by Cole Alpaugh
“Maybe it’ll rain,” Tiki said in a hopeful voice. “I miss rain.”
There’d only been a few brief showers since he’d woken after the plane crash. The drought was longer than most, judging by recent grumbling over how low the cistern level had dropped. The water tasted like poison, even worse when Manu ordered it boiled. There was no escaping the ash.
Lightning crashed close enough to share its heat, and Tiki cried out, covering both ears, cringing from the explosion that didn’t come. Dash rose from his knees with old man grunts, ducked through the entryway. The four guards had turned gray in the gloom; only their eye sockets and where they’d dribbled clap-clap proof they weren’t ghosts. The men parted from a huddle, Dash catching sight of the jug one had hidden behind his back. Not even the churning sulfur mist hid the smell of gasoline mixed with rotten fruit.
“Bottoms up, shitheads.”
Dash stepped down into the night and then pushed his way through. Tiki’s footsteps slapped against the wood floor to catch up. Off to his right, the elders continued drinking in their uneven circle, oblivious to Dash or the growing tempest. The women still tended the fires, darting in and out of huts to feed the coals. All the candles had blown out or suffocated.
Dash walked to the center of the playing field, left tracks past the crude soccer ball that might have been a decapitated head. The ball sat abandoned, with a stretched and deeply tanned layer of skin. He guessed it was made of pig and stuffed with grass or ferns.
Something struck Dash’s forehead, and then his right shoulder. His chest was hit twice, his stomach and cheeks. When he was nearly convinced he was being pummeled with small rocks, the rain made itself known to the entire village and jungle beyond. The night creatures went silent, pausing from their quest for food, territorial claims, and romantic lures to find shelter.
He glanced back. The drinking circle was now brown men with shiny vertical streaks stumbling to their feet, and Tiki was a few steps in front of two guards who followed. All were cast in silhouette by fires still hot enough to boil away the heavy drops.
The rain was glorious. Dash turned from the villagers, slipped his underpants down and stepped free. He shut his eyes and lifted his face to let the cold drops beat down and run over his skin in rivers of cascading fresh water. Like the moon and stars, it was the same rain as back home. But this was better than celestial objects thousands and millions of miles away because the rain enveloped him, touched every part of his lonely body. It ran across his lips, across blue veins carrying blood from his broken heart. The rain splashed down over his ruined privates now dangling free.
“I can feel the rain,” Dash said, opening his eyes and looking back to where Tiki and the guards stood. They too were naked, discarded underpants in lumps. Beyond them was an approaching crowd, perhaps the entire population. In the now faltering flames, it took Dash a moment to comprehend their strange dance, each person stopping to hop from foot to foot, then continuing forward. He realized they were all removing their underpants, kicking them away, allowing the rain the touch them everywhere.
He smiled and could see a flash of white where Tiki’s mouth was in shadow. He raised both arms, hands reaching toward the source of the rain. She also raised her arms, as did the guards. Beyond them, the field was crowded with glistening naked bodies also lifting their hands to the heavens, heads tilted up with parted lips.
“Simon says,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
“Simon says,” Tiki repeated.
The lightning returned close and bright, finding the tops of nearby trees, but nobody left the field until the last raindrop had fallen.
Chapter 33
The mist continued its dance as they climbed the volcano. Thicker in places, it trapped and echoed their raspy breath and shuffling feet. Other spots were black holes, crevasses that might contain creatures worse than any spider. The sulfur stink had gotten inside Dash’s body, was in his mouth, burned his tongue and soured his spit. It was in his tears and dripping nose, and probably in his blood and heart. He breathed it in and coughed stained yellow puffs.
He craned his neck to see the chiseled stones rise in the constant flashes and glow from the orange dome. Hundreds of steps to go, a staircase from base to summit of the trembling mountain. It was the view from the front roller coaster car that faced its first terrifying tower. What went up would go down real fast, and he knew they’d be going faster than any mere fun park ride. Their free fall would be the real deal.
Even the fishermen, accustomed to unstable footing in rough seas, were struggling for balance. People held hands, turned themselves into four-legged creatures as they continued the precarious ascent. There was no easy way to stand on the shaking ground, the steps changing height and the treacherous loose gravel either slick or sharp underfoot. Tiki held his hand, a set of guards in front and behind. Manu led every member of the village, including the very old and the women about to give birth. A few clutched dripping candles that weren’t necessary and wouldn’t stay lit.
Another hundred steps and Dash’s lungs forced him to stop. He guessed they were ten times higher than the tallest tree, and was glad he could not see. He let go of Tiki’s hand to grab his knees and wait for his breath to return. The air had gone less foul, as though some of the poison cooked away as they got closer. Falling ash was hotter, some pieces on fire, blinking fireflies on the swirling wind. He pictured the final clash of fire and water, when the volcano had consumed everything, had incinerated the last morsel of fragile life to come face to face with a battle that might not be winnable. Dash couldn’t choose a side, not after drifting in the ocean’s empty expanse that had also wanted him dead.
“Come.” Tiki put her hand in his again, urging him on. Her fingers were cold, but only his were trembling as they climbed higher.
He counted steps—fifty since their last break—as the mostly double-wide line of villagers spread thinner. Now the birds were landing all around. The ones trying for flat purchase on the steps were unceremoniously kicked away. Those alighting on the steep rock face scrambled for hold in miniature landslides. Still more than a hundred steps from the summit, he could see the mass of birds on the ground above. They were agitated and fighting, pecking at one another, sooty feathers set free to dance on the increasing wind. The birds had been cornered; the ocean was never safe at night, and fire now rained on the treetops. The sky might be the least safe, electricity rushing among the clouds.
He counted sixty steps, eyes focused above. Heat from the rising magma set off mini-tornadoes that sucked in and swallowed some of the smaller birds, made them disappear.
She squeezed his hand. “Closer,” he heard her say.
Closer to what? To sitting down and resting my burning legs? Closer to death? He didn’t have the breath to ask.
As Manu’s lead group reached the summit, a severe jolt sent most to their knees. The stairs fractured directly up the middle, the mountain pushing outward to open a vertical crack a few inches wide. Some people fell backwards and were caught, while others rolled and tumbled down the steep rocky face. In a series of bright flashes, he saw another much larger fissure open lower down, off to one side. Smoke or steam billowed from the wound, and at least a dozen villagers slid or bounded into the glowing space and were gone forever.
There was a renewed sense of urgency to continue, a brown tide surging from the gash and perilous steps toward the level summit. Those who had already arrived were urging climbers on with words and waving arms, were silhouetted against the fire reflecting off low clouds. Dash saw them not as people, but as demons welcoming them to hell. Tiki might have had a similar impression, her upward motion hesitating at the image. Birds had spread their black wings at the feet of demons, beaks open to scream territorial claims.
“I can’t,” she said.
He looked behind to where the frantic villagers were closing the gap they’d somehow managed, then realized their trailing guards were gone. He supposed the cocksure young men hadn’t
gone to their knees when the big jolt hit, had fallen down the mountain because they refused to look cowardly. Dash was elated by their misfortune, hoped they’d made it all the way to the new hole while still alive and fully aware. It served them right for their part in this, and too damn bad they were going to miss out on the chance to give him his final shove. What a great honor to bestow on young men normally in charge of cutting back jungle paths or weaving fish nets. But then he was miserable that anyone was dead. What grade would the boys have been in if they were all back in Vermont? Juniors in high school? Sophomores? They would be riding dirt bikes on their grandpa’s back forty, and begging for the keys to the pickup to take girls parking at the closed drive-in. Stolen beer and French kisses instead of gods erupting with hate.
The crowd took the decision away from Dash and Tiki. With only a few dozen remaining, it was climb or be pushed off the steps.
“Here!” It was Manu’s majestic voice, still the chief and very much in charge. Dash found the old man’s face flanked by the two remaining guards, all with outstretched arms. He and Tiki were whisked up and onto flat earth by the strong young men, Dash’s heart pounding, sweat pouring from his emaciated body. Tiki fell to her side, landing on small birds that complained but begrudged her the space. Dash tried going to her, but the anxious voices and groping hands of people consumed by fear and panic held him back.
They were led through the sea of birds toward an oven of impossible heat, and Dash had his first look inside its belly. The crater seemed perfectly round, maybe a hundred feet across. A huge stone slab had been set at the very edge, the rock’s color out of place. It was a thousand pound behemoth probably hauled from the shoreline to serve as a ceremonial diving board. Wood wouldn’t do up here with this heat, overlooking a pool of bubbling lava. Not a single bird dared set foot on the sacred launch pad; there were no droppings and no feathers. The rock was barren, waiting to bear the weight of the next human victim.
They were ushered by the survivors of the climb, pushed and pulled out onto the rock’s hot surface, and Tiki again clambered for his hand. Her fingers were tiny, almost nothing, and perhaps her bones were as hollow as the protesting birds. He could hear her misery, pulled her against his stomach and put his free hand across her crinkly hair. Manu barked orders that caused reaching fingers to pry them apart, maybe to be sure the Volcano God knew they were two separate gifts. They stood touching as best they could.
The volcano’s noise was vaguely familiar. Dash had experienced the same rush of air, of something enormous and unstoppable approaching when he took Sarah into New York City. He’d watched locals step back from the subway platform when this same noise began its approach from down the dark tunnel. And just as he’d seen in the black subway tube, there was a glowing orb at the bottom of the volcano’s pulsating throat. It was orange and yellow, and blinked like the eye of a dragon.
The ground pitched again and the rim changed shape to the right of where Dash held Tiki, shuffling for balance. Dirt and rock broke free under the feet of people who’d managed to find a better view of the ceremony. He caught a glimpse of two women bounding head to feet, outstretched arms left behind, hands reaching but empty. The women gained speed, hair whipping, naked rag dolls that tumbled to a stop in the shadows. Had he known them? Had they cooked his meals or made the candles that held off the dark? One might have been the young woman he’d failed in the love hut, who’d touched him so wonderfully, had volunteered or been chosen to carry the baby meant to save them all.
Manu’s voice made Dash turn his back to the awful blinking eye. Tiki still moaned, eyes shut, rubbing her face against his arm, catlike. Dash supposed this was what shock did to a child. If only his mind could shut down, take him away from this place. He tried summoning the icy brook behind his parents house where he fished alone as a kid. In the shade of trees that gave sweet syrup and home to peaceful birds, he figured out how to thread the worm onto a hook without a father’s help. But Dash was too weak for the safe images to make any real difference. The heat on his shoulders might have been less intense, the sea of strutting birds reduced to a blur of smudged beaks. But Dash knew where he was, had a clear vision of the agony to come.
Manu stood with a sentry at each scrawny shoulder. The old chief’s eyes betrayed an ocean of fear he had for his people.
“It is the way,” Manu said, his tone nearly apologetic for the first time, as if he meant to say he was sorry, but had no choice.
“Let her live,” Dash said, but had no energy to beg. “Let your daughter go.”
Manu reached up to touch her face. “Listen to me, girl. Can you hear?”
Dash felt her head nod against his stomach.
“There is nothing to fear. You will see your mama very soon. Her loving arms will catch you.” The chief’s voice was meant to be soothing, perhaps even fatherly. “I have a message for you to deliver, and I need your promise. Do you understand?”
Again she nodded.
“Tell her that I love her, and that I did my best. Tell her I will come soon, once our people are safe. Do you hear me, girl? Do you understand my words? ”
“Yes, Papa.”
Manu stepped back, motioned the sentries up onto the rock, and then faced the mass of crowding people. He raised his leathery chin to the clouds and began reciting words in rapid bursts of his own language. A prayer. An appeal for mercy? Dash searched his mind to see if any prayer-like words might be hidden among the mounds of clutter and trash. There were none.
Tiki’s hand was wrenched from his grasp, and they were turned to face the ledge. Both were shoved to the very edge of the precipice, Tiki waving her arms to keep from falling. Dash thought he heard gasps from behind. The heat wanted to lift his hair, and he imagined the greatest balloon ever rising up and carrying them away, along with the entire island.
Tiki found his hand again and he squeezed, but not too hard. He looked down at dirty toes curled over the front of the giant stone. He was hanging ten in what would have to be a surfer’s absolute worst nightmare. “Cowabunga, dude,” he said, then took a deep breath and laughed.
Manu shouted his final order.
Tiki looked up at Dash, who must have still had the amused look on his face because her beautiful smile was the last thing he saw before they were pushed.
Chapter 34
Dash didn’t die. His body never reached the burning cauldron, or even the scorched rocks. Something with superhuman strength snatched his shaggy hair, snapping his head back so hard that every joint in his body popped. The air was knocked from his lungs, and he reached for his throat, expecting an Old West noose, trapdoor sprung from under dangling feet after a two-foot plunge. Did those horse thieves and stagecoach bandits catch a glimpse of the ground before their necks were broken from the short fall? Dash thought it perfectly reasonable for a condemned outlaw to retain a final hopeful thought of hitting the ground boots first, spurs spinning, ready to hop into the saddle of the surprised sheriff’s trusty mare for a gallop into the sunset. He’d be slapping reins to giddy the hell up before the posse reeled him back in, somewhere in the microsecond before the rope tightened.
“Giddy up,” Dash tried saying, twisting at the waist but getting nowhere.
The sexy television preacher had devoted an entire episode to death, to a person’s walk toward the guiding beacon of the Kingdom of Heaven. But she’d uttered the drinking game prompt too early and too often that night, rendered the entire party shit-faced before Dash had learned anything useful. The sermon’s early parts made no mention of a celestial beam roasting your toes like marshmallows; there was nothing about a beacon singeing the hair from your legs, or a light staring up from the bottom of a pit like the eye of a hungry monster.
Dash smelled his burning hair, saw the violent creature below his feet blink. He didn’t know what was gumming up the volcano’s plan for swallowing him. He only knew his head was caught in a vise. And that he did not want to roast to death, sizzling and then bursting into flames
fed by what oily fat remained in his skinny carcass. He tried wriggling free of his purgatory, but there was simply no give.
He shifted his dangling weight and was rewarded with a lung full of painfully hot air. He took a second breath, and then a third. It was a dance to remain conscious, the blackness coming close and then receding. His underpants slid off, fluttered down and out of sight.
Good riddance. You can have my dirty underwear. Enjoy.
In what he suspected was the boldest act of his entire existence, he used his newly extended life to roll his tongue and find the last bit of thick saliva. He gathered the ball of phlegm in the middle of his tongue and drew a breath. He used all his might to spit in the dragon’s eye, a tiny glistening speck of defiance that evaporated almost instantly.
A small voice came from next to him. “It hurts.”
He tried finding Tiki, but could only move his eyes. She was alive at the edge of his peripheral vision, and he realized she hadn’t let go of his hand. Hidden by the pain in his head was the touch of her shaking fingers.
“Tiki.”
“I wanted to see Mama.”
“I know.”
“I miss her.”
Before he could console her, his neck was bent backward, and there was a sudden rush of acceleration. Another light appeared, although this one much smaller—a gentle glow rather than a slice of blazing sun. It was familiar, as comforting as the lightning bugs he chased across his grandmother’s manicured lawn as a child.
The good light blinked, and then he was dropped hard on his bare ass, Tiki uttering a sharp squeal next to him. There was enormous relief when his head was released. He looked up at the giant thighs, the bulging muscles of their savior.