Chapter Two

More of the Island Story!  Oh, and I applied for coffeshop jobs today, yay!

Chapter Two

The name of the island had been lost in the past, and I wasn't even sure what landmass it had been.  I wasn't even sure where it was, geographically speaking.  I'd surmised that it was somewhere off the coast of South America by the star constellations.  But in reality it could have been anywhere.  Global warming and time made for changes even Frank hadn't been able to explain.

Frank.  His real name was Francois.  The French that had been his birth language was still evident in his accent.  I'd stumbled across him a day after my arrival on the island.  He'd been what I'd found after I'd awoken in the village with no memory of how I'd gotten there.  I'd panicked, running past the shocked inhabitants and into the jungle.  I'd wandered for hours, thirst leading me to the shallow lagoon of fresh water.  Like an animal I'd plunged my entire head into the cool water, and after I'd drank my fill I'd lifted my head and seen him.  His looks were deceiving.  I'd judged him to be a man in his late sixties.  He wore a wool suit and his hair was close-cropped and gray.  He reminded me of a history professor.  It took me a moment to realize he wore no shoes and that his eyes were not normal.  The pupils-that's what had caught my attention.  Embedded in the dark gray irises they were slitted like a cat's.  Or a snake's.  He seemed to be studying me with intense curiosity, and from five feet away I studied him with wariness.  Finally I spoke.

"Aren't you hot in that suit?  It's got to be a hundred degrees out here."

Quickly, silently, he squatted down and placed his palms on his knees.

"Limber for an old guy," I'd observed.

He'd smiled.

"Uh, I think I'm lost.  Maybe I've been kidnapped.  I sure as hell don't know where I am.  Do you...speak English?"

"Not all who wander are lost," he quoted.

I remembered the quote but not who'd first coined it.  "Yeah, well, I didn't wander.  I really am lost."

"Yes.  You are definitely not from around here," he agreed.  "What is your name?"

"Graham."

"I am Francois."

"Nice to meet you.  You wouldn't happen to have a phone or something?  Or an outlet I could borrow?  Mine's dead."  I patted my cell phone where it was clipped to my belt.

He tilted his head to the side.  "Where do you come from Graham...?"

"Tanner.  I'm from San Francisco."

"San Francisco."  He rolled the syllables on his tongue as if in reverence.  Suddenly he stood.  "Come with me, out of the sun."

I squinted up into the sky.  We were in the sun.  Good thing I never burned.


Fate.  Was that really what had brought me here?  I sat on the bench outside my hut and sipped on my one-cup-per-day of coffee as I gazed around the village.  It was one of ten on our side of the island.  Each village had around three hundred people with the numbers growing each year.  Already in this year-if one went by the seasons it was late spring-we'd received three boatloads of mainlanders.  A total of eighty-two civilians.  Mostly illiterate, dirty, and speaking the garbled English that had first greeted me six years before.  When I'd arrived there had been two-thousand or so islanders.  I sipped the coffee again.  The smell more than the caffeine worked to wake me up.  I was heartily glad that there were others that now took on the tasks of educating and civilizing the newcomers.  I didn't want the duty.  I'd never wanted to be a teacher or leader.  In the real world I'd followed orders.  Point and shoot.  I'd also had bulletproof vests and night scopes and trained backup.  Decent weapons as well.  And more than one cup of coffee.

This village was cleverly named First Village.  Second Village was a half hour walk to the north.  Third and Fourth lay to the east, the rest to the south.  HQ was the farthest point inland, a mile from the perimeter.  We were all closer to the coast, with Third and Fourth being right on the beach.  They were the ones who took in the new arrivals and so had the most supplies and provisions.  First, my village, was the oldest.  The original.  And the leader of our village, Carlson, was walking toward me as I finished the last of my coffee.

"Noah," he greeted me with a smile as he shaded his eyes with his hand.  "How are you this day?"

"Tired, Carlson."  I stood and shook his offered hand.

"Did you sleep unwell?"  He followed me into my hut and I motioned him to sit on a stool.  His big body dwarfed it, his flowing white shirt and pants making his dark skin more pronounced.  Carlson always smelled like some sort of musk.  I knew it was from the incense he burned.  Mixed with his sweat it gave off a surprisingly pleasant odor.  I just smelled like sweat.

"I slept well."  I rinsed out the cup in my water barrel and laid it on a shelf.  I turned to Carlson.  "I heard you wanted to speak to me.  The answer will probably be no, though."

He stared at me for a moment, his dark eyes penetrating.  "Do you already know what it is I ask, then?"

"No.  But I'm assuming it's about leadership duties.  Or scouting missions.  Or taking civilians off of border patrol.  Any of those three?"

He leaned forward, the stool creaking with his shifting weight.  There was a reason that he was the leader.  He'd beaten every man but me for the title.  "You have already refused to be leader.  You have already refused to allow scouts to go to the mainland.  The third has not been discussed."

"But I knew it was coming.  Shebida, Louis, now you.  Just because we haven't had any incidences-"

"In nine months," he interrupted.

"-does not mean we should drop our guard.  They're planning something, waiting for us to make a mistake."

"How do you know this?"

"It's what I would do."

"And you think like them?"

I took a deep breath, let it out.  "I don't know how they think.  I do know they're smart.  Word of our freedom has spread.  Others may decide to fight back.  Having us free is a liability, a weakness, to them."

"You believe they will attack us?  When?"

"I don't know when.  But eventually they will wipe us out.  I honestly don't understand why they haven't yet."

"They do not like to die."

I almost laughed.  "No one likes to die, Carlson.  That's not a good enough reason.  Something is keeping them at bay."

"Well, the treaty should be the reason."

"And history has shown that treaties are broken as soon as someone gets tired of them."  I sat down on my bed.  "We need more soldiers, Carlson.  Not less."

"We also need more farmers, more hunters, more builders.  Noah, we need to, as you say, make a civilization.  We are trying, but we need more help."

"You get me more soldiers, I can shorten the shifts to free up more workers."

"We need leather."

I shook my head.  "Not if they stay behind the wall.  We make holes that guns and arrows can fit through.  I've been thinking about this for awhile.  We also build watchtowers that are tall enough to see across the perimeter.  We'll have advance warning-"

"Noah.  The people look to you as their savior, but many are beginning to doubt."

"Then have the doubters heal the newcomers.  They need fear, Carlson.  The war is over but the danger is always there."

Carlson stood.  "There is a tribal meeting in a week's time, Noah.  We will hear you then, but I warn you that you may not like what we decide.  I am sorry, but we must take care of each other.  The others, the enemy, have left us alone.  Perhaps if you argue well we can come to a..."  He faltered on the word. 

"Compromise," I said bitterly.

"Yes.  Compromise.  I will go now."

He shook my hand again and I let him walk away.


"You wanted them to think for themselves.  Why then are you angry?"

I continued pacing in front of Frank's cave, my rant fresh in the air between us.

"Because they're wrong.  Because they're playing into the enemy's hands."  I stopped and stared at my mentor.  My friend.  "Aren't they?"

Frank set aside the bow he'd been stringing and sighed.  "I have not been privy to the politics of my kind for many years, Graham Tanner."

I squatted before him.  "But you know how they think.  You can guess."

"I could, but it would only be assumption.  I chose isolation because I did not want to guess or assume."

"You don't want to get involved, you mean."

His strange gray eyes twinkled.  "No more than you do.  Yet those people are yours.  You created them, molded them into what they are today.  In doing so you feel responsible for them."

His unspoken words were evident.  "To save them I must lead them.  That's what you're saying."

"That is what you just said.  Not I."

"Frank, I get tired of your evasions."  I stood and stared out over the sun-dappled lagoon, to the waterfall that fell in a quiet rush farther up the hill.  I thought of home.  My wife and children.  Long dead in this place, this time.

"Whatever decision you make, you are not to blame for what occurs Graham."

The gentleness of his voice, the dropping of my last name, had me squeezing my eyes shut.  I didn't need gentleness.  I needed him to tell me what to do.  To take the burden off my shoulders.

"I have to go.  My shift starts soon."

"Come back tonight.  There is something I need to show you."

"Fine.  I'll see you at three."

I left the way I'd come and cut west toward the HQ building.  Halfway there I spotted a wild boar at the same time he saw me.

"Sorry buddy," I said as I aimed my gun.  "Wrong place, wrong time."

The pig and I had something in common.