“What time can you be back here?”
Judging by the trip today, the drive here from the hotel, without stops, would take forty minutes give or take.
“Depends on how late I stay out tonight,” he said with a goofy grin.
“Sounds like you have your priorities straight.”
“Joke,” he said. “I’ll be here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at six thirty. Will that work for you?”
“Perfect.”
They came upon a sharp fork in the road.
“Turn left,” she said. “Woody says the right goes to the Kiawe. Do you know how far it is from here?”
“If we had kept going on the highway, we would’ve hit the turnoff anytime. Too bad you aren’t staying there, the place is legendary.”
“I could afford to stay there for about half an hour, if that,” she said.
He laughed. “Yup, sounds about right.”
A little farther on, Minnow could just make out a hand-paintedsign on a coconut tree that said,KAPU! No trespass.She cracked the window and saw the ocean next to them, gray and choppy. No beach, just lava up to the edge of the water. And then a house appeared, flanked by coconut trees. Red roof, brown wooden siding, thatched fronds over an extended porch. No other cars were in sight.
“Where is everyone?” Nalu asked.
“Woody said he’ll try to make it down tomorrow or the next day. He sent me detailed instructions on how to open up and get the generator running since there’s no electricity.”
He seemed surprised. “So it’s just you?”
“For now.”
“What are you going to eat tonight?”
The clouds had obliterated any sign of a sunset, other than a hazy orange out over the ocean where she imagined the horizon must be. Everything else was draped in a monochromatic gray.
“I had a late lunch with Joe, so I’m still full, and I have an apple and trail mix. I’ll be fine.”
She grabbed her bags from the back and climbed out. The rain had slowed to a featherlight drizzle and felt refreshing on her skin. Not icy cold like California rain, this felt like a caress, a welcome. Something about the place felt vaguely familiar, almost as though she’d been here before. Maybe Uncle Jimmy’s old photos were now coming to life. In all honesty, she was happier to be here than she thought she’d be.
“Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, then shut the door and moved toward the house.
Walking on crushed lava and bleached-white coral fragments, she made her way around to the back, following Woody’s instructions. Behind the house, hidden earlier by trees that could have come from the pages of a Dr. Seuss book, a large network of ponds meandered toward another red-roofed house. She could still hear the truck idling. Nalu, she guessed, was debating whether to be a good human and help her or do the bare minimum required.
In her mind this was exactly what separated the bad interns from the good ones: a willingness to do the most mundane and unforgiving taskswithoutbeing asked. Anything from scrubbing nine months’ worth of bird shit from the picnic table to volunteering to help pull up the anchor in frothing ten-foot seas, where a rat pack of white sharks circled below.
On a narrow back porch, she set down her things and pulled out a flashlight so she could see the numbers on the lock. It was so rusty, it felt like it would crumble in her hands, but eventually she slid the combo into place and the lock popped open. She pressed the door, but it didn’t budge, so she pushed with her shoulder before finally resorting to kicking. The door swung open into musty blackness.
Where the hell were the windows?
Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
Farallon Islands, September 1, 1995
Getting the invite here feels like I’ve won the lottery, and I have Doc Finnegan to thank. The house where we scientists stay is decrepit, wind-battered and as unwelcoming as they come. The guys here say it’s haunted, and not just by mice. I can believe it. Windows rattle, floorboards creak and unnamed things howled a few nights ago when a storm hurled breaking waves in over the rocks. I’m still getting settled, but I know I’m going to love it.
Yesterday I had a crash course in Farallon history from Max, the head of the shark project, and I have to admit, I’m fascinated by the island’s dark past (and if I’m honest, by him too). Over the past few hundred years, these rocky islands have been home to shipwrecks, rapacious seal hunters, egg collectors and lighthouse keepers. Death and disease ran rampant, and being here, I can see why. But I am more than happy to overlook the bleak, barren land and the ghosts and vermin in exchange for a few months at what is essentially a block party of oversized sharks.
