Cut Off

by Robertson, Edward W.

  To his dismay, a vast mat of flies had appeared overnight, swarming the sand by the tens of thousand. With each step he took, they buzzed into a sickening black cloud, bumping moronically into his legs. Fearing they'd get snarled in the black hair on his shins, he moved down to the damp sand of the tideline.

  There were far fewer flies, but squiggly black lines marked the sand, as if someone had been trailing a stick along behind them. He bent closer to the lines, saw tiny black legs and antennae not so different from the hairs on his legs. These, too, were flies, having hatched, mated, and died in a matter of days, casting the waste of their existence on the beach to be washed out by the sea, which didn't give two shits about them, and carried away to the crabs and the fish, who would turn them into actual shit. Pretty arrogant to think humanity or the Swimmers were up to anything more important than these swarms. And as for the Way...well, any fool could see life was nothing more than mobile piles of atoms that would sooner or later be consumed, rearranged, and incorporated into other piles of atoms. It was as simple and unsatisfying as that.

  A gunshot crackled across the morning. Ness turned. Far away at the house, a thin rope of smoke uncoiled into the sky. At first he thought it was the house itself, but his binoculars showed it had been set in the grass fifty feet from the home. There, a nearly naked brown-skinned man stood apart from three fully naked brown-skinned men.

  Ness lowered his binoculars and ran.

  The three figures drew nearer, then stopped abruptly. The sound of a second shot reached Ness' ears. He dipped down a long dune and the house disappeared behind sand and trees. When he climbed up the next swell of sand, the yard was vacant, the small fire burning untended, white smoke tumbling into the wind.

  He slowed to a walk, pistol in hand. The back door cracked open. Sprite ran into the yard, clenching a rifle.

  "Holy shit!" he said. "Some of the guys from the prison camp were just here. They acted like they were asking for food, but when I went to get it, they pulled knives on me. If I hadn't found a gun the other day, I could have been killed!"

  Ness scanned the grounds, stuck on the fact the men had scrounged up knives, but couldn't be bothered to find any pants. Then again, he was one to talk. He was still in his jockey shorts.

  "Anyone hurt?"

  "Nothing except their motherfucking pride!" Sprite whipped his head to the side. "Woo!"

  "You act like you never shot at a man before."

  "I haven't. I just popped my shooting-at-people cherry!"

  "Not even in the general direction of a person? How can you possibly have survived this long without shooting at someone?"

  Sprite shrugged. "Macau was pretty peaceful. Not in the beginning, of course, but I kept my head down. Didn't leave my apartment for two months straight. By the time the invasion showed up, new management had already taken over the Galaxy." He chuckled. "Casinos do not tolerate disruptions to the gaming environment."

  "Sounds like I should have moved to Macau." He put away his laser. "Any sign of Sebastian? We ought to pack up."

  "When did we decide we were moving?"

  Ness frowned. "When the armed men showed up and demanded our house."

  "We're going to just give it up? It's our home!"

  "They know exactly where it is now. Meanwhile, it's a dump and it's too far from the river. Let it be their dump that's too far from the river."

  "You know what, you're right. Screw this place!" Sprite braced the rifle against his hip and fired three rounds into the side of the house. Ness clapped his palms to his ears. Sprite turned to him, laughing. "Have you ever shot a house? This is awesome!"

  "Will you knock that off?" Ness yelled. Sprite fired once more, knocking out a window, then pantomimed spraying down the whole house Rambo-style, making k-k-k machine gun noises with his mouth. Ness heard himself laughing. "Save your ammo for the faceless hordes of minions. Let's go find a new home."

  They lugged their food, water, and bedding downstairs and piled it inside the front door, then made a quick sweep for any usable soap, shoes, medicine, clothes, and simple tools, collecting them in white plastic buckets they found in a closet of cleaning supplies. There wasn't much of immediate use or interest, however, and as they took it outside, Ness glimpsed Sebastian trudging down the causeway through the marsh, straining against the harness of the cart. Ness walked over to intercept him and explain what had happened. Sebastian nodded and helped load their stuff into the cart.

  Like that, they were on their way, rolling southeast across a dirt path that had almost but not quite been entirely reclaimed by the rains and grass. Burdened as he was, Sebastian couldn't manage more than a trudge, and Sprite and Ness helped push the cart from behind. The path reached a paved (if heavily cracked and occasionally washed out) gray road and the going got much easier.

  After a mile of easterly travel, this intersected a wider strip of black asphalt that looked like it had been put down shortly before the plague. Before Ness could start the debate about which way to go, Sebastian swung the cart south across a flat bridge spanning a two hundred-foot river. As they crossed it, a cool breeze swept past them, smelling of freshwater and mud. Once they reached the other side, Sebastian turned west down a country road and led them to a farmhouse with a green roof. It was concealed on all sides by a mass of palms, bamboo, and sprawling-branched acacias.

  Ness gave it a once-over. "Did you have this place scouted out?"

  "I was idle. I became not-idle."

  There was some mold growing inside and it was in dire need of a sweep, but it was hidden well, and wild farms ran between it and the coast a half mile to the west. They brought their things inside and spent the remainder of the day cleaning up spots to sit down on, cook, and sleep. Finished, Ness ambled down to the river and had his first good wash since landing on the island. Below the surface, the water was coldly refreshing. He got out to dry off and found Sebastian waiting on the banks.

  "I gave time," Sebastian gestured. "Now we talk."

  "What's there to talk about? We're still screwed."

  "Yes and there is the lab."

  Ness grabbed his towel and rubbed his hair. "Lab? Like a medical lab?"

  "Yes Swimmers' medical lab."

  "Like a hospital? My god, the Swimmers want to treat each other's health problems? We've got to put a stop to that!"

  "Not a hospital," Sebastian replied, undeterred. "Lab. And not for Swimmers—for humans."

  A prickle rolled up Ness' back. "Okay, now you're starting to scare me. What's it for?"

  "It is not said."

  "Sebastian, how do you know about this? The sub got demolished."

  He produced his pad from one of the pouches of his strappy clothes. "I keep files from the standard towers. They speak of the lab and where it is. It is far but not as far as could be."

  He wriggled his tentacle, calling up a map. Ness rubbed his chin, peering at the island chain on the small screen. "Hawaii," he signed, spelling it out, then inventing a new gesture for it on the spot. "That's got to be three or four thousand miles from here."

  "Five thousand and three hundred miles. And we must make them zero."

  "I got some bad news. I don't know how to fly, and not even you can swim that far."

  Sebastian wagged his head. "We use the boat."

  "More bad news—it's in a million pieces at the bottom of the ocean."

  "The new boat. The boat we will find here."

  "I don't know how to sail any more than I know how to fly."

  Again, Sebastian shook his head. "You make the fuel from the plants and we feed it to the engine."

  Ness sighed through his nose. "Buddy, it's not that simple. By now, all the boats are old and busted. I don't know how to fix them. Do you?"

  "Yes."

  "Sebastian, you're not getting me. I asked if you know how to fix boats."

  "Yes I know how to fix boats."

  "Human boats?"

  Sebastian bobbed his bulbous head up and down. "Yours an
d ours have similars. I think of the future, I see the sub growing old. I practice to fix it with what is here."

  Ness had gotten so wrapped up in the discussion he'd quit toweling off. The cool river breeze on his wet skin made him shiver. "Even if you can get us a boat, and I can get the fuel, who says we need to do this? I don't see what a medical lab in Hawaii has to do with an Asian trade network—which, by the way, we still don't understand. Why do we care about this?"

  "Because," Sebastian said. "When the Swimmers study your bodies, it is not to learn to heal you. It is to learn to kill you."

  17

  In the confines of the lava tube, breath rasping on the walls, Tristan lowered herself to the ground. Fighting to keep her flashlight beam as steady as possible, she picked up a jagged hunk of basalt.

  She clicked off the light.

  Her eyes widened involuntarily. She closed them, straining her ears until she heard a high-pitched hum that almost certainly didn't exist outside her head. Further down the tunnel, rocks clacked softly. If the presence were one of the invaders, they were now at a standoff. If it moved, she would hear it; if she moved, it would sense her. She supposed she could turn and make a dash for it. Her guns were back with the others, a short sprint from the cave. The problem—and it was unsolvable—was that she couldn't guess if the alien was armed or how it would react to sudden motion. In her limited encounters with them, they had been aggressive, less fearful than your average human. The prey drive of a spider. If she took off running, she felt like it might charge after her.

  She held still, the abrupt edges of the rock biting into her fingers. Distantly, the ocean whispered on the shore, out of sight beyond the bend of the cave. Seconds became a minute. Fear fluttered in her chest, followed by anger. She clenched her jaw. As slowly as the rising moon, she swiveled her head toward the cave entrance.

  "Ke!" she called. Her first try was faint—it was hard to raise her voice even knowing that, if there were an alien in the cave, it couldn't hear her—but she steeled herself. "Ke!"

  She stopped to listen. The silence and stillness was so total she imagined she would be able to feel any movement herself.

  Outside, so softly she could hardly hear it, Ke called her name. Without moving, she tried again. "Ke! I'm in the cave!"

  "Where are you?" His voice abruptly grew in volume. "Tristan? Can you hear me?"

  "I'm in the cave." Rocks stirred from outside. "Do not come in!"

  "Are you hurt? Tristan, whatever's happened, I can handle it, okay?"

  "Stop. Right now. And go get the guns."

  He was silent a moment. "Tristan?"

  "The guns, Ke."

  His tone shifted from worry to resolve. "Got it."

  Rocks stirred beyond the entrance, fading. Tristan focused on her left ear, which was pointed into the tunnel. Having called to Ke, she felt a pang of self-consciousness; it could well be a cat or a possum in the cave with her. Even if it were an alien, it might have been able to withdraw down the spongy orange carpet in silence.

  But the proof of the possibility was right there in the orange.

  "Got 'em," Ke said from the tunnel mouth. "Should I bring them in?"

  "Cover the cave entrance. Tell me when you're in position."

  Stones shifted around. When he spoke next, he was nearly shouting, but he sounded no louder. "What's going on?"

  "I'm coming out fast," she said. "And something might come out after me."

  She counted down from five. At zero, she clicked on her penlight, pointing it down the cave to blind anything there, then swung it around to light her path across the loose rocks. She turned the corner and shielded her eyes against the blinding sunlight. Ke was to her right, hunched behind a shrub at the edge of the rocks, rifle aimed at the cave.

  She sprinted to him. A pistol lay beside him and she snatched it up and spun to cover the entrance. "Alien in there. I think. Where are Alden and Robi?"

  "Waiting at the bottom of the trail. What do you mean, 'you think'?"

  "The cave leads into a lava tube. There's alien matter on the floor. I heard something inside with me."

  "But you didn't see it."

  She gave him a quick glance. "If I had, I doubt I'd be here."

  They lapsed into silence, watching the entry. There was little wind. The waves rustled on the black sand. Eventually, Tristan stood, keeping the pistol pointed toward the cave. "Time to get the kids and head out. Ready?"

  Ke stood, lowering his rifle. "We just got here."

  "And discovered it's full of aliens. Go take a look inside and then tell me you want to stay."

  He licked his lips. "Forget it. If they want this beach that bad, they can have it."

  She held position while he ran toward the trail, then he stopped to cover her with the rifle while she retreated. Alden and Robi were crouched at the base of the slope, shoulders touching, guns in hand. Tristan explained what she'd seen and they headed swiftly up the trail to the shaded park overlooking the coast. Without further discussion, they got on the road and biked south.

  After passing three mile markers, they stopped to figure out where to go next. Nightfall was hours away, but none of them felt up to covering the rest of the distance that day. They found a house off the road and stopped there to rest, eat, and nap, then made a few more miles toward home, stopping for the night at a flower shop/nursery that had been overwhelmed by its own orange, purple, red, and white blooms. They didn't speak much; Ke decided, correctly, to make no overtures that night. They got home in the middle of the following morning. Robi and Ke said goodbye, then headed down the road to their house.

  As soon as Tristan got inside and swung her pack to the floor, she raised her eyebrows at Alden. "Time to find a boat."

  "Isn't now the worst possible time to be out on the water?"

  She shook her head slowly. "It was a mistake to come here."

  His face darkened. "You want to leave Hana. Leave Maui."

  "I don't want to. They've taken that choice away from us."

  "But you didn't even see it, did you?"

  "I saw the orange. Just like when we were captured."

  He looked down. "We already knew there were aliens here. Now we may or may not have seen one on a beach twenty miles from here that we never have to go to again."

  She bit her cheek to prevent herself from raising her voice. "It's not the alien that's the problem. It's what it represents. Why would you willingly live in the shadow of that threat?"

  Alden raised his eyes to the sky, then to Haleakala, then, at last, to her. "I'm not going anywhere without Robi."

  It was a moment she should have seen coming. The fight she couldn't win. Yet the swiftness of its arrival left her dizzy.

  "I'll speak to her," she said. "Tomorrow."

  She spent the rest of the day wandering around the shore, particularly at camp sites, resorts, and villages. All of these were few and far between, however, and she found nothing more seaworthy than a narrow outrigger that would fit the four of them but would only have cargo space for a bare handful of essentials. She took it anyway, paddling up the shore to the beach by their house and dragging it up the sand to hide it in the tall grass. She stared down at it, catching her breath. It could get them to the Big Island, probably, but it didn't inspire confidence.

  Even so, she had to move forward before the others got too complacent. Before the events of the black beach faded into harmless memory. In the morning, she left the house while Alden was still rustling around in his blankets. It was neither warm nor cold and the sunlight seemed to drip from the branches. She hiked to the stream and then through the jungle to Ke's house. He sat on the front porch with a cup of pineapple juice in his hand.

  "I never knew what would motivate a person to be up before the sun could be bothered," he said. "Should have guessed the answer would be 'aliens.'"

  Tristan laughed wryly. "Is Robi up?"

  "Every day." He swung his cup in a circle. "She's around back. Doing her thing."
>
  She nodded and headed around the deck to the stairs to the back yard. This featured a large number of fruit trees; disorganized but plentiful crops; a tarp-protected work station cluttered with saws, chisels, squares, and stacks and scraps of raw bamboo and wood repurposed from furniture and homes; a system of tarps, flues, and trash bins to collect rain water; and an automobile graveyard of cars propped up by pieces of other cars (doors, fenders, etc.), bits of their engines torn out and strewn about, rusting in the shadows.

  Within this stationary chaos, it took Tristan a moment to spot Robi at the back of it all, standing before an easel in a small clearing, painting. She glanced up briefly, smiling. "Hi, Tristan."

  "I didn't know you painted."

  "After, I was just so bored. Three years ago, I was wandering around houses and found a little studio. Been at it ever since."

  Tristan moved around for a look. She half expected to find a portrait of Alden, but Robi was recreating the sunrise they were now watching, the pink-blue skies behind the dark leaves. "What will you do when you run out of paint?"

  Robi shrugged a lithe shoulder. "Go into town for more? Learn to make my own? Find something else to do? I'll worry when it happens."

  "I suppose it's just paint." She watched as Robi continued to dab at the canvas, smearing pink around its upper third. "What do you think about what happened the other day?"

  "I'll tell you what I know. Hell if I'm going back to that beach. It's too far anyway."

  "I've been talking to Alden. I think we should move."

  Robi lowered the ice cube tray she was using for a palette and cocked her head. "Why would we do that?"

  "Because we're not safe here."

  "Where would we be safe?"

  "I think we should try the Big Island," Tristan said. "But I wanted to talk to you about it. See if you had a better idea."

  Robi turned back to her canvas. "Stay here."

  "Robi, if we stay here—"