Under Vanishing Skies (3 page)

I shook my head to knock out the depressing thoughts. Grabbing my bag, I reached inside and found my running shorts wadded together with some t-shirts that had seen better days. I got dressed, walked outside, and took off.

Lohifushi wasn’t a runner’s paradise. One lap around the island equaled a mile. It was like running around a big parking lot, but as long as I kept moving I didn’t care. Running enabled me to mentally escape from this tropical island prison. And soon I lost myself in the run.

As I turned the corner by the old bait shack at the base of the pier for the tenth time, I could feel my mind preparing to make a break for it. Another few laps and I’d be off this Godforsaken rock, if only mentally.

I followed the lush green canopy that covered most of the white sand trail that circled the island, connecting the different groups of huts. I loved this part of the trail. The trees provided protection from the sun’s strong rays and the breeze, cooled by the shade, felt good against my sweat-soaked skin.

Each hut that I passed looked exactly like the next, with white stucco walls and thatched roofs. At the end of one of those groups, I ran past little Emily. She was still on the front deck of her hut playing with her dolls. She looked up, smiled at me, and made one of her doll’s hands wave at me again. Emily was a sweet girl, but every time I looked at her it brought back too many memories of my own daughters, Katelyn and Theresa. They used to play with their dolls like that and would stay out all day long if I had let them. The memories squeezed my heart like a vise, making it hard for me to breathe. I looked the other way, pretending not to see her, but she yelled out, “Hello Mr. Aron!”

I forced a smiled, waved, and then looked ahead just in time to avoid getting whacked by a massive palm frond that hung low over the path. I ducked under it and when I looked up, the old surf bar came into view. It sat on the northern tip of the island where some of the world’s best left breaking waves gently rolled along the coastline that was now void of surfers.

Farther on, the path opened up onto a long, weathered boardwalk that hung out over the shallow water in a big, sweeping half circle. I ran through the gauntlet of huts that lined it on either side, each one suspended over the water by stilts. Once highly desired honeymoon suites, they now served as warehouses and workshops.

Up ahead, I saw a small group of people milling around in front of the hut where coral was crushed into the powder we used to filter our drinking water. They were talking amongst themselves and didn’t pay any attention to me. I ran through their cloud of thick coconut fiber cigarette smoke. The acrid haze stung my eyes.

I reached the end of the boardwalk and continued down the eastern shore. The wind pushed my back as if telling me to pick up the pace. Sweat dripped into my eyes as I sprinted around the corner. I wiped them clear and saw the ruins of the old observation deck. It was just visible through an opening in the foliage. All that remained of the deck now was a broken pile of salt-bleached wood.

When I had first arrived on the island, I spent a lot of time on that deck drinking beer and trading fishing stories with other tourists. Fishing had been one of my greatest pleasures, but now it was just a way to survive…and an excuse to get away from everyone.

Those bastards at SatComm Control Services had known that and they used it as bait. They knew that I wanted to cancel their contract. So to keep me from making any hasty decisions, they flew me out to India for a couple of meetings and then had generously offered me a three-day, all-expense-paid fishing trip to the Maldives. I’d been offered bribes before, but I’d never taken one. But they had offered me a trip to the Maldives. It was number three on my list of places to fish before I died. I could have sent for Kelly and the girls to join me, but I didn’t. I lied to Kelly. I told her that I had to stay in India for more meetings. Now I lived with that lie every day of my life.

I stumbled over a tree root, but managed to stay on my feet. The jungle closed in around me as I approached the end of the lap. When I reached the entrance of the pier, I saw Mohamed running toward me. He waved his arms and I slowed down.

“
Aron! Aron!”

Fighting to catch my breath, I stopped a few yards in front of him and put my hands on my hips while looking at my feet.

Mohamed was the island doctor, only he wasn’t really a doctor. He had been the sports trainer at the resort. The fact that he was a sports trainer had always struck me as funny. He looked like one of those Buddha statues that sat next to the cash register in a second rate Chinese restaurant. The only difference was that Mohamed was from Bangladesh, not China, and unlike Buddha, Mohamed wore bright flowered shirts, a sarong, and flip-flops.

“
Hey Mohamed, what’s up?”

“
The pirates have attacked Makunudhoo.”

I looked up. My stomach suddenly twisted like the vines of a Banyan tree. Rick was on Makunudhoo!

“
When?” I finally managed to say.

“
I just received a message from one of the survivors. He’s requesting medical assistance. Kamish is readying the boat over there,” he said, pointing toward the pier. “He will be ready to leave in a few minutes.”

“
What about Rick? Did you hear from him?”

“
I sent him several text messages, but...” The look on his face made the vines in my stomach twist tighter.

These pirates weren’t like the ones in the bedtime stories my father had read to me. They were like locusts. They plundered and consumed every resource in their path. Their leader was Jamal, a self-proclaimed

prophet.

Most of the pirates were from Somalia, but some were from other parts of Africa and the Middle East. The pirates saw themselves as religious soldiers who were finishing what Allah had started. They called it the final Jihad against infidels. I called it mass murder.

Three years ago, they had turned their attention on the Maldives. At first, there had only been a few attacks and they were limited to couple of long-range supply ships. Recently, they started raiding the outlying islands. I’d gone to some of those islands to help. The image of the carnage they left behind was seared into my brain like the brands they burned onto their victims.

“
Aron, you must have faith that Rick—”

I ran toward the boat and yelled, “Let’s go!”

Chapter 2

I watched as the flames of Rick’s funeral pyre whipped in the winds of the approaching storm. There had to be at least four hundred people around the fire, most of them from other islands. All of them cradled a coconut shell candle in their hands. They sang a religious hymn that I’d heard too many times in the recent months. I didn’t want to be here, but Helen had insisted. She had come to my hut and refused to leave until I agreed to go with her.

Standing to the rear of the crowd, I looked around. A little ways in front of me I spotted Little Emily. Her back was to me, but I knew that it was her. She held a doll in one hand and clung to her mother’s sarong with the other. The sight of her brought back memories of when Kelly’s mom had passed away.  My girls had clung to Kelly's skirt the same way. I looked away.

Kamish and his two brothers, Lanka and Senil, stood together with their wives on the other side of the fire. They were barely teenagers when I had arrived on the island twelve years ago. Originally from Bombay, they had worked as cabana boys, raking the sand and keeping it clean for the tourists. They were grown men now in their late twenties. All them dark skinned and muscular. Kamish was the oldest and tallest of the three. He was built like a prize fighter and his brothers followed him like a general. Lanka stood to his right. He was the middle child. Short and shy, Lanka always seemed to be studying everyone and everything around him. Senil stood to the left, his arm draped around his very pregnant wife. He was the youngest of the three and the first of the brothers that I had met. He was a skinny little kid then, with a mischievous smile. I recalled the day that I had met him.

I had just settled into my beach chair for a nap when I heard a weird bird call. I looked up and saw Senil. He held a finger to his lips as if he were about to commit a major crime. Then he shimmied up a nearby palm tree and brought me a coconut.  He had hacked it open with a machete that was nearly half his size. We weren’t supposed to tip the resort employees, but I tucked a few bucks into the shell after I had finished drinking from it. I tossed it to him. When he saw the money, his smiled doubled in size.

I studied his face now.  I searched for some hint of that mischievous boy.  All I saw was the somber face of a grieving young man.

Off to the left I spotted Mohamed and Helen. Mohamed held her in his arms as she sobbed inconsolably into his chest. The image tore at my heart. I looked away, but my eyes fell upon a sight that nearly brought me to my knees.

Sarah stood there holding William’s hand. Neither one sang. Her stoic face belied the grief that I knew she had to be feeling. Given her illness, I was amazed that she could stand. A glimmer of light reflected off a single tear that rolled down her cheek, so I looked at William. That was a mistake.

Tears rolled freely down his angry face. I watched as he tried unsuccessfully to control his sobs. He looked up, fixing my eyes with his gaze. They screamed out to me, begging to know why his father had to die. I knew the answer, but I couldn’t face it...not with him staring at me like that. So I looked up to safety of the early evening sky.  But the sky just provided a backdrop for the the memory of how I had found him on Makunudhoo.  

When I had arrived on the island, I saw a dozen other men tied up to palm trees.  Rick was one of them.  I ran to him. His pants were around his ankles.  His legs covered in blood. And his head hung down to his chest where they had branded a circle inscribed with a crescent moon and a single star. It was the symbol for Jamal.  I’d seen the it six months ago on the island of Embudu, burned on the corpses of men, women, and children.

I knew that Rick was dead, but I had to be sure. As I stood in front of him, the nauseating smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils. I had to fight the urge to throw up. Gently, I lifted his head by the chin and looked into his open, dead eyes. They seemed to stare at a killer who was no longer there. Blood dripped from his half-open mouth onto my hand. I saw something wedged inside. I looked closer and then jumped back. The fucking bastards had choked him with his own balls!

I shut my eyes tight. Now my head was filled with the song that everyone was singing. The rage that I tried to push deep in the pit of my stomach suddenly broke free. I opened my eyes and threw my candle against a boulder. It shattered with a loud crash.  The singing stopped and everyone stared at me. I suddenly felt like I was on trial.

Fuck them!

I turned and ran off.

As I ran through the jungle, I felt Rick’s accusing dead eyes following me. I picked up the pace, but I knew that I couldn’t outrun the truth. If I had gone to Makunudhoo yesterday, then Rick would be back there singing with his family at my funeral. 

 
I couldn’t breathe. Stopping outside the dining hut, I bent over. The taste of bile filled my mouth. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but it seemed like forever.

Then I felt a soft hand on my back. I didn’t need to stand up to know who it was.

 “
I’m sorry, Sarah,” I said. “I’m just no good with—”

“
I know. It’s okay.”

I stood up and looked into Sarah’s gaunt, tear-stained face and said, “Goddammit, it’s not okay! I even fucked this up.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
This,” I said motioning to her and me. “I’m supposed to be the one who consoles you.”

She reached out, took my hand, and smiled. “You know what Rick would say about this?”

“
That I’m a dumbass?”

Her sad smile grew. “Probably, but he’d also say that you shouldn’t beat yourself up over this. It wasn't your fault, Aron. None of it.”

I looked away. I didn’t want her to see the tears welling up in my eyes. “Well...then he was the dumbass.”

I heard her laugh, softly at first, but the laugh quickly grew louder. I looked at her and for a split second, the heaviness that had been crushing my chest vanished. But then the memory of Rick’s dead face flashed in my brain.  Suddenly the pressure on my chest returned with a vengeance.

Her laughter turned into a coughing fit. She let go of my hands to cover her mouth. When the coughs subsided she said, “You’re right. For such a smart guy, Rick used to say a lot of stupid things.” Then a gentle look spread across her face. “But he was right about one thing.”

“
What’s that?”

“
He was right about you.”

I tilted my head, confused.

“
I remember the day he came home and told me about...” she looked down at the scars on my wrists. “He told me how he had found you that day, sitting on the edge of the pier holding a piece of glass from a broken bottle.”