Gargantua Page 6

  Though he did not possess the speed of Mercury that his hero had, Brandon could move quickly even through the dense, big-leafed trees around him. The plants ahead of him rustled, and he followed the sounds as they led him deeper and deeper.

  Just as the rustling stopped, Brandon came to an overhanging tree whose branches drooped down like the flaps of a tent. He pushed the leaves aside to find himself at the mouth of a beautiful lagoon.

  Like all the water hereabouts, the lagoon was a deep blue.

  However, it wasn’t an undisturbed blue-right at the shoreline near Brandon’s feet, the water rippled, as if something had just dashed into the water.

  Brandon smiled. The wisdom of Solomon tells me that the little dude ran in here. He squatted down and peered into the water.

  Suddenly, a creature emerged from the water. To Brandon’s amazement, it actually did look like a salamander, with two major differences. For one thing, salamanders didn’t walk on their hind legs; for another, they rarely grew three feet long.

  Its eyes were huge, like some goofy stuffed animal’s.

  Then it went back into the water.

  “Holy moley,” Brandon muttered.

  He stared at the water for several minutes, wondering when the thing would come back out.

  The ripples it made started to slow down. After a little while, the water was completely calm.

  Of the creature, there was no sign.

  Weird, Brandon thought.

  Jack Ellway’s first thought upon seeing Ralph Hale’s seaplane was, I’ve got to get my own oceanographic institute. UCSD would never let me have toys like this. He directed a few more choice thoughts toward his employers as the dinghy took them to where Hale kept his plane.

  They spent the day flying around the open ocean, Jack peering through a pair of binoculars, trying to find something that didn’t match with the information regarding local marine life that he’d studied in depth in preparation for his trip here. Hale, for his part, steered the plane unerringly; Jack only felt queasy three or four times, which was a lot less than he expected in so small a plane with such high winds.

  Around lunchtime, they landed on Kalor to grab a quick lunch—Jack was not surprised to find that everyone they met knew Hale personally—then went out again.

  By late afternoon, they had given up. “I haven’t seen a damn thing that doesn’t belong here,” he shouted to Hale in the front compartment.

  “Pity,” he said. “I’ll radio the pier, let ’em know we’re comin’ in.”

  It took another ten minutes for them to arrive back at Malau, and another five to take the dinghy back to the pier.

  Shortly after meeting him, Hale had commented to Jack that, “You can’t order a pint on one end of Malau without someone on the other end knowin’ what brand you’re drinkin’ inside of two seconds.” So it came as no surprise to find a massive welcoming committee waiting for them at the pier: President Moki, Paul Bateman, Chief Movita, and a number of others, including, inevitably, Derek Lawson and his two hangers-on.

  Before the dinghy pilot could even tie the boat down, Paul asked, “Did you see anything?”

  Jack shook his head and he climbed out of the dinghy onto the wooden pier. “Nothing unusual—at least, nothing near the surface.”

  Hale jumped out behind Jack. Sounding completely undaunted, in direct contrast to Jack, he said, “Sonar would give us a better idea. My institute has a ship that’s equipped with—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” That, of course, was Derek, who looked at the president. “You see, Manny, it’s all nonsense. Lift the ban right now, this minute.”

  What a selfish bastard, Jack thought. Three people had been killed, and all this idiot could think about were his lousy fishing revenues. Forcing himself to remain calm, he said, “I think it should remain. Just another couple of days, till—”

  Derek whirled around to face Jack, looking furious. “You think? You think! Who the hell are you, ordering everyone about?”

  Stay calm, Jack, don’t let him get to you. Speaking very slowly, he replied, “I’m just trying to help.”

  Derek made a dismissive noise and said, “Yeah, help yourself. Big-shot scientist struttin’ around here like you own the place. You and your smartass kid, goin’—”

  That did it. Jack grabbed Derek by his T-shirt and said, “Watch your mouth, pal!”

  Derek shoved Jack, forcing Jack to let go of the shirt and also stumble backward a step. “I’m not your ‘pal,’ pal!”

  Hale and Paul each grabbed Jack by one arm, not enough to restrain him if Jack made an effort, but enough to tell him that they would tighten their grip if it got out of hand.

  “Please, this is improper.” The voice was quiet and even-toned, but carried the weight of authority. It was, of course, President Moki’s voice, and it had the desired effect: both Derek and Jack calmed down. Behind Derek, Jack noticed that Derek’s two flunkies were releasing clenched fists.

  The president continued: “These scientists have generously tried to help us. Regrettably, their effort was without result.” He turned to Jack and Hale. “Fishing is the lifeblood of this island. I mustn’t inflict unnecessary hardship on my people. And there simply isn’t enough evidence for me to be absolutely certain that there is truly a danger in the waters. Unless and until such proof arrives, I shall lift the ban.”

  Derek’s smile reminded Jack of the wolf in old cartoons that had just come up with a foolproof plan to trap the cartoon’s hero. Sadly, Jack didn’t have an anvil to drop on the fisherman’s head as he said, “That’s the spirit, Manny!”

  Before Jack could say anything, Hale once again put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “C’mon, Jack, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  Jack didn’t want a drink. Jack wanted to beat Derek Lawson to within an inch of his life. It was an odd feeling for a mild-mannered marine biologist who had harbored very few violent thoughts in his thirty-four years of life. But something about the New Zealander’s smug arrogance brought out the worst in Jack.

  It’s not just that, though, he thought as he allowed Hale to steer him away from the pier and Derek’s sneering face. I had to stand by and watch while Diane died. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen again when it’s something I can actually help with. Some kind of marine life killed Dak and those two women, I know it. And whatever it is will kill someone else unless we find out what it is.

  “Dad!” a voice cried.

  Jack looked up to see Brandon running toward him. The boy was a mess, smeared with mud and dirt. For a brief instant, he saw Derek’s face so covered in mud. I should be so lucky, Jack thought.

  “I thought you’d never get here.”

  The last thing Jack needed right now was to listen to his son talk about what a great day he had exploring the island. “Not now, Brandon,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You won’t believe what I saw today!”

  “I said, not now!” Jack snapped.

  He and Hale continued into town. Jack needed that drink Hale offered if he was going to get the image of Derek Lawson out of his head.

  For the second time that day, Brandon wandered aimlessly down the main beach of Malau. I can’t believe Dad yelled at me. Dad never yells at me.

  Something was wrong with Dad. Something serious. Brandon didn’t know what to do.

  He realized he was back at the spot where he saw that family having the picnic.

  Mom.

  Mom would know what to do. Whenever Dad got upset, Mom knew how to make him feel better. Mom always listened to Brandon, too.

  He picked up a pebble and skimmed it into the ocean, but it only bounced once. Great, here I am thinking I want my mommy.

  But he did. I want Mom to be here so Dad won’t yell at me.

  A shape washed up on the shore with the latest wave. Brandon looked down to see a wet, plastic disc. After a moment, he recognized it: the Frisbee that the guy with the dog threw into the ocean.

  He picked it up and stare
d at it. Some lettering from the company that made it was written in a circle on one side.

  I hate this place, Brandon decided. People get killed here, and Dad goes off and does things without me, and people look at me like it’s my fault that things are going wrong, and Dad gets angry for no reason, and Mom’s not here and I hate it!

  He flung the Frisbee into the ocean as hard as he could.

  The Frisbee flew into the night sky. Within seconds, Brandon couldn’t see it anymore. He had no idea if it landed in the water or kept going on and on forever until it reached somewhere better.

  Brandon wished someone would do that for him. He wished he really was Captain Marvel like he sometimes pretended. Captain Marvel could fly. Brandon wanted to be able to fly so he could go somewhere else. Like home. He wanted to go back to San Diego and be in a real school and not be Dad’s stupid assistant or intern or whatever anymore.

  Tears welled up in his eyes and he wiped them away. He was a big kid now, he wouldn’t cry.

  He turned and ran back to the hotel. He ran through the lobby, almost knocking over one of the bellhops. It took him a minute to fumble with the key before he got it open. He slammed the door shut behind him, put the camcorder down on the table between the laptops, and crawled into the bed near the window, not even bothering to put on his pajamas or wash up and brush his teeth or anything.

  Only then did he allow himself to start crying.

  He had no idea how much later it was that Dad came in. Brandon lay on his side so all Dad could see was his back. Brandon had been staring out the window at the beach and the night sky.

  “We can talk now if you want,” Dad said in a low voice.

  Forget it, Brandon thought. Let him think I’m asleep. I can ignore him, too.

  “Are you awake? Brandon?”

  Nobody here but us sleeping kids.

  After another minute, Brandon heard the door to the bathroom close. Then he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

  FOUR

  In all his various travels, Jack Ellway had noticed that restaurants that served breakfast looked different when they did so than when they did for lunch or dinner. He couldn’t really put his finger on what the difference was, but the morning meal suffused restaurants with a different atmosphere. Brighter, he thought, as he walked into Manny’s the following morning. Breakfast food’s brighter colored anyhow, so it makes sense.

  He had been hoping to find Brandon. Unusually, Jack was up after his son; a typical morning had Jack trying every form of coercion he could think of to get Brandon out from under the covers, so for Brandon to be not only be up but gone had Jack worried. Not for the boy’s safety; if he was worried about that, he wouldn’t have left Brandon alone all day yesterday. No, what concerned Jack was how Brandon was feeling about his father right about now.

  I can’t believe I snapped at him like that. After a moment’s thought: Of course you believe it, stupid. You’re always doing this, letting your feelings about work get in the way of things.

  Diane always used to be the one to drag him back to earth when he got all swallowed up in his work, whether that work involved migration patterns or kelp forests or trying to find out why people were dying despite the best efforts of obnoxious fishermen.

  He saw Alyson Hart sitting at the bar, a small plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of some kind of fruit juice in front of her. Well, at least I’ll get something out of this. Alyson was nothing like Diane, which encouraged Jack. If she was like Diane, he’d have been suspicious of any attraction for her, figuring it to be his subconscious trying to find a Diane substitute. But this was a more legitimate attraction. God knows what kind of social life an on-the-road marine biologist could possibly have, but it’s good to know that the social muscles still work.

  Alyson saw his approach and smiled at him, showing perfect white teeth.

  “ ’Morning,” she said.

  “Hi,” he said, sitting at the empty stool next to her. “Have you seen Brandon?”

  “No. Are you worried?”

  Jack sighed. He had tried to keep his tone neutral, but it obviously didn’t work if the doctor could read his concern so easily. “Not worried, just . . .” He hesitated. “I was kind of abrupt with him last night.” Understatement #942, he thought ruefully. “For him to be up and about so early this morning, he must be pretty pissed at me.”

  Before either of them could continue, the waitress—Tari, Jack remembered her name—appeared in front of them on the other side of the bar. “Breakfast?”

  “Just coffee, please.”

  Tari nodded and turned to the coffeemaker behind her.

  “It must be rough,” Alyson said after a moment, “raising a child on your own.”

  Trying to sound nonchalant, Jack said, “It’s only been a year. And we’ve been on the move the whole time. I figured it’d be the best thing for Brandon—keeping busy, new adventures, not having to dwell on . . .” Again, he hesitated. “You know, the bad stuff.” Christ, I sound like Brandon. What is it about this woman that ties my vocal cords up? Tari placed a cup full of coffee in front of Jack, then moved both the cream pitcher and sugar bowl close to him—unnecessary, as it happened, since Jack drank his coffee black, but he appreciated the gesture and smiled at Tari.

  Alyson took a sip of her juice before saying, slowly, “Best for Brandon, or best for you?”

  “What’re you talking about?” Jack asked, a trifle indignant.

  Again she hesitated before slowly replying. “Running away,” she started, then stopped.

  “Running away?” Jack parrotted, his indignance now more than a trifle.

  “Never mind,” Alyson said, looking down at her eggs in order to spear a forkful and shove it in her mouth.

  “I guess you’d know all about running away, huh?” Jack said.

  Alyson swallowed her eggs and fixed Jack with a steely gaze. “I would?”

  “Yeah, this place is crawling with expatriates. I bet your story’s a doozy.”

  The look Alyson gave him made Jack realize that he had screwed up royally for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.

  “I’m not an expatriate,” she said. “I grew up here. My father was the American liaison. After medical school, I came back home to run the clinic.”

  Not bad, he thought while sipping his coffee. I spent yesterday cheesing off the entire fishing community on the island, followed it up by alienating my son, and now I’ve offended the local doctor. At this rate, I’ll have the whole island out to lynch me by dawn tomorrow.

  Aloud, he simply said, “Okay, I’m a jerk—sue me.” He started to get up, leaving his coffee half-finished. He had a son to find, after all, and he had pretty much killed any chance of friendly relations with Alyson.

  Then the young woman put her hand on his arm. “We were both being presumptuous,” she said, her facial expression softer.

  He looked at her, and she smiled. God, that’s a gorgeous smile.

  “We’re even,” she said, “okay?”

  Jack returned the smile but did not sit back down. “Okay.” He took a final sip of the coffee, then placed a couple of dollars on the bar. “I’m gonna go look for Brandon.”

  “Good luck,” Alyson said.

  “Thanks.”

  As Jack approached the door, Hale walked in. “Jack, there you are. I’ve received satellite shots of the ocean floor. Thought you might like to take a look.”

  Jack blinked in surprise. “Uh, sure.” He vaguely remembered a conversation the previous night over the third (or was it fourth?) beer. They were sitting in Rik’s Bar and Grill, Hale still determined to continue their investigation. He had mentioned that his Institute had a satellite and he could get photos of the ocean floor.

  “I thought your Institute was in Melbourne,” Jack said as they walked toward Hale’s bungalow. “How the hell did they get the photos to you so fast?”

  Hale grinned. “What is it you yanks call it? The information superhighway? Magic of e-mail, mate�
��got ’em five minutes after they took ’em. Admittedly, the resolution’s not as good in a JPEG file as it is in a proper print, but we’ll have those by morning, and these’ll do for now.”

  “Great,” Jack said. I can always talk to Brandon later.

  According to Paul Bateman, the big rock between the main beach and the small beach on Malau was called “Elephant Rock.” Paul had told Brandon and Jack this over lunch, and also mentioned that it was a great place to gather up slow-moving sea life.

  That’s what brought Brandon to the rock that morning.

  Brandon saw a few mud crabs and mollusks. Perfect. He grabbed them and dropped them in the small bucket he’d picked up at one of the small stands on the outskirts of the beach.

  He spent the better part of the morning gathering up various invertebrate sea life until he felt he had enough. Then he headed back toward the jungle. Just gotta hope that the little guy’s still there.

  Mom had always said that the world was always brighter after a good night’s sleep. Once he got older, Brandon realized that she only said that to convince him to go to bed at eight o’clock, but today he saw that she was right. He woke up bright and early, determined to befriend the small creature he’d met the day before. Dad doesn’t want to take me along on things, he wants to yell at me—well, fine. Let him. I’ve got a new friend.

  Finding the lagoon again proved pretty easy—the jungle was small enough that Brandon was amazed it even had a lagoon, to be honest.

  He sat himself down on the wet bank at the edge of the lagoon and waited.

  After a few minutes, he shifted in the sand, wondering if his hunch was wrong.

  Just as he was about to give up and head back to the hotel, the water started to ripple. Muttering “Shazam,” with a smile, he watched as the salamander-thingie poked its head out of the water. It looked at Brandon with those big eyes, then climbed out of the water and stood on its hind legs again.

  This is so cool, Brandon thought. He was practically nose to nose with the little guy, and this time it didn’t run away—it just stared back at him.