Deluge

RONAN’S LOWER PARTS were human before he and Rory reached the door, stepping over the sleeping Kai. Mabo had torn off Ronan’s harness with his dry suit and thrown it in a corner, and he snatched it up and pulled the harness over his shoulders but didn’t bother to dress. As soon as they hit the beach, he’d be back in the water again.

He hadn’t counted on Pele meeting them behind the lab hut, but though she couldn’t help noticing that he was naked, she paid it no more mind than if he’d still been a seal. Instead she hissed with alarm, looking at the sore places Mabo’s specimen-collecting had left on his body, and said, “You’re really hurt.”

“Sun and salt water should do them wonders,” he told her.

The direct sunlight seared his skin, but thanks to his Inuit ancestors on his father’s side and the Navajo ones on his mother’s, his skin bore a permanent tan that protected it, even the bits not often exposed, in human form, to the light of day.

They dodged from one building to another, and he recalled the times he and Murel had done as much, playing at being soldiers or adventurers from some story or another. Even as seals they’d played tag and hide and seek, but this game was in earnest and he would have preferred to just run for the beach and dive into the water. He was stiff and sore and rapidly becoming so hot he felt sick and dizzy.

The huts were set in ten neat rows of sixteen per row, eight huts back to back, each row like a spoke leading from the mountain to the beach, and one inward-facing row of eight at each side. Fortunately, the lab hut was in the last row to the right of the compound, so no doorways looked onto the backs of the huts. Ronan and his friends could creep, slink, and dodge behind them without being spotted from within the compound. However, Rory touched his arm and pointed up into the trees. Sturdy guard towers were perched among the fronds and leaves, an armed sentry in each tower.

The beach beckoned brightly just ahead. Ronan was anticipating the hot sand on his bare soles when Pele held up her hand for them to stop. Craning his neck, he saw a large group of kids trooping down the beach from the children’s camp, herded by the matron and the doctor.

“Keep together, no talking, and try to march in step,” the matron told them. “If you can behave like good soldiers, they’re more likely to choose you to join.”

“Uh-oh,” Rory whispered. “It’s later than I thought. I’m supposed to be there to meet them. Can you wait here until the beach is clear, then make it to the sea by yourself?”

“Easy,” Ronan said.

“Look out for the net,” Pele whispered. “I think they put it back up again, hoping to catch your sistah. I gotta go too.”

But instead of heading back into the compound, as Rory had, she took off into the jungle, staying close to the trees and out of sight of the guard towers. He was pretty sure he was the only one who saw her run out of the jungle and onto the beach behind the other children. The matron and the doctor were not very vigilant today. If the field trip was a further attempt to recruit the kids to the ranks of the Corps, as it appeared, then they wouldn’t be too concerned with who came and who didn’t, or with security for that matter. They wanted the kids mingling around, seeing the advantages in housing and food the soldiers enjoyed, hoping those amenities would entice new recruits.

He watched the kids scrunch past, farther down the beach, where they were greeted by a friendly adult bellow. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Camp Kindling. How many of you already know how to shoot? How many would like to learn?”