G. Fields - Under Vanishing Skies

The other guy, a medium built African who carried his rifle across his chest, started yelling at the skinny guy. He kept pointing into the bushes. The skinny guy laughed. That seemed to make the other guy angry. They began to argue. Finally, the skinny guy grudgingly walked into the bushes, pushing branches out of his way in search of the cigarette butt.

It wouldn’t be hard to find. It had landed in an open spot three feet from me. The red glow from the tip stood out like a beacon. He kept coming. I tried to press myself closer to the ground, but my body would only go so low. Maybe I should have stuck with those yoga classes.

The skinny guy stopped in front of the cigarette. I held my knife tight. He bent over, picked it up, and started walking back to the path mumbling to himself. I let out a breath that I’d been holding. Then he stopped and fell silent. A second later, he dropped to the ground. I saw Kamish’s head pop up for a second, but he disappeared back into the bushes.

The other guy called out to his friend. He mumbled something and then walked into the bushes. He only made it a few steps before he fell flat on his back. I stood up to see what had happened. Kamish was on top of him. He slit his throat from ear to ear, but not before the guard managed to squeeze off a single shot. The crack of the rifle echoed into the night.

I looked at Kamish, worried that he’d been shot. But he got up and dragged the guard into the bushes. Michio moved over by me and a few seconds later Kamish joined us. We waited for a rush of guards. After a few minutes, Michio said, “I think it is okay. But we should go.”

I nodded and got up to go. A shot rang out from nearby. We all ducked down. Then I heard a small child scream followed by men laughing. Michio and I looked at each other. I heard branches snap and looked over to where Kamish had been. He was sprinting toward the sound of the child.

We followed. A minute later, we reached the edge of a clearing. I looked out and what I saw made my stomach turn. A small child was climbing frantically over a huge pile of rubble, desperately trying to get away from three pirates who were laughing and pointing at him. The pirates stood on the deck of one of the huts. Torches affixed to railing of the deck illuminated them with a hellish glow. One of the pirates held a pistol. They exchanged something; it looked like cigarettes. It was hard to tell. The one who collected them pointed at the boy. The other one spun the guy with the pistol around in circles. It looked like they were playing some kind of children’s game. When he stopped spinning, the guy with the pistol staggered to the left, caught himself, staggered to the right, and caught himself again. Then he brought up the pistol, took aim, and fired. The screaming stopped. I turned and saw the child fall face first onto the pile.

There was more laughter followed by a payout to the guy with the pistol. I looked over in the direction where Kamish had run, but he wasn’t there. I pulled on Michio’s sleeve. He pointed to the three men. They were now passing around a bottle and taking turns drinking from it.

I wondered if Michio meant for me to charge the pirates. But then, out of nowhere, Kamish popped up behind the first guy and slit his throat. The guy collapsed on the deck. The second guy took too long to figure out what had happened. Kamish was on him. As Kamish buried his knife into the guy’s chest, Michio sprinted out of the bushes and sprang into the air, landing a flying kick into the face of the third pirate. They both fell. I heard the bottle smash. Then I watched as Michio bent over him and punched him twice in the throat.

I ran to the pile of rubble to see if the child was still alive. As I began climbing, I was overcome by the putrid smell of death. I looked down and saw that I wasn’t climbing on a pile of rubble. It was bones and decaying flesh. I tried to reach the child, but I began to throw up and I couldn’t stop.

Michio reached me and helped me off the pile. He held my shoulders as I continued to puke. When I finally stopped, I looked up. Kamish threw the last of the pirates onto the pile.

“Is the child…?” I asked.

Michio looked down and shook his head.

Those bastards! Those goddammed fucking bastards! I reeled as something occurred to me.

“What if Shannon’s there?” I asked.

“She isn’t,” Kamish said.

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer, but the look on his face told me what I knew in my gut. They wouldn’t have killed a woman like Shannon, not right away. They would get as much use out of her as possible first.

Kamish looked at me and then Michio. “I heard more laughter coming from there.” He pointed towards the center of the island.

Michio nodded. “Okay, but this time nobody takes off by themselves.” He looked at Kamish, who held his stare. “If we are to save my son and Shannon, we must work as a team.”

Kamish nodded, and we moved toward the center of the island.

We followed the sound of laughter and the occasional scream. It led us to what must have once been the main reception hut. A large bonfire on the brick patio beside the hut cast plenty of light for us to see what was happening. We hunkered down watched as about three dozen pirates, dressed in ragged T-shirts and long, colorful, wrap-around sarongs, sat around the bonfire. Most of them wore embroidered hats called Koofiyads, the metallic threads reflecting the firelight like a disco ball.

A few of them danced. Some sat in small groups. The rest were passed out on the ground.

I saw four young women mixed in with the pirates. My heart skipped a beat when I mistook one of them for Shannon. But it wasn’t her.

The women looked terrified. They screamed every time a pirate grabbed them. They fought to get away only to find themselves caught by another pirate. I watched a young woman, maybe sixteen or seventeen, slap an exceptionally ugly guy who tried to kiss her. He rewarded her with a punch that sent her flying. She landed next to the bonfire. When she got up I saw blood streaming from her mouth.

I clenched my jaw as I watched another girl stand motionless while two pirates ripped off her clothes. One of them held her breasts like trophies. It seemed to amuse his friends.She just stared out into the darkness.

“What do we do?” I asked.

Michio said, “We look for my son and Shannon. They must be held somewhere nearby. Let’s go.”

I looked at Kamish and he followed Michio. I took up the rear.

We stopped and peeked into a few huts. Most were empty or filled with sleeping pirates.

I could tell we were getting closer to the ocean from the sound of the waves. A small shack stood next to the ruins of a dock. A single torch cast a wavering puddle of light on a pirate who sat watch in front of the door. His head hung down and I could hear his snores above the surf.

Michio locked eyes with Kamish and motioned for him to go ahead. Kamish took off. He worked his way around to the right and up along the water’s edge until I lost him behind the hut. The pirate snored one last time before Kamish cut his throat. Then Kamish waved us over.

By the time we got to the shack, Kamish had opened the door. Michio pushed him aside and went in. A few seconds later, Michio emerged with a skinny Japanese kid. From the way Michio wrapped his arms around him, I knew that it was his son. The boy looked confused. He stared at his father and then at me and then back at his father. He seemed to be afraid to say anything.

A minute later, three other boys emerged from the shack like zombies, wide eyed and moving slow. I tried not to think about the hell they must have gone through, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d heard the stories of how Jamal tortured boys and brainwashed them to become soldiers in his holy crusade. The more I thought about it, the madder I got.