The Pouakai

by Sperry, David;

  3.10pm

  I dashed up the beach and leaned against a palm tree, out of breath. I still held the crash axe in my good hand. My left shoulder throbbed, and that arm dangled uselessly at my side. My right foot bled through rips in my shoe. Maybe I was in shock, but I didn’t feel any pain from my foot. My shoulder however, pulsed in time with my racing heart.

  My passengers and crew had made it up to the trees, and collapsed onto the ground at the top of the beach. I found Brett and Jeff among them, tending to a passenger who bled from her head and arms.

  “You okay?” Brett asked as I limped up to him.

  “I’ll live. You guys?”

  Both Brett and Jeff nodded, and then went back to helping the passengers on the ground. Another passenger walked up to me, and without saying a word, hugged me. More pain tore through my shoulder. I glanced at the passenger and felt a shock of recognition.

  “Colin!”

  “Yep, still here,” croaked Colin Benoit, my friend, college roommate, and neighbor from Honolulu. We’d said hello during boarding, but I’d forgotten he was on the flight once the Rocs attacked.

  “Thanks,” he added.

  I grinned at him through the stars of pain from my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Anna would have had my head if I let anything happen to you.”

  “Same here, Boonie. Thanks for getting us down in one piece.”

  “Sorry about the detour. Maybe you’ll get a chance to study the Rocs here, instead of at Cairns.” Colin and his associate from the University of Hawaii, Alan Gee, had been heading down under to study the recent influx of Rocs into Cairns, Australia, farther south then they’d been seen before.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “One of the islands of Tuvalu. I don’t know the name, though.” We both stared at the lagoon, and the battered carcass of my plane, sitting on the sand like a beached whale of technology, very much out of place.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” he asked.

  I paused for a moment. I had been so preoccupied with getting us down safely, that I hadn’t thought about how to get off. “We’re working on that,” I lied, and walked over to Jeff and Brett again.

  Brett looked up and smiled. “Nice job getting us down, skipper,” he said, tilting his head toward the plane.

  “Thanks. And thanks for your help. Both of you.”

  They nodded.

  “Now what?” Brett asked.

  I shrugged my good shoulder. “I don’t know. But the Rocs will be here soon. We have to find some shelter.”

  Brett’s face paled. To him the Rocs were a menace at 35,000 feet, not something to be faced in person, at sea level. He had one of our Emergency Locater Transmitters on a strap over his shoulder. The red light indicated it still worked, transmitting a signal to search and rescue satellites in orbit overhead. At least the outside world would know we were down and possibly safe for now. Whether they would do anything about it was another story.

  “We’ll find a way off of here, I’m sure,” I said.

  Brett nodded, but had a sad look on his face.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll see your little girl again.”

  A small tear formed in the corner of his eye, and he gave me a weak grin before turning away. I had no idea how, but we had to find some way to get us off the island.

  Above the whisper of wind in the trees, a ragged whistle grew quickly into a steady roar, and everyone instinctively looked up. Our remaining escort fighter flew overhead and waggled its wings. Some of us waved back. Then his afterburners lit up and he made a hard turn to the right. Rapid puffs of smoke came out of the gun port on the side of the plane. Above the roar of the engines came a sound like a piece of heavy canvas being ripped apart, the pilot firing his guns at something; probably something close.

  “Rocs!” I shouted. “Find some shelter, quick!”

  Everyone hauled themselves onto their feet, and we made a dash deeper into the grove of palm trees. I didn’t know which way the village sat from our location, but it couldn’t be too far. We ran in a surge away from the lagoon, some people limping, others in a full-tilt dash.

  “Hold it! Hold it!” I shouted. I didn’t want everyone scattering in an uncoordinated sprint. “Everyone keep your eyes open for some kind of shelter, anything to protect us from the Rocs!” A few heads had turned toward me and nodded, but most were in panic mode, running through the grove.

  Our fighter roared by in a tight turn. I froze as several black triangles flew overhead, diving toward the center of the island.

  The roar of our fighter intensified as it banked hard toward us. “Cover now! Everyone!” I shouted. A flock of Rocs speared past the treetops, and a moment later we heard a huge thump. The fighter appeared overhead, trailing smoke and fire. It rolled furiously, and arced straight for the lagoon. It exploded as it hit the water a few hundred yards behind our stricken plane, sending shards of burning metal in all directions. At the impact site an oily ball of fire and smoke rolled skyward.

  Over the far end of the lagoon a thick black cloud of Rocs dove toward us, just a few minutes away.

  7.55pm

  The Rocs played in the shallows of the reef, a dozen yards offshore. The splashing droplets of water shimmered in the moonlight like a million diamonds, briefly living out their lives above the ocean. The Rocs floated and bobbed, as if they didn’t care we were there. What stopped them from attacking? My heart pounded and cold fear ran through my veins. Yet I trusted the Chief to keep me safe somehow. After all, he had been living with the Rocs for years.

  How had he done that? A swarm of other questions circled in my mind too. All I could do though, was watch the Rocs splash in the waves; a lethal terror momentarily held at bay.

  The black shapes moved around the reef, occasionally flapping their wings and briefly flying, and then landing back in the water. One of the biggest Rocs swam near the shore. It appeared different from the others, with a row of bulges down its normally smooth back. The creature swam to the edge of the beach just to my left, and rested its long spike on the sand, the remainder of its body barely in the water. It started a rhythmic pulsing motion, which grew in intensity to what I’d call convulsions. My horror grew as one of the bulges on its back popped open with a small spray of goo and out burst a tiny Roc, no more than eight inches long. The baby Roc flopped around on its parent’s back for a moment, before it splashed into the sea. It wriggled through the water, and onto the sand in front of me. I felt another rush of fear and started to stand up, when the tiny thing started digging into the sand just a couple of feet from the water. It buried itself, leaving behind a small divot at the edge of the beach.

  Another pop sounded from the parent, and then another. Soon, a total of five baby Rocs had come out and flopped their way onto the beach. Frightening and fascinating at the same time, I didn’t know what to make of it. The parent Roc slid back into the water and disappeared below the surface. I watched, but it didn’t come up again. Had is simply swum away, or had it died reproducing? I hoped for the latter.

  A light touch on my shoulder startled me, and I stifled a scream. The Chief had stood and walked up to me without a sound. He motioned for me to stand. I did so on unsteady feet, shaking with adrenaline. We walked up the steep beach, and retraced our path toward the shelter. Along the way, we passed two locals standing in the front yard of a house. They nodded silently to us as we passed.

  After the quiet of the beach, even the muted conversation in the shelter sounded like a full-blown riot. When I could finally talk again, I said, “That was unbelievable! They didn’t attack! They didn’t even notice us! Why are they different here than any place else?”

  “I do not think these are different from any others,” the Chief replied. “We have just come to know each other. We have learned about them. Maybe they have learned about us.”

  “That’s it? Why haven’t we been able to do that anywhere else?”

  “When anyone in your world sees a Pouakai,
how do they respond?” the Chief asked quietly.

  “Nowadays? Scream. Yell. Run away. Call the military.”

  “Exactly. Noise. Lots of noise and rapid movement. Either it’s people screaming, or its ships, planes, missiles and bombs, making more noise than a hundred people could.”

  “Right,” I said, sarcastically. “We just have to shut up, and they’ll leave us alone?”

  “In essence, yes,” the Chief replied, keeping his voice calm. “There is more to it, but that is the heart of living with them.”

  “So they just showed up one day, and you didn’t do anything more than sit on the beach, be quiet, and let them set up house-keeping in your ocean?”

  “It was not that easy,” the Chief said. “Half my people died learning what we should do, and how we should do it, in the first weeks after the Pouakai came. In the end, we all learned; we and the Pouakai. We had to. There was no choice.” The Chief looked around at our group. Most were sleeping after the frightening ordeal they had been through. “It is time to sleep. We will talk more in morning.”

  He slipped out the door before I could think of more questions for him. So much rolled through my mind that I couldn’t keep it straight. In one day I had survived a plane crash, and several close encounters with the Rocs, or Pouakai, or whatever the hell they were called. What would come tomorrow? I couldn’t even imagine. I felt utterly exhausted and lay down on the mat in my corner of the shelter. Before I could think of any more questions for the Chief, I fell asleep.

  3.15pm

  We fled from the beach into a grove of coconut trees. A moment later I saw several small concrete block homes, not more than a hundred yards from us. They were off to our right, away from where my people were running. I had overshot the village on my landing, but not by much.

  “Over here!” I shouted, and waved my arms to get everyone’s attention. Most of the people saw me, and I tried pointing toward the houses. They got the gist of it, and started running toward me. More yelling followed as people tried to get the others already farther away to turn around.

  “This way! This way!” I heard several people shouting.

  Fifty yards from the nearest house and at a dead run, I heard a quiet ‘whoosh’ overhead. A black triangle dove through the trees to my left, and with a meaty thunk, speared into the back of one of my passengers. He let out a terrified scream and blood foamed out of his mouth as he and the Roc tumbled to the ground, a thrashing mass of glossy black skin and spraying blood, the Roc’s spike impaled through his chest. More people screamed and a few ran away from the man. Some turned away from the houses.

  “No, no!” I shouted at them. “Get to shelter! Into the houses! Go!”

  Most people dashed as fast as they could toward the houses, yelling and screaming. Sand covered the ground between the palm trees, with a few green vines and dried coconut husks there too. It wasn’t the easiest surface to run on, but we made good time. I looked behind, and saw just a few of our group back there. Most had caught up to me and were making a run for the houses. Brett ran next to me.

  “How’s your foot?” he asked between gasps of air.

  “Can’t feel a thing,” I panted.

  “Good. We’re almost…” His eyes widened. “Look out!” he screamed, and pushed me hard with his shoulder. The crash axe spun out of my hand, and I fell, twisting to the ground as a Roc’s wingtip slapped the back of my head. Its spike grazed Brett across his neck and shoulder, and blood gushed from a severed artery as he fell to the ground.

  “God dammit!” I shouted. “Brett, Brett!”

  The Roc ricocheted off the ground and flapped its way back into the air. Brett lay on the ground just feet from me, his eyes wide with terror. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. I stumbled to my feet, grabbed him around the chest with my good arm, and heaved him upright. He held a hand to his neck, but blood poured out of his wound. Together, we stumbled to the doorway of the nearest house, which faced a narrow lane paved with crushed coral. The sturdy little bungalow was made of concrete bricks with a thick metal roof. I heard two more flat thunks, followed by screams. We were losing the battle. My mind reeled as I tried the door; locked. Two Rocs whistled overhead as I put my shoulder to the door, but it didn’t budge. We couldn’t get in. The windows were open but had heavy steel bars over them.

  Just a few straggler Rocs were attacking us, and we were already outnumbered. The big swarm of Rocs I had seen from the lagoon had to be only seconds away, and we had nowhere to hide. Many of our passengers were screaming as they ran up and down the street, looking for any place to hide. Panic rose in my throat, along with a sense of helplessness like I’d never known.

  I knew I had really gone ’round the bend when two people I didn’t recognize silently sprinted up the road toward us. A pair of young men, dark skinned, dressed in shorts and tattered T-shirts, padded barefoot up to us like soundless wraiths, making shushing motions with their hands. One stopped in the street, motioning people to gather around him. The other ran further down the road, collecting our people and sending them on toward his partner. Within seconds they had rounded up most of our group, and we followed the first young man while the other went looking for stragglers. I held Brett upright, a difficult task with his blood-slickened skin. Together, we limped along with the crowd. In stunned silence we made our way with the newcomer down the road, which ended at a large metal Quonset hut. The young man kept looking at the sky, but didn’t say a word as he waved us into the hut. Brett and I stumbled in through the open doorway and fell to the floor. A moment later the other young man showed up with five more of my passengers. The two strangers moved a metal grate across the doorway, and latched it into place.

  Brett lay on the sandy ground, blood pouring from his neck. Another young man knelt down beside him, tore off part of his shirt, made a bandage and pressed it against Brett’s neck. I stood up, not quite believing or understanding what was going on. My eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the shelter, and I saw several other strangers emerging from the darkness at the far end, carrying blankets, water jugs, and first aid kits.

  I looked around and did a quick head count. It took three tries to count everyone, but when I finished I realized that we’d lost only four, including the man who’d been killed inside the airplane. I’d seen one get impaled by a Roc, which meant only two others hadn’t made it this far. My friend Colin sat on the floor, as well as his co-worker, Alan Gee, and all the members of my crew.

  A loud clang sounded from the roof of the building, followed by the flapping of wings. A Roc. Panic appeared in the eyes of many of my passengers, but our rescuers made the shushing motion again and everyone quieted down. Two more clangs echoed through the shelter, then it sounded like hell’s own hailstorm crashed onto the roof. Everyone in the shelter stopped what they were doing and looked up. The roof held, and a minute later a great rushing-wind sound came from above as the Rocs lifted off. For another minute nobody moved or spoke. Then the two men who had rescued us removed the grate from the doorway, and the locals went back to work, tending to our wounded. I stood in the center of the hut, seeing but not believing our good fortune in finding survivors on this supposedly deserted island.

  Another local looked at me with quiet concern. Older than me, with a shock of white hair, and a dark, well-muscled physique, he seemed to be supervising the chaos. He stared at me for a moment, and then moved in my direction. Despite my bloody uniform, I was obviously the leader of our group.

  With a heavy Polynesian accent, he said “Welcome to Nanumea. I am the Chief.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say, except a whispered “Thank you.” He went back to work, carrying supplies for the people tending to my passengers and crew.

  Day Four

  Four days after crashing onto the island, depression had set in on many of my group. The batteries in the Emergency Locator Beacon died the day after we landed, and a slow certainty had set in that nobody was coming for us. The Rocs weren’t attacking
anymore, but that didn’t mean we had free reign on the island, either. The people of Nanumea taught us how they lived now, and we had to follow, or risk becoming victims of the invaders.

  When we went outside, we travelled in groups of no more than four, walking quietly and slowly. We helped the Nanumeans fish in the morning and evening, and harvest coconuts, taro and other vegetables in the afternoon. The sixty-five of us who’d survived the crash were added to the five hundred locals living on the island. They were gracious about us being there, but mostly kept to themselves. We had a temporary home inside the Quonset hut, but couldn’t live that way forever, being too cramped to make it permanent. Eventually we’d have to build our own houses. I saw the inevitability of this; we wouldn’t be leaving the island any time soon. Many of my passengers and crew couldn’t face that fact yet, but they would have to eventually. There was just no way off the island, and nobody would be coming for us any time soon. Our being here didn’t stretch the available resources by too much. We’d survive, but we would all be a lot thinner by the time we got off the island, if that ever happened.

  I thought a lot about Jennifer and Josh and Kelly, and made them a silent promise that I’d get back somehow, someday. It wouldn’t be soon, but I still promised.

  It turns out that Nanumea is about as far from anywhere as we could have found. It’s the westernmost island in the tiny island nation of Tuvalu, hundreds of miles from the abandoned capital town of Funafuti, and thousands of miles from any place we knew about where people still lived. I spent the evenings talking quietly with the Chief about life here and abroad, and how everything had changed because of the Rocs. He didn’t know of anyone alive on the other islands of Tuvalu, because they didn’t have a boat capable of going that far without upsetting the Rocs.

  Out of sheer necessity, and with a big dose of luck, they had learned how to be quiet around the Rocs, and how not to disturb them. If you moved slowly and quietly enough, the invaders left you alone. Make a noise, or move too fast, and something was triggered in them that caused a mass hysteria. They would attack in a frenzy, without regard for themselves.