Landshark

by Brian Tormanen

  “Koa’s our prototype, Decker,” Geddon said. “He’s alive.”

  Jake’s mouth fell open as if seeing blood and realizing he’d just been shot. It was a good thing he was sitting down. The colonel’s words were a like a kick to the nuts.

  “Decker, are you alright?” Geddon asked. “You don’t look so good. I know it’s quite a shock.”

  It wasn’t possible. Jake had seen Koa lifted into the air in the bomb blast. He was told he didn’t make it after Jake woke up in the hospital weeks later.

  “Koa… alive? How?”

  Geddon looked to Dr. Levski to explain further and the doctor beamed.

  “Modern science and medical technology,” the doctor said. “We developed a synthetic material to stop internal bleeding and hemorrhaging. You may have heard of nanobots, yes? Extremely useful to help regenerate damaged tissues and organs. Simply amazing. Externally, we created bio-prosthetics for missing—”

  Jake held up his hand. His strength was flooding back and, with it, a rising tide of outrage.

  “You’re telling me my dog is alive. Since when? Where the fuck is he?”

  “Decker, relax,” Geddon said. “We’re going to get to all that, but I need you to hear me out first.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re telling me to relax—”

  “Decker!” Geddon’s eyes raged as a vein popped out on his forehead. “I need you to calm the fuck down. This is a helluva lot more important than a damn dog, so I need you to shut the fuck up and listen. If not, we’re wasting our time here and we’ll be on the next plane out. What’s it going to be?”

  Jake’s shaking hands curled into fists. He tried to swallow but found his mouth too dry. He nodded for Geddon to continue.

  “Alright,” Geddon began. “Now, this program I mentioned involves an MWD—Koa—that will be used for a very special purpose. Something that’s never been done before. Those details aren’t important right now. With Koa’s condition, it’s jeopardizing our mission, but we think you might be able to help. There could be a bond left between you two. Your voice, your scent, something Koa responds to. You see where I’m going with this?”

  “You want me to… work with Koa?”

  Geddon nodded. “Exactly. Get him through this setback he’s having and back in the fight, saving American lives. You want that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Hell, yes. Of course. It’s just… It’s a lot to take in right now, sir. And I just lost my job—”

  “I know,” Geddon said.

  Jake’s head tilted. “You know?”

  “A veteran getting shit-canned for helping the homeless? It was all over the news. You weren’t exactly hard to find after that.”

  Jake recalled his conversation with Slim the day after being fired. An “anonymous” caller had contacted the media about what had happened, and Toad was ambushed by a news team to answer for it. Now Toad was looking for a job, too. Jake had laughed then, but he wasn’t smiling now.

  Geddon went on. “Given the nature of our program, I had to come see you in person, make sure you were still… functional. So here you go. A new job and one that pays damn well. And not only will you see Koa, but you’ll be serving your country again, making yourself useful.”

  Useful? As if being wounded made him invalid? This was too much to process and it was pissing him off. He stood up and began pacing.

  “How is he? The last time I saw him, he…”

  “Got blown up?” Cooper finished. “He’s about what you’d expect. Like kickin’ a nest of hornets. Far as I’m concerned, he’s a lost cause.”

  That’s it. Jake jumped in Cooper’s face. “What the fuck’s your problem, man?”

  Cooper’s went as rigid as a snake about to strike. Geddon jumped in the middle and shoved Cooper away.

  “Cool it, Decker. Cooper’s an asshole sometimes. He can’t help it.”

  Jake glared at Cooper and turned away. Adrenaline coursed through every vein, reminding him that this was no nightmare. This shit was real.

  “So I’d be a full-time dog handler again?” Jake asked Geddon. “With Koa?”

  Geddon shook his head. “To be clear, we just need you to assist Koa with his PTSD. Get him well enough to resume training and certify that he’s good to go. Cooper will deploy with him and be his handler on the mission. After that, I’m not sure about the future of the program. But there will be plenty of opportunities elsewhere. I’ll put in a good word for you, Decker.”

  “Yeah, real sorry about that,” Cooper said sarcastically. “You know how it is.”

  Jake hated to admit it, but yes, he did. MWDs had multiple handlers over the course of their careers. After their tour was up, the handler would go home and a new handler would rotate in. It was rarely a smooth transition. The bond between a handler and his dog was deep, if not deeper than that forged between men in combat. Jake had a better idea.

  “I want to adopt him. After he’s done, I want to take him home. You can keep your damn money.”

  Jake had known of several MWDs adopted by their handlers after the dogs retired. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, but Geddon paused, appearing caught off guard. The colonel went to Jake and put his hand on his shoulder.

  “Son, I’m sorry, but Koa’s not up for adoption—at least not yet. He’s got plenty of legs left in him—especially now—but in his current state, he’d be a danger to the public and probably to you. We invested a lot into him but if he can’t continue… then I’m afraid he’s unfit to serve.”

  Jake recoiled inside. MWDs that were too far gone to be rehabilitated or adopted were put down. Jake tried to squash the thought from his mind but was too numb to think of anything else.

  “So, Decker?” Geddon asked. “I understand you need some time to think about this, but you’ll have to—”

  “I’ll go pack a bag,” he said, leaving for the elevator.

  Jake didn’t need any more time—he needed to see his dog, and somehow he was going to bring him home.

  Koa is alive!

  FIVE

  It was almost closing time at Island Brew Coffee, and Noelani Kapule was furiously banging on her laptop keyboard in a race against time. With the strong smell of espresso in the air, and despite the pressure in her chest, she was in a blissful flow state. While writing, she could forget her troubles, if only briefly, but it was a welcome reprieve. She figured it was like the rush a surfer felt dropping in, but she couldn’t say for sure. Words, not waves, were her jam.

  After finishing her conclusion statement, she peeled off the sticky note that covered the time on the bottom corner of her laptop screen. A pent-up sigh of relief escaped her chest; she would make her deadline. As a journalism major in her junior year at the University of Hawaii, she’d landed an internship at Civil Beat and was determined not to screw it up.

  The local online newspaper focused on Hawaiian public affairs and investigative journalism. With newspapers and journalists considered a dying breed, she knew opportunities were scarce for young grads with no experience. And for someone with a passion for social justice, working at Civil Beat was already her dream job.

  While her editor would have the final word, she was proud of her piece and the subject meant a lot to her. It was about the challenges—a polite way of putting it—of public education in Hawaii.

  The state had a difficult time attracting and retaining teachers when the cost of living was the highest in the country and salaries were among the lowest. Public schools were underfunded and in desperate need of repair. Those wealthy enough to send their children to private schools balked at the idea of their property taxes being raised to fund schools their children didn’t attend—if they had children at all. In conclusion, there were no easy answers.

  She ran a final grammar and spell check, saved the attachment, and emailed it to her editor. She closed her laptop, slipped it into her backpack, and grabbed the empty coffee cup off the table.

  As she put her cup in the dishes bin near the bar, a male
barista behind the counter smiled at her. He had warm, inviting eyes and the body of a lifeguard. Her stomach flipped as she looked away. He was too gorgeous to have a crush on her.

  “Have a good night,” he said, a hopeful tone in his voice.

  “Thanks,” she said, looking away.

  She hurried out the door as if she had somewhere important to be—even at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night. The coffee shop door jingled shut behind her and the thick night air hugged her like a rash guard. Noelani checked her phone for messages. She exhaled another sigh of relief—no messages from her mother. No need to stop at the convenience store on the way home. She jumped on her moped and rode toward Kahala.

  She turned left at Hunakai and passed the Zippy’s restaurant on her left. It was busy despite the late hour and the familiar smells triggered bad vibes. They had often eaten there as a family, but since Nathan’s disappearance, the smell of comfort food carried memories of happier times and the pain of loss.

  She turned right at the next intersection and parked behind her apartment. God, how she hoped she could afford to move out once she graduated and found a job, but rent prices in Honolulu were insane. The only thing more insane was having to live with her mother.

  The front door was unlocked as usual. No matter how many times Noelani reminded her mom to lock the door, the answer was always the same: when Nathan finally came home, he might not have his key.

  The apartment was dark, the blinds always shut to block the late afternoon sun. Noelani put her backpack on the dining table next to the flowers she bought yesterday. The vase of red anthurium, orange and blue bird of paradise, and strands of yellow hibiscus helped fight off the gloom.

  The TV cast a spooky glow from the living room, and Hawaii News Now was on. Her mother was passed out in her chair, one hand dangling to the floor as if she were dead. An empty glass was on the table. Noelani wondered how many drinks she had this time, not that it mattered.

  She grabbed the remote to shut the TV off, but the story segment grabbed her attention. The largest homeless population per capita in the country was believed to be shrinking and public officials weren’t sure why. Nothing the government had previously tried seemed to be working. Now it apparently was and everyone from local agencies to the police and the mayor running for reelection were trying to claim credit.

  “Hey, baby.”

  Her mother woke up, rolling her head to the side to get a better look at her daughter. Her eyes were glassy, reflecting the light of the television. She was still lost in an alcohol-fueled state of surreal dreaminess.

  “Mom, you should go to bed.”

  Her mom’s eyes faded shut but opened suddenly as if she had remembered something important.

  “Did you find your brother?”

  There it was. The question Noelani had been dreading since leaving the coffee shop. She felt the gut-punching reminder that it was her fault Nathan was missing. After all, she had bought him that drone for his tenth birthday and when he left to fly the fucking thing, he never came back. Noelani shook her head.

  “No, Mom,” she said, her voice flat. “I didn’t.”

  Tears welled in her mother’s eyes and lines cracked across her brown face. She lifted a finger and pointed to the dining room, as convinced as a Sunday morning preacher.

  “He brought me flowers,” she said.

  Noelani nodded, feeling the Band-Aid on her heart ripped off for the millionth time.

  “I’m going to bed, Mom. Good night.”

  She heard her mother’s soft cries and mumbled words as she slid her backpack off the dining room table. Her sweet boy had snuck home to bring her flowers.

  Her legs became heavier with each step as she took to her refuge upstairs. Her bedroom was a sanctuary still in transition from that of a teenage girl to that of a young woman. Gone were the wall posters of teenage boy heartthrobs. Bookshelves once full of girlish knickknacks were replaced by thick college textbooks and research materials not available online.

  She set her backpack next to the printer and monitor on her desk. Feeling like a zombie, she changed her clothes and shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She returned to her room and sat on her bed. Some sentimental items of childhood remained, mostly stuffed animals. Her favorite was Scooby, a one-eyed German shepherd puppy, as fat as a pillow.

  Noelani picked him up, slowly rubbing her hands through the soft fur around his neck and head. Then she buried her face deep in Scooby’s chest so no one else could hear and screamed.

  SIX

  Jake and Geddon’s team flew to Honolulu the following day. Jake told his landlord he’d be gone for a while—making rent was no longer a problem—and now he could focus on Koa. He was too excited to sleep on the plane. Questions swirled through his brain like a jet stream and every few minutes the same thought gave him a dopamine hit: Holy shit—Koa’s alive!

  A white, unmarked Toyota van pulled up outside of baggage claim. Geddon paid the valet and got in the driver’s seat. Dr. Levski rode shotgun in front. The AC was cranking, which was a welcome relief. Seattle was warm but not this humid, and Jake was already sweating through his shirt. The sun was scorching hot, burning his hand when touched the van’s door while climbing in back next to Cooper.

  They merged onto the H1 freeway and headed east. To their right, the deep blue ocean stretched beyond the horizon. Billowing sailboats out to sea were like white brush strokes on a sapphire canvas. Far to their left were the rugged green mountains of the Ko’olau range, which divided this part of the island. Along either side of the freeway were densely packed high-rises and condos, some painted with colorful murals or shaded by large trees shaped like giant bonsai.

  Geddon looked up at Jake from the rearview mirror.

  “First time in Honolulu, Decker?”

  “No, sir, but it’s been a long time. Vacationed here as a kid.”

  “Lucky you. So you’ve seen all the sights, then. You won’t have time to play tourist.”

  “Fine by me, sir. I’m only here for my dog.”

  Geddon pointed at Diamond Head crater in the distance.

  “Well, that’s where you’ll find him.”

  When the ancient volcano had blown its top, it left a cone-shaped crater on the edge of the ocean. From this distance, it looked like someone had ripped a giant can in half and what remained was baked brown by the sun.

  “It was probably still open to the public last time you were here,” Geddon said.

  Jake looked puzzled. He knew Diamond Head had once been the site of Fort Ruger, but the military gave it back to Hawaii decades ago and turned it into a state park.

  “Not sure what you mean, sir. It’s been open to the public for years.”

  “Not anymore. Fort Ruger was used for coastal defense back in the day, so naturally they stored a shit-ton of artillery shells up there. Not all of it was conventional. They discovered some contamination in the tunnels a few years ago. The federal government shut it down and declared it a superfund site.”

  Jake knew the history of Hawaii wasn’t all aloha and palm trees. Ever since the U.S. government helped overthrow the Hawaiian monarchy, the military did anything it wanted. Jake imagined the kind of nasty shit the army might have stored up there without telling anyone. It didn’t sound like the greatest location for an MWD program.

  “Wow, that’s fucked up, sir. So, uh, why is Koa there?”

  Geddon looked up in the mirror again.

  “The cleanup’s limited to the tunnels and storage bunkers. After some major upgrades, Fort Ruger’s facilities are perfect for our needs. It cost a ton of money, though, so we rolled it into the superfund. Just stay away from the tunnels, Decker. You don’t want to mess around in there.”

  Cooper laughed. He hadn’t said much since they got off the plane.

  “Yeah, locals were plenty pissed, alright. Tourists, too. People kept trespassing until we started responding with dog patrols. Then shit got serious.”

  “What do you me
an?”

  Cooper looked over at Jake and grinned.

  “We let the dogs stretch their legs and have a little fun. Had some nasty biting incidents, but once word got out, people quit trespassing—if they knew what was good for ’em.”

  Geddon took an exit off the freeway and turned onto Kalakaua Avenue, a main drag lined with a mix of big chain stores, small shops, and restaurants. Some storefronts were old and beaten down with cracked dusty windows. Medians and empty lots were choked with weeds. Light poles were plastered with tattered flyers for garage sales, product scams, and missing persons.

  The van stopped at a red light next to a park. Dozens of tents and tarp shelters sat beneath shaded canopies of large trees. Parked shopping carts were overflowing with blankets and camping gear. While some homeless slept on the grass, another plucked a mango from a tree. It reminded Jake of the homeless epidemic in Seattle, but being homeless in paradise didn’t seem as bad.

  “At least you won’t freeze or starve to death here,” Jake said.

  Geddon viewed the homeless camp through the window. He stared at them impassively, as if looking at animals in a zoo.

  “Waikiki isn’t far away, but this is the real Honolulu now, Decker. The rich living in million-dollar homes, the poor sleeping in the streets. Many are just an accident or layoff away from joining them.”

  The light turned green, and at a sign that said “Diamond Head State Park – CLOSED,” they turned left and arrived at a private access road. Large orange RESTRICTED ACCESS signs were posted on both sides of the entrance.

  The van began climbing through barren, rocky terrain around the base of the old volcano. Sun-scorched grass and scraggly plants seemed to beg for a brushfire to put them out of their misery. A skinny brown gecko on the side of the road darted to safety as they drove by.

  They passed a large ancient-looking metal door built into the rock face on their right. It reminded Jake of a door to a post-apocalyptic bomb shelter. From the looks of the large rusted hinges, any survivors were now entombed inside.