Where Angel Fears to Tread
Chapter 7
Through Darkened Lenses
So much gray. A speck of gray ash floated through the air and attached itself to his impeccably groomed black suit jacket. Two meaty fingers flicked the intruder, and sent it scurrying back to its millions of friends littering the area. Millions more drifted in a slothful blizzard, blotting out a sun struggling to bring light to ruination. He lifted the pair of polarized sunglasses from intense eyes, and rested them atop his smooth head, which glistened with perspiration in what little light permeated the haze.
Cobra Bubbles, the once-former Central Intelligence Agency operative charged with a very special protective detail, surveyed the absolute carnage that had befallen the small town. All around him, workers from a half-dozen domestic agencies toiled in mounds of gray. Blue particulate masks had lost all traces of their color in minutes. He pulled down his own stifling mask, and took a tentative breath. Heavy gray dust filled his nostrils and desiccated his throat, and as the coughing began, he clumsily reattached his breathing apparatus.
"Are you alright, sir?" came the genuine concern from a subordinate tasked with shoveling through the ashes of a grocery stand.
"Yes, yes I'm fine," Cobra managed through short hacks, his impossibly deep velvet voice marred with scratchy rasps.
"Okay…so sir, what exactly are we looking for?"
After a few relaxed breaths, Cobra faced his subordinate. A greenhorn, most likely fresh from the training program of whatever organization claimed him, Cobra concluded. He angled his head, as the young man barely stood to Cobra's shoulders— few could challenge his imposing figure. "You'll know it when you see it, son."
The kid hovered for a few moments, rising onto the balls of his feet in anticipation for more direction. Cobra reapplied his sunglasses, and the subordinate wandered away, dragging his shovel listlessly through the thick ash. With a satisfied grunt, Cobra turned back and observed the remnants of the beach. The sparse light was still enough to illuminate the glassed surface, splitting errant rays as they streaked through shattered panes. He walked for a bit, sidestepping a few mounds and craters, and then bent down to pick up a section. Granules of sand and encased air bubbles peppered the shard.
"What did this…" he murmured. "No," he quickly corrected, "who did this?"
The cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocked. A text message popped up on the screen, obscured in seconds by the accumulating dirty gray snow. A situation update already? He wiped the screen clean and dialed the number.
"Sir, it's Cobra…yes, it's bad…no, I don't believe they caused it…no, I can't say that for sure." He kicked at a pile of former watermelons. The dust puffed into the air and ruined the shine on his meticulously polished shoes. "Not yet, but I'll keep looking…yessir, we'll secure the island within the hour."
The phone firmly entrenched in his jacket pocket again, Cobra's darkened lenses panned across the beach, watching the polluted ocean waves smack against an unforgiving landscape. But where should I begin looking?
For years, the CIA's interest in their special guests had stopped with Cobra. Human issues garnered far more attention from the higher-ups—and though the attack of a clone army had precipitated a shift, it moved at a glacially bureaucratic pace. None too keen about getting involved again with the agency, Cobra had little desire for advancement, and a posting on Kaua`i to provide overwatch had suited him well. But, he was still beholden to the good graces of program officers and directors who authorized the meager resources he received to keep tabs on more than six hundred of the most powerful and potentially dangerous beings in the galaxy. They didn't pose much of a threat after he pacified them, Cobra had reasoned as his last fiscal year budget was halved. He brushed some of the ash from his shoes, which only further smudged their mirror finishes. But now….
"Sir." Cobra wheeled around to meet the head of the rescue operation. He was a bit stockier, and clad in a full bright yellow hazmat suit. Flecks of gray bounced off the fabric and tumbled to the ground. Cobra wrote a mental note to procure one such suit, provided it came in black. The voice that spoke from the plastic hood was clear and full. "We've scoured the town. No survivors."
"…at all?"
The man shook his hooded head. "What's worse, we can't even find their bodies. Whatever happened here, it…it just annihilated everything. All we have is this damned gray dust!" He wiped at a few dingy patches on his elbows and knees.
"Hmph," Cobra grumbled. "Well, keep at it. I need something more optimistic to relay to Langley. And while I have you here, can you tell me if anyone has checked at the end of that road over there?" He pointed a meaty finger to a distant dirt path, buried behind jungle brush, which slithered along a steep hill. The man shook his head.
"Okay then. If you could spare a few men, I'd like to check it out."
"Of course, sir. Those two over there, checking out the path off the beach. I'll radio ahead and let them know. They'll meet you at the foot of the hill."
Cobra gave an approving nod and started toward the distant dirt path. A lifetime ago, he had crested that hill to investigate a little pastoral house and its occupants struggling to survive against unfathomable adversity. It had taken time, but he had been pleased with the results. Yet as he closed in on the hill, an unfamiliar knot of fear tightened in his gut.
"She's being…moody today. I don't think she'll come out to see you, Cobra."
Nani shook her head as Cobra stood on the porch, a tad winded from his climb up the whitewashed steps. The late morning sun cast warming rays over the house. The impeccably groomed black suit jacket heated rapidly, but as usual, Cobra was determined not to break a sweat. The tired but fiery eyes of the older sister watched as Cobra steadied his breathing and readjusted the coat. "I'm not sure how long this budgetary meeting will last — HQ likes to drag out things like this. I just…wanted to check in on her before I leave."
Nani folded her arms and leaned through the doorway. In the outdoor light, the toll of caring for her sister became evident. She was still striking, but deep-set bags under her eyes betrayed Nani's enervation. Cobra imagined that working several jobs and caring for her adolescent sister was almost too much to ask, yet Nani's demeanor and drive never wavered. Cobra had always been proud of her.
"I know, Cobra. But there's been something going on with that girl. Been cooped up in her room for a few days now. School's been out, so I've only seen her for most meals and the occasional time with the TV. I'm worried."
"Has anyone else spoken to her?"
"Oh, I tried sending David up there—didn't help. He's usually good about things like this—much better than I am."
"Better?"
"…calmer."
"Ah." Cobra recalled seeing her fire the first time he had ascended those steps. Nani had been so haggard then, barely keeping the house together. Time had given her experience, and had cooled her temper. But even as she learned how to manage the whole mess, and gained some help along the way, the fire would occasionally reignite, especially when it involved Lilo.
"Yeah, but that girl is a stubborn one."
"Would it have something to do with the, uh…with him?" Cobra prodded.
"Who—oh, no. She hasn't been around him lately. He's been spending so much time with that yellow one. They've been off on the island following their cousins, and Lilo's been doing—well, I don't know what she's been doing. I just…oy."
"Could that be part of the problem?"
"No, I don't think so. They've seen plenty of each other recently. The whole thing is just kooky, Cobra. It's very unlike her…." Nani paused as her eyes lit up. "Actually, if I'm counting right, this is about the time that he disappeared for those few days. That was, what, three years ago now? I wonder…."
Cobra's shades rose to the domed observation tower. What a burden to bear. When the blue one had been held captive on Turo for several days following the relinquishment of his Armada commission, she had received the initial call. Cobra had delivered it to his superiors, who tasked a well-spoken olive-skinned man to retrieve him. Lilo had been told to never talk about the operation—a mandate that Cobra had given on bended knee. He had expected her to immediately violate it, but from the way Nani squinted when she talked about the situation, Cobra knew the little girl had stayed silent for three long years.
"I wouldn't think so," Cobra fibbed. "There may be something else—or several somethings. She's had to mature much faster than the other girls her age, so she certainly concerns herself with more advanced problems than they do. It's what makes her special, Nani."
"I suppose so."
"Just give her a few more days to work it out. Be supportive, and she'll eventually open up. She always does."
A smile brought out the shallow dimples in Nani's cheeks. "You're right, Cobra, I know you are." She sighed. "I'm going to miss having you around."
"I'll be back soon, Nani. Don't worry. For now, though…." Cobra's darkened lenses gazed at the ground as he shuffled his polished shoes. "Please tell her I stopped by, okay?"
"Of course."
Cobra looked back at the domed observation tower a final time before bidding Nani farewell. As he proceeded down the whitewashed stairs, which creaked underfoot, he wondered how the two of them would bear their own burdens, worn so visibly yet kept so secret. Cobra was concerned by how absent the blue one had become. He hoped that when he revisited after the budget meeting, the one she called Stitch would have taken a more active role in supporting her. What a burden to bear.
The budgetary meeting had been winding down, the last points of contention nearly buried. Cobra was halfway done with ordering his plane ticket back when the news arrived. In the confused scramble following the attack, his mind had gone back to the house on the hill, wondering if they had been keeping it together and bearing their burdens. With the house now only a short walk away, and two hazmat-clad investigators waving him on, he could only hope the house's occupants had again survived against unfathomable adversity.
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