Under Vanishing Skies

  Under Vanishing Skies

  G.S. Fields

  Under Vanishing Skies

  G.S. Fields

  Copyright © 2013 by G.S. Fields

  First Edition

  December 2013

  ISBN 978-0-615-89627-4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to express my deep appreciation to those who supported me with my endeavor to write this book. Support came from many people in many forms. I hope that those whose names I failed to mention know that I truly appreciate their help and encouragement.

  First and foremost I would like to thank my wife, Cherie, who allowed me the freedom to disappear into our room and write for hours without any questions or complaints. I love you. And I’d like to thank my daughters, Rachel and Stephanie, for their encouragement along the way. I love you both as well. I hope that you will take away one lesson from this…and that is to follow through on your dreams. And to my mom, I'd like to thank you for sharing your twisted sense of humor and wild imagination with me. I hope I put it to good use in this book.

  I would also like to thank my friend, Javier “Jarv” Ramos, for his willingness to read through very early and very rough drafts. Your plot and characters suggestions helped make this story come to life. And thanks to my good friends and beta readers, Steve Eby and Jeremy Thompson. Your insights as readers were invaluable. Finally, thanks to my copy editors, Judy b. and Elizabeth Stock and my line editor, Dylan Garity. All of you did a great job of polishing a rough piece of coal until it sparkled.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 1

  Some say Fate is fickle. She isn’t. She’s a twisted psychotic bitch. It was the only way to explain why nearly everyone on the planet was dead…everyone including my family…and I was out here fishing.

  I should have been with them when the storm hit, but I screwed up. Now this endless loop of a meaningless existence was my punishment. Every day was the same. Wake up, drink, eat, drink, fish, drink, and go to sleep. Death should be quick, not drawn out like this.

  I tried to push the familiar dark thoughts from my mind and cast my line out. It landed fifty feet from my kayak. I set the reel and leaned back to wait.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rick cast his line. It plopped a yard from where mine had just landed. I turned my kayak to face him.

  “Come on! I said. “The Indian Ocean is a big place.”

  Rick laughed. “Lighten up, Aron. You really need to learn how to let go of all that negative energy.”

  “You sound like that yoga instructor that my wife dragged me to see,” I said.

  “I didn’t know you took yoga.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I pulled my goddammed hamstring kneeling down on the mat. That was my first and last yoga class.”

  Rick laughed. “That’s too bad. Yoga really helps clear the mind.”

  “That hippie shit doesn’t work for me.”

  “How do you know unless you give it a chance.” Holding on to his fishing pole with one hand, he held out his other hand and formed an O with his thumb and middle finger.

  “Empty your thoughts and look around you,” he said. You’re fishing in the one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Think of this as your happy place.”

  “This may be your happy place,” I said. “But it’s not mine. My happy place is back in California. If I was back there, I’d let go of this negative energy in a millisecond.”

  His smile dimmed. “If you were there, you’d be dead.” He paddled his kayak over by mine and said, “Come on buddy, it’s been twelve years. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “Let it go? I’ll let it go when I’m laid out on a funeral pyre and the flames are—“

  A gust of wind whipped across the ocean and peppered my face with salt water.

  “Goddammit,” I said under my breath.

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the burn of salt and blinked until I could make out the unmistakable silhouette of Lohifushi. A half dozen palm trees poked haphazardly up through its jungle canopy like a bad haircut. Lohifushi wasn’t the smallest island in the Maldives, but at just over a quarter mile around, it was far from being the largest.

  “You okay?” Rick asked.

  “Yeah, perfect.”

  I wiped the water from my unshaven face and looked out beyond the island. A line of dark purple clouds bridged the gap between the grayish-blue morning sky in the east and the black, star-filled arcs that scarred the northern and southern horizons. The arcs appeared the day after the storm hit. Each arc was edged with an electric, greenish-blue hue that twisted around like the Aurora Borealis. I leaned forward, rested my arms on the paddle, and watched a steady stream of fire streak across the black zones.

  The kids who were born after the storm probably didn’t think twice about the arcs, but I did. I paid close attention to how much larger they grew each year. They didn’t grow by a lot, but they grew enough to reassure me that in a few more years the atmosphere above the islands would be gone. I just wished it would hurry up.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing. Just watching the solar particle show.”

  “I told you a million times, those are meteors.”

  “And I told you that meteors burn up in the atmosphere. You know damned well there isn’t enough atmosphere in the black zones to burn up anything.”

  He bumped his kayak into the side of mine and said, “Those meteors are burning up in the sky above your thick head.” He shook his head. “Solar particles...you’re such a moron.”

  “And you’re a know-it-all asshole.”

  I knew that he was probably right, but I’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him. And besides, he had no way to prove it. Nobody outside of the Mars colony knew how bad it was.

  About a year ago, they’d sent a reconnaissance ship down to search for survivors. They told us that we were all that was left...or at least all that was left worth saving. They didn’t say much about the solar storm or the atmosphere. Their silence on the subject told me all that I needed to know. We were screwed.

  Instead, they talked about the rescue mission. I remembered how proud they were when they announced that a cargo ship would arrive in a year to take a thousand lucky passengers back to the colony. Lucky my ass. They’d been terraforming that planet for fifty years and they still weren’t finished.

  Rick rammed my kayak again, knocking my paddle into the water. I managed to grab it before it floated away.

  “Asshole,” I said beneath a smile.

  At thirty eight, Rick still had one foot firmly planted in his childhood. I supposed that was another reason why I liked him. He could make me forget about this hell hole for a while. But I never forgot about it for long.

  “Come on,” he said. �
�We should head in before Helen sends out a search party.” He counted the fish in the empty front passenger compartment of his kayak. “I got over four dozen. What about you?”

  “About the same,” I said.

  “She’s not going to be happy.”

  I shrugged and grabbed my paddle. The size of the catch had decreased steadily every year since the storm. In another few years, there’d be nothing left to catch.

  I dug my paddle into the water, turning the boat towards the dock. I could hear Rick sloshing behind me. After all these years, that clumsy son of a bitch still paddled like a drunken tourist.

  It didn’t take long before I slipped into the easy, relaxed rhythm of plunge, pull, lift, rotate, plunge, pull, lift, rotate. Each breath I took was in perfect sync with the stroke of the paddle. Within seconds, my conscious thoughts were replaced with the hypnotic lull of paddling. Forget all that yoga bullshit, this was my happy place.

  A light in the east caught my eye. I looked over and saw the sun’s rays shoot up behind the cloud bank on the horizon. The scene looked like the cover of a Watchtower pamphlet, the kind I used to find wedged in my screen door back home.

  “Hey Rick,” I said looking over my shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think any Jehovah’s Witnesses survived the storm?”

  “What?”

  “You know, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the guys in white shirts and black ties. They always seemed to show up around dinner time trying to save souls.”

  “What about them?”

  “I’d bet a bottle of Mohamed’s moonshine that if any of them had survived, then they’re still out there somewhere knocking on doors and pissing people off.”

  I heard him laugh and I kept paddling.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later we reached the dock. William was waiting for us, his bony legs dangling over the edge. Rick coasted in beside me, and I saw the concern in his eyes when he saw his son.

  I had arrived at the resort on the same day as Rick and Sarah. I came here to do some serious fishing.

  They had come here on their honeymoon to do some serious fucking. I guess we both succeeded. Nine months after we arrived, William was born into this dying world and I was still fishing.

  Despite my best efforts, the kid ended up calling me Uncle Aron. Don’t get me wrong, I liked William. He was smart, a lot smarter than any ten-year-old I had ever known. But the kid was like a tick. He kept showing up uninvited in unexpected places.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” Rick said as he climbed onto the dock. “You’ve been here all night again...haven’t you?”

  William lowered his head, hiding his bright hazel eyes behind his long, blond bangs.

  “I told you last night to go back home and get some sleep.”

  “But I wasn’t tired.”

  “Don’t give me any of that crap. Your mom’s probably been up all night worrying about you.” Rick glowered at him. “Come on William, you know how sick she is. What if she needed help in the middle of the night and you weren’t there for her?”

  William looked up and glared back.

  “Take it easy on the kid,” I said. “He’s here now, so put him to work.”

  Rick’s face softened and he said, “It’s just that hanging out on the dock all night by yourself is dangerous and...look at you.” He pointed at William’s legs. “You’re covered in mosquito bites.”

  William shrugged and studied his dirty bare feet.

  I’ll be goddammed if William didn’t look just like his old man. They both had that stupid cowlick that stuck straight up and bounced around like a spring. Even the scowls on their faces were identical. I chuckled.

  Rick looked at me and asked, “What’s so funny?”

  “The two of you. You’re like different versions of the same software.”

  Rick smiled and then looked over at William. “Alright, you heard your uncle.” He pointed to a stack of plastic buckets next to the old bait shack at the foot of the pier. “Go bring a couple of those buckets over so we can unload the fish.”

  William ran over and returned a few seconds later with the buckets.

  We worked as a team. Rick and I tossed him the fish and he dropped them in the buckets. His face lit up when he spotted the stingray in the bottom of my kayak.

  “Wow!” he said. “Everyone said they were gone, everyone except Mr. Thompkins. He said the stingrays and some of the other fish would return once the weather got better. Do you think he’s right? Are they coming back?”

  “I’m sure they are,” Rick said, giving me a cautionary glance.

  He must have sensed that I wanted to tell William that Mr. Thompkins was a dumbass. And like the other dumbasses who thought things would get better, he handed out false hope with a stupid smile. Instead, I tossed William a fish. He caught it, but he paused to study my face before dropping it into the bucket.

  “What the hell do I know?” I said. “I’m just a dumb computer geek. You should listen to your dad. He’s the college professor.”

  When we finished unloading the fish, I picked the stingray up by the tail and said, “Let’s get these fish to Helen before she comes out here after us.”

  We walked in single file up the hard-packed sand through the dense jungle foliage. Rick led the way, followed by William. They each carried a bucket of fish. I brought up the rear holding the stingray.

  I watched William stagger up the trail, bending from side to side as he tried to counter-balance the weight of the bucket. He looked like an omnidirectional antenna: tall, lanky, and wobbly. Despite his wiry build, he managed to lug the heavy bucket without stopping.

  “Doing okay?” I asked.

  “Uh huh,” he grunted.

  I smiled.

  The path soon opened up and the dining hut came into view. Six thick wooden poles held up the thatched roof like some kind of Tiki circus tent. The sides were open, allowing the breeze to pass through. A dozen years ago, this place had fed up to three hundred hungry tourists who’d wander in from the beach to graze on the gourmet buffet. Now there were under two hundred people left on the island and no one ate in the main dining room anymore. People only came here to pick up food from Helen and then take it back to their huts to eat.

  We worked our way through the empty, large, round tables and headed for the door on the back wall. Light peeked through the cracks and I could hear the clanging of pots and pans, along with the unmistakable sound of Helen humming some Australian folk melody. Rick pushed the door open and the familiar sweet smell of fresh baked plantain bread filled my nostrils.

  Helen turned from the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. She gave us a warm smile and said, “G’day boys. What have you got there? No wait...let me guess. Is it fish?”

  A smile spread across William’s face. Helen had a way with William. Hell, with all the kids. She was their surrogate grandmother and she took the role seriously. Most of them were born after the storm and she knew they would never meet their real grandparents.

  William set his bucket down, ran over to me, and snatched the stingray out of my hand. “Guess what Helen?” Without giving her time to respond, he held it up. “Look!”

  She put her hands on top of her overripe breasts, which sat on her barrel shaped belly. “That will make a marvelous brekkie! It should keep everyone’s mind off of today’s small catch.” She glanced at me over her bent, wire-framed glasses.

  After twelve years on the island, I still couldn’t understand all of her Aussie lingo, but I sure as hell understood that look.

  “Don’t blame me,” I said, pointing at Rick. “The honorable Council member over there wouldn’t shut up and kept scaring away all the fish.”

  “You’re not pinning this on me,” Rick said, “You were the one who was splashing around.”

  Helen shook her head and said, “My old Bob used to say that fishermen were born honest, but somewhere out on the water they learned to get over it.” Helen and her husband had come
to the island to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. After Bob died from a heart attack a year after the storm, Helen had busied herself by becoming the island cook.

  She barked out some orders and we followed her directions. After setting the buckets down by the sink, Rick and William put on an apron. They each grabbed a knife and started filleting the fish on the stainless steel counter next to Helen. I dropped the stingray on the wooden butcher block that sat in the middle of the kitchen and I prepared to cut up the prize catch.

  “So Rick, why were you out fishing this morning?” she asked. “Don’t you have to head back to Male for the Council meeting?”

  “Nope. It’s postponed for a week while they find a replacement for Hans Garrettson,” Rick replied.

  “Oh my, another one quit?” she asked.

  “That’s what they told me,” Rick said.

  From the tone of his voice I knew that he didn’t believe it. There was obviously something behind the recent string of Council members quitting. Rick had tried to talk about it a couple times, but I had managed to change the subject. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the Council of Thirteen.

  I mean, what was the point? Even if the ship managed to make it to Earth, pick up the people who were selected by the Council to go to the colony, and then somehow make it back to Mars, their chance of survival was no better than if they stayed here. I didn’t care how much the Mars colony had expanded over the last decade or how much the terraforming had progressed. I knew deep down in my soul that, like all dominant species before us, it was mankind’s turn to disappear. That’s why I told Rick to scratch my name from the list. I planned to die right here, drinking and fishing.

  Helen looked over at Rick and said, “Well, I guess you can spend some quality time with your family then.”

  “Unfortunately, I agreed to go out to Makunudhoo and make some repairs on the communications tower. I have to leave right after breakfast.”