Sitting in his favorite deck chair and taking a deep drag off a cigarette, Marcus scanned the horizon with the pair of binoculars he had found in an adjacent house several years before.
The first floor deck was raised enough where one could see over the fenced in property of his home and provided a wonderfully unobstructed view of the Pacific which was the dominating feature of the whole area.
He had chosen to live in this particular house for that very reason.
Scanning the ocean slowly, Marcus reflected deeply on his conversation with Governor Inouye. It seemed that every single strange event he had experienced in the last day was but a magnet for another, stranger one.
First, he ran into Rosie. Then, the Governor had stopped by for surprise visit with a plethora of new information he hadn't even finished getting a handle on yet. Now, a Fog ship was bearing down on Oahu, an island that hadn't seen one in over a decade.
What were the odds of all of this? It didn't seem to matter in the slightest that Marcus tried desperately to live a quiet, uneventful existence. No, all the noise in the world seemed to have no problem tracking him down.
The biggest news, if the Governor was the be believed, was the pending evacuation of Hawaii. This was a startlingly revelation. Marcus had long since given up the thought of ever leaving Oahu and had grown to accept his place on it.
There was, of course, a time not that long ago in the grand scheme of things where it had been different. He could remember so clearly the conversations he'd had with his father growing up, where they would discuss in detail what they would do once they reached the mainland. Marcus couldn't even pinpoint a time when those conversations stopped; they just did one day after he enlisted.
He wondered just when it was he had finally lost hope of ever leaving Oahu and had grown completely comfortable with his chosen existence.
It may have been the day his father died.
Marcus looked away from the binoculars for a moment and closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. There he went, thinking about his father again. That subject, like many of Marcus's past, were things he tried very hard not to think about.
He then did what he always did when he found himself looking back; he forced himself to look forward again.
Tossing the spent cigarette in yet another pot (his property was inundated with them, placed in strategic locations) Marcus lit up another and focused again through the binoculars at the ocean.
Focus on the now.
And the now, for Marcus, was trying to catch a glimpse of this Fog ship that decided to show up and throw Oahu for a loop. Word around the campfire, otherwise known as the military gossip pool, was that some of the bigger Fog ships had recently started to develop some sort of avatar, like a cybernetic, human-like stand in of some sort. The rumors were foggy at best and none of them included any clear indication on just why the Fog would do this, but that was utterly normal. No one had ever really figured out the Fog, so the lack of any clear, reliable information was well within the ordinary.
The sun was up and bright and the sky was clear. The breeze coming from the ocean caressed his face and offered the slight smell of sea salt that he found genuinely comforting.
After an entire childhood spent growing up in and around military installation, several years of it during a complete lockdown, with all hell broken loose on the other side, Marcus would never take such a view or such a feeling of freedom for granted ever again.
He surprised himself even, with that thought of freedom. He was, as he had been for nearly sixteen years now, trapped on a small island in the Pacific Ocean, with, up until now, no hope of ever leaving. Perhaps since this was the most freedom he had ever experienced, it was all he thought he would ever need. He didn't really know. All he knew was that he had no interest whatsoever in returning to the mainland.
Marcus trusted Governor Inouye explicitly. He knew the man would keep his word and if this new submarine program could perform as it was promised to, Marcus would have a seat on the final ride to leave the state of Hawaii.
The only problem was, Marcus had no intention of leaving. He suppose he would cross that bridge in three years, if he ever even had to cross it at all.
By this time, Marcus was quite used to things not exactly working out for him. That was the Oahu way, on a whole.
Marcus heard the sliding glass door behind him open and he quickly spun his head to bring it into view.
He knew perfectly that it was Rosie, but this was just the way he was programmed: Always know your surroundings; assume nothing, even if you know things for a fact.
And of course, there she was, wearing her pale red sundress with her red ballet flats, carrying his bunched up sweatshirt.
Given that he was somewhat drunk the night before and the fact that he was purposely trying to avoid looking at her, Marcus had been able to avoid many observations about Rosie that he couldn't now.
Stepping into the sunlight, Marcus could see her perfectly.
She had very pale, freckled skin and straight rust red hair that that reached mid-back and was wavering slightly in the breeze. She wore no jewelry and didn't seem to have any makeup on (though, again, women were a little foreign to Marcus of late, so maybe he just couldn't tell).
She met his gaze with her own and the light reflected off her eyes, which appeared to be gray and obviously full of intelligence.
It had been a while since Marcus had been around a girl, but he still knew a beautiful one when she was standing right in front of him.
Remembering perfectly his behavior the night before and more than a little embarrassed at it, Marcus tried to be as welcoming as possible. As the shock of her unexpected presence had had its time to wear off (and the fact that he was still completely sober today), Marcus decided that welcoming was the best thing to attempt.
Not to mention that he had important news to tell Rosie. He didn't like it much himself and he honestly doubted she would either.
"Good morning!" he said, as cheerily as possible. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yeah..." Rosie rubbed her eyes, as if to try to wake herself up. "I did, thank you. Did you? I still feel bad about taking your bed..."
"And I still don't care," Marcus replied. "I honestly think you're underestimating how comfortable that couch is."
"That still doesn't make me feel any better," Rosie said, brushing hair out of her eyes with an absent minded swipe of her hand.
She closed the sliding door and just stood there for a few moments, as if she were waiting to be invited over. Though, finding this strange, Marcus obliged.
"Would you like to sit down?" he gestured to the second deck chair that he had placed next to his (at a respectful distance) planning for this very eventuality.
Rosie glided over gracefully, and sat, bundling up his sweatshirt in her lap.
"I heard voices," she stated. "Did you have something on?"
Marcus shook his head, and took a drag from his current cigarette. "Don't have a TV. If I want to watch something I do it on my computer. But no, someone was over."
"I thought you didn't like visitors?" she observed.
"This is true," Marcus shrugged. "But it was an old friend. I make exceptions for some people."
"But not for me?"
Marcus laughed. "I can be a little rough around the edges, I admit. No, you're fine, don't worry about it."
Rosie thought about this for a few moments before pointing at the binoculars in his hand. "Are you looking at something?"
"For something, actually..." Marcus was not excited about this subject, but it had just come up, so might as well dive in.
"Rosie," he began. "Please don't panic... According to my friend, there's a Fog ship heading towards us. That's what I'm looking for; never seen one myself. But, we're totally fine right here, I promise."
If any of this news concerned her, Rosie didn't show it in the slightest.
"Oh," was all she said in reply.
"Well... That wasn't so bad," Marcus muttered. "Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Nevermind," Marcus waved his hand. "A lot of people don't understand the Fog and just start fucking panicking whenever the name is dropped. I didn't know if you'd be one of those people."
Rosie blinked. "No, I'm okay. That ship won't hurt us."
"Not unless we break the rules, anyway," Marcus agreed. "I'm not even sure we can break their rules anymore. This island is a little short on things that piss the Fog off."
"I suppose," Rosie said, glancing to the ocean, before turning her gaze back to him. "Marcus... What do you think of the Fog?"
"Huh?" Marcus asked, bewildered. What a bizarre question.
"What do you think of them?"
Marcus sighed. "There's the politically correct answer and the answer I actually believe. Which do you want to hear?"
"I want to hear the truth."
"I don't think you'll like it."
"I don't care what you think."
Marcus smiled. "Yeah, you never seem to. Unless you're asking me a question about something, of course."
Rosie just stared, her face showing deep interest.
"Okay," Marcus said. "But again, you wanted to know."
Marcus looked through his binoculars for another few moments, before taking a final, deep drag on his cigarette and tossing it into the ceramic pot.
"I think the Fog are a bunch of lazy motherfuckers."
"...What...?" Rosie looked stunningly confused and it was kind of adorable.
Marcus laughed, trying to defuse what could prove to ultimately be a horribly awkward situation. "Would you like me to elaborate further? I would encourage you not to want that, by the way."
"No, please do."
"Your call," Marcus lit up another cigarette. "I think humanity was always on the verge of being destroyed. Either we would do it to ourselves, which was my first natural conclusion, or an outside force would do it for us. As it turns out, the Fog show up, seemingly intending on doing just that. They kill probably billions of people, either by direct or indirect action, gain a foothold over the majority of the planet, and then... they just sit there, dicking around for the next fifteen years. Why not finish the job? If they can recreate warships then certainly they could recreate tanks or other ground based assault vehicles. I wouldn't fuck with a Fog Tiger tank, would you?"
Marcus paused to take another puff from his cigarette and to politely see if Rosie would want to interject, or ask him a question, or (seemingly the obvious choice) tell him to shut the fuck up. But no, she just sat there intently, waiting for him to continue.
So he did.
"So, why not finish the job? Why let us sit here? Granted, in places like here we damn near wiped ourselves out anyway, but over on the mainland? Humanity is, supposedly, more united than at any point in history. I mean, the United States alone has combined with two other countries and are working on adding even more to the union, so I've heard. That's just what we know about. Who knows how things are going in Europe or Asia, for instance? I would hope they've allied similarly."
"You don't hate the Fog, do you?" Rosie asked.
Marcus thought for a long time. "At first, when I was a kid especially, I thought I did. But then, it occurred to me, sometime after I enlisted, that the Fog were never really the enemy. A enemy, sure, but not the enemy."
"What do you mean...?"
"The Fog are machines right?" Marcus said, looking to the sky. "At least, that's what we think they are."
"That's what I've heard, yes."
"Well, then they're just doing what they're programmed to do, aren't they? They take over the oceans and wipe out anything that stands between them and that goal. They don't seem to have any interest in doing anything more and no one can figure out why. Whatever they're doing, it's not personal. They can't hate us, or they'd just wipe us out, right?"
Marcus turned to glance at Rosie, thinking he'd see some sort of concern in her face, but seeing only the interest, fascination and curiosity that she always seemed to possess.
"Rosie... I enlisted when I was sixteen years old. I was in the Air Force for five years and I fought in more battles than I really care to remember. I've never, not once, fought the Fog. Hell, I've never even seen a Fog ship before... No, what I really hate is humanity. I mean, of course individual people are rarely ever evil or malevolent, but the species as a whole is universally destructive. In our case, our bad apples really do fuck everything up. It would be nice to imagine a future where we could somehow evolve past that, but even if we manage to ever beat the Fog, I just don't see it happening. No, the Fog could have put humanity out of its collective misery a decade and a half ago, but those lazy bastards just refuse to finish the job."
"Do you want them to? To finish the job...?" Rosie asked, unmoving.
"That's complicated," Marcus replied, thinking. "I just don't think I'd mind terribly much if they did, is all."
"You really hate people that much just because they can be destructive?"
"Yeah. That's pretty much it, really. Not all people, of course. Not even anyone personally, that I can think of. Maybe I just hate the concept of people, of humanity. I don't really know."
"Do you hate me?" Rosie asked quietly.
"No, of course not!" Marcus stammered. "Why would you think that?"
"Because... All you want me to do is leave."
Marcus sighed. She was right about that. He thought for a while, before formulating a response. "My problems are my problems. They're not yours. You haven't done anything wrong."
"I don't want you to be alone." Rosie legitimately looked as if she were about to cry.
"Woah, woah," Marcus said, trying to be as soothing as possible. "Where's this coming from?"
But all Rosie did was simply avert her gaze from him and look to the ocean.
Author's Note:
Firstly, thanks again for all the support!
Secondly, I usually try to respond to detailed reviews in depth so I can help explain any observations, or questions, but some people have the IM feature turned off. So, if you're not getting feedback on your feedback, that's why.
Anyway, until next time!
Choice Kingdom, by Alt-J