Under Vanishing Skies Read online

  The list was stuffed with hundreds of ineligible candidates. Vote after vote was held, but the same people kept showing up on the list. I felt like Don Quixote in some new level of hell. At least in this hell, they offered an occasional break. This break was only one day. But that's all I needed. One day of fishing could help me flush two weeks of the Council bullshit out of my system.

  I looked down through the water at the razor-sharp coral that lay a few feet below the surface. The black, green, and gray colors blurred together under the lens of the choppy ocean. It reminded me of those French abstract paintings that Kelly had once dragged me to see at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Like those paintings, the colors and shapes of the coral were beautiful. The only difference was that I’d never heard of anyone getting shredded by a painting before. Death-by-coral wasn’t a good way to kill myself, but that fucking Council had me considering it.

  “I hope you’re getting a good laugh out of this,” I said to Rick, as if he were floating out there next to me. “But goddammit…this isn’t funny.”

  The rain suddenly began to fall and the patterns of the coral took on an almost mosaic look. A few minutes later the swells began to rise. I picked up my paddle and turned the kayak to face the waves head on.

  I still couldn’t believe that I had volunteered to take Rick’s place on the Council. Mohamed’s moonshine must have killed the brain cells that governed common sense.

  A wave broke over the bow and water poured into my seat compartment. Perfect. What else could go wrong? As if to answer my question, it began to rain. Shit. I decided to head in.

  Paddling against the wind was hard, but as I slugged my way back towards the beach I felt some of the stress begin to melt away. Despite the weather, I found myself enjoying the rush of speed as I slid down each swell. That’s probably why I didn't see the rogue wave that knocked me over.

  The world spun. A wall of water rushed over me. Instinctively, I jammed my paddle down and wedged it into the reef. One of my hands lost its grip. I fell sideways, my hand smashing into the coral. The wave pulled the boat sideways. I screamed as my hand grated across the coral like a hunk of cheese. Water rushed into my mouth. I began to choke. A swell lifted me up and I somehow managed to grab the paddle with my bloody hand. But it was too late. I felt myself rolling over. I paddled frantically in a futile attempt to keep the boat upright. In a second, the swell would fall and I would fall with it, head first into the bottom. So with all the strength I could muster, I pushed my paddle back in a long, sweeping stroke. Then, leaning back, I swung my body hard to the right. It worked. I was upright again.

  Leaning over the side, I coughed up a lungful of water. At some point, my coughs turned into laughter and it took me a second to get the joke. God had just offered me a chance to get off of the Council and I didn’t take it.

  ***

  I walked slowly back to my hut through the pouring rain. It was coming down in sheets now, blowing almost horizontal with the wind. As I passed in front of the dining hut, Mohamed poked his head out and yelled, “Aron, my friend! You will catch a cold out there.”

  I just waved and kept walking, but Mohamed opened an umbrella and ran after me.

  “What are you doing out in the rain?”

  “Just coming back from kayaking.”

  He looked incredulous. “In this?”

  “I get wet kayaking, so what difference does a little rain make?”

  He must have seen the blood dripping from my cut hand. “You’re injured.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

  “It is more than a scratch and you know it. Come on.” He tugged on my arm. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated.

  “I insist,” he said tugging at my soaked shirt. I didn’t have it in me to argue, so I went with him.

  We walked past the old swimming pool that now served as a cistern for the island’s water reserve. A couple of smart people had converted the three-tiered swimming pool into a water treatment plant. Rainwater was collected from across the island and hauled to the upper pool where it made its way through a series of two filtration waterfalls before ending up in the main reservoir at the bottom.

  We continued along the path, walking past fruit trees and the vegetable garden that was planted in the old soccer field. It was the only place on the island with soil deep enough to sustain agriculture. On the other side of the field was Mohamed’s infirmary. We walked onto the porch and Mohamed closed his umbrella, leaning it against the wall. I followed him inside.

  “Mango juice?”

  “No thanks.” I said. “Water if you’ve got it.”

  “Mango juice is better for you. Here, try some.” Mohamed grabbed a small plastic jug and filled it with a thick, orange liquid. He handed it to me. “Here...drink.”

  “Really,” I said. “A glass of water is fine.”

  Pushing the glass into my hand he said, “Mango juice will help protect you against staph infection.”

  I had never heard that before. True or not, I knew better than to argue with Mohamed about the miraculous power of mango juice. So I took the glass and smiled politely before taking a sip. It was like drinking syrup. Not the kind of thing that hits the spot after paddling through a storm. “Mmm,” I choked out. “Thanks.”

  Mohamed rummaged through some plastic containers and seemed to find what he was looking for. “Please, please...sit.” I sat down on one of his wicker chairs. He sat down next to me. Then leaning over, he began to bandage my hand.

  “So, how is it going?” he asked.

  “I can’t complain.”

  He smiled. “You know what I mean. The Council. How is the Council going?”

  Stalling to think of a tactful way to answer, I took another sip of the syrup and immediately regretted it. After forcing myself to swallow, I said, “It sucks. Ahmed doesn’t run a very tight ship.”

  I winced as he poured some of his moonshine over my hand. “This may sting a little.”

  “You’re supposed to say that before you pour it over the cut,” I said.

  “I am sorry,” He said. Then, as he began wrapping my hand with a cloth bandage, “So Ahmed is causing you problems?”

  I shook my head. “He’s causing everyone problems, but I can deal with him. I dealt with him and his cronies when we were building the communications hub on Male.”

  He finished bandaging my hand and then sat back. His expression changed. The smile was gone. “Just be careful. This time will be different. He was nice to you back then because he needed you to complete the IICN. He doesn’t need you now.”

  “Nice my ass! He was a pushy, pig-headed, stubborn son of a bitch.”

  His smile returned. “He is that...and more. But he is also dangerous, so be careful.”

  The stress that I had lost out on the water had found its way back into my neck and shoulders. I rolled my head from side to side until my neck cracked. “Thanks, Mohamed. I’ll keep that in mind.” I looked at my hand and wiggled my fingers. It hurt, but not bad. “And thanks for patching me up.”

  “It is my honor.” He smiled. “It is the Islamic way. We must always help the injured.”

  “Tell that to Jamal.”

  From the expression on his face, I knew I’d crossed the line.

  Why the hell did I say that? “I’m sorry, Mohamed. That isn’t what I meant.”

  “You said what is in your heart and the heart speaks only the truth. But I know your words were not aimed at me.”

  “No...of course not. I’m...after what they did on Embudu and Makunudhoo...I don’t know. Look, I probably should go.”

  I started to stand, but he put his hand on my shoulder pushed me back down. “Please, my friend, sit. It is not healthy to keep this anger inside of you.”

  I sat back down, but looked away.

  Mohamed broke the silence. “It is natural to feel anger when something like that happens. And it is understandable that you direct that an
ger at the source of those attacks. But you must try to separate how you feel about the pirates and the religion that they hide behind. Jamal and his followers are fanatics. That is true. But they are no different than the New Crusaders.” I looked over at him and he continued. “The unthinkable atrocities that the New Crusaders carried out in the name of Christ did not make Christianity an evil religion.”

  Memories of the stories my grandmother had told me about the vigilante groups called the New Crusaders flooded into my head. She had told me that after the terrorists blew up over a hundred high schools in the states back in 2018, a bunch of holier-than-thou right-wing shitheads went around killing anyone who looked remotely Muslim. And the damned president and his fellow Tea Party yahoos in Congress just looked the other way and let it happen. I couldn’t remember how many had died. One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? It was enough to make the military have to stage a coup.

  Mohamed was right. Religions didn’t kill people. People killed people.

  I said. “I’m sorry…really.”

  Mohamed stood up and smiled. “We must sit down and have a long discussion about this someday when you have more time.”

  I stood up. “Be sure to have a bottle or two of your moonshine ready. I’ll need it for that discussion.”

  He laughed and said, “How many times must I tell you. It is medicine, not moonshine.”

  I looked at my watch and said, “It’s almost time for me to head back to Male.”

  “How long will you be gone for this time?” he asked.

  “Just a week. They’re taking a three-day break for the Remembrance Day Weekend.”

  “They are taking a break so close to the arrival of the ship?”

  I shrugged and walked to the door. He reached out his pudgy arm and pushed it open for me. I stepped outside and said, “Thanks again for fixing me up and for the advice. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Stay safe, my friend.”

  I turned to leave, but stopped when he said, “Wait. I almost forgot.” Turning around, I watched him disappear into his hut. A few seconds later he reappeared with an old water bottle that I knew wasn’t filled with water.

  “Here, take this. It will help with the stress of the Council.”

  I took the bottle and smiled. “You of all people should know that booze is prohibited in Male. What are you trying to do...get me arrested by the morality police?”

  He smiled and said, “If anyone says anything, you have them call me. I am a doctor, remember? I am prescribing this medicine to help ease your hypertension.”

  ***

  Two hours later, my teeth rattled in my skull as the hull pounded against the waves. It was useless to try to read anymore, so I bunched up my data mat and tucked it into my back pocket. There would be time to finish reviewing the updated list when I got to my room on Male.

  I stood up and grabbed the railing to keep from falling over. After getting my sea legs, I climbed two steps up to the bridge. Kamish sat behind the console, steering the twenty-four foot speed boat through the shallow channel that ran between a chain of islands. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the throttle, cutting back the engines every time we launched off the top of a big wave.

  His younger brother, Lanka, was strapped into a fishing chair up ahead on the bow. I watched for a second as Lanka swept the horizon with his binoculars. If anyone could find something out there, it was Lanka.

  Then I turned around and saw Kamish’s youngest brother, Senil, on the aft chair doing the same thing. Both of them held fast to their rifles.

  Above the high-pitched whine of the electric engines and the roar of the wind I yelled, “How much longer?”

  Without taking his eyes off the waves, Kamish said, “Maybe ten minutes. I can just make out the light from the port.” He nodded toward the horizon.

  At first I didn’t see anything, but when we crested the next big wave I saw the light for a brief moment before we slid down the backside.

  Ten minutes was a long time out here, but it didn’t used to be. For the first several years, the MDF Air Patrol had kept the pirates outside the atoll. But there were fewer functioning boats and helojumpers nowadays, and there were more pirates. So nobody took anything for granted.

  I felt my shoulders tighten and I tried unsuccessfully to crack my neck. It wasn’t that I was afraid of getting killed; it was what they did to their prisoners before they killed them that bothered me. That brought back the image of Rick tied to the tree.

  I checked my watch. It was seven o’clock. The heavy storm clouds that blanketed the entire sky made it seem later. At least the rain had stopped, so visibility wasn’t too bad.

  “How are we doing on juice?” I asked.

  Kamish glanced at the gauge and said, “Should be enough to get us into port, but I will have to swap out batteries before we head back. There wasn’t enough sun today to get a full charge.”

  Like most vehicles manufactured after the gas crisis of 2021, the boat was solar powered. Its paint passively collected the sun’s energy and eventually converted it into electricity. The technology used to work pretty well before the storm, but the weather patterns had changed and it was a lot cloudier than it had used to be. Most boats had to deploy a floating solar net to help them get a full charge.

  I walked aft to add my eyes to the watch. Besides, it wasn’t as bumpy back there. Senil greeted me with his mischievous smile. In this light, his teeth looked luminescent.

  “Better hold on. It is a bit bumpy back here,” he said.

  “That’s okay,” I replied. “It’s better than up front where Lanka is.” I held fast to the boat rail and crouched down next to his chair. “See anything?” I yelled.

  He must have picked up the concern in my voice because he winked and said, “Do not worry. The pirates won’t bother us tonight. They do not like the rain. It makes their prayer rugs all wet,” he laughed.

  I forced a smile and said, “Kamish said you guys aren’t staying in Male tonight? What’s the rush to get back?”

  His smile got wider. “Mohamed told me that Jemil will deliver soon and I want to be there when my son is born.”

  “What makes you think it’s going to be a boy?” As far as I knew, there wasn’t a working ultrasound in the atoll.

  “I can tell. My grandmother used to say that if the baby rides low in the belly then it will be a boy. Jemil’s belly is almost touching the—”

  Blood poured out of his mouth as he tried to finish his sentence. I didn’t hear the shot that killed him, but I saw who did it. The pirates were coming up fast behind us in a large, rigid-hull inflatable boat and they were shooting wildly at us. One of the bastards had gotten lucky.

  Where the fuck did they come from? I looked around. They must have been hiding in one of the small coves of the island off to the right. I reached for Senil, but his lifeless body slumped to the deck before I could get a hold of him.

  Crouching next to him, I yanked the rifle from his hand and yelled towards the front of the boat, “Pirates!”

  Kamish looked back and I saw the horror in his eyes and he screamed, “Senil!” Then, looking out ahead, he blasted the horn to alert his other brother. Lanka unbuckled himself and sprinted to the back of the boat. Kamish was already on the radio calling the MDF for help.

  Lanka took a quick look at Senil and then crouched down next to me. Putting his hand on my shoulder, he pulled me further down below the railing. Then, shouldering his rifle, he took aim and fired. I just knelt there and watched. It took the ricochet of a bullet near my head to remind me that I had a rifle of my own. I brought it up and fired.

  Kamish must’ve had the throttles pegged because we were bouncing so hard that I couldn't aim. It didn’t matter. I kept firing. At the rate they were closing, I could tell that we wouldn’t reach the protection of the port in time. And the damned MDF Air Patrol wouldn’t get here in time either. It took at least fifteen minutes for those assholes to get a helojumper off the pa
d.

  I was about to fire another shot, but stopped when I saw something that looked like a snake flying through the air. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at. It was a grappling hook on the end of a rope and it was heading straight for us.

  Lanka shoved me hard out of the way. I rolled into the corner. When I looked up I saw Lanka pinned against the rail. The hook was in his back, and two of its metallic prongs protruded through his chest. I watched in horror as the rope tightened. I tried to get up, but before I could reach him the hook ripped his body in half. He collapsed onto the deck next to his brother. The hook was now solidly jammed into the back of the boat.

  I heard Kamish scream above the rush of wind. “No!”

  I looked toward the bridge. His face was filled with rage. He pushed the throttle as far as it would go. It didn’t help. We were slowing down. Our engines were no match for their diesel hybrids.

  I looked around for something to cut the rope. They usually kept an axe in one of the storage containers. I crawled over and looked inside the rusty metal box on the starboard side. All that I found was a solar net pack. I pulled it out and threw it overboard so I could look for the axe. The box was empty. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something behind us in the water. I turned to look. It was just the solar pack automatically deploying. Thousands of miniature water activated servos stretched the net to its full one hundred foot diameter.

  I could hear rifle shots above the roar of the wind now. They were almost on us. I laid flat on the floor and crawled over to the box on the port side. The floor was covered in an inch of bloody water that sloshed around. I reached the box and opened the lid. I peered inside. It was filled with life preservers. I started pulling them out and throwing behind me. Then I spotted it. The axe was attached to a metal clasp on the inside of the box. I freed it and crawled back to the hook. Raising the axe above my head, I brought it down on the rope. The rail bent, but the rope held. Two more shots whizzed by me and I ducked. Peeking up over the rail I saw them. They were less than fifty feet behind us. We were out of time.