Gargantua Page 5

Manny looked down at Jack’s now-empty plate. “I see you enjoyed the mud crabs.”

  “Enjoyed is too mild a word. I’ve never had anything like this. They’re delicious.”

  Brandon asked, “Did Derek catch these, too?”

  Manny smiled politely. “It isn’t necessary to send out large fishing boats to catch mud crabs—you may grab them freely from the surf. In fact—”

  The president cut himself off at the sound of sirens.

  At first, Jack thought very little of the noise. Born in New York City and raised there and in Chicago before settling in San Diego after college, sirens had always been part of the background noise for him growing up, so he barely registered their presence anymore.

  Manny, however, seemed to think it was a big deal, as did Hale, who put down his fried tuna and stood up.

  A couple of people went outside, then someone ran back in and said breathlessly, “It’s Kulani with the chief—and there’s a body in the back—I think it’s Dak!”

  That started a commotion.

  “What?”

  “It can’t be!”

  “I just saw Dak at practice.”

  “Did she kill him?”

  “Oh, my God.”

  A tide of humanity swept toward the door, and Jack, Brandon, Hale, and Manny went with it.

  The siren belonged to a jeep, of all things, with the word POLICE stencilled on the side. Given how little of this island is paved, that’s probably the most practical vehicle to use for emergencies, Jack mused. A man in his thirties drove the jeep—presumably Police Chief Joe Movita—and a woman sat on the passenger side, wrapped in a blanket. They came to a halt in front of the clinic.

  “Dak and Kulani are a couple of kids,” Doctor Hale explained as they walked briskly toward the clinic, along with a few dozen others, both from Manny’s and elsewhere. “Dak’s in one of the local bands. He and Kulani were gonna be married in a few weeks.”

  “Damn,” Jack muttered.

  As they approached, Jack heard a trembling voice. It was the woman in the passenger seat—Kulani—sounding like she was in a daze.

  “Something . . . pulled him backwards . . . something in the water . . . some thing . . .”

  Jack and Doctor Hale held back, Jack holding Brandon’s hand. They were outsiders here, after all, and he could see fine over the heads of the others. He and Hale would just get in the way of the professionals if they tried to get involved any more.

  Speaking of whom, Alyson ran out of the clinic, two orderlies on her heels. The police chief indicated the body in the back. The doctor pulled the sheet back.

  Jack held down a gag reflex as she did so. The body looked like it had been chewed.

  “What do you think, Jack?” Hale asked. “Dolphin? Whale?”

  Hale spoke in a detached, professional manner, for which Jack was grateful—it gave him a chance to get his bearings. “Either one would be way off course for this time of year.”

  “Which would be consistent with your theories about the impact of the seismic activity, yeah?”

  Before Jack could answer, he noticed Brandon trying to stand on tiptoe to get a better look. “I can’t see. What’s going on?”

  Unbidden, images of that horrible day over a year earlier flowed into Jack’s mind: Doctor Bottroff telling Diane Ellway why she was having those awful headaches; Diane telling Jack in that stoic manner with which she always imparted bad news; trying to make their eleven-year-old son understand, using words like inoperable and brain tumor, that Mom wasn’t going to be around much longer, never quite able to use the word dying; watching as Diane deteriorated, her hair falling out from the chemotherapy; trying to wake her up that one morning and realizing she wasn’t breathing . . .

  Jack shook his head to clear the images. The last thing Brandon needs is to be exposed to more death. He put his hand on his son’s shoulder and said, “I think you’d better go back to the hotel, Brandon.”

  “Nah, I’m okay,” Brandon said with the self-assuredness of the twelve-year-old who’s already seen everything.

  In fact, he’s already seen this, after a fashion, which is exactly why I want him out of here. “I wasn’t really giving you a vote,” he said gently, giving Brandon’s shoulder a squeeze. “Go on, I’ll be there soon.”

  Brandon looked extremely unhappy, but said nothing and obediently headed back toward the Ritz.

  Once Brandon was out of sight, Jack started to move in closer to the crowd surrounding Dak’s body, Hale close behind. Alyson had done a quick examination of the body and replaced the blanket. As the two orderlies carried the bodies inside, Alyson put her arm around Kulani, who still seemed to be in a daze.

  “Kulani?” Alyson said gently.

  At this, Kulani looked up and fixed Alyson with an expression that made Jack’s heart crumple. He knew that face. It’s the same face that looked back at me in the mirror for months after Diane died.

  Alyson led Kulani inside. He hoped that she would show Kulani the same compassion that she showed to a twelve-year-old with a cut finger.

  “D’you know what happened?” Hale said. Jack was about to ask the geologist how Jack could possibly know when he’d spent most of the last five hours with Hale himself, when he realized that the question had been asked of Paul Bateman, who was walking over from the police jeep.

  Paul’s presence was hardly a surprise. The third death in two nights certainly qualified as news. “Joe told me that something grabbed Dak’s surf skis and pulled him backward. Dragged him through the water. He also told me earlier that, according to their investigation, something dragged the fishing net that those two women drowned in last night. Might be related.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, “but I think there’s something unusual out there. Some kind of marine life that doesn’t belong here.” He remembered Brandon’s story, told at the beginning of dinner, of a weird head that poked briefly out of the water that afternoon. “Certainly, whatever attacked Dak isn’t native to these parts at this time of year.”

  Hale rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We could go up in my plane tomorrow, scan the waters, see what we see.”

  Jack almost sighed. Wish I had the kind of funding that let me talk casually about “my plane,” he thought with a silent curse at UCSD’s bean counters. Aloud, he simply said, “Great.” He walked over to where the president was standing, talking with the police chief. “President Moki,” he said—the old man had politely asked Jack to call him “Manny,” since, as he said, “everyone else does,” but Jack couldn’t bring himself to do so, particularly now—“it might be wise to keep everyone out of the water until we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “This is nonsense,” came a voice from behind Jack. He saw Derek Lawson approaching.

  “Perhaps it would be wise,” Manny said, ignoring Derek. “At least, until we find out what killed our friend Dak.”

  “They were surfing at night,” Derek said with a bark of unkind laughter. “Stupidity killed him.”

  Taking the president’s lead, Jack ignored Derek, and asked, “You’ll keep the waters clear?”

  “How long will it take you to survey them?”

  Kikko, who, along with Naru, flanked Derek, muttered, “If we can’t fish, we can’t get paid.”

  “C’mon, Manny,” Derek said, “don’t let outsiders push you around. This is our island.”

  For the first time, the president looked at the fisherman. “Excuse me, Derek, but I believe that New Zealand is your island.” He spoke in the same even, polite tone that he used at all times, but Jack could tell that he would also brook no further commentary on the subject.

  Before the argument could continue, a hush fell over the area. Red Sea-like, the crowd parted for a man as old as President Moki, dressed in the collar of a Christian minister or priest.

  Nodding to the old man, Moki said, “Father Rauh.”

  The priest simply nodded in return, then entered the clinic.

  Moki turned to the chief of
police, whose jaw was set so tightly Jack almost thought he’d broken it recently. “What do you think?” the president asked him.

  “About closing the waters?” The chief rubbed his not-really-broken jaw. “Normally, I’d say no, but we’ve got three suspicious deaths which might be related—”

  “Might?” Paul interrupted. “C’mon. Joe, it’s kinda obvious that they—”

  The chief interrupted right back, “Yes, Paul, might. The two causes of death are different, and kindly don’t pull that all-knowing-reporter-makes-fun-of-dumb-cop crap on me, all right?”

  Paul seemed taken aback. “Sorry.”

  Joe turned back to the president. “But I’ve also been getting reports all day about weird sightings in the ocean. Much higher than the usual, and they’re all pretty similar.”

  “A large reptilian head with a small horn at the center,” Jack said.

  Everyone—except for Hale and the president—turned to him. “Yes,” Joe said, only momentarily surprised. “You saw it, too?”

  “No, but my son did.”

  Derek finally spoke up again: “So, based on two dumb tourists, one dumb local, and a boogey man, you’re gonna shut us down?” Knew the silence was too good to last, Jack thought.

  Before anyone could answer, Alyson came out of the clinic. She removed a pair of latex gloves with a telltale snap and placed them in the pockets of her lab coat.

  “What did you find, Doctor?” the president asked.

  Alyson took a breath before answering. “Well, keeping in mind that I don’t have the facilies, nor the qualifications, to do a proper autopsy . . .” Manny nodded in understanding and she went on: “Based on initial observation, I’d say he died of severe blood loss, possibly also trauma to major organs. He also had a blunt trauma to the head, but I don’t think that contributed.”

  “Jibes with what Kulani said,” the chief put in. “She said he hit his head on the skis as he fell in.”

  “We’ll need to ship the body to Kalor for a proper autopsy. However, I can tell you for sure that the blood loss was due to several bites all over his body.”

  Hale asked, “What kind of bites?”

  “That’s the weird part,” Alyson said, blowing out a breath. “I have seen bites from every type of animal known to this island and its surrounding waters, and I have never seen anything that matches this.”

  Jack turned to the president, an expectant look on his face. To his mind, Alyson’s report simply confirmed that the waters should be closed until he could investigate.

  If the gravity of the decision weighed heavily on President Moki, he didn’t show it. Jack had the crazy thought that he’d never want to play poker with the man. He simply looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Very well. For the time being, no sea craft are to sail from Malau’s shores.” He turned to Joe. “See to it.”

  The chief nodded and moved off to his jeep.

  Derek threw up his hands. “I don’t bleedin’ believe this! Manny, this is nuts, we—”

  “I have made my decision, Derek,” the president said, his calm inversely proportional to the fisherman’s anger.

  Hale stepped between Jack and the two other men, as if to say, Let these two hash out their own problems—we’ve got our own. “We’ll have to leave at first light.”

  Jack nodded. “Brandon and I’ll meet you at the airport at dawn.” Airport, he thought, right. It’s a one-story building and a strip of tarmac.

  Hale made an odd face, like he had news he didn’t want to impart. “Actually, what I’ve got is a seaplane; it’s out at the pier. And I’m afraid it’s only a two-seater. No room for the little bloke.”

  Disappointed, Jack nodded again. Brandon would’ve enjoyed coming along, he thought. Ah, well. He’s a bright kid. He’ll understand.

  “I don’t understand,” Brandon said the next morning in the hotel room.

  He had been asleep by the time Jack finally got back. He and Hale had talked to the police chief some more about the various sightings, all of which were indeed eerily similar to Brandon’s quick glance the day before. Then they’d gone to Hale’s bungalow to hastily map out an itinerary for their flyby.

  Jack outlined the game plan while he tossed a few items into a backpack. Brandon was thrilled right up until the part when Jack told the boy he couldn’t come along.

  “This isn’t fair,” Brandon continued. “I always get to go along with you on stuff.”

  “I know—I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it. “But Doctor Hale’s plane is just a two-seater.”

  “How come when you need me I’m your ‘assistant,’ but when you don’t need me, I’m just your kid?”

  Jack shook his head. Brandon was so mature, so capable, that sometimes Jack forgot that he was still a twelve-year-old boy. I should’ve known better than to expect a grown-up reaction. He’s a kid—how would a kid react to this?

  He thought back to himself as a twelve-year-old, and how he felt on vacations with his family. Usually, the parts he looked forward to was when they’d go off to do something he thought was boring and they’d leave him alone to fend for himself. So let’s try that approach.

  “You’ve got a whole day to run around the island on your own. No responsibilities.” No money, either, he remembered, then fished in his pocket for cash, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. Luckily, American currency was good on Malau—indeed, Paul had said the day before that the local merchants preferred American dollars to Malauan ones. “You can buy yourself lunch at Manny’s, and then you can take the camcorder and go exploring—”

  “I thought I was ‘on my own,’ ” Brandon said, defiantly. “Why’re you telling me what to do?”

  Jack realized that he wasn’t going to win no matter what, so he held up his hands in surrender—the ten bucks still in his right hand. “Fine, whatever. I was just making a suggestion.” He handed Brandon the ten.

  Brandon just looked at it, then back up at his father. “This is supposed to last me all day?” He had a smirk on his face.

  Intimately familiar with that smirk, and taking it as a conciliatory sign, Jack returned it with a grin, and fished out another ten.

  As Brandon took the two bills, Jack’s grin fell, and he put on his most serious expression. “And stay out of the water.”

  “Okay,” Brandon said casually.

  “I mean it, Brandon.” He put his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Leaving aside the danger from whatever might be out there, it’s illegal to go into the water right now. I’d hate for Paul’s next front page to be AMERICAN SCIENTIST’S INTERN—”

  “Assistant,” Brandon corrected.

  Jack smiled. “Fine—AMERICAN SCIENTIST’S ASSISTANT JAILED ON CHARGES OF STUPIDITY.”

  Brandon laughed. “Okay, Dad, I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”

  “Good.” He kissed Brandon on the head and let go of his shoulders. “President Moki gave us until sunset, so I’ll be back by then.”

  Brandon wandered aimlessly down the main beach of Malau. For most of the morning, he sat in the hotel room, sulking and reading through a couple of his prized Captain Marvels. Around noon, though, his stomach started to rumble, so he followed Dad’s advice and had lunch at Manny’s, which turned out to be a mistake. Derek and the Derek-ettes were once again seated at the bar swilling beer and being obnoxious. They didn’t actually bother Brandon—and, thank God, Derek didn’t come over and toussle Brandon’s hair again—but they looked at him like everything was his fault. Derek did talk to some of the other people sitting around, who looked pretty upset. Probably other people who wanted to be in the water, Brandon figured. Manny wasn’t there either, so the atmosphere was real unpleasant.

  Thanks for leaving me behind, Dad, he thought, annoyed.

  He ate lunch quickly, then took the camcorder he had retrieved from one of the duffels and decided to wander around the beach. He started from where he and Dad had been doing their initial work, picked a direction, and walked. Occasionally, he filmed something that l
ooked interesting: a peacock spreading its tail here, a flock of birds there. At one point, he saw a few dolphins frolicking, jumping into the air in tiny arcs. He videotaped that, remembering that Mom always loved dolphins.

  Stop thinking about that.

  After about ten minutes, the sand started getting rockier. He looked ahead to see that foliage started to creep into the beach as the coastline veered sharply to the left. Brandon recalled from their flight in that one end of Malau was jungle—it covered a little less than quarter of the island. It wasn’t much of a jungle, as jungles went; but, as Dad had said in the plane, it added to the island’s character.

  Sighing, he shifted the camcorder to his left hand, picked up a few pebbles with his right, and started skimming them into the water.

  His uncle had shown him how to skim pebbles like this when Brandon was six and they visited him in Pennsylvania. “Gotta throw sidearm,” Uncle Scott used to say, “just like Kent Tekulve.” To this day, Brandon had no idea who Kent Tekulve was, but he kept practicing throwing sidearm until he could make almost any pebble skip at least four times before sinking.

  It was after he made one nice flat pebble go seven times that he saw it.

  At first he thought, crazy as it was, that one of his pebbles had turned around and was coming back.

  Then it came out of the water and zipped into the foliage.

  Brandon couldn’t really make out what it was, but it was green, and it was big. In fact, he was pretty sure that it was the same color green as that thing he saw the previous day in the water.

  It’s probably just a salamander or something, he thought, but salamanders didn’t usually come that large.

  He considered his options. Following the blur meant going into the jungle. He had no idea what lay within it. On the other hand, how dangerous could it be? And Dad didn’t tell him not to go into the jungle, just not to go into the water.

  And he did say I should go exploring.

  Of course, Dad had suggested eating at Manny’s in the same breath, and that had turned out really lousy, but Brandon didn’t care. He wanted to see what that thing was.

  These thought processes took all of a second, so he muttered, “Shazam,” and dashed into the foliage on the heels of the green blur.