Kathy Reichs: Spider Bones

“But—”

“Do it! We’re all in danger. Be alert.”

Pulling the jacket over my head, I bounded out the door.

The sun was low, throwing long ink houses and hedges across the lawn and street. Soon it would be full dark.

I looked left, right.

A block south Ryan was turning from Mokulua onto Kaelepulu, running with strong, steady strides. I knew Lô was somewhere ahead.

I sprinted through fingers of sunlight and shadow. I had no idea where Lô was going. If I lost sight of Ryan I was done.

I rounded the corner. Several blocks up on the right was the entrance to the Mid-Pacific Country Club. Just beyond it, Ryan cut left.

I kicked hard, reached the spot, saw a driveway joining the road. Veered onto it.

Just ahead, Ryan was disappearing into a black hole in vegetation beside a chain-link fence.

I raced toward the opening.

A narrow path snaked uphill at an impossible angle.

Lily may need you!

Grabbing the fence with one hand and a tree branch with the other, I planted a foot and hauled myself onto the trailhead.

Loose soil and pebbles cascaded downward.

My sneaker lost traction.

I fell.

Pain exploded in my already bruised kneecap.

I rose. Tested.

Go!

Advancing from tree to tree, I dragged myself upward.

A hundred yards? Two hundred? At the time it seemed like a climb up Everest.

Finally the trail leveled off. The trees gave way to low-lying scrub, grass, and lava rock.

Ryan and Lô were visible far up the ridgeline, dark figures moving fast through the murky dusk.

Dear God!

The trail crawled the edge of a precipice. No guardrail. No tree trunks. Nothing to the left but yawning space.

I stood panting, heart thudding in my chest.

Far below I could see Kailua Bay to the north and Waimanalo Bay to the south. Lilliputian houses. Lanikai Beach. The two little Mokulua Islands, tiny black bumps in a pumpkin-slashed sea.

Wind danced my jacket and whipped my hair into a banshee tangle. Loose gravel slithered below the way too smooth rubber on the soles of my sneakers.

The height. The treacherous footing. Fear for Lily.

Adrenaline had me wired to hell and back.

I pushed on.

Ten minutes scrabbling upward, then I rounded a curve.

A black cutout rose from the ridgeline above, roughly twenty-five yards from me. Square. Concrete. A leftover from World War II.

I could see a figure on the near side of the pillbox. Ryan, crouched, ready to spring.

At that distance, I couldn’t tell what held his attention. Lô was nowhere to be seen.

I took a moment to assess.

The pillbox faced the sea. My approach would be invisible to anyone in it. The wind would mask any sounds I might make.

Gingerly placing each foot, I crept forward.

I was ten feet out when Ryan whipped around, ready to attack.

His eyes widened, then tensed in anger. His upraised arms relaxed a hair. A downward move of one hand gestured me behind his back.

I scurried to him and dropped to a squat.

And noticed the boy.

He lay hidden in shadow cast by the pillbox, dreadlocks haloing his head like snakes around Medusa. His eyes were closed. His chest looked still.

I placed shaky fingers on the boy’s throat. Felt no pulse.

I was trying again when his lids fluttered. Half-opened.

I found and squeezed his hand. Bent close. Heard breath rattling in his chest.

“Sarah?” His words barely carried above the wind. “It’s so cold.”

I whipped my jacket off and spread it across him.

He frowned, puzzled, a faraway look in his eyes.

“It’s so cold. I’m freezing.” His limbs shivered uncontrollably.

“You’re going to be fine,” I whispered close to his ear. “We’ll get you to a hospital. You’re young. You’ll make it.”

“I can’t see, Sarah.”

“Hold on.” I tightened my grip, felt slight pressure in return.

“Everything’s black.” Mumbled. “Sarah, I’m dying.”

I trembled from cold or fear. Goose bumps puckered my flesh.

The boy coughed wetly. His mouth looked dark. Too dark.

I pressed my chest to his, willing my warmth and strength into his body.

Please, God!

“I’m scared.” His lips were right at my ear. “Shit. I don’t want to d—”

His words were cut off.

By death?

No! No!

Hot tears streamed my cheeks.

Beside me, I felt Ryan coil.

I raised my head.

Followed Ryan’s sight line.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

A man was dragging Lily through one of the pillbox’s doorless openings. One beefy hand wrapped her throat. The other held a gun tight to her temple.

Pukui? It had to be. Out to collect his twenty grand.

Ryan tensed to spring.

Pukui forced Lily toward the seaward side of the pillbox. I could see that the path at that point was less than a foot wide.

Lily’s eyes looked like those of a terrified dog, the whites huge, and distorted with fear.

I craned over Ryan’s shoulder, terrified to watch, terrified not to.

In the gloom, Lô materialized atop the pillbox, hunched, Glock held two-handed and pointed at Pukui. He inched forward, feeling with his feet, not daring to glance down. One step. Two.

Lô was almost to the front edge of the pillbox when Pukui shoved his gun under Lily’s jaw and forced her chin up. She yelped in pain.

Lô froze.

Ryan braced with one hand against the concrete.

Pukui’s head swiveled from side to side.

“We got company?” Pukui shouted. “Do yourself a favor, bro. Get the hell out of here.”

Silence.

“Don’t fuck with me, man.” There was true venom in Pukui’s voice.

The next sixty seconds seemed to last an hour.

Lô tensed. Fired.

The shot and a scream exploded as one sound.

Pukui’s upper body twisted left. His gun flew from his hand and cartwheeled into shadow.

Lily broke free.

Pukui yanked her back by the hood of her jacket.

Lily went down hard on her bum, struggled for traction with her hands and feet.

Ryan sprang. Drove the heel of his hand into Pukui’s Adam’s apple.

Pukui staggered back.

Ryan grabbed Lily. Dragged her away from the edge.

Pukui doubled over, gasping. His face was just a mouth hole gaping in the deepening dusk.

Another shot rang out.

Pukui spun. Dropped to his back.

Blood foamed from his mouth and oozed from his chest.

One leg flexed in spasm. His hips bucked.

Before Ryan could move, Pukui rolled and dropped over the cliff.

A JET FLEW HIGH OVERHEAD, LEAVING A WHITE COTTON-CANDY trail to mark its passing. Hot breezes swayed the tops of the loblolly pines and rippled the grass like a bright green sea.

The grave at our feet smelled of freshly turned earth. A bouquet lay on the patchwork sod, the supermarket carnations brown and wilted. Beside it, a tiny American flag drooped on its balsa wood stick.

The old headstone was gone. Its replacement gleamed speckled pink in the sun. The inscription was sharp and bone white, a raw wound in the granite.

Spec 2 Luis Alvarez, United States Army

February 28, 1948–January 23, 1968

He died a hero

When JPAC failed to locate an Alvarez family member, Plato offered the grave at Gardens of Faith Cemetery. Said the spot belonged to Alvarez, that he’d be more at peace in familiar soil than elsewhere. Purchased the marker.

Behind us, beside a smaller stand of pines, another pair of headstones threw shadows on the lawn. Katy and I had placed flowers on the one marking a second new grave.