s good intentions, the remaining natives were wiped out by a final round of fire from the overpowering guns of the battleship. Noticing the direct hit, Bubba and Miss Carmen ceased fleeing and turned around to exult over the devastation. Amid their victorious embrace, however, they failed to notice the massive moai statue standing on a ledge beside them. The force of the blast had shaken the earth enough to dislodge the moai. When Bubba and Miss Carmen finally realized the statue’s impending fall, it was too late. In one grand collapse, the massive moai crashed to the ground, crushing them. Pauline gasped.

  During all of their activity, Ishmael did not sit in idle stupor. Observing Ret’s rescue efforts, buzzing back and forth across the island like a bee from flower to hive, Ishmael set off to see if he could bring the balloon to their place of retreat. He maneuvered the balloon out to sea, venturing as far away as necessary so as to not be affected by the meddlesome heat and gas being discharged by the volcano. Then, when he was able to descend low enough, he made his way back to Fire Island, flying as low as possible, hoping to stay beneath the heat. After several failed attempts, it worked, and Ishmael successfully approached his weary comrades.

  “Hurry before that death ship notices the basket and turns on us!” Mr. Coy warned.

  Not another word of instruction was needed. Ishmael heaved the ladder over the side of the basket while Ret burned away the lingering bands around the girls’ wrists, as well as the stone handcuffs clasped around Mr. Coy’s hands. One by one, they climbed toward the balloon.

  Ret was the last living soul to ever set foot on Fire Island. After helping everyone else mount the ladder, he brought up the rear, though he did not copy his associates’ hurried climb. Instead, Ret paused after ascending each rung, his mind too engrossed in the scene of carnage all around him.

  It was doomsday on Fire Island, which looked much like a bleeding heart in the belly of the sea. There was not one square inch of ground that had not been overtaken by the inexhaustible lava, including their elevated retreat. The island, which had previously been one contiguous landmass, had now splintered into an inordinate archipelago. Even the volcano, which was continuously caving in on itself, had proven incapable of enduring such widespread upheaval.

  Ret had done it again. Scenes of the destruction of Sunken Earth flashed in his mind, serving as an unsolicited reminder of the cosmic consequences wrought by the procurement of each element. Why, for each of these two civilizations so far, had life itself depended upon its respective element? Was there no other way? Perhaps one with less death and desolation?

  As the balloon pulled away with Ret still a few rungs from the safety of the basket, the distant scene took on a new look: the suppressive lava now came to resemble blood—some of it from the veins of guilty men, yes, but most of it from the pure hearts of centuries’ worth of innocent martyrs. Ret bowed his head in reverence and sorrow.

  Suddenly, as if finally giving up the ghost, the volcano totally collapsed. Then, as if its plug had been pulled, the whole island began to pour into the throat of the defunct volcano. Large chunks of lava-covered land, riding waves of steamy ocean water, plummeted into the shaft. The hundreds of moai statues, which once dotted the landscape as striking emblems of mystery and grandeur, were seen tumbling into the chute with no regard to antiquity or craftsmanship. Their purpose served, these elephantine structures rolled and bounced like weightless insects, evidence of the mighty forces of nature at work. Ret’s thoughts turned to Argo’s lifeless body down in the magma chamber, which was now filling up like a great septic tank. The sky, dressed in black from the abundant smoke, lit up with brilliant lightning as the heat and gas reacted with the atmosphere, as if the heavens mourned the death of Fire Island.

  When he reached the top of the ladder, Ret’s attention shifted to the battleship that had fired on the natives. Now that it had collected Lye, it was sailing away with great haste.

  “Look!” Ret said, pointing at the speeding vessel as he finally hopped into the basket. They all glanced at the craft, which was heading west and would soon slip from view.

  To everyone’s surprise, Mr. Coy ordered, “Follow that ship!”

  Chapter 18

  Hot on the Trail

  “Really?” Ret wondered, shocked by Mr. Coy’s announcement to pursue Lye’s battle cruiser.

  “Of course,” Coy replied. “We’ve got to get your buddy Lionel back, don’t we?”

  The floating basket fell silent. Although everyone wanted to retrieve Lionel, no one ever expected Mr. Coy to be the one to initiate such a rescue.

  “Wait a minute,” said Ret suspiciously, “you want to get Lionel back?”

  With a face full of dread as if rehashing old wounds, Mr. Coy unwillingly explained, “It’s not so much that I want to but that I ought to. You see, it’s just that…well,” he stalled, “it might be, kind of, more or less, my—my fault.”

  Meanwh
ile, Ana was tugging on Pauline’s arm, trying to get her mother’s attention.

  “Mom,” she whispered urgently, “did you see that man back there, helping Lye?”

  “Not now, dear,” Pauline hushed her, gleefully entrapped by the other conversation. “Mr. Coy’s about to admit he was wrong!”

  “But Mom—”

  “—Shush!”

  Feeling put upon, Ana stomped off and slouched in one of the corners of the basket.

  Still glaring at Mr. Coy with confusion, Ret asked, “How is it your fault?”

  “Well,” Coy began, looking very uncomfortable, “you know how I don’t trust Lionel. To make sure he didn’t do anything sneaky on this trip, I administered a daily extract to him without his knowledge.”

  “You did what?” Ret questioned, provoked.

  “Don’t worry; it didn’t hurt him or anything,” Coy tried to pacify. “It just ennobled him—made him more trustworthy. It’s what caused him to stand up to Bubba and stick up for you back at the volcano. That’s all.” Ret’s consternation seemed to abate a bit. “And, since it was technically my doing, I figured I ought to correct my mistake. Although,” he added, as if finding a loophole to excuse himself, “Ishmael was the one who actually administered it.” Ishmael rolled his eyes.

  Just then, Pauline, beaming with satisfaction and brimming with triumph, put her hand on Mr. Coy’s shoulder and said, “It’s called being responsible, Ben.”

  “Call it what you want, lady,” responded Coy, who cringed to hear Pauline call him by his first name, “just as long as it gets you off my back.” As if it was an unwanted rodent, he picked up Pauline’s hand and lifted it from his shoulder. “Now, as I said before,” bellowed Coy, “westward ho!”

  Ishmael jumped to the controls and steered the balloon into the setting sun. For being such a large vessel, Lye’s boat maintained a quick pace, leaving a long stream of frothy waters in its wake. Mr. Coy advised Ishmael to fly the airship just underneath the sparse layer of clouds so as to conceal their location as much as possible without reducing their vision. Eying the compass, the two pilots maintained a direction that was both westerly and southerly, though more so the former than the latter.