Cut Off

by Robertson, Edward W.

  "I'd like that," she said, and then her throat closed too tightly to say more.

  They ran past the falls and the pools. On the beach, the cave was hidden by a wall of vines. She never would have noticed if not for the mess of tracks around it. Before the entrance, she went still, listening, nostrils flaring with the smell of shrimp and beached kelp.

  She withdrew and found herself in Alden's arms. She hugged him for a long moment, then pulled away. "Tell Papa Ohe'o, then go to the house and wait. If we're not back in two days, go to our beach, get in my canoe, and go to the Big Island. You swear?"

  He nodded. "Only because I know you'll be back."

  "You're god damn right."

  He sniffed and wiped his face, composing himself, then turned and ran down the beach. She looked to Ke. He nodded and swept the vines from the cave. Tristan drew her pistol and a gunmetal flashlight. She hadn't used it in months, but it clicked on, illuminating the cramped, humid tunnel. She stepped forward.

  Like the cave by the black sands, a dozen paces into the tunnel, the floor became coated with the orange matting. Tristan stopped at its edge, tasting the vomit rise in her gorge.

  "What is it?" Ke murmured.

  She swallowed, took a breath, and stepped forward. The spongy material grasped at her shoe. She advanced, picking up speed, the beam of the flashlight swaying side to side. Ke squished along beside her. The tunnel floor pitched upward, then curled around a bend in the hill. The tube was irregularly round, the dark walls striated in layers. Tendrils of a fibrous plant or fungus hung from the roof. She couldn't tell if it was earth-native or alien.

  They moved onward, the ground smooth beneath them. The orange showed no traces of footsteps. There were no openings in the tunnel walls. After ten minutes and perhaps a mile of climbing, the circle of light sparkled on something metal. Tristan knelt and picked up a tiny silver turtle, a twist of black thread clinging to its loop.

  "Robi's bracelet," Ke said. "Used to be our mom's."

  Tristan handed it over. "Think it fell off? Or did she leave it for us to find?"

  They continued up the constant slope. It wasn't growing any cooler and she sweated freely. The tunnel seemed to grow wider, darker, swallowing up the light.

  "Oh fuck," she whispered.

  Ke swept up his pistol. "What do you see?"

  "It's what I don't see. My flashlight's dying."

  "Got more batteries?"

  "I lost everything I had when they attacked Lahaina." Either it was her imagination, or the light was shrinking before her eyes. "Everything I've seen in Hana's been corroded."

  "I've got a lantern. But I doubt it's got fuel for more than a few hours."

  The tube stretched away in the darkness. "We have no idea how far this goes. If it's to the crater, it could be another ten miles."

  Ke spat something that wasn't English but was obviously a curse. "I'm sorry. Should have thought to bring more."

  "I didn't know it would die this fast. And I doubt you packed your ready-bag for spelunking." She swore through her teeth. "We don't have a choice. We go back for more light."

  They turned around and headed back at a fast jog. Within minutes, the flashlight barely lit their feet. It gave out just as the entrance glowed ahead. After their trek through the tunnels, the noise and light of the day felt overwhelming.

  "I've got another idea," Ke said, toweling himself off with his shirt. "I know someone. Lives upstream. Very serious survivalist by name of Sam."

  "Never met him."

  "Her. And like I said, she's very serious."

  "Spit it out."

  "Night vision. Almost positive she'll have it."

  Tristan bit her lip. "Will she part with it?"

  "Can't say." He jogged toward the trail, still squinting against the glare. "It would be a hell of a lot less conspicuous than a flashlight. Worst case, we barter batteries from her."

  "Your sister. Your call."

  Several emotions wrangled for possession of Ke's face. "If they mean to kill her right away, then it's already over. We can't catch up to them. If they want her for something else, then we can spare a few minutes to grab the advantage."

  They ran hard up the trail, panting. The shade of the trees felt good. Tristan drank on the move. Ke passed his house and continued through the jungle, diverting from the stream and locating a game trail. He stopped beneath the gnarled, reaching branches of a koa tree, reached into a hollow in its trunk, and withdrew a dingy metal whistle. He blew it and set it back. A moment later, a second whistle replied from deeper in the forest. Ke ran up the trail.

  "Neat security system," Tristan said.

  "It's more for our health than hers."

  Ahead, a woman emerged from the trees, middle-aged, Hawaiian, dark hair pulled behind her head. She wore camo and an assault rifle. Her eyes leapt straight to Tristan. "Who's she?"

  "Robi's been taken by aliens," Ke said. "This is Tristan, and she's going to help me get her back."

  None of this appeared to ruffle the woman. "Talk."

  "We need night vision. Two of them."

  "What kind of light you operating in?"

  "None."

  "None as in the dead of night? Or none like none?"

  "Pitch black. The hermits are using lava tubes to get around and they haven't bothered to install lights. Is that a problem?"

  Sam shrugged mildly. "Not for my good stuff. But it's my good stuff. Why would I let it go?"

  Tristan leaned forward. "Because we're using it to kill aliens."

  "And I want you to rile them up?"

  "If they're coming down and snatching humans, I'd say they're already riled. We'll bring back your gear. If we don't, you'll know it's because we're dead. Seems like that would be useful intelligence about their forces. Kind of thing that might let you know it's time to move."

  "Don't imagine they'd be able to find me here."

  "No?" Tristan said. "Do you know they're using dogs now?"

  "You're serious?" Sam eyed her, then grunted. "That one I didn't know."

  "Cameras on the collars. Careful of strays."

  "You've earned my attention. Still haven't heard an offer."

  "This is my sister," Ke said.

  "Irreplaceable," Sam nodded. "Just like my gear."

  "Human gear's nice," Tristan said. "But how about the alien kind?"

  A smile diffused across the woman's face. "You bring me back whatever you find?"

  "With the understanding the objective isn't loot. It's Robi."

  "Wait here." Sam turned and ran into the undergrowth.

  Ke waited until the threshing of brush faded. "That was good."

  Tristan nodded and glanced at the sky. It had only been fifteen or twenty minutes since they'd left the tunnels. Sam jogged back with two sets of what looked like futuristic binoculars.

  "Here's the go button," she said, tapping one pair. "These are the good shit. Operate in full darkness, nearly zero blooming, and you won't go blind if someone flicks on a light in your vicinity."

  Tristan gave hers a quick look. "How long do they last?"

  "Two thousand hours? Four? Long enough that the only way it's a worry for you is if one of them asks for your hand in marriage." She delivered this with no particular meanness, then unzipped a black bag and removed two black pistol-grip shotguns with a second grip attached to the pump. "If you're in tunnels, you can't do better than these."

  "For reals?" Ke said.

  "Seems like the best way to ensure my NVGs make it back to me." She got a box from the bag and tapped two pairs of orange, bullet-shaped objects into her palm. "Just in case you're fans of your hearing."

  Tristan split the earplugs with Ke. "You'll be repaid in full."

  The woman simply nodded. Ke thanked her, then they ran back toward the beach, using the travel time to work out a quick series of hand gestures. They hit the sand and went quiet, stalking to the vine-curtained entrance. It was as vacant as before. Inside, they strapped their goggles o
n and flipped the switch. The tunnel lit up with green.

  "This is like being in a documentary about lions," Tristan said. She extended her arm and waved her hand back and forth. The motion was clear and crisp, but the goggles put a sense of distance between her and the action, as if she were watching a landscape pass from inside a car.

  They fitted their earplugs and Ke trotted down the tunnel. She caught up, sticking by his side. The goggles made her face feel top-heavy, but allowed her to see far deeper into the tube than the flashlight had penetrated. At straightaways, they jogged forward, slowing when the tube turned sharply enough to cut down their line of sight. At one such spot, the tunnel squeezed tighter, curling to the right. Ke slipped ahead.

  White light flashed in the green; a gigantic bang pounded down the tunnel. Ke fired a second time. The air hazed thickly, more than seemed possible; the stink of burnt powder crowded her nostrils.

  Ke advanced, pumping the slide, the spent shell tocking against the wall. Tristan moved in behind him. An alien lay on the rubbery floor, its carapace collapsed, goo everywhere. It stunk like half-digested fish. The creature's tentacles curled and uncurled, claws yawning dumbly. It was all in shades of green and Tristan lifted her goggles to see it with no filter, only to snap into the utter darkness of the cave. She blinked and reset the goggles to her eyes.

  "Frying shit," Ke said, muffled. She pulled out an earplug. He circled the body. "Is it dead?"

  Tristan drew the long knife from her belt, dropped, and plunged the blade into the alien's eye socket until she felt it click against the back of its skull. The body jerked and went still. "It's pretty fucking dead."

  She withdrew the knife with a slurp. The smell of the spent shells was replaced by the pickled, sour scent of the creature's guts. It wore a sort of bandolier or vest and Tristan checked each pouch, extracting a blunt-barreled pistol and stuffing it in her pack. It also carried a number of small silver discs thicker and heavier than a quarter, like the one they'd seen on the dog's collar, as well as a plastic container of dried, pungent material that resembled giant fish flakes, minus the food coloring. Last was a pad that appeared blank. She left all of the non-gun things alone, wiped her knife on one of the pouches, and stood.

  "Need to stay on the move. Faster than ever."

  Ke frowned. "I thought they can't hear."

  "They can't. But they can certainly trip over their dead friend's sludge."

  Ke circled around the body and continued up the tube. It climbed gently but steadily. Over time, the carpet of orange widened, coming nearer and nearer to where the walls curved into the floor. Tristan thought the temperature might have dropped a couple degrees as the elevation had risen, but it was still warm and tight and she began to wonder if they would have enough water.

  It was some three miles into the tubes before they hit their first fork. As they approached, Ke slowed, stopping before the Y-shaped branch. Both routes led upward. Both were matted with the orange flooring. Tristan moved from one to the other, trying to detect a breeze, but felt nothing.

  Ke wiped his brow, grimacing down one of the forks. "Don't even suggest we split up."

  Tristan swigged from her water, allowing herself a single mouthful. "While we're at it, why don't we desecrate their ancient alien burial ground, too? Let's take a break and think a minute."

  They sat down, the matter coating the rocks giving under their weight. Ke had no sooner sat down than he got back up and headed down the right fork. He crouched and picked something up. "This is like a fucked up Hansel and Gretel."

  In his palm, he held a tiny silver flower.

  They rested a few minutes, then stood and trotted into the right branch of the tubes. Tristan's breathing was steady enough, but her sides were beginning to ache. At least she'd trained herself to run in the sand and her calves were more than used to the sponginess beneath them.

  Half a mile later, the tunnel forked again. They headed down the right branch, keeping close watch on the floor. After a hundred yards of nothing, they backtracked to the left and soon found a metal gecko charm resting on the orange. Past it, the tube inclined sharply, spiraling up into a ramp. Thirty feet up, the ramp leveled out and Tristan found herself before a pebbled, fleshy door.

  It appeared seamless with the rock, but she knew better. She ran her fingertips near its edges until the skin of the orange shrank beneath her touch, revealing the gap between the door and its "frame." But as she pressed deeper, the matter pressed back. Her fingers got stuck halfway to the second knuckle; she tried to withdraw, but the orange clamped tight.

  Panic geysered up her chest. She made herself breathe, relaxing her fingers. After a moment, the orange relaxed, too. She got out her knife and gave it a poke. The door wept a few drops of fluid, then sealed its cut.

  "What's up?" Ke said. "Wait for one of them to come out, then bull rush it?"

  Tristan leaned her shotgun against the wall and got the laser pistol from her pack. The man at the camp in the desert had used one so she knew it didn't require alien fingerprints or the like to activate. She aimed it at the rocky wall and thumbed one of the buttons at the side of the grip. Nothing. She tried the one on the other side: more nothing. With no other obvious options, she tried them together.

  A pure white bolt flashed between her and the wall, so bright the night vision struggled to adjust. She shouted and twitched. The beam seared across the wall. Ke threw himself flat. The beam shut itself off. Vapor hung in the air, blocking her goggles. It smelled hot and dusty.

  "Quit gawking and get ready," she said.

  "You almost cut me in half!"

  "Since when would your head count as half? Cover me."

  He shook his head and grinned. She leveled the laser at the door, meaning to sizzle her way straight through, but the moment the beam touched the orange, the door sucked back from its frame, swinging open on its own weight.

  Sunlight spilled over her. She pushed her goggles up her forehead and gazed on the prettiest garden she'd ever seen.

  22

  Ness' stomach shrank on itself. "Seen a lot of typhoons, have you?"

  "A few," Sprite said. "Never from sea, though."

  "Get the sails down. Get everything down. Then help me figure out how we're not going to die, because those clouds look like the Four Horsemen finally realized the end's been nigh for years now."

  He ran from the cabin and found Sebastian in the prow staring into the black wall of clouds. Jarred from his alien reverie, Sebastian climbed the front mast, furling the sails and tying them tightly away. Ness made sure the hatches on the deck were latched, then headed belowdecks. They had stowed most of their goods in reasonably fast positions, but their cargo hadn't been tested by anything near as raging as the waters ahead. He moved about the stowage, checking lids and clasps, tying things to handles and each other, clicking panels shut. The space was low and cramped and he could hear Sprite and Sebastian thumping around above him. The boat rolled with increasing amplitude. Ness tumbled into a wall, stuck there by the angle of the yacht's list, then worked his way to the stairs and pulled himself up top.

  In the minutes he'd been below, the skies had gone gray. The waves ahead were high and crested with white. Rain spattered the windshield.

  "I don't know shit about any of this," he said, "but I'm pretty sure we want to be pointed into the waves. If we're sideways to them, we'll get rolled over."

  "I'm trying," Sprite scowled from the wheel. "A lot harder to move with the sails down."

  "Use the engine if you need to. No use saving gas now, is there? Not unless Davy Jones' locker has drive-thrus."

  Sprite nodded and returned to the controls. Ness could hardly hear the engine come on over the rain and the waves, but he could feel the vibration beneath his feet. Sprite pointed their nose straight into the shifting horizon of the swells. The boat quit rolling and instead pitched front to back, cleaving through the surging gray waves.

  The rain thickened until the individual drops merged into
solid planes washing down the deck and windscreen. Wind tore through the masts, yanking at the rolled sails. The waves loomed higher and higher, the engine straining as they climbed each one, seeming to exhale in relief as they surged down the swell's back side.

  "This is fucking crazy!" Sprite shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Ness held fast to the metal handles on the wall, trying not to picture how small they must be in comparison to the storm. "How are we doing?"

  "I want to go back to Macau!"

  "At this rate, we'll be swept there in a few minutes." He was about to say more, but they slid down the back of the largest wave yet and he was preoccupied with re-swallowing his breakfast.

  The storm plateaued for some time, whaling on the yacht without doing any obvious damage to anything besides Ness' nerves, which were ready to pop like guitar strings keyed too tight.

  "Should I ease down the throttle?" Sprite said.

  "Keep doing whatever you're doing," Ness said. "Anyway, the faster we get through this, the better, right?"

  "Your planet storms nicely," Sebastian signed.

  "Is that something your people value?"

  "Some. Don't yours?"

  "Some," Ness gestured. "Preferably when it's happening to someone else."

  Sebastian clicked his claws together rapidly. "This is same for all excitements. But if you experience them and still exist you would not trade them for anything."

  The rain and wind clobbered the yacht. Just as Ness was beginning to think it might be slowing, the tarp they'd used to patch up the window broken in the gunfight gave way, flapping madly. Rain and spray burst into the cabin, slicking the floor. Sebastian clawed forward to wrestle the tarp back into place. They banged down a wave and crashed into the next, a wall of water bursting across the deck and gushing against the cabin. Sebastian fell, clinging to the metal handholds. Cool water foamed across the floor. It drained through the back entry and the slots at the base of the walls, but it was replaced every time they struck the larger waves.

  When the ship tipped back, he saw the blackness of the sky; when it tumbled forward, he saw nothing but the water rushing up to swallow them. A hatch tore open on the deck and orange lifejackets spun into the air. The fridge door clunked open. Pineapples and breadfruit rolled across the cabin floor. Holding to the handle set in the wall, Ness crouched down, trying to snatch up what he could. Once they hit the bottom of the wave, he scrambled to toss what he'd caught back into the fridge, then slammed the door tight. He was almost back to his handhold when the next wave struck.