Chapter 48 – God, We Suck
November 22, 2024
Thanks for joining us for the fourth and final volume of our Scientist Soap Opera escapist journey to the mysterious island of Lisica! You can find previous episodes in the link above or column on the right. Please don’t forget to subscribe and leave a comment if you enjoy what you find!
Audio for this episode:
48 – God, We Suck
Triquet is monumentally annoyed. And the infuriating part about it is that they aren’t quite certain what it is annoying them. All they know is that things that normally don’t provoke any reaction in them are now enraging. The fiddly bits of the espresso maker. The disorganization of last week’s laptop files. These brown stains on their flower-fringed ankle socks that never seem to get truly clean. That’s what it is. Things have gotten so dingy here. The lovers are all quarreling. The villagers are stubbornly distant. Everything is covered in a layer of dirt. It’s enough to drive anyone batty.
With an immense effort, Triquet tries to shake off this ennui with a return to their tent. But none of their clothes hang on display any more. There’s no room in here. They sorely miss the bunker and its storage. And the sub. It’s basically lost as well. Getting to the sub now is a thirty minute crawl through mud. And Triquet can’t do it alone. So their investigations have slowed to a halt.
No. No more of this gloom and doom. It’s actually a pleasant morning after the gentle showers. The bees are buzzing. The sun even makes brief appearances and the dewy meadow glitters with refracted light. Come on, Triq. This is still paradise. Of course it’s dangerous. Everywhere is dangerous. Now put on some chiffon and find your courage, soldier. Even if the whole Lisica expedition ends tomorrow, it has still been one of the highlights of your life.
There. Triquet always looks better in green. Now, how to finish this look? Hmm. They left their really big pieces of costume jewelry at home. Otherwise it’d be that chunky fake jade necklace and bracelet set that’s half Cloris Leachman, half Flintstones. Here they’ll just make do with the wooden prayer beads and a fake garnet ring. They pull on a pair of booty shorts underneath for modesty, locate the pink slip-ons, and step back out into the fresh air feeling somewhat restored.
Makeup? No, not with the amount of sweating they’ll most likely do. Today is hopefully the last day of really putting this camp together. But it’s going to take all day. Triquet can see Flavia has already wired things to the solar panels. When Katrina gets back they can fly the parachute overhead again and get a little more protection from the rain. Then her lights can get strung and the little village will feel complete. But before then, Triquet has ideas.
First, a riverstone path to the trenches. Those have been dug a hundred meters upslope and away from the creek, over a rise and hidden in a cleft. It’s a better spot than they had on the beach but this isn’t sand beneath their feet. They’ll all quickly churn an ugly line of mud into the ground unless Triquet is able to prevent it.
Crossing the meadow to the creekside, Triquet is disappointed to find that the bank has no easily-removed rocks. They’d imagined this would be like most of the creeks they’re familiar with, mostly like the slate and flint banks of the Delaware Gap. But here it’s all loam and moss and ferns overhanging the banks and the water is running fast and black. No loose stones anywhere.
Following the creek upstream, Triquet unwittingly follows Amy’s footsteps up the canyon toward the tributary where she would have done their laundry. But they stop at the base of the cliff she ascended. Here is a pile of rounded rocks deposited during some long ago flood. Now it’s just a matter of transporting them. Triquet waves at the golden childs dogging them. “Care to lend a hand?”
But of course the youth makes no move to help.
Triquet unfolds a small tarp and loads as many of the big rocks onto it as they can safely manage. Then they drag it back to camp. Hm. These slip-ons are not the right shoes for the job after all. And maybe a flowing gown of tissue-thin fabric isn’t the best either. But it did unlock something about their mood. Now Triquet can see that it’s the unyielding pressure coming from the natives that’s making so many of them crack. It’s Jidadaa with her cryptic demands in the middle of the night, the shamans stalking them, the golden childs hovering. They are in an inexorable hydraulic press and its plates just keep squeezing closer and closer together.
Returning from their third trip with the stones, Triquet passes Mandy emerging from her tent, who looks completely out of sorts. “Good morning, sunshine.”
But Mandy doesn’t respond, peering at the sky instead. She steps further out from camp and crosses to the meadow.
Intrigued, Triquet drops their load on the pile and follows her.
Mandy holds a barometer. “Crap. Look at that.” She absently hands it to Triquet and scans the gray-mantled sky. This marine layer can often hide what’s happening above.
Triquet reads the barometer. “920 millibars. Very low. That’s what it says. Is very low bad?”
“920 now? OMG. Uh, that’s a lot more than very low. That’s like… one of the lowest recordings I’ve ever heard anywhere in the world. The world record is in the 890’s and that was a tropical cyclone in the West Pacific. My god. What’s coming our way?”
“You’re saying that means another storm’s coming? This is what they mean by a drop in barometric pressure? But like when? And how much? Can you retrieve your weather station first?”
“God! I haven’t been able to fetch it! I was going to, but then we found Jay and Pradeep instead. I mean, I’m super glad we found them, but… I need data!”
“Well, what’s your guess?”
Mandy accesses her newfound powers of observation. She smells the air deeply, noticing that it’s wet and perhaps a bit fruity, like it swept across continents of thawing tundra. Well, that will be its engine no doubt. Cold differentials. And the trees on the far ridge are riffling in a stiff breeze that has the character of a compressing wave, as if the air itself is being pushed hard from behind by an accelerating force. They don’t have long. An hour at the most. But this half-assed camp won’t be able to survive a real onslaught, not if it hits as hard as it promises. “So sorry. But my guess is that we will all have to go back into the sub for a few days.”
Triquet’s pile of rocks is still pathetically small. “No! I just got all this work done! And—and… Ah, hell.” They drop their head in defeat, a black mood descending again just like that.
“Ah! That’s why I’ve been so grumpy!” Mandy realizes in relief. “We’ve all been on edge! It’s because there’s a huge storm coming! This like looming threat feeling has totally been weighing on me. Oh, what a relief. I thought I was losing my mind.”
Triquet studies Mandy, uncertain about her conclusion. It’s eerie how much her analysis matches Triquet’s own, but it’s led them each in opposite directions. An oncoming storm somehow gives Mandy peace? Ye gods. No it doesn’t. Isn’t this just another compounding amount of pressure, to crush them all into bits?
Mandy waves at Miriam, still at work in her trench. “Hey, lady! Storm coming! The biggest!”
Miriam sighs in defeat. “Oh my days. Seriously? Turns out this place is as bad as Ireland. Great… When?”
Mandy squints at the sky. “Don’t know. Soon. We need a real roof over our heads for this one.”
Miriam uses the spade to clamber out of her trench, covered in dirt. “God forbid we ever get any actual work done.”
Ξ
Katrina unweaves the plaited cord that secures her to the trunk. Iwikanu smiles, encouraging her, tapping at her wrist with gentle fingertips. It is a long cord, stiff and thick as her finger. But she has depended this whole time upon its strength. Now it is time to go.
Finally it falls free and she is untethered, crouching on the fragile skein of this platform they’ve built high in the redwood canopy. Iwikanu smiles at the gap in the floor, the ground nearly a hundred meters below. She is expected to climb down through it and begin her long descent down the trunks and branches that form a woven series of living ladders all the way to the ground.
This fairy ring of redwoods is perched on the western slope of the interior bowl of the island. The land rises nearly vertically beside the trunks, with madrone trees pressing beneath, granting the irregular rungs for the ladders she climbs down.
Finally Katrina finds her way to the lowest trunk. This last ladder hangs down the trunk’s length in a long line of looped cords like the one that kept her safe above. But these are for her hands and feet, tied off at regular intervals. She supposes this ladder can be raised to prevent any attacks. She thinks once more of Singlung He and his aphorisms about attack and defense. “I don’t know. I’d be more worried about people shooting us from the hillside.”
The matted platform Katrina had spent the last day and night on was a marvel of construction, something she’d never conceived. It rocks quite strongly in the wind. Tall trees sway far more than she ever knew. When a gust pushes through this circle of columns, it hits one first and then the others at greater and greater delays, making the platform rock and oscillate with increasing force.
Those who live up here ride the rhythm with sea legs, never losing their footing, never tethered to the limbs. But Katrina could barely stay on her feet up there. She spent most of her time on her hands and knees, laughing and gasping in terror, trying to stay on the good side of her hosts as they finally gave up on her balance and tied her off with an umbilical cord to mother tree.
They did make it easy. The Shidl Dít were kind and patient with her, understanding her lack of experience being a bloody bird. It wasn’t that she was unwilling either. Or that she had a particular fear of heights. It was just… absolutely debilitating. Survival instincts kept shorting out her abilities. And gravity felt different up there, like it was on some sort of counterbalance or pendulum and if she didn’t watch herself her feet would kick out and she’d pivot from the waist and tip over some edge to her terrifying death.
Okay. Maybe she did have a fear of heights. But Katrina was fairly certain it was less the heights and more a fear of death. Or, as in the old joke, it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing.
Only as she nears the ground does she notice that Iwikanu has descended with her, waiting patiently in the loops above for Katrina to drop to the earth. She does so and soon the two of them are standing face to face, sharing one last smile. Iwikanu unslings a boarskin bag and presents it to Katrina. “Ohh, that’s so sweet. God, I don’t even know if I have anything for you. Um. Here.” She pulls off a hair tie and makes a short ponytail of his hair. She wraps it tight and steps back. “You look proper handsome now.”
They say farewell in Russian and Katrina tells him that she will never forget him and that he must visit her in Australia some day. But this is more of the language than he knows so his smile just freezes and his eyes dart. She breaks off, the strong impulse to give him a hug bringing her up short. It’s probably a bad idea. She does it anyway. He laughs.
Then Iwikanu puts his golden mask back in place and steps away from her. She understands now, that this is a ritual distance that she cannot break, even if she needed him. Iwikanu is no longer her sweet new friend with a little sister and two gentle parents who gave up their own bed to her last night. Now he is what they call kadánda dayadi, child of pollen, child of the spring. And to them, he is no longer human. He is transformed.
She would have understood none of this if his chief the Dandawu hadn’t spoken a fair amount of pidgin Russian. But through broken phrases and mime and a lot of patience on both ends, they talked long into the night and again in the morning. He is an old man with extensive knowledge of the island, but little of the outside world. She did what she could to avoid too many unfamiliar ideas, and he showed no appetite for exploring them.
Katrina wonders what her insatiable curiosity must have seemed like to him. Is it just the unfathomable luxury of a modern life, to pursue knowledge for its own sake, even on topics that will never be useful? Is it just her overactive first-world brain that would be happier harvesting nuts and making boarskin leggings? She recalls telling one of her university professors about a hike she had taken and how she felt like a Stone Age nomad but he had corrected her. She was, in fact, nothing like a paleolithic human. Their conscious minds were fixed in the present, watching the branches of each tree for a bird that might make a meal, scanning shadows for predators waiting to make a meal of them. They did not have any fancy ideas about social media or petrol prices running through their heads. They couldn’t afford to. She is not any kind of ancient ancestor. Katrina is instead very much a product of her generation.
The day is gray and gusty. She knows the plan must be to retrace her steps back to pine camp and she only hopes she can remember how to do it. For being a hidden village, getting here was pretty straightforward. Two ridgelines and then a drop to the trees. So after she climbs that drop and follows the two ridgelines back, she should be where Iwikanu slaughtered that boar who attacked them.
Mentally, she divides the hike into four sections. Actually it forms a cohesive narrative, like they are each chapters in a novella, a charming story called Katrina’s Hike. The first chapter must be the introduction to her return, reacquainting herself with the ground and climbing the steep slope up to the top of the ridge, from which she can briefly spy the ocean on the western horizon, between gaps in the farther ridge’s peaks.
The second chapter is that first ridge, which leads her up and down its broken spine and over knobs of reddish stone. Miriam would like it here with all its exposed geology. But Katrina would prefer to get back under the trees. This is too much sun and wind for her all day.
The third chapter is the second ridge, a transverse line across the south of the island that brings her back to the east and the valley at the bottom of the sloping Douglas Firs. But the weather is starting to sour here. The wind really sweeps through the trees now and each gust brings the crack of falling branches. Getting close now. This is the far end of the valley in which that boar lived. All she has to do is cross it again and she’ll be home in no time.
But… as if there’s a pressure-sensitive plate beneath this meadow, as soon as Katrina steps onto it, the skies open up and a deluge of rain drops on her head from out of nowhere. The meadow darkens and the temperature drops. She is instantly drenched.
Cursing at the icy water finding its way beneath her three light layers, her teeth start chattering. “Got to… keep moving…” If she can just get back to camp she’ll be able to dry out.
Katrina ascends the final slope as runnels of water race past her, tearing the soil out from under her soles. It is a grim half hour of struggling against the elements. The wind and rain lash at her, chilling her to the bone. The golden childs who is otherwise Iwikanu still paces behind, patiently watching but never helping.
When Katrina finally does get back to pine camp, water sheets across the ground, carrying away the pine needles, the tents are all soaked through, and no one is there.
Ξ
Alonso and Miriam limp into the village, holding a hopping and grimacing Triquet between them. They are all soaked to the skin and miserable. Just before entering the village Triquet had slipped in the mud and twisted their left ankle. Despite assuring their older colleagues that they can walk it off, they had fussed over Triquet and hauled them up by the arms, nearly carrying them the last few paces with care. Easing their patient down to the deck of Morska Vidra’s covered porch, the three refugees look around.
The village looks deserted in the purplish downpour. No smoke, no light in any door. Puddles are already forming pools in the village square. The only sound is the creak of the trees in the wind.
Alonso grabs a handful of Triquet’s clothing and wrings it out with strong hands. He shares a sidelong pleased look with Miriam. “Did you see?”
She is shivering, slicking back her hair to get the water to stop dripping into her eyes. “See what?” She scans the village again.
“No no…” Alonso stands again. “Mira.” Then he crouches. “I helped Triquet. I carried them. For the first time. I helped. I was the carrier instead of the carried.” His proud smile is so wide.
She nods, dumbly, knowing how significant this is but unable to find enthusiasm within her. She squeezes his hand instead and looks into his eyes, her breath ragged.
“Oh, Mirrie, you’re freezing.” Alonso reaches over Triquet’s legs and envelops her in a bearhug.
Triquet thinks of saying something, but then doesn’t. Instead, they fall back in regard to study the two dark figures in embrace. What must it be like to love so well, so long? It is outside Triquet’s experience. Their parents certainly never did. Growing up, they had a few friends with cool moms and dads but certainly nothing like this. There is a silence in the contact point between them, as if Miriam and Alonso have sealed themselves together. Dyadic withdrawal. Triquet remembers the term from a sociology course. They have just retreated into a world they alone populate where they are something larger than themselves alone. And now the storming world is beaten back, with Triquet sheltering beneath.
Finally they break free and Alonso blows on her fingertips. Then he places a strong hand across Triquet’s chest. “How is the pain?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine. But I saw you, Alonso! I sure did! Big man on campus, carrying me away. How are you?”
“There is pain, certainly, yes.” Alonso considers what to say next about it. But nothing more is required. He holds out his hands and shrugs. “I am only glad I can help such a sweetheart.”
“Can we like… knock on his door?” Miriam stands, staring doubtfully at the hut. “What do you think, Zo?”
“I think they are not here. I mean, where even is the door?”
Miriam and Alonso step toward the black gap between the redwood bark boards that used to be covered by a door of smaller bark pieces. He leans his head in. “Hello…? Ah. Here is the door. They stowed it inside. I wonder why.”
“There’s no one in there?” Miriam steps inside, ducking low. The ceiling isn’t much more than Amy’s height. Alonso has to hunch over quite a lot.
“And nothing. There is only a door. And an old… eh, loom? Bedframe? I do not know what this is here in the corner.”
“But where did they go? I mean, the floor’s dry. Why would you leave your dry house in the middle of a huge storm? Madness.”
Another refugee arrives, stepping on the boards of the porch outside. It is Esquibel. She ducks in and looks around. “Good. This one is empty. And it has a firepit. Bring him in here.”
Alonso and Miriam go back outside to find Maahjabeen and Flavia unlashing Pradeep from the travois. Soon Esquibel helps them pull his unresisting body inside. His eyes are open and his face is slack. Mandy follows, carrying a sodden ball of sleeping bags and pillows. She disappears within as well.
“What the F?” Jay stands in the center of the the village, turning round and round. “Ghost town. Great. Where’d everybody go? And what do they know that we don’t?” The rain is cold but not frigid and he’s warmed up now. It’s just a lot. Even with his hood cinched tight, it’s hard to keep it out of his ears and eyes.
Alonso watches him from the porch. He beckons to Jay, in disbelief that the boy literally doesn’t have the sense to come in from out of the rain. “Come on. Get out of there and dry off.”
“Hold on, chief.” Jay pokes his head into each of the other huts first. They’re all empty, all the belongings gone except the doors. “So weird… Hey, Alonso. Why do they put the doors inside?”
“Maybe so they do not float away?”
“Seriously. I’m going to float away for sure.” Jay steps onto the porch, shakes like a dog, and unzips his rain parka. It kept him pretty dry except for a hefty leak at his neck. But he’s in shorts and sandals anyway. “You think we can all fit in there?”
Esquibel sticks her head out as Jay asks this. “Firewood,” she orders. “Before you get out of your wet things.”
Jay sighs. “Sure thing, Doc.” He zips his parka right back up and steps out into the downpour.
Once Esquibel withdraws from the small door, Alonso peeks in. Yes, they are all settled and now there is room for the rest of them. “Come on, Triquet. Let’s drag you in here too.”
“Oh, fine. I’m fine. I’m coming.” Triquet hauls themself to their feet and tries putting weight on the ankle. “Yes. Perfectly fine.” But then they try tilting their foot outward and pain runs up the outside of their lower leg. “Or, well, not entirely. But walking I can do. Careful walking. Or even crawling.” It does seem like the better option. They make a grand entrance, on hands and knees, but no one even looks up. The others are engaged in their own struggles. Triquet finds a spot in the far corner and eases their back against the blackened timbers.
Miriam also drops against the wall with a groan, still shivering. Triquet drapes an arm across her shoulders and she leans into it. “How about a fire? Anyone? That pipe’s a smoke hole, right?” An intact tube of bark is stuck in the roof at a shallow angle. Whenever the wind swirls a few raindrops spatter in.
Esquibel nods. “Jay is getting us some wood.”
“And here he is.” Alonso steps away from the door to give him room to enter.
Jay ducks in with an apologetic half-smile. He is empty-handed. “Nada. They took it all. Wherever they went, I guess they knew they’d need their firewood.”
“Well we need a fire too.” Esquibel is worried about Pradeep. She doesn’t know how he will deal with all these extreme changes in his environment, just on a metabolic level. She doesn’t know if he can generate enough heat. What are these bizarre narcotics the shamans keep using against them? They present in ways she’s never seen with any compound or heard about in any literature. Oh, yes. This is a new drug we discovered on an island called Lisica. It removes your soul.
Jay shrugs. “We can burn the door.”
Miriam barks a sarcastic laugh, appreciating the dark humor. But then she stops herself. “Oh, you’re serious. And how do you think our hosts will like us after we’ve done that?”
Jay shrugs again. “It’s the only dry wood around. I can build them another door when the storm dies down no problem.”
“Yes, do it.” Esquibel doesn’t have time for the niceties of outreach and community engagement right now. “We need the fire. And we need that door to last all night. So keep it modest.”
“Will do.”
Jay pulls the door away from the wall and makes a face. “Okay. Problem one. This is redwood bark, which is super flame-resistant. Good against rot too. But it’s going to be a bitch to burn. Problem two. No dry kindling. So that’s going to be fun. Not exactly sure how we’ll get this done yet… Aha! But the frame is another wood, like laurel. Now that’s some good firewood there. Okay. I got a plan.” He pulls a buck knife and collapsible saw from his pack.
They all work in silence at their various tasks. Mandy helps Maahjabeen out of her sodden jacket and squeezes out her thick hair for her. But Maahjabeen only has thoughts for Pradeep. He doesn’t shiver but there is a bluish cast to his skin that worries her. “Mandy, please cover the door with a blanket. Where is that fire?”
As if she invoked it, a flame blooms under Jay’s hand in a pile of sawdust and strips of kindling. They all turn to watch as he coaxes it to life, putting wafer-thin sheets of redwood bark atop it. These only blacken and smoke but refuse to catch fire. “Need to make it hotter…” Jay pushes more kindling into the blaze and soon it reaches a critical heat, igniting all the other fuel he carefully places on the growing pyramid.
The heat spreads into the wide room, smoke spiraling up into the canted smokehole. Firelight flickers against the dark walls. They all ease back, letting the fire give them its primeval comfort.
“I love a good plasma.” They are Flavia’s first words. She has been engaged in a long silent struggle against the deteriorating conditions of the day. But the sight of those bluish-orange twisting sheets of ionized heat soothe her. “Remember the bunker? How nice it used to be in there?”
“I loved the bunker!” Mandy clasps her hands under her chin. “It was like one big dorm room. And the sub?”
“We should go back to the sub.” Yet as Triquet says it they realize how impossible that would be right now. Descending the tree trunk down that shaft in the tunnels would be agony on their ankle. What a dope, stumbling in the mud like that.
“We are not going anywhere.” Esquibel says it firmly, cutting the foolish notion off before they can seriously consider it. “This fire is the most important thing right now. Keeping Pradeep warm.”
“Did anybody bring food?” Flavia presses a hand against her growling belly. “I didn’t realize how hungry I am until now.”
“Shh.” Alonso holds up a hand. “There is somebody outside.”
They can all hear tentative footsteps on the planks of the porch. A tension winds in the air. Jay stands, gripping his knife. Is this it? Is this his moment? Is Wetchie-ghuy about to come barrelling in here with his potions and his spells? Where will Jay even stab him? He should probably decide before the whole thing goes down so he knows how to hold his knife. In the neck, like a stab down from above? Or a slash across his belly, which means he should reverse his grip and…
A figure leans in, dark and hidden, and a breathless voice hisses the Lisican greeting, the final syllable rising in hope. “Bontiik…?”
It is Katrina.
Mandy squeals and throws herself at her, pulling Katrina into the hut and squeezing her tight. The space is suddenly charged with everyone’s heat and movement, their exclamations and questions. They all have to hug Katrina, or at least touch her or pet her hair. For a long sweet interlude, it’s nothing but chatter and laughter and most of the sounds they make aren’t even words.
Finally they settle again. Katrina scans their faces. “Still no Amy? Blimey. Out somewhere in this storm? Poor dear. I hope the shamans are keeping her dry.”
“Jidadaa told us,” Alonso informs her, “that the shamans do not have her and neither she nor the golden childs know where Amy is. We are very worried. Very worried.”
“I mean… She’s an outdoors person, right? Probably living better than we are right now.”
“Where are the golden childs anyway? Have we seen them?”
“Oh, yeh.” Katrina points back out the door. “They’re out there a few houses down. Just watching. They’re kadánda dayadi, like the children of pollen. Don’t worry about them.”
“Why?” Triquet asks. “What does that mean?”
“So… From the beginning… They brought me to their village in the trees. Crazy place. Way up high in the redwoods. And they had this long ceremony to remove their masks up there. Lots of colored powders smeared on their skins then washed off. And when it was all over the bloke next to me took off his golden mask and he was just this guy. He introduced himself as Iwikanu. We were totally best buds. He took me to his parents’ house and they fed me some nice eggs and mash and his little sister couldn’t get over my pale white weirdness. Just like prodded me all night. She was so cute. But yeh. When he put his mask back on he wasn’t Iwikanu any more. They told me he transformed into an agent of the gods. The springtime god, to be exact. They’ve only got a couple more weeks of this before summer comes and the kadánda dayadi vanish like pollen on the wind.”
“So poetic.” Miriam unlaces Katrina’s shoes and peels off her socks for her. “And how did you learn all this?”
“Their chief speaks a bit of Russian. I learned so much. But here. Look. Check this out first.” Katrina holds up her prize, the sack that Iwikanu gifted her at the base of the tree. It is large and heavy and she is tired of carrying it.
Jay goggles. “What the hell? What is that made of?” He grabs the sack. “This is like pigskin. Feels like some giant hairy NFL football. Ew. Where’d you get that?”
“There’s boars, Jay. On the island. One attacked me. That’s why he took me back to their village. I needed to help him carry—”
“I knew it!” Jay crows. “Remember when the bad village showed up and they had those cross-braces on their spears? I just knew there had to be big-game hunting! And what’s in here?”
“Go ahead and open it.”
Jay unfolds the irregular flaps of the sack to find ingots of raw flesh, gleaming and purple, inside. Dozens. “What the…? Oh, baby! We’re eating like kings tonight!”
The hut fills with their joyful clamor once again. Nobody is happier than Flavia. She grabs Katrina and kisses her face over and over. Jay hops up and down like a child at Christmas. Only Alonso sighs, doleful, and Triquet sees it. “Ah, what’s wrong, boss man? Not a pork guy?”
“I love it. But I miss my wine. It would pair so well.”
Triquet giggles. “And bring me some truffle oil while we’re at it.”
Alonso laughs, appreciating the teasing. “Yes, I’m a wretched alcoholic, it’s true. Very spoiled. Eh. Mira. This bag is made from a single pig, just stitched up the sides. Kind of gross.”
“I don’t think that meat is very hygienic,” Esquibel cautions. “How long has it been out? Over 24 hours, yes?”
“Well they didn’t carve it up until this morning if that makes you feel any better. Then they rubbed this oil all over it and packed it away. I didn’t think I was going to get to taste it. Was kind of broken up about it, to be honest. But they were just waiting to give me my share! Oh, he was such a brute. His tusks were so scary, just like these pointed broken giant teeth coming at you.”
“Ehh…” Esquibel is unconvinced. “What kind of oil?” But then Jay gently drops the first steaks directly on the burning coals and the sizzle fills the night air with heady scents. “Just make sure you sear all the edges at least.” Then Esquibel has to stop talking because there is suddenly too much saliva in her mouth.
They all watch in silence as Jay cooks. He is a timeless figure, stooped over the flames, tending to the first feast of the hunt. From time to time he pokes at the sizzling meat with his fingers, testing its consistency. Within a few minutes he’s pulling the first ones free, knocking the ash from the charred crust.
Flavia has found a small flat tray in her belongings that can serve as a plate. “Here, Jay. Right here. Come to mama.”
With a grimace he drops it onto her plate and waves his fingers to cool them. Jay grins at Flavia, wolfish. “Let me know how it is.”
Flavia kisses him. “I have never been so attracted to you as I am right now.” They all laugh at her but now there is a sharp edge of anticipation in it as they crowd round. Flavia doesn’t even offer to share. She picks at it, blowing on the steak to cool it, and tears a bit off the corner. “Oh. Che meraviglia. So good. A little chewy. Gamey. Is that the word? But who cares.”
She hands the plate to Esquibel, who wrinkles her nose, inspects it minutely, then takes a bite. “Ah. Very hot. That is good.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “To kill the bacteria so… Oh.” Then she starts chewing in earnest. “Oh. This is amazing.”
“Yeah, I bet that oil is really helping lock in the juices.” Jay giggles, dropping the next finished steak on top of the first. Mandy finds another lid as a plate and soon they’re all eating and groaning in pleasure, falling back against the walls of the hut with dirt and ash and grease smeared on their chins.
“But what did you learn from this chief of theirs?” Alonso finally asks Katrina, licking his fingers. “You say he speaks Russian. That is another thing Jidadaa told us, that Russians visit them regularly. The tree village. What did you learn about that?”
“Oh, you saw Jidadaa? How is she?”
“Same as ever. She rescued Prad from Wetchie-ghuy at least.” Jay allows some grudging admiration to color his words.
Esquibel repeats, “Katrina. Tell us of the Russians.”
“It’s not a very good relationship.” Katrina is still eating. She can’t stop and there’s still three steaks they haven’t finished. “Lots of distrust. Strictly transactional I think, although I can’t figure out what the Russians give the Thunderbirds in return. The Shidl Dít. Like I didn’t see any modern stuff anywhere up on their platform. Maybe like some winter coats from Siberia or something.”
“And what do the Russians want from the Thunderbirds?” Esquibel locates a notepad and pen. She wants to make sure she gets what Katrina tells her recorded word-for-word. This is the most valuable intelligence she can bring back.
“And why are they even called the Thunderbirds?” Jay wonders. “I mean, like there are only a few birds in the whole world that can strictly be called thunderbirds and we haven’t—”
“Jay.”
“Sup, Doc?”
“Let her answer my question first please. National security and all that.”
“Oh. For sure.”
Katrina shrugs. “Well, like I said, there’s a lot of distrust. And like layers, you know? So I didn’t get what you’d call a straight answer. But they really opened up after I sang them some Marvin Gaye. They think I’m some kind of wizard.”
“That is so wild that they don’t have music.” Jay shakes his head. “I mean, can you imagine what your daily life would—?”
“Jay! Please!” Esquibel glares at him.
Katrina shakes her head in memory of the painstaking dialogue. “We went back and forth. Lots of miming. After a couple hours of that, what I was finally able to figure out is that what the Russians want here more than anything is the foxes.”
Esquibel’s pen is poised above the blank sheet of note paper. She blinks. “Eh? The foxes? What do you mean?”
“You mean like for their fur?” Jay frowns. “That’s so, like, 19th century. Nobody wears fur any more.”
“Okay… Eh…” Miriam can make no more sense of it than any of the others. “So did the Thunderbirds give them the foxes?”
“On that point,” Katrina manages through a full mouth, “they were quite clear. Absolutely not.”
They all consider this in a perplexed silence.
“But what did the Russians have to say about the Americans or the Chinese? Anything on that?” Esquibel can’t tell her superiors that the Russians were here like English bloody lords hunting foxes for sport. They’d tell her this whole mission was a waste.
“They don’t know. I tried to get kind of geopolitical for a bit but the Thunderbirds are like wildly incurious about the world outside. They know Lisica and its three tribes and that’s about it. But they know Lisica better than anyone else, I’m pretty sure. Even better than the shamans. The Dandawu has the deep cuts, that’s for sure. Like, they recognized the name Maureen Dowerd, Triquet. They like fully remember her.”
“Oh my god. The modern mystery. Yes,” Triquet groans. “Can we please get back to that?”
“She was a friend to all the tribes. The only one who could speak to everyone, even the great shaman at the time, Aan Eyagídi. It was the first time they had met an outsider who was a woman and not a soldier. And he spoke of her great heart. She sounds like a lovely woman. Very charming.”
“And then she fell in love with a local.”
“Yes, and that is when the fractures appeared. The Shidl Dít had no problem with their affair and the child she had. But those nasty Ussiaxan condemned them both. He said they’re the ones who caused her death. And for years they hunted her lover too. Killed him when he was old. But their lineage lives on. All those blond curls. Morska Vidra’s village mostly had no problem, but some did and left them to go live across the river. Reactionairies and their racial purity. Tale as old as time.”
Jay calculates. “So it was the, like, grandparents of the Lady Boss and that whole crew who killed Maureen? Poor thing.”
“Not exactly. We went round and round about this all night. The Dandawu used different words for what the Ussiaxan did to Maureen and her lover. They killed her lover. That was clear. But for her he used a more complex phrase, like ‘they brought about the reasons for her death.’ Like they set some kind of trap.”
“That’s wicked.” Triquet shakes their head. “And this is how the past informs the present. I wasn’t sure the bad tribe would hold their grudge forever but it sounds like that’s exactly what they do.”
“And the Dandawu confirmed the Ussiaxan kept all the secrets. On Maureen Dowerd and the Russians and the Americans and the Chinese. When Wetchie-ghuy deposed Aan Eyagídi during the time of the twelfth mothers, the Ussiaxan took all the island’s maps and diaries and keepsakes to what they call the treasure house—”
Triquet claps their hands to their mouth. “Oh my god there’s actual diaries out there? Plural? Mine mine mine! Ooo baby. That’s like textual chronology primary source white gold.”
“Yeah, but all surrounded by about like sixty warlike spear-warriors,” Jay reminds them. “We’d need like Seal Team Six to drop on their heads if we want to snag their shit.”
Now Esquibel is writing. “It is in their village, you say?”
But Katrina hesitates. “Ehm, you aren’t going to like call in a missile strike or anything, are you?”
“Are you serious? No. I can’t do that. This is just information-gathering. A big part of my job here.”
“I mean he didn’t tell me exactly, but yeh. I figure it’s in there with all their holy holies.”
“Do any of the Ussiaxan speak Russian?” Alonso doesn’t like how close this aggressive tribe is. Just across the creek. How much will their taboo to cross it matter if they are impelled by a greater need to kill the foreigners? “Can we reason with them?”
“No. Chinese. They’ve been contacted regularly by the Chinese, who come in from the north and always avoid the Russians and the Americans.” Katrina looks everywhere but at Esquibel. “They also used to be the contact tribe for the Japanese, like 80 or 90 years ago during the war.”
“That was the bunker I found on the west coast during that first storm.” Maahjabeen shakes her head at the memory. It seems like it was from six years ago, not six weeks. “Definitely old. Definitely Japanese. And Soviet too. So there’s some crossover.”
“I really need to get a look at that site.” Triquet flexes their ankle. “Some day. Could you like tow me on a raft?”
“Oh, the breakers would never allow it.”
“And the other really cool thing he told me,” Katrina continues, “is about the founding of the island. He said it was one man and two sisters. They were Eyat but he was Rumelian.”
“Rumelian?” Alonso wonders. “What is Rumelian?”
“I have no idea,” Katrina answers. “I was hoping one of you would know.”
But none of them do.
“What are you doing?” Flavia asks Jay, as he shakes as much water off his coat as possible and pulls it back on.
“Just thinking. One place I haven’t looked. Maybe it would be a good idea before it gets too late.”
“Where’s that?” Miriam asks.
“In the caves. That’s got to be where they’re hiding, right?”
“The sub,” Triquet grumbles. “Scattering all my sorted piles.”
“Who knows?” Jay goes to the door and pulls Mandy’s blanket wide. The loud drumming of the rain is disheartening, convincing all the others to stay by the fire. “Back in a sec.”
“That boy is a lunatic,” Alonso announces. “But I am glad we have him back.”
Jay returns nearly instantly. “Yep. Cave mouth is just full of all their belongings. But no villagers to be seen. They got no faith in their huts during a storm like this, I guess. And look!” He pulls a bundle of sticks through the door. “Stole some of their firewood!”
All the others are pleased, but Katrina thinks back on her time with the Dandawu and all the kindnesses his people showed her. She shakes her head in despair. “God, we suck.”
Chapter 42 – A Basketball Game
October 14, 2024
Thanks for joining us for the third volume of our Scientist Soap Opera escapist journey to the mysterious island of Lisica! You can find previous episodes in the link above or column on the right. Please don’t forget to subscribe and leave a comment if you enjoy what you find!
Audio for this episode:
42 – A Basketball Game
“Jay. Jay, stop…” Pradeep has been repeating the words for a long time now but this time they work. Jay stumbles to a halt in front of him, seeing it too. Silver light shines indirectly into their tunnel. “We did it. We got out.”
Jay’s breathing is ragged. Holy hell. He took one look at those demon eyes and got the F out of there. Who knows how long he’s been charging forward, dragging Pradeep behind him? But now he can smell the plants and the soil and the fresh air leaking in from ahead. “Jeee-zus, this acid is sooo strong. It’s been like a seventeen hour trip so far. Thanks a fucking bunch, Katrina.”
“Let us stop, please.” Pradeep removes his hand from Jay’s belt, where he held on for dear life. The webbing has cut into his palm and it is a burning pain that keeps him from otherwise thinking clearly. “Why are you so crazed? What did you see, anyway?”
Jay turns back to regard the darkness. Yep, the demons are still lurking back there, staring malevolently at the two escapees. The tunnel’s darkness encompasses one of their infernal hells, with tiers upon tiers of crypts in the pit’s walls, countless fiends staring out. How did he and Pradeep ever survive that? “Uh, there’s, uh, something down here. But we got away. Lots of somethings.”
“What, like… badgers?”
The question is so random and ludicrous Jay can’t help but wheeze with laughter. Oh, yeah. He feels that in his ribs. “The fuck? Badgers? There’s no badgers on this island. Dude. Don’t be dense. We’d have seen sign or spoor by now. No. Demons. Now come on. Maybe there’s some water out here.”
Jay continues forward. Pradeep stands there, dumbstruck, feeling a fool for running around all night fleeing Jay’s acid trip. Damn. Well at least he didn’t lose the bloody moron. And they did finally find a way out. But where are they?
They emerge from a natural crevice on a nearly vertical slope, the opening almost completely obscured by fern fronds. Nearby redwoods are gigantic black columns against an empty sky. Framed between two of the largest is a nearly full moon. Its harsh light bathes this narrow canyon in monochrome light and shadow.
Jay blinks. He’s been underground so long his eyes are super sensitive. This moonlight is like full daylight to him. “I can’t even remember… the last time I saw the moon.” The cloud cover of Lisica hadn’t been getting to him. He hadn’t thought it had, at least. But seeing the full clear night sky again, with the vaulting Milky Way and planets shining in all their brilliant hues… It rocks him. He stumbles from the crevice, wisps of black demon smoke dispersing in the crystal air around his head like bats winging away from their cave. Free. He groans aloud and raises his hands to the shimmering sky. “Free!”
Pradeep claps his hands over his mouth. The shining face of the moon is a profound sight, so bright he can’t look directly at it. The ground falls away before him, purple and black, with dazzling patches of silver that catch the light. He can’t navigate through that. Finding a solid foothold and handhold where he stands, he carefully leans out and looks upslope. No, that is even worse, a massive stone overhang disappearing out of sight above. He’s a climber but he isn’t a reckless fool. That would be like five dynos in a row just to get up what he can see, and his arms are already blown from wrestling all night with Jay. “So… down?”
“Down?” Jay shakes his head and frowns at the sudden motion. His thoughts are clear again but a massive headache is starting up. Oh, fuck. Not now. Not here. Owww! He’s gonna kill Katrina when he sees her again. Absently, his fingers find a fresh joint and his lighter. Soon he is sparking up.
Pradeep exclaims at the sudden flare of light then hisses in disapproval. “Put that away. No idea who might see us here.”
“Good point.” Jay takes a huge hit and rubs the space between his brows with a knuckle. Now he needs water more than ever. His throat is like made of sand and the hot smoke goes down like fire. “Well, water is always down.” And with no more consideration, he drops onto a shelf he can barely see about three meters below.
Pradeep mutters anxiously, his legs trembling. Then he grits his teeth and follows with a halfhearted crouching leap.
Now the weed finally does its job and Jay’s poor brain unlocks. He is able to escape his mind for the first time in ages and reside in his body. Drop. Scramble. Swing. This is real exercise again, the good kind. Not that claustrophobic hell with Pradeep. This is bouldering by moonlight, yo. Not the first time he’s done such a thing. Come on, demons. See if you can catch me now. He patrols the edge of the shelf, then finds a bit of a route on a more shallow slope to his left. Down he goes, his shoes filling with sandy soil.
The ferns are thick. They give way to rhododendron. This is a wet canyon. Jay can tell just by the plant life. More redwoods tower above, stabilizing the cliff walls with their immense roots. They are so slippery, though, and Jay falls from one network into the duff below, sliding into a blackberry bush, where he’s pierced by a hundred thorns. “Oww. Watch that, Prad. It… Fuck! Ow!”
Pradeep perches on the redwood roots above, listening to Jay crash and bellow in the underbrush, all attempts at stealth forgotten. The last thing he wants is to continue this descent. “Shouldn’t there be a traverse across somewhere? Are you sure we want to get to the bottom?”
“Ah. Ahh…” Jay groans as a dozen thorns or more break off in his skin. But he’s still got to push through. He’s past the thick of it now. Just a few more sliding steps, with a few more thorns in his calf, then he’s free. He calls back up to Pradeep. “Yeah, dude. The bottom’s where the water is. Wouldn’t even be a canyon here without water. ” He tilts his gaze back down into the darkness below, the trees obscuring the way down from the moon, and mutters to himself, “And I need a drink bad.”
“But then how will we ever get back up?”
Pradeep’s voice is distant. Jay stops and struggles to find his patience. Can’t lose his buddy now. “No getting back up, homie. Down and out. We’ll have to find another way back.”
“Ugh. I do not like that answer.”
“Come on, Prad. Swing yourself over this way. You can avoid the blackberries if you drop over here. Just watch out for rocks.”
Jay takes another drag on his joint. Even though it majorly tears up his throat it sure does good things to his mental state. He’s back in business now. And if he strains to listen he can hear the gurgle of a creek. “Fuck yeah, there’s a creek. This is a deep canyon and that was a big storm.” Jay drops onto a boulder and hurries down a broadening slope into a dark grove. Finally. The redwoods hold the soil here on a forest floor that is flattening out. Mossy banks and ferns are barely visible in the tiny bit of light that penetrates.
Jay worms his way forward, using the toes of one foot to sense his path forward. There is no path, just a jumble of fallen logs covered with moss and clumps of ferns. But the water is closer now, a full liquid gargle that promises an end of thirst. It urges him forward until he is at its side hanging over the wide creek, the dangling roots of the redwoods an impassable barrier above the rushing water. He needs to find a sandbar or something. Unless he fully throws himself in the creek he can’t reach it from here. And he isn’t willing to do that yet. He just got his phone back, for fuck’s sake.
But he’s so thirsty.
Jay pulls back and picks his way further downstream, the thorns in the heels of his hand and the skin of his calf stabbing him with every move. But finally he finds a spot where the dirt slopes steeply to the water. By holding onto a root and lowering himself headfirst he’s able to dip his chin into the frigid stream and gulp down some of the best water he’s ever tasted. Drenching his front, the cold sobers him further. Finally he has to pull away, even though he feels like he could drink forever.
When Jay regains his balance he finds Pradeep above, navigating down to him with his phone light. “Water,” Jay calls out, perhaps unnecessarily. But it is the only thing that matters.
Pradeep pauses, his head whirling. This precipitous slope is nearly as bad as being in the tunnels. At least in there he had no chance of pitching himself forward and drowning in a rain-swollen creek. “Where are we?” he demands. “Which way should we go?”
“You think I know?” Jay’s answer is querulous, followed by a sharp laugh that verges on hysterics. “Feels like I’ve spent half my waking moments on this fucking island lost in the dark.”
“Yes. Well. We need to make a choice, and I am not going to drop down any further to you until…”
“You ain’t thirsty? Damn. Well, it’s a simple call. Downstream. Duh. That’s where we’ll eventually like get back to where we once belonged.”
“Okay. Which way is that?”
“To the right.”
“And what is upstream?”
“Well, come on, don’t stop using your brain here. That must be the high country, right? The ridgeline that collected all this water.”
“No… I am asking… Wasn’t it on a hill top that Triquet escaped from? And Flavia? The shamans are above somewhere.”
“All the more reason to go down. Oh, fuck. I soaked the last of my joint. Goddamnit. Now I’m gonna have to roll a new one. Shine your light—”
“No! I will not!” In response, Pradeep turns off his light. “There is only two percent battery left. I was just getting very angry about how you made me use more to come down here. We can’t use the last on your drug habit. It’s the drugs that got us into this mess!”
“Fine. I’ll just suffer in silence then. At least until we find a patch of moonlight. Come on.”
They follow the course of the creek as well as they can from the slope above, about ten meters up. But the canyon walls are cut by endless rills and streams of side canyons that bring water down to add to the larger creek. It is in the second of these that Pradeep finds a spot where he can drink. And Jay is right. It is amazingly restorative. Now the prospect of hiking the entire rest of the night doesn’t seem quite so daunting. And the moonlight certainly helps.
Jay certainly thinks so. He’s crouched down and balanced his kit on his knee. After carefully rolling a pair of joints, one for energy and one for relaxation, he slides them into a dry pocket. Then with the last of the dust he makes a little binger that he smokes to ash. “We might want to find a spot to hole up for the rest of the night.”
Pradeep shrugs. “Let us walk while we can.”
The canyon eventually opens onto a wider valley. The trees do not cover the entire forest floor, leaving wide patches of silver light they pick their way through. The creek has flooded here, filling the flat ground with pools and puddles, making progress difficult. Eventually they have to give up trying to keep their shoes and pants dry, and start wading along its verge in the icy water.
Finally, a solid rise clears the floodwaters ahead like an island, featuring a pair of giant bay trees and little more. Pradeep throws himself down onto its dry banks, panting from the exertion and the anxiety, needing a break from banging his shins against submerged logs and squinting into the dark. Now he’s got a headache too.
Jay’s is also getting worse. He worries about the return of his headaches. This would be the worst place for them, by far. “At least it’s dark,” he grunts, kneading the back of his neck.
“What is wrong?”
“Migraines are worse in bright light. So at least I got that going for me, which is nice.”
“You have a migraine? Shit. I didn’t know you got migraines.” Pradeep makes a worried face. His mother has this curse. He learned early on what to do for her. “Here. Turn a bit. Now breathe.” Pradeep buries his knuckles in the straps of muscle connecting Jay’s back and neck. He certainly has a lot more mass than Pradeep’s mom but hopefully the principle is the same. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pradeep’s strong fingers are like fangs piercing his flesh. But Jay knows to keep still and relaxed if it’s going to be helpful. He’s just got to breathe through the added pain. “Yeah,” he grunts. “Got them pretty much under control. Except I guess when I wrestle with demons on acid.”
“Underground. In the cold and dark.”
“With no food or water.”
“It does make sense. Jay, I’m worried.”
“Not now, chief. Trying to clear my mind of worry.”
“Yes, well…” Pradeep has no such avenue for himself. “My mind is primarily composed of worry, perhaps 98% by weight. I’m only thinking about this creek. If we are on the right bank, and it is eventually the same river that divides the two warring villages, then which bank do we want to be on?”
“Oh, man, are you trying to break my brain?” But Jay knows this is a valid concern. There’s no point in fighting their way through hours of forest only to throw themselves on the spearpoints of the Katóok tribe, after Jay had sworn to never return to their territory. “Yeah, let’s see. Downstream is like this… We stay on this side. Yeah, we’re on the correct bank. The good side, the west side where they won’t kill us. Pretty sure.”
“Good. Because I don’t think we can cross that creek anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s like the whole idea about it, for sure. No crossing allowed. And I guess that holds true all the way up to the top of the island. Fucking weirdos.”
“So hungry.” Pradeep finds a fallen log that would make a good chair. He sits and takes off his shoes, clearing them of all the debris.
“For sure. You think I can get a pizza delivered?” Jay decides if he can’t eat he’ll smoke more weed. Sativa it is. Bolster his energy.
“Oh. No.” Pradeep’s words are so harrowed that they interrupt Jay, mid-inhalation. “It’s him.”
“Him? Who him?” Then Jay’s eyes adjust from the flare of the lighter to spy the dim hulking figure here on this rise with them, just a few paces away. “Oh, is it that Wetchie-ghuy fucker? What up, dude? You sure been causing us a metric fuck-ton of trouble.” With force, Jay blows the remainder of his smoke at the distant figure, who remains still, watching them.
Pradeep groans. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand… How could I know what he looked like in my mind if I’d never seen him in real life? And now when I see him, he looks the same? How did he get inside my mind?”
“Don’t let him fool you, Prad. This dude’s got tricks.”
“No. It is no trick. A bargain has been made. Somehow. He knows it as well as I. And now he is coming to collect.”
“The fuck he is. Sit down, Prad. Dude doesn’t get to just roll up and claim people. It doesn’t work like that. The only reason you needed any help in the first place is because his buddy tried to kill you with poison. Fuck both of them. You owe him nothing.”
Now Wetchie-ghuy holds out a loop of braided leather. They both know what that is for. Pradeep’s shoulders slump, accepting his fate. He knew Maahjabeen and his exciting new career were too good to be true. He just knew it, deep inside. And there is a gleam in that old man’s eye, a curious little opening into a larger truth. This is the siren song Pradeep heard in the darkness last night that originally made him leave the sub. It is here, in this shaman’s knowledge, the universal truths Pradeep has always sought. See? This transaction has further benefits for him. He will only sit at his new master’s feet and take in whatever crumbs and morsels Wetchie-ghuy cares to share. It will be worth it…
“Prad! I said sit the fuck back down.” Jay pulls on Pradeep, who has risen again to go to the awful old man. But Jay has another idea. “No. Wait. Let’s make a deal, Wetchie-ghuy. You want my boy but you can’t have him. You can’t have either of us. But I got something even better. Bigger juju, dude. Look.” And Jay gets between the shaman and the man he has claimed, blowing another billow of smoke at Wetchie-ghuy.
The shaman coughs, waving his hand in front of his face, then he mutters something in reaction and cocks his head.
“Yeah, smells good, don’t it? Here’s the deal. You can have the joint. But I get to keep Pradeep. Right? Fair and final, yeah?”
Wetchie-ghuy lifts a gnarled hand. Jay puts the joint in it. “That’s it. Smoke up, bro. Like you saw me do. Then we’re square.”
Wetchie-ghuy inhales, the end of the joint crackling cherry red. He does not exhale.
Ξ
Katrina is in a febrile dream. She is so thirsty. There’s a park of red sandstone near her house she’s been going to as a child but now it’s drought season and all its pools are dusty dry, like the inside of her poor wretched mouth.
Someone wakes her. She gratefully pulls herself out of the vision. It was absolutely no fun, filled with loops of thought she’s been around and around so many times they’ve worn grooves in her brain. And now she’s awake, the curving shadows of the sub’s hull over her head, waking in the Captain’s bed with Alonso sitting at her side. He looks at her with paternal care, holding water.
“Here.”
He feeds it to her like a bottle to a baby. She slurps greedily, a rivulet running down her chin and pooling in the hollow of her neck. Finally she breaks away. “Thanks, mate. Glorious.”
“You were muttering for water and I couldn’t sleep.”
“Yeh. Brilliant. What time is it?”
“It is near morning. And we are still alive. So.” He pats her head and gives her a pitying smile. “How is the come down? Bad?”
“The worst. Usually I have a lot more control of how my trips end. Lots of hot water and vitamins and meditation. Not… Well. Whatever the fuck that was.”
Alonso’s response is a full belly laugh. He smooths the fine strands of blonde hair away from her forehead. “Yes. The bugout. The big bugout of May Second. It will go down in history.”
“And somehow you’re in a good mood about it?” Katrina sits up, somewhat resentful of Alonso’s tone. Then she remembers how irritable she will be today and remembers to keep it to herself.
“Yes, well… I have always, during crisis, you know, at least before the last crisis, the big one, the long one, the five years…” He shrugs, re-setting himself. “I was always at my best in a crisis. I can put my feelings away and take care of all the problems and needs of others. So. My colleague asks for water, I get water. My Doctor tells me to hide in a sub, I hide in a sub. And I take care of people. It is one of the things I do best. You wouldn’t know it from meeting me now, but I assure you it is true. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Katrina shakes her head no. “Any sign of… you know, anyone? Jay and Pradeep? The golden man? Russian Marines?”
“No one. Maahjabeen and Flavia convinced Esquibel to move her barrier further up the tunnel so they could visit the sea cave. So they were gone for like an hour. But they’re back now. Everyone else is still asleep.”
“He was real, you know. It wasn’t the drugs. We really did see the golden man and he really did tell us the Russians were coming. I mean, Pradeep and Jay didn’t just vanish for fun.”
“We know. And we know which way our two wayward sons went. But nobody is allowed to follow them. It’s a new tunnel.”
“New tunnel. Fucking fantastic.” Katrina groans and falls back against the wall, bumping her head. “Yeh. Coming back online now. Ah, sobriety. You were not missed. Any coffee anywhere?”
“Not yet. But I can start a pot. Just not in here. The ventilation is not so good.”
“So like no boots tramping around above? No gunfire or…?”
Alonso shrugs. “The bunker’s concrete floor is too solid.”
Katrina looks more closely at his silhouette. “Are you sure I was just out for a few hours? Not like… days?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just skip this whole unpleasant episode and wake up when it’s safe again. Why? What is it?”
“You’re… I mean, maybe I wasn’t paying attention, but you look really good, Doctor Alonso. I think you’ve lost some weight.”
“This is quite the time to turn into a flatterer.” Alonso stands straighter, sucking in his belly. “Well, a man can only drink so much wine. Really? You think so?”
“I really do.” The transformation is fairly striking. His hair is growing out as well, a leonine mane of silver and black sweeping back from his forehead. And his jawline has returned.
“You are so sweet. Let me just get the water going and I will be right back for more compliments.” With a soft chuckle he turns and vanishes, leaving Katrina alone with her chaotic thoughts.
He returns a moment later, bearing a bag of dried fruit and a handful of supplements. “Here. Electrolytes for what you lost. And more water. Your coffee is coming.” He makes sure she swallows the pills and drinks more water and eats a handful of fruit. “Now. Tell me more nice things about how I look.”
Katrina laughs for his sake, her insides made of sand. She doesn’t think she can sleep any more but she also can’t offer much more in the way of social niceties. “You do look fab. I love your hair.”
Alonso passes a self-conscious hand over his curls. “You are such a doll. You have no idea how vain I am.”
Katrina pauses, mid-sip. She lowers the water bottle and looks at him. “Now I’m remembering my last great insight from last night. And it’s a real doozy. Are you ready?”
Alonso isn’t sure he likes the strange look in Katrina’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose, if it has merit.”
“Well, not much, but it’s still interesting regardless. So… I guess in the back of my mind I was chewing on our data collection issues and how the clock is really ticking down and we’re no closer to getting what we need for Plexity.”
Alonso leans back. “Yes, I have been thinking very much about the same thing. And my solutions so far are not very good. Mostly about hiding here when they come to pick us up so I have enough time to finish my initial assay of the island. What is your solution?”
“Well, it’s really just kind of a philosophical word game my brain was playing while tripping. Semantics. But, I mean, remember how the basis of Plexity is the interconnectedness of all life?”
“Certainly.”
“And how we’ve been working our asses off trying to get as many samples of life and examples of that interconnection as we can? Well, what I started thinking… Right! It started as a way to extend the deadline, like what you’re saying. And in my cracked-out state I was tripping on the possibility of a terrarium, you know those glass bowls with all the plants and a bit of sand and water and—?”
“Yes, I know what a terrarium is.”
“So on acid, you can get really obsessive. And I was imagining stuffing my own terrarium with all the samples we couldn’t get to on Lisica, so that when we left we’d still have a tiny little replica of the island we could work on. You know? Not that it would be representative or accurate or…”
“Well, yes, that is the thing, isn’t it? You have forty species in your little glass globe and that can’t replicate the richness—or, rather, by the choice of which species we bring we could absolutely misrepresent the baseline activity for everything in the bowl and also misrepresent the profile for life on the island.”
“Yes. Of course. That’s why I said it has little worth… Anyway. It’s really nothing more than a thought experiment but what if we lean a little bit more into that interconnectedness concept?”
“What do you mean? How?”
“Well, like,” Katrina grabs Alonso’s hand and interlaces her fingers with his. “Think about, I don’t know, the seagulls.”
“You can’t fit a seagull in a terrarium.”
“Yeh, that’s kinda what I’m getting at. So maybe we don’t need to. The seagull eats what, fish? Then it discards the carcass and flies away. But the fish guts give rise to bacteria in the water. So then we come along and harvest the bacteria and find proteins in it that came from fish blood. We also find traces of seagull saliva. But we only have the bacteria.”
“I don’t think even the Dyson readers are this powerful.”
“No, mate. No chance. But gentle reminder: I was tripping balls. And like I said, this may not have much merit. But here’s another word we should be looking at more closely: life.”
“Okay. Life. Are you saying expand the definition?”
“Well, sort of. I mean that we keep talking about life on Lisica but we keep forgetting to add a whole new component: us. We are life on Lisica. You and me and the whole gang. And we are making impacts on it and it is making impacts on us. Maahjabeen and Pradeep getting poisoned. I mean, now that we’re fishing the lagoon we’re consuming all the local bugs.” Katrina has been speaking to her own toes, her legs stuck straight out before her on the bed. She hazards a glance at Alonso and finds that his gaze is troubled. “So then I realized we don’t need no stinkin’ terarria. We are the fragile glass globes containing all the bits and bobs of Lisica within us. The bacteria, the proteins, the dynamic interactions. They’re already all inside us. It’s just a shame we didn’t like start with bloodtest baseline records or something. That would make it much easier at the end to compare one result with the other…”
“Yes, now that is something that would be very interesting. I wonder if any of the military hospitals I stayed in have kept any of my many blood samples? Probably not. Because I could get a blood draw taken when we get back and I would be very curious about the results. Not your results, with the thirdhand bacteria and proteins. There is just… I think you are dramatically overestimating the specificity and sensitivity of modern instruments—”
“Yeh, that’s why I agreed there wouldn’t be very many merits.” Katrina clamps her mouth shut and puts a leash on her irritation. But it’s too late. Alonso registers it. And now she’s embarrassed. Doing drugs around squares, or even just a bunch of sober people, is hard work. You can’t put any of the downsides onto them, not like if you were actually sick or heartbroken. This was your choice and now the resulting shit is all your own to handle, haiku triplet. Just keep your mouth shut until you can be nice again.
Yet Katrina’s next impulse is to carry on. “Sorry. I mean, it’s definitely science fiction, but it really is the ultimate goal of Plexity, eh? That we’re not just interconnected, we’re like intershot with all the matter and the interactions that wash through us. Collisions like galaxies in my bones and blood. But the work we’re doing here will someday allow it. The specificity will be there. The sensitivity to detect quantum fluctuations that happened in a faraway star system but eventually flutter my heart. Linear thinkers like talking about the butterfly effect but nobody wants to discuss the billion butterflies effect, the billion-butterflies-every-second-since-the-big-bang-effect. They think it all just dissolves into noise but—”
“No!” Alonso halts her train of thought with an upraised finger. “It dissolves into life! That is the nature of life, all those interactions hitting us from a million different angles at all times, enriching us and mutating us and giving complexity to every subatomic unit and all the higher-order processes they create. Yes. I have nibbled around the edges of those thoughts. And I am glad you’re the one who took the acid and had the experience yourself so now I will not need to. It does not seem to have made you happier.”
“It just makes me wonder what we’re doing here. It’s really easy to lose the thread of our work when we collect and record and all data just kind of generalizes out to an infinite number of bits, none more interesting than the other. But, oh well. Just thought I should share the vision before I lost it. Thought it might help.”
Alonso’s eyes are dark, introspective. “It does, actually. I have been having trouble with this deadline in a couple weeks, for sure, but I have also been having an equal amount of trouble with the suggestion Flavia made that we only characterize the life of the lagoon and beach and, as Miriam agreed with her, that the rest should be a grant proposal to return as soon as possible with more teams and greater resources and maybe a fucking helicopter so we can actually get inland for once. And I think your idea… It is wild and crazy and impossible, and will most likely remain impossible forever barring the revocation of entropy and the second law of thermodynamics, at which point we might as well free ourselves from causality entirely and start time-traveling, forget about just finding the record of an entire island in a drop of blood. But no. No… Your idea does not need to be possible for it to have merit. And the merit it has is the prospect that Flavia is right, and that we can legitimately gain an accurate snapshot of the wider island in the samples of the lagoon.”
“Oh.” Katrina doesn’t know if she’s helped or hurt him with this line of thought. He doesn’t seem very pleased with it. “I’m sorry, Doctor Alonso. Plexity and Lisica is for sure the most thrilling thing I’ve ever been involved with and I don’t want it to end. Except this scary part, where all our lives keep getting threatened. But barring that, I’d stay here for ages working on this with you.”
“Thank you. I have no idea if we will have the chance, later.”
“You know, people get this idea that just because you do certain drugs, it must mean that you’re stupid, but I’ve had the most—”
“No.” Again Alonso interrupts Katrina. “It doesn’t make you stupid. Obviously. But it makes you unreliable. Like my wine. And Jay’s weed. As long as you understand that, then you are having a more honest relationship with whatever is the vice of your choice.”
“I’m just in it for the visions.” Katrina shrugs. “Which makes me even more unreliable. Just this mad woman of Sydney. But I guess in the long run I’m not really looking for anyone’s approval.”
Alonso stands and pats her leg. “No. No, you certainly are not.”
Ξ
Triquet crouches in a bush. Milo is in front of him, seated on the ground with his feet planted on either side, knees as high as a frog. The youth’s legs are thin to the point of malnutrition, the muscles like cords along each femur. Yes, there is something paleolithic about these golden childs. Triquet wonders if they’re perhaps nomadic. Maybe that’s the difference between them and the people of Morska Vidra’s village.
Triquet is tired of sitting here. Their brain is far too active to fall into this kind of endless pre-modern reverie that people like Milo can effortlessly achieve. And it’s been, what, all night and into the morning now? Fifteen hours? Something like that? And their eagle bite is throbbing.
Milo had scared the hell out of them in the dark, finding Triquet by touch, who was only comforted when their own fingers found the golden mask. Then they had roughly clasped each other in the dark and the cold, both bodies shivering, and finally fallen asleep.
It was upon waking that Triquet decided this golden childs needed a name. It was a longstanding policy to know at least the first name of those Triquet had slept with and they didn’t want to break it now. So. The little man had become Milo.
It hadn’t gotten any drier or warmer but Triquet had finally disentangled themself from the warm embrace to crawl forward and peer out from under the thick eaves of the underbrush. Its small, almond-shaped leaves with serrated edges drip endless drops onto the black earth, which sheets with water.
“Well, Milo.” Triquet now addresses his back. “Moment of truth and all that. How’s your Russian?” Then they fall forward stiffly on all fours and stifle a groan. They are so stiff and sore. Crawling forward, they lower their chin to the dead leaves, which prickle, and peer out. There’s some dark vertical surface out there, covered in networks of lichen and algae. From a slightly different vantage it resolves into a wall—the back of the bunker, stained and blackened by time. Oh, well. That’s good. The bushes back here are a nice safe place to be, for sure. Just miserable-as-can-be is all.
On the far side of that wall was their home for the last few weeks, now returned to an unassuming bare ruin. It had been filled with their cute little cells and the kitchen and all the laptops at the work tables in a row. It had been nice. And the hatch leading to the sub must be just a few meters away. If Triquet could somehow get to it and slip down there with the others, dry and safe and hidden… It seems like the greatest possible luxury. Maybe they can just start with the dirt beneath their feet and dig straight down, hoping the sub runs under here. But they know it doesn’t. It starts at the bottom of the stairs, ten meters off to Triquet’s left and down another eight, before heading off under the beach at an angle. Not a passage they can scrape away with their hands. And then there’s the matter of the concrete and the steel hull. No getting through them with just like elbow grease and fingernails. They’re still trapped out here. So close and yet so far.
Well. Then it is a matter of being a scout again. Be optimistic. There’s a strong chance that no Russian soldiers ever arrived here. That’s what we call the reality-based chance. And if Triquet can confirm that now, then hooray, we can all resume our daily lives and just like lock Katrina and Jay in the warrant officer’s cabin for the remainder of the stay.
Triquet recalls the placement of the window in the back, and how they’d heard that a fox jumped out it when they first arrived. That fox probably had a trail… Triquet pulls back and scans the forest floor for any sign of one. There: an unsteady depression running generally in the right direction, thin as thread.
Triquet crawls carefully along this game trail, finding that it ends at a woody bush whose main limb serves as a springboard to the empty window ahead. Triquet can see claw marks and dirty paw prints on the limb, clear as day. They are pleased that for once an educated guess actually turns out to be true.
Triquet looks back at Milo, who seems to be watching them from behind the blankness of the golden mask. “Just going to take a peek,” Triquet silently mouths to him, pointing at the window. Then they slowly rise…
Thunk. Triquet stops. Something heavy bumped against another object in the bunker. Just on the other side of the wall, not even their own body’s length away. Then they hear breathing, a heavy snuffling, and an indistinct muttering. Somebody is in there. Unmistakably. It isn’t a fox. It’s a man. A Russian? Triquet can’t hear enough of the words. Whoever it is, they are obviously alone, muttering to themself with idle observations. Could it be one of the Lisicans? It doesn’t really sound like them. This person is less… healthy? Or maybe it’s one of the shamans. It could very well be. Talking to themselves is very on brand for them, poking around in the bunker after getting their golden mask buddies to spook the researchers away for whatever malevolent reason. Yes, paranoia argues that this has all just been a game to them. Or, like some complex side tactic in their great argument. Those assholes.
Or maybe it’s a Russian soldier after all and if Triquet pops their head up to see, it gets blown off. No real way to tell.
The body shifts within. Steps are taken, dried ferns brushing against the floor. Yes, there is a heaviness to the steps, perhaps a bit of a waddle or limp. They only take like three so it’s hard to tell. Then a long exhalation and a word that sounds like shivyit.
The figure moves through the bunker and out the door, their movement tapering to silence. Now Triquet doesn’t know what to do. Should they try to confirm the person’s identity? How are they supposed to do that when any movement will likely be too much?
A gout of rain solves that issue. It suddenly falls with such force that Triquet is easily able to withdraw deeper into the bushes without fear of being heard. It really pounds down, a trickle of cold water worming its way around the collar of their coat and down their neck. Their feet are already made of ice, probably as blue as the boots they wear. And the rain doesn’t let up.
Emboldened, Triquet uses the downpour to crawl around the building counter-clockwise, still staying in the bushes close to the ground. They ease wide so their sightline is clear of the corner of the building. There is no one there. Well, obviously. Who in their right mind would stand in the middle of this deluge if there’s a building right there beside them? They must have gone back inside and Triquet couldn’t hear it over the battering the corrugated steel roof endures.
Too many unknowns. What will prove that camp is unsafe? Well. A mental checklist appears in Triquet’s mind. If they find out it’s a Russian. Check. If they find more than one person. That means it isn’t a shaman so therefore it has to be soldiers. Check. If they hear any metal sounds. Lisicans don’t wear metal. Check. If their feet leave tread like the lugs of boot soles. Check. If Triquet can figure out what the fuck shivyit means. Check.
And what would prove that camp is safe? Prove? That is much harder, proving a negative. Hard to prove an absence of threat when there’s obviously someone in there prowling around. And there’s very little chance it’s someone who looks on Alonso and his crew kindly, either way. So no checklist there.
And what if it’s just one of the golden childs in the bunker? Maybe they didn’t know Triquet was close and let their guard down a bit, dropping the whole silent mask routine? Maybe they’re still just patrolling the empty camp because they wouldn’t go into the sub? That prospect suddenly seems the most likely and Triquet pushes forward, eager to catch sight of a gold mask in the bunker’s door. But they can’t see anyone out there and moving forward any more would take them out of the bushes entirely and that’s a big no thank you from Triquet.
Triquet schools themself to patience and pulls back to the window to peek within. The bunker is empty, rain pouring in shining columns through the gaps in the roof. It looks so cozy. They are sorely tempted to crawl through and hide. Perhaps if they covered themself with some dead ferns and just kept still? They could happily sleep the day away.
But that would never do.
The rain eases. A break in the sky suddenly appears above the cliffs and an eerie golden light filters through the drizzle. The wind picks up and the trees shed their soaked dead leaves. And in the cathedral light that slants down into the bushes, Triquet can now see a wider path through the thicket behind them leading away from camp, back toward the cliffs. This must be one of the paths to the secret tunnels. They slept like not two steps away from it and they’re only just seeing it now.
Fabulous.
Well, no time like the present. Bye bye bunker. They can retreat from these dangers and dive down into the dark now to find their way back to the sub and the loving embrace of Miriam and Alonso and all the others.
But can they? It is still an open question if it is safe for the others to come out. And without Triquet’s eyes and ears out here, they’ll never know if it gets any safer. No, they can’t retreat and put that burden on someone else. They need to figure this out once and for all. So no tunnel for them. Yet.
Triquet rocks back on their heels and tries to think strategically. Okay. The storm is breaking up and the beach is getting a patch or two of sun. Gusts of wind chase clouds from the sky. Sneaking off to the right, toward the trenches and Tenure Grove, will provide good cover but take Triquet further from camp, and maybe make it harder for them to see what might be occurring out there. But if they go the other way, alongside the creek to the left, staying in that deep underbrush and peeking out every few minutes to see, they could probably get a good survey from the door of the bunker all the way to camp and down to the beach.
And that’s when they hear the whistle, faintly from the lagoon. Three short blasts. Not a bird whistle, but the sound made from a small metal object, like a referee uses at a basketball game.h1 { color: #000000; letter-spacing: 2.0pt; line-height: 150%; text-align: center; page-break-inside: avoid; orphans: 0; widows: 0; margin-top: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; border: none; padding: 0in; direction: ltr; background: transparent; text-decoration: underline; page-break-after: avoid }h1.western { font-family: “Wallington”; font-size: 12pt; so-language: en-US; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal }h1.cjk { font-family: “Droid Serif”; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal }h1.ctl { font-family: “Droid Serif”; font-size: 12pt; so-language: ar-SA; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal }p { color: #000000; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify; orphans: 0; widows: 0; margin-right: 0.5in; margin-top: 0.17in; margin-bottom: 0.08in; direction: ltr; background: transparent }p.western { font-family: “Calibri”, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; so-language: en-US }p.cjk { font-family: “Calibri”, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt }p.ctl { font-family: “Times New Roman”, serif; font-size: 11pt; so-language: ar-SA }em { font-style: italic }a:link { color: #000080; so-language: zxx; text
Chapter 40 – The Rest Of Us Can Hide
September 30, 2024
Thanks for joining us for the third volume of our Scientist Soap Opera escapist journey to the mysterious island of Lisica! You can find previous episodes in the link above or column on the right. Please don’t forget to subscribe and leave a comment if you enjoy what you find!
Audio for this episode:
40 – The Rest Of Us Can Hide
Katrina kneels before the golden childs in the gray rainstorm. They’ve rigged a tarp up over the door of the bunker where four of their guardians huddle, protected from the downpour. The masked figures will not come inside and they will not leave. So the crew have done what they can. She offers a steaming pot of hot water and four mugs. “Here you go, lads. Warm the core. Wait. Wasn’t there a fifth one? What happened to him?”
They make no move to accept the tray or what it holds.
She sits back, studying them, and zips her parka tighter, all the way up to her nose, so cold drafts don’t go down her neck. But here they sit, naked save for loincloths and masks, without a care in the world. They aren’t even shivering.
These aren’t the original golden childs. One looks old, with a bit of a paunch. He definitely wasn’t here before. And the others are new too, two young and slender, one kind of stocky with pale blond curls and ochre skin. Their loincloths are cured leather, twisted in sumo wrestler fashion. The world’s burliest thongs.
Otherwise they are barefoot and naked. Their hands and feet are darker than the rest, nails long and dirty. They somehow seem more primitive than the Dzaadzitch villagers, almost from an earlier era. She lifts a mug and sips from it. “Mmmm…! Good!”
Katrina offers the mug to the person seated closest. They don’t respond. Bollocks.
“Lisica.” She points at the ground. “Yeh? Uh, dzaadzitch and katóok. Wetchie-ghuy. Morska Vidra. Yesiniy. Uh…” No she doesn’t know any more of their proper names. She taps at her own chest. “Katrina. Pleasure to meet you. Katrina.”
Their faces are all pointed at her. They do seem to be paying attention. Each mask looks like a beetle’s back, with a line down the center dividing it into two curved faces, rich with gold. “Can I ask? How do you get the pollen to stick on there? And can you actually see through?” She lifts a hand, finger extended. But the golden child leans away, avoiding contact. She drops her hand, no point in forcing the issue. These people are here to help, right? Keep those wicked sorcerers from stealing any more of them away?
“Just how old are they, anyway? The shamans. Wetchie-ghuy? Fifty? Sixty? More? I wonder if they knew Maureen Dowerd. I mean, wouldn’t that just sort of neatly tie up a bunch of things? Maybe you lot popped out of a tunnel in like 1962 and scared the soldiers and they thought the only reasonable response would be to bury an entire fucking sub in the beach. Yeh. Because that makes sense. Maybe when they arrived there was a Jidadaa too. End of an era. Now coming faster and more furious for sure.”
The rain falls harder, angling under the tarp and wetting the legs of several golden childs. They seem unconcerned.
“Could I offer some blankets? Umbrellas? I mean, you blokes shouldn’t just sit out here like this. You’ll catch your death.”
Katrina stands, wiping the wet sand from her knees. She views the camp. Yep. There’s the fifth one, sitting out there miserably at the edge of the platforms. “How do you keep the pollen from just washing off?” she calls out but of course she gets no response. She shakes her head. “So many questions.”
Opening the door of reeds and twine behind her, she re-enters the bunker. Here there is life and noise and warmth, everyone working in close quarters on all their projects.
“No?” Amy sees that the tray is still in Katrina’s hands. She is crestfallen. “I don’t like that they won’t take my tea. I’ve always argued that a good cup of tea is a universal language of love.”
“They won’t take anything. Still won’t say a word. One poor blighter is in the middle of camp just getting drenched.”
Amy relieves Katrina of the tray and disappears into the back. Katrina sits heavily on an unoccupied bin, discouraged and tired.
Jay sits beside her, rattling away on a keyboard, organizing his notes from the day before. “What’s another word for scaly?”
“Reptilian? Segmented? Uh… That’s actually a hard one.”
“I know! And I’ve already used scaly like five times.”
“I thought there were no reptiles or snakes on the island.”
“Aw, I hope that isn’t true. But I meant this.” Jay gingerly lifts his shirt to display the line of scabs falling away from his healing wound. “Gonna have a wicked scar for sure.”
“Oh, you’re the reptile. God, Jay, that looks mean.”
“It was super shallow. Ridiculous luck. Otherwise it was like goodbye liver. And it’s doing much better. I think the humid air is what it needs right now. And the cold doesn’t hurt much either. I figure by the time this storm is over I can resume normal activities like a real man.”
“A real man.” Miriam sits on the other side of Jay, working on her own notes. She chuckles. “Just what we need. Doll, you know that as soon as you can move around you’re just going to hurt yourself again. Even I know that about you, and we just met.”
“Damn. Hurtful, Miriam. Very hurtful.” Jay scowls at her. “I thought you liked me.”
“Oh, I do, darling. I adore you. But I think you’ve demonstrated what kind of trouble you like to get into.”
“I can be safe. I hardly ever get injured at home.”
“Safe? Okay. Tell us what you plan to do once you heal up?”
“Well. I’m gonna reef dive for some more of those rockfish. And there’s the matter of Sherman’s osprey platform, so we got to climb that tree. And…”
“Need I say more?” Miriam chuckles at him. Katrina joins her. “One man wrecking crew, you are.”
Jay frowns, somewhat offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Fine. Nothing but dead weight to you, I guess. Just recuperating in the bunker every day eating you out of house and home.” He rattles off a few more typed words and then signs out of his account. With a sigh, he turns to Katrina. “Hey, do you think they’ll let us into the sub for a while?”
“Probably not. Why?”
“Cause I’m bored and I’m fucking sick of this reality. Let’s drop some of your acid down there and find a new one.”
“Yuuup.” Katrina likes the sound of that. She’s been wanting to dose but she didn’t want to do it alone. Not here. Not with all the challenges facing them. But with a buddy? “Yeh, I could definitely use a restart on this day.”
“Do you really think…?” Miriam frowns at them, but then shakes her head no. “No. I swore I’d never be the old person bumming out anyone’s trip. Fair play. Get along then. Just remember to drink a lot of water.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “And whatever you do, for god’s sake don’t mention it to Esquibel.”
“Should we invite anyone else?” Jay stands, wincing. The incision still crackles like a bolt of electricity from time to time.
“I say…” Katrina recalls this particular batch of blotter. It’s jet fuel. Super pure, and some of the strongest LSD she’s ever had. “Let’s keep it with the professionals this time. Make sure this drug works in this setting. Then we can try again later with others.”
“Cool cool. Let me just grab my herb and some layers and I’ll meet you in the back, little lady.”
“And I’ll just grab a couple itsy-bitsy tiny little bits of paper. And some water. Be right there.”
They both depart. Miriam shakes her head, bemused. “Ah, youth. Well, at least they have each other.”
A few minutes later Katrina has recreated the scene they shared on molly. Jay sits on a bench in the closest chamber in the sub to the stairs leading back to the surface. She has brought her laptop, to spin beats, and a couple of her fairy lights for color. Triquet has recently finished their work down here and it has transformed into a snug little museum-piece of a setting.
The millimeter square of paper settles under Jay’s tongue. “Like the world’s tiniest postage stamp.” He lights a joint and passes it to her. This is his Jack, to give them enough energy to ride this wave.
“Yeh, and you’re the envelope with the letter inside. And I just mailed your ass to the moon!” She leans in and kisses Jay.
He grunts in surprise and responds, her lips so soft and hot and wet. But she breaks off and stares at him.
“Sorry. Already breaking the barriers. Drugs haven’t even kicked in yet.”
“You’re good.” He thinks to draw her in for another kiss but no, this isn’t a hookup kind of situation, is it? This is psychedelia time.
“Don’t know why but coming on,” Katrina confesses, “this acid makes me really horny. But only for the first bit. So if you find me grinding up on you, nothing personal, right, mate?”
“Now that one, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or an insult.”
They both laugh. Katrina leans against Jay. “No no. You’re hot and you know it. You’re even quite lovable. But we’re not…” She shakes her head at the improbability of Jay ever being her lover.
He agrees. “Yeah. You are too. I mean, back in high school they were always trying to hook me up with all the blonde chicks. Like some people just want to see all the blondes together.”
“Like some kind of busybody Nazi eugenics.”
“Yeah, now that I think of it. But no. Like, I could just see one of my old buddies trying to hook me up with his younger sister and then I find out it’s you.”
“Ha. You’re not that much older.” She leans forward, the first filaments of the lysergic acid uncoiling in her spine. Katrina kneads his thighs like a kitten making biscuits. “Ooo and you don’t know my brother. Although I think you’d like Pavel. He’d think you’re cool, for sure.”
Jay takes a huge drag on the joint, remembering that this entire endeavor is about changing his headspace. Katrina is complex, a jewel with more facets than he can count. But it’s all beauty through and through. No flaws. Just… brilliance. “Oh, man. Here come some visuals. Thank the maker. Man… Aw, you’ve got like little fairy flowers growing out of your eyelashes. Like…” He reaches out to touch them. “I needed this, yo. I’m used to having my phone, you know. My screentime. But now my whole optical nerve is like atrophying because that nasty old hag stole my shit.”
Katrina runs a fingertip over her own eyelashes. “What kind of flowers? I can’t feel them.” A flush envelops her and she presses herself forward against him. The contact feels so good she nearly swoons. With a drunken laugh she rolls her head against his chest. “My, you’ve got some fine muscles, lad.”
But Jay is blinking at the far wall, his vision fully engaged. Patches of lurid color bloom beneath the sepia tones of the photos Triquet has hung, bringing them to life. “Would you look at that.” It’s like an invisible hand is colorizing the old photos in realtime. On one portrait a flush of health appears on the smiling cheeks of some lieutenant. His hair gleams blue black. “Katrina… Dude. Can you see that?”
“Hmm?” Katrina looks up, realizing she was fumbling with Jay’s fly. Then he realizes it. “Oh. Oops. Like I said, I turn into this hot little devil, at least for the next like half hour. See what?”
She turns to look at the bare, cold chamber behind her. It holds no interest to her. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of Jay’s warmth. She backs up against him, snuggling close.
He chuckles. “Damn, girl. You sure you aren’t rolling instead of tripping? I’ve never seen anyone get so randy on acid.”
“Yeah, it just… plays my brain… like a… an oboe.” The words are halting and wrong. She laughs instead, an inebriated snort. “And I get all vibrate-y. Will you brush my hair? I bet I’d love it if you brush my hair. Like a cat.”
“Uh, sure.” Not really what he had in mind, but whatever floats her boat. It’s her acid, after all.
She turns around on the floor and leans back against his knees, pushing them open. Then she holds out a hairbrush over her shoulder. “You don’t have to. Except I really really… Yeh. I guess you have to.”
“I guess I have to. Sorry. Just not very practiced with…” He lightly strokes her scalp with the brush but the long fine hairs start to tangle. “Uh…”
“Long smooth strokes. That’s it. From root to end. Ahh. Oh, that feels lovely. And it’s a really fine man doing it.” She wiggles her hips in pleasure, rolling them up against his feet bracing her.
“I just…” Jay has to focus on what he’s doing to make it work. His eyes are starting to lose focus on her honey hair. “I mean, why do you think Jidadaa did it?”
That stops her. Katrina comes back to herself, the sensation falling away. “Huh. Jidadaa. She’s so awesome. What about her?”
“Yeah, well, you can have her. She keeps calling me the lidass and expecting me to kill everyone on the island. I mean, what is up with that? I’m just a surfer, girl.”
“Why did you stop brushing?” Jay dutifully resumes. “No, I think she’s wonderful. Don’t you think she is?”
“I mean, I think the word for her is unique.”
“Yes! So special. I’ve never met anyone like her.” Katrina turns to stare at Jay, a wicked little gleam in her eye.
“Well, you can forget about whatever naughty thought you got going in your little head because she doesn’t do drugs. Not even weed. Now her mom…”
Katrina collapses against him again. “Bummer. Brush!”
“Brushing. Your hair is so fine. And straight. I never had straight hair. Mine’s always been so curly. You’re like a spider… Like if Medusa… Instead of snakes you had spider silk…”
“Now it’s my turn to say I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult. So. What do you say? I’ve got about twenty more minutes of the hots. Oral sex, yay or nay?”
But Jay drops a hand on her shoulder for her attention. Oops. Did she go too far? Again? She pivots to him, an apologetic smile on her face. But Jay isn’t looking at her.
He’s staring at the hatch to his left, leading deeper into the sub. One of the golden childs is there, facing them. But this one is a bit different. The mask is more ornate. They wear a necklace of feather and bone. The man wearing it is older, to judge by the wrinkles and sagging skin of his belly and chest.
“Oh, Christ. Don’t scare us like that, grandpa!” Katrina pulls herself away from Jay and hauls herself onto the bench beside him. After a long moment she says, “Hello? Konnichi-wa? Uh, mushi mushi? What do you think? Should I offer to dose him?”
A rough voice comes from behind the mask. “Chto ne tak s toboy? Ty boleyesh’?”
Katrina blinks. Wait. She can understand those words. “That’s Russian. That bloke just spoke Russian.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked what is wrong with me? Am I sick?” She shakes her head no and answers the golden… man? “Net, otets. Prosto na narkotikakh.” She translates for Jay. “No, father. Just on drugs.”
Ξ
“Yes?” Alonso looks up from his laptop to see whose shadow it is darkening the door of his cell. The rain drums so loud on the tarps and steel roof that he doesn’t think he’ll hear the answer. He squints. Who is that?
“I said, ‘Can I ask you a question?’” Triquet repeats more loudly, feeling like they’re intruding on some senile elder who needs to be shouted at. Alonso is perched on his cot with a lap blanket, shawl, and half-moon reading glasses. He looks like Santa taking a day off.
“Yes?” Alonso repeats in the same gruff manner as before.
Now Triquet hesitates. What the hell do they think they’re doing in there? The man is obviously busy working. He has no time for Triquet’s gossip. Or whatever it is. Triquet turns away, suddenly ashamed, clutching the hem of their housegown. “You know, never mind. I’ll catch up with you when you’re not so…”
“No no. I need a break. Plexity is just laughing at me today. I can’t make it do anything any more. The creation has surpassed its creator and I have to learn to let go.”
“Yes…” Triquet lingers in the door. “They grow up so fast. But what’s wrong with it?”
“Ehh…” Alonso leans back, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “It’s just maths. A trick I was trying to use to change the bounded requirements of this dataset. If we can derive meaningful relationships from fewer data points then maybe…” He sighs, not wanting to say it aloud. “It’s possible we don’t have to do so much collecting to achieve the same results.”
“Well that sounds promising.” Triquet tries to be bright, even when their insides are in turmoil. Alonso deserves that much.
“It would be if I could make it work! But there is some fly in the ointment somewhere, preventing the results from computing properly. And I just can’t find it. It is driving me crazy. So, yes. Please ask me your question. But come in here so we aren’t shouting at each other like drunk college kids.”
“Roll Tide!” Triquet bellows, then chuckles at themself and with a measure of meekness enters the cell and sits on the side of Alonso’s cot, picking at the dried resin on their arm that still covers the eagle bite. “Nice job with the…” Triquet waves at the blank walls in a fruitless attempt at making small talk. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Your question?”
“Yes…” Triquet takes a deep breath, knowing they’re about to make a terrible mistake. Oh, well. “Have you ever been in love with a married woman?”
Alonso shrugs, not absorbing the question. His laptop screen is still mocking him. So he closes it. “Only Miriam. Why? Ah.”
Triquet nods solemnly. “I wasn’t going to talk to you at first. And then I thought, why would I do that? Why would I hide…?”
“It is fine. She told me of your night together. All the lurid details. And yes. She is very lovable. I grant you that. Ha. So she has cast her spell again, has she?” Alonso leans back, a pleased smile warming him. Yes, he needs a change of topic and this is perfect. A way to think with his heart instead of his head.
“So you aren’t upset? Threatened?”
“Threatened? Why? Are you planning on stealing her away from me? She told me you both had other ideas…”
“I am. She’s right. No. Not steal at all. It’s just hard to hear, for most people, that somebody is in love with their wife.”
“Do you know how many times I have had this conversation over the years? Oy oy oy. Especially when we were both teaching at Boston College together. I would be sitting in my office hours and some frat boy would come in and challenge me to a duel over her favors like we were knights at Camelot.”
“Really? A duel?”
“Well, once. And he was a tremendous nerd, the kind who would roleplay as a fantasy character on weekends. He had no idea that Miriam hates that shit. He didn’t have a chance.”
“Oh, dear. If she hates nerds I don’t like my chances.”
“Well, there are nerds and there are nerds. And you are much more stylish than that, my dear Triquet. No. I’d say your chances with my wife are pretty great. She understands how special and wonderful you are. And now she is falling in love with you too.”
Triquet mouths the words ‘thank you,’ tears welling up in their eyes, surprised by the immense tenderness they feel for Alonso. “She is… You are both so amazing. I just… I mean, I can’t believe the life she’s led! When she told me about going on a hike with Joan Didion I almost fell out of my chair. She knows everybody.”
Alonso chuckles. “Yes, Joan was smitten with Miriam as well. Those were good days. Very happy. It has definitely been a good life. I just hope…” And now tears fill Alonso’s eyes all of a sudden and fear grips his throat.
Triquet grimaces. “Look. It’s still hard. There’s still jealousy. And insecurity. No matter how hard we try to balance—”
“No, it isn’t that,” Alonso forces the words through. “I mean, sure, yes, you’re right. You will both need to take very good care of me to not feel left out, that’s for sure. But that’s not what worries me. We’ve had such amazing lives. Like, every academic dream I ever had has come true, and a whole bunch of others beside. You want names? When I was very young I shared a bed with Andy Warhol. The Tom Tom Club. Elton John once stuck his hand down my pants. I could go on and on. And I’m not any kind of mystic or religious nut, but it always felt like I was using up more than my fair share of beauty and light. I knew there must someday be darkness ahead. And there was. Oh, there certainly was. I could face what they did to me in the gulag, at least a little bit, because I knew that I had already enjoyed the glorious meal and this was just the bill come due. But it makes me worry. Miriam has never fallen from her heights. And I’m so afraid that when she does, because she has risen so very high…” He shakes his head in despair. “She doesn’t know… You don’t know. How dark life can be.”
Triquet nods in compassion and grasps Alonso’s thick forearm. “I think you’re probably the strongest man I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, that’s the stuff. You want to steal my wife I better get some damn fine honeyed words in the deal.”
“I can’t imagine stealing. Only… joining…” Triquet hopes it doesn’t sound like a come on. But then they hope it does.
“Yes, but why are you so shy with me? Eh? I am not used to it. I am used to being like Mirrie. Having people throw themselves… I mean, here.” Alonso takes out his phone. He presses his mouth into a thin line, opening a folder of photos he hasn’t looked at since he regained access to them. He swipes quickly through scenes he remembers so well, as if they’d happened yesterday, but at the same time a century ago, and to somebody else. Then he finds the picture he wants. It is 1993 and he is in Vancouver with Kevin and Chui, a quasi-official scholarly road trip and gay bar tour of the Pacific Northwest. Alonso is twenty-six, his hair thick and black, his eyes merry and dark face that of a Spanish noble. His shirt is unbuttoned and muscles are clearly defined beneath. “See?”
Triquet’s mouth drops open. “Holy shit.” On impulse they throw themself at Alonso and kiss him with passion. Alonso laughs at the gesture then responds in kind, reveling in this slender young body squirming in his lap.
Triquet breaks off. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“That was very superficial of me. Objectifying you like that. But sweet Jesus. I was into you the first moment I met you, Alonso. As a bratty sophomore at Penn. I’m sure you don’t remember.”
“I remember that we kept in touch. And that is why you’re here today. Your emails were always so funny and so smart.”
“And I guess I just did one of those ageist things where I forgot, or I let the old man window-dressing here distract me from the real you under all this gray hair.”
“No. This is the real me now, Triquet. They beat this guy…” he casts aside his phone, “out of me. I mean, I’ve still got a lot of healing to do, but I know what I look like now. I know who I am.”
Triquet gives Alonso a strong hug in sympathy, trying to impart strength. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through. And then to have some young asshole like me show up and threaten your marriage…”
“Yeah, these are definitely crazy days here on Lisica. In the gulag I could get so bored. Sometimes they would forget about me in a box for like a week. And my mind would rove. I would spend hours just watching a trail of ants. Everything here that happens in a single day would have been enough material there to occupy my brain for like a year.”
Another gust of rain sweeps overhead, crashing into the roof, and the two of them clutch each other harder, shivering. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t have a question after all. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing and hot and brilliant Miriam is and I didn’t think I could share that feeling with anyone. Then I went, “Hold up, Triq. There’s at least one person here who’s as into her as you are and maybe you could celebrate her together.”
“I am glad you came. Yes, we can. Her smell.”
“Like milk and honey.”
“And her brain. She has an absolute top-shelf brain. People don’t understand. It is like when you are an athlete, no? If you are in bad shape you can’t run up a hill. But when you are in okay shape you can. But only the runners in the very best shape can run uphill at any speed. Have you noticed this? Unless you are very fit, you can only run at your favored speed. But if you are in top shape then you can run as fast or slow as the people beside you and it doesn’t matter. Your muscles and stamina can work at any pace. That is Miriam’s brain. She is lightning fast with her creative thoughts and perceptive insights, but also she is able to keep timescales of half a billion years in her head. I can’t even remember… I mean, there’s the Devonian and the Ordovician and… That’s all I got. Married to the world’s greatest geologist and I can’t even recall the most basic facts about her—Oh!” Alonso starts, seeing another pair of figures looming out of the hallway. “Dios mio. Who is that?”
Triquet gasps. “Oh, my god, what happened to you two?”
Katrina and Jay lean against the doorframe, eyes wide, pasty and disheveled. Their energy is fractured and they can’t hold Alonso or Triquet’s gaze.
Katrina waves at them although she already has their attention. Finally she gets her mouth to work. “We got a problem, boss.”
Ξ
“Tell them.” Alonso finds a seat on a bin in the indoor kitchen in the back of the bunker. It is the end of the day and the storm has already darkened the skies. Miriam comes and stands beside him, a querying look sent his way. Everyone is here.
Jay covers his face in his hands. He can’t stop giggling.
Katrina is taking very dramatic breaths, Mandy holding her hands. This makes them all confused and a bit frightened. Finally she gathers herself. “Okay, first I got to apologize because we’re tripping. Whoa. Are you all doing that or…?”
“Doing what?” Amy asks, collecting enough mugs for tea.
“Your faces… Are fish. And we’re all underwater.”
Jay cackles, still holding his face in his hands. Katrina drags her fingertips through the air in wonder. She makes bubble sounds and giggles. Then she sees the way they’re looking at her. “Oh. Right.”
“You were going to tell us something?” Miriam prompts.
“What is wrong with them?” Maahjabeen asks Pradeep beside her. “I do not and will not ever understand drugs. I thought we were all in danger. Don’t you realize how foolish you both look?”
“They don’t care,” Flavia sighs. “Wish I could be so secure in myself but no. Never would I do this in front of sober people.”
Alonso prompts her. “Come on, Katrina. Remember how you said it was urgent?”
“It’s Alonso!” Her face beams with radiance. “Sorry. It’s just… sheets of color and you’re like a lion in the center! Aslan. Did you ever read the Narnia books?”
“Katrina. Focus. You said our safety is threatened.”
“I did?”
“You saw another one of the golden childs.”
“The golden man.” Recalling him shocks Katrina back into this reality. She grows instantly subdued. “Yeh. The golden man came to us when we were tripping in the sub. He was in the hatch watching. And he spoke Russian to me. Clear as a bell. Maybe a kind of Volgograd accent, the way he clipped his consonants—”
“Katrina.” Alonso is losing his patience. “What did he tell you?”
“Who?” Katrina looks around her. What is she doing in this dark room and why are all these strangers watching her?
Jay drops his hands. “He said the Russians are coming.” His eyes flicker and he’s unable to steady his gaze. But he shakes his head and tries his damnedest. This is the real shit. And he shouldn’t be fucked-up on goofballs at the moment. But he is. And he’s got to do something about it. He sees an open bucket of water at the base of the kitchen tables. He quickly kneels and dunks his head into it. The frigid shock makes his head spin. Not at all the right sensation. It just intensifies his trip. Now he’s in an ice cave like Superman. Except the cave is inside his head. And Superman is inside the cave. And inside Superman is… He pounds on his own forehead. “Uhhh… Slap me. Someone slap me.”
“No no.” Alonso holds up a paternal hand. “Nobody needs to—”
CRACK. Esquibel’s open-hand strike rocks Jay’s head back. A trickle of blood appears at the corner of his mouth. She grabs him. “The Russians? What are you talking about, you ridiculous child? You will come to your senses, both of you, right now, or I will—”
Katrina rides these bad vibes back into sobriety, if only briefly. “Hey, it’s okay. Let him go. We just had to tell you. The Russians are on their way. And, like, they don’t know we’re even here.”
“Oh my god, you’re serious?” Flavia squirms in her seat and Maahjabeen clutches her hand. “This isn’t the drugs? They are on the drugs, yes? This man, he wasn’t real. This is a made-up man.”
“Well then how did they both see him?” Alonso asks the room. “And how did they hear the same thing?”
“This story doesn’t make sense.” Esquibel releases Jay, who dabs at the blood and then loses himself in the bright red dollop on his fingertip. Nobody comes to his aid. They wait impatiently for the pair to continue. Esquibel prompts them. “So you’re telling me that a whole new golden person appeared in the sub while you were on drugs, speaking a language you know, and he told you the Russians are coming? Okay. Fine. Which Russians? Scientists like us or soldiers?”
“Soldiers,” Katrina echoes. And again. “Solll… diers…”
Then Jay, quietly: “He said if they find us here we’ll die.”
The entire room falls silent.
The tension is unbearable. Jay makes a loud bleating sound, covering his ears and scrunching up his face. “Stop… stopping. Time can’t just end. Somebody say something.”
“Is this a joke?” Triquet desperately hopes that it is, that this wildly inappropriate story is just in poor taste. Then Esquibel can yell at them and everyone else can go back to what they were doing, right? “Well is it?”
“You have to understand how difficult it is for us to believe you when you’re in this state.” Miriam crosses her arms, trying to quell her rising temper. “What are you children on, anyway?”
“Katrina’s acid,” Mandy informs them, to a chorus of groans.
“Acid?” Triquet snorts. “Okay, well here’s what really happened. One of you imagined this figure, this golden man, in the hatch, and then you told the other all about it and now you’re both convinced you saw him. You made up the whole thing about the Russians like in a bad dream. It’s all a dream, honey, okay?”
Katrina and Jay share a sidelong look. They know it wasn’t a dream. But how to convince the others? “Look,” Katrina begins. “I’m not what you call a rookie on this drug. I’ve dropped acid over a hundred times. I am an accomplished astronaut.”
“Oh my god did you really pull me out of the clean room and all my work just to scare me with this nonsense?” Esquibel claps her palm to her forehead. She is starting to get really angry. “Don’t tell me how many times you’ve done these drugs. It makes it so I can’t even trust you when you’re sober.”
“Exactly.” For once Miriam and Esquibel find themselves on the same side of an issue. “Look, Katrina, we all live, laugh, love here like a big Cuban family, doubtless, but you’re really trying our patience. And frightening us too.”
“No.” Jay spreads his hands outward, another ripple of panic washing through him. Whenever he can remember, he’s absolutely terrified of what the golden man told them. “Look. I don’t know if he came to us because we were on the drugs, though that’s how it seemed. But he was definitely real. Definitely definitely. And he said we got till dawn to hide. All our stuff. All our…” Jay waves at the bunker and camp, trying to include it all. “Hammock. Boats. We got to like cover our trenches somehow…”
“Hide? Did you completely forget…” Flavia protests, her fear making her irate, “that we are in the middle of a fucking storm? How are we supposed to take down our platforms and cover the trenches in all this wind and rain?”
“And how would anyone expect a boat or even helicopter to land during this?” Maahjabeen shakes her head in disapproval. “This is a fantasy you idiots have built up in your heads. No, the Russians aren’t coming. How could they?”
“Dawn.” Katrina shakes her head in despair at all the improvised structures in the bunker. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them. “He said we have until dawn before the Russians get here.”
Miriam glances at Alonso, hoping to share her incredulous cynicism with him. But his face is drawn and his eyes are haunted. Right. The Russians. All he hears is he’s getting sent back to the gulag. These bloody fools are plucking on his heartstrings and they don’t even know it. “Now we’re going to stop this right here. Right now. Look what you’re doing to Alonso. You are going to repeat after me: There are no Russians coming at dawn. Say it.”
Jay and Katrina look helplessly at each other. “Sorry, Miriam,” Jay finally manages. “I know what I saw. And heard. It just didn’t go the way Triquet said. We didn’t imagine it. This acid don’t hit that hard. I mean, it does. But it didn’t.”
Alonso is beginning to tremble. Ah, no. His facade will slip again. Not Russian soldiers. Not again. Nothing is more horrible than the prospect of being returned to what he so recently escaped. Five more years. The very thought makes him audibly groan.
“Say it, Jay. Katrina.” Now it is Esquibel making the demand. “There are no Russians coming at dawn. And you will be handing the rest of that acid over to me for proper disposal.”
“I can’t. It happened.” Jay begs them. “What do you want me to do? We came and told you all as soon as it happened. We’re in danger, dude!”
“Jay! You are not in danger! There was no man down there!” Esquibel has had enough. She considers sedating them both against their will until this drug trip passes out of their systems. But she doubts she’ll get much support for such a drastic move. Then she recalls one of her activities from two days before. “Listen. It is impossible, anyway. I blocked off the tunnels again at the lowest level. Nobody could come up that way. He is only in your mind.”
“Katrina.” These are Pradeep’s first words. Once again, he speaks in a tone that seems to cut right to the heart of the matter. “If you want us to believe you, your words are not enough, regardless of how terrifying they may be. You have to give us proof. Actual physical proof that the man was there.”
Both Jay and Katrina nod. A jagged sadness rises in her. They don’t believe her and Jay. The Russians are going to show up and mow them down with guns. Or send them off to torture. She’ll be like Alonso and Pavel, broken for the rest of her life. They don’t believe her, all because of their prejudice against lysergic acid 25.
“I mean, we can look…” Jay isn’t ready to give up yet. Pradeep has given him something to do. “Come on, Prad. Bring your phone. See if we can find, like footprints or something. I don’t have my phone. Jidadaa stole it. And if I ever see Kula again…”
“Yes, Jay. We know.” Pradeep lets go of Maahjabeen’s hand and stands. “Come on. Let us see what we can find. Hold on, everyone. We will be right back.”
Jay leads Pradeep to the stairs and descends into the sub. After only a slight hesitation, Pradeep follows.
“Well. I guess this is what idleness and boredom gets you.” Miriam tries not to be angry at the kids. She has definitely been there herself. But anyone with eyes in their head can see how this farce is affecting Alonso. She just wants it all to end. “Can we agree not to take any more psychedelics while under threat of attack? I mean, what were you thinking, Katrina?”
“Uh…” Katrina sincerely tries to remember what they had been thinking. “Oh, yeh. We were thinking it was a whole day or more cooped up in this box so why not try something new?”
Esquibel growls. “Even the remotest chance that there is some kind of hostile maritime force landing on our beach at dawn will keep me from getting any sleep tonight. Preparations must be made. Even if it all is proven false. We still must guard against every eventuality.” Her anger nearly makes her helpless. She turns on Katrina, shaking a finger. “It is time for you to grow up!”
“This is ridiculous.” Flavia twists the fingers of one hand in the other. “Now it’s Russian soldiers? I cannot just sit here and wait for the next crazy part of this story. I am going to bed.”
“Wait.” Esquibel holds up a hand, an imagined spreadsheet with divisions of tasks filling her vision. “We need to… Ugh. We don’t know what we need to do first until we hear back from those two. And we need them back here as workers. Even if they are wrong and there is no threat, there will still be work to do before we can relax tonight.”
They all wait in silence.
“Where did you say you saw the golden man again?” Amy asks Katrina, who is staring at her own hand as its fingers slowly flex and spread. “Katrina? Where did you see him?”
“Um? In the sub. Didn’t we tell you?”
“Which chamber in the sub?”
“Just the first one there.”
Maahjabeen scowls. “Then what is taking them so long?”
“They are checking the whole sub to make sure there is nothing there.” Miriam feels like she needs to speak slowly for some reason. Maybe because Alonso is breaking apart and Katrina is on another planet. “And then when Jay is convinced it was a figment of his addled goddamned imagination they’ll come back and we can put this all to rest. Yes?”
After another long moment of silence, Mandy offers, “I was supposed to return to the weather station today to download data but of course that isn’t happening so… Kind of operating off stale measurements here but there’s got to be at least like another night of this storm before it abates.”
Esquibel spins to Mandy, cross. “I know! The idea that any landing force could brave the elements in the dark and hit the beach during this storm is just… I mean, it beggars belief, no?”
“Totally,” Mandy answers.
“Absolutely,” Miriam confirms, squeezing Alonso’s hand.
They wait another minute or two in uncomfortable suspense, the silence stretching.
“Watch,” Triquet says. “Pradeep climbs those stairs wearing a gold mask, shouting in Russian, run for your lives!”
“Bezhat’ za svoyu zhizn’!” Katrina helpfully translates, crowing at the roof. Then she giggles.
“How long has it been?” Flavia frets, checking her phone. “Five minutes? More?”
“More.” Esquibel frowns at the dark trap door and the stairs leading down. “Maybe we send someone to check on them…”
Flavia stands. “No. No more. This is how we always lose people, remember? We are not supposed to break up.”
“Calm down, Flavia. They’re coming back.” Amy puts on her bravest smile. “Anyone like some tea?”
Nobody responds. And Pradeep and Jay don’t come back. Not for another ten minutes, not for an hour.
Finally Alonso can take no more. The pressure within him cannot be contained any longer. He groans into his hands and sobs. Miriam looks urgently at Esquibel.
“Yes. Well. I guess something is going on down there after all. Thank you, Katrina, for your warning. Now…” Esquibel’s head drops. This is going to be an absolute mountain of work. “I guess we have to figure out how the rest of us can hide.”
DW Draffin -- Lisica 