The transcript, p.5
The Transcript, page 5
“My memory’s fuzzy, man,” Hayden said. “You know, from that big IED in Ramadi, I… I can't remember.”
“Hayden, I really don't want to talk about this.” Jake Hayes’ end was something he would rather not retell. It was the one out of the many that haunted him most. Jake Hayes was denied a clean death. Denied an honorable death. He’d died brutally. Blasted to pieces by an IED planted by a kid for twenty dollars. Eviscerated into something that no longer resembled a man. He died in some shitty bazaar, on some shitty patrol, in some shitty war that most Americans didn’t give a shit about.
“Yeah,” Hayden stuttered, “but do you remember what happened afterwards? After he died?”
Martin paused. This was something he also didn't want to revisit. Jake’s death had haunted him, but what had come after had unsettled Martin to this day.
“…Marty?”
Martin mulled it over, gulping down the last of his beer. He sighed, “I remember we saw him again, on that convoy outside Ramadi.”
Hayden’s voice changed, “I remember now, we saw him standing in the middle of the road. Clear as day. You slammed on the brakes stopping the whole convoy. LT came on the net cussing us out for that.” Martin could hear Hay-den softly chuckle on the other end.
“We were the only ones who could see him, our gunner kept telling us how he couldn't see anything. But we saw him there, pointing to a spot on the road.” Martin breathed in, heart beginning to race. “Pointing to that fucking pres-sure plate IED that would have sent us all to hell.”
“And after that we, we saw him everywhere.”
Martin sighed, “Hayden why are we talking about all this?”
“Jake saved our lives, right?” Hayden blurted. “He sav-ed our asses! Remember how we would see him pointing towards all those other IEDs? We always found them, too. He would stand right next to them, just pointing.”
Martin started to get upset, “But only we could see him, remember? We almost got pulled from the unit because of it. We were losing it. Jake’s death traumatized us. It was all in our heads.”
“Bullshit! Bullshit, Martin! You know that’s bullshit! That's not what you told me over there, that's not true. That’s not what we believed. What did we really think it was!?”
Martin sighed again, “I remember that we believed that it was his ghost. That he came back from the dead to warn us, to keep us alive.” Tears were coming down his eyes.
Martin heard sobbing from the other end of the phone, deep and painful sobs.
“I should have died there man, in Iraq.” Hayden now cried like a child. “I. Should. Have. Died. Not Jake. All that death, and I’m still alive. I got to come home. I couldn't get right. Couldn't be that Good Marine. Couldn’t do shit for my family. I don't know why I’m here anymore.” Martin heard his friend repeat over and over, “I’m sorry.”
“Hayden.” Worry was welling up inside of Martin. He prayed his friend would stay on the phone while he figured out what to do.
“He’s here, man. Jake is here in the house with me. He’s been here all day, and I don’t know what he wants.”
“What?!” There was only silence on the phone now. Martin tried several things, to get his friend to talk again, for one, maybe even get him to make a semblance of sense. But there was nothing now, save for a burst of frantic sobs and then the line went dead.
Martin was moving. Hayden wasn’t far and he didn't have time to lose. He jumped into his car and peeled out of the driveway. He had already lost one of his friends, but tonight he wasn't going to lose another one. He called 911 as he sped through the early morning streets of Oceanside, pulling up to his Hayden’ house as he told the operator his friend was in crisis. He blurted out the address before bolt-ing from his still-running car.
He frantically knocked and slammed on the door. He yelled for Hayden to open the hell up. Nothing. He had to find another way in. He started brainstorming breaking a window as he began to kick the door. Then, and it was so crisp and clear the sound stayed him, the tell-tale “thunk” of a lock slid and then stopped. The door was now unlocked.
Martin grabbed the handle and burst into the house, expecting Hayden to be standing there…but the doorway was empty. I must have not realized the door was unlocked, Martin told himself. He saw the shape of a man walk away; into the dark home. He called out to Hayden as he ran inside. He was oblivious to any danger, he just wanted to get to his friend.
The place was a mess, beer cans and trash lay every-where. It wreaked of old cigarettes and older food. Hayden was a neat freak, and to see his house in this condition must have meant he was really going through it. Martin also noticed the house was practically empty. Betty was gone.
Martin felt that guilt hit him like the insurgent’s round he’d taken to the chest. Had he really not bothered to check on his friend?
He moved into the living room, calling Hayden’s name. And it was there he froze in place with his eyes wide.
On the sofa sat Hayden. A meager coffee table held several empty liquor bottles. Pills lay spilled and scattered. Hayden was still crying; one hand wrestling with a hand-gun. Martin’s eyes were drawn to the other hand that wres-tled with Hayden, holding back the gun as best it could as the weapon inched closer and closer to Hayden’ head. And who that other hand belonged to. Martin was in pure disbelief, but his hair sure believed it; standing on end as a chill ran down his spine.
He wore a pair of desert cammies, clean and crisp. Jacob Hayes, intact as he’d been before that malicious IED, stood to the right of Hayden as he grappled with the handgun.
“Not today, Hayden.” Jacob Hayes, a dead man, said aloud. His other hand was placed on Hayden’ shoulder. “Not like this.”
Martin felt goosebumps as Jacob turned his gaze. “Look, Martin is here. It’s going to be okay, dude. Martin is here.”
Hayden also turned towards Martin. His eyes were filled with a pain that overflowed into Martin’s heart. As he looked away, the sobs of a broken man shook Martin to his core.
At that moment Lance Corporal Jacob Hayes, killed by an IED in Iraq, gently took the handgun away. Hayes cup-ped Hayden’ head with his free hand and embraced him. “I’ll see you again, man. But when it’s your time.”
Jacob Hayes then walked towards Martin, who was still absolutely frozen. Hayes placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved the gun into his hands. He hugged Martin too, and he felt as real as the day he’d died. Martin wished it would last forever, but Jake pulled away and Martin thought his heart would break all over again.
“I’m always here,” Jacob Hayes said to both of them. “Don't wait for me.” He began to vanish. “Live your life. I’ll see you again.”
Just a Rock
Part I
The cool tropical night was coming to an end as the rising sun marked the beginning transition to the new day. The blackness of the sky was replaced slowly with an omin-ous red glow, like lava spewing forth into the sky. The sun slowly rose over the city of Hilo and with it the familiar tropical heat as the sun took its place high above the Big Island of Hawaii.
The roads weren’t yet filled with commuters going about their day and tour busses crammed with chatty tour-ists emerging out of there cozy Kona resorts to crowd black sand beaches and gawk at volcanoes.
A lone jeep sped away from Hilo International Airport. Its driver was a young man in his mid-twenties. He was a fit, unassuming man; your standard overachieving “All Amer-ican” boy from a privileged suburban family. His fading high reg buzz cut and the Army issued assault pack resting in his passenger seat gave him away.
He sat erect and stiff in the driver’s seat of the brown Jeep wrangler, jittery and on edge. But he never took his eyes off the road save for the quick peak at his phone’s GPS and the occasional nervous glance in his rearview mirror.
He soon left town and headed towards Saddle Road which bisected the Big Island: a solid two-hour drive from Hilo to Kona. The jeep began to groan as he began the steady climb up “the hill,” the over six thousand feet elevation change from sea level to above the clouds.
As he closed in on his destination, the tropical paradise began to fade away and was soon replaced by the vast dry lava fields that dominates the middle of the Island. As the snowy peaks of Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa began to loom, a cold wind began to blow through the open cabin of the jeep. Even through it was February, the tropical heat was a welcomed perk of island life; a cold winter wind was not. A shiver spread across his body. He didn’t seem to mind; he was focused on his task at hand. Besides, the chill that crept up his spine, into his very soul, wasn't a result of mountain air.
The jeep began to slow as he arrived at his destination.
It was just a rock. Just a rock, he repeated in his head.
He drove up to the gate of the Pohakuloa Training Area. If he could just keep it together a little longer, this nightmare would be over. He just had to convince the gate guard it was business as usual. As he drove up to the guard he pulled out his CAC card and smiled.
“I’m just here to do a recon of the area. My units coming in a few months for gunnery and I’m just making sure we are set for my battalion’s staff ride tomorrow.” He kept smiling, though he knew his eyes looked tired. The bored gate guard, an elderly civilian security officer (who could barely hide the fact that he could care less), rendered a mocking salute.
Our man sat there for a second, exhausted from sleepless nights, staring blankly at the guard before returning the salute. After several seconds he began to creep the jeep forward and through the gate.
He drove slowly, and cautiously through the canton-ment area of PTA. The whole base was practically a ghost town. He had made sure to do his homework: there was only some aviation support battalion out here training. More importantly, as he had checked the range schedule, no one should be training where he knew he needed to go.
The military police were scarce, most likely they were parked somewhere; either on their phones or taking a nap. Now he just hoped the civilian workers wouldn’t notice the dusty jeep wrangler slipping onto the tank trail. Hopefully, they just assumed he was another soldier on a snack run for his friends out in the lava fields.
He pressed down on the gas now, his heart rate climbing with the rpms. He shook in anticipation and began to sweat despite the cold air at 6500’. He was almost done.
Before him lay the vast sea of black rock that made up the training area. Nestled between the imposing colossi of Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, these fields were the sights of battles and history so ancient that they’d been practically forgotten.
Now much of this land had been repurposed into live fire ranges and maneuver areas for the US Army. The ancient soil absorbing artillery shells and bombs over decades became a sore subject amongst the locals who called the Hawaiian Islands home.
He pulled over at a small range complex and grabbed his assault pack. He opened it quickly and ensured his precious cargo was still contained within.
“I’m sorry. I thought it was just a rock. I didn’t realize. It’s just a rock,” he pleaded out loud shaking his head in dismay as he stared at black object.
He picked it up and stared at this odd lava rock. It was the approximate size and shape of a baseball, but with the deep black of a night sky, and smooth like polished obsidian. Its surface was dotted with large sparkling pieces of peridot, a beautiful green gemstone, and sky blue larimar; gemstones formed in the molten forge.
Then he glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror. It was a miracle he made it through the gate without causing suspicion. He looked like shit. His eyes were red, bags still forming beneath them. His clothes looked disheveled and now that he didn’t have to pretend, he looked like a maniac. He hadn’t slept in months. He had really pissed off the wrong person. But as luck would have it, he was on the path to get back on her good side.
He looked at the woman sitting in his backseat. A beauti-ful Hawaiian in flowing white robes…glaring patiently at Second Lieutenant Dan Brookins.
The guard at the gate never saw her, because why would he? She was for Dan’s eyes only. His punishment for his transgression had made that obvious. The chanting and beating drums in his head began to beat and scream all the louder as he continued his journey up the slopes, towards the volcano of Mauna Loa.
Part II
Three months ago, Second Lieutenant Dan Brookins had come out to PTA with his battalion on one of the many routine deployments to the Big Island.
Crammed into a small auditorium with a hundred other soldiers, he had to go through the notorious one hour “don’t do this” brief. So many rules, so many fucks to not give.
He sat bored as hell, daydreaming during the bland welcoming from the range control civilians of PTA. This was his first time to the area, and he was relatively new to Hawaii in general. A fresh second lieutenant out of Ranger School, he was lucky to have received a platoon leader position right away. Rather than suffer the common fate of slaving away in his unit’s S3, he was eager to get to work leading an infantry platoon. He could care less about the nene goose or whatever “sacred” areas were out here.
At the end of the brief, they were released from the auditorium to the smoke pits, gym, or queuing up to strip the small post shoppette bare of energy drinks and candy. As Dan took his place at the end of the gaggle, trying to squeeze through the exit, a range control civilian stood next to the doorway.
He was an old Hawaiian man with a long white beard, crooked smile, Pit Vipers, and a gut made probably by the hearty cooking of his wife. He smiled at Dan; the last one to the door.
When Dan reached him, they were the only two in the auditorium. The old local spoke with gentle reassurance, “First time on Big Island, LT? Just remember, don't take the lava rocks off this island.”
Dan looked puzzling at him. “What do you mean the lava rocks?”
The Hawaiian chuckled, “LT, you may think this is just an open nothingness of wasteland. Most of you do. But this land… it doesn’t belong to you. Shit, it doesn’t even belong to Na Kanaka.”
He lowered his glasses with his chubby finger. His eyes hardened. He leaned in and Dan leaned back. Dan could smell cigarettes on his breath.
The man spoke softly. “Don’t take the rocks. Stay out of the lava tubes. Be respectful out here, this is an ancient place. Ancient and very much aware you are not one of us. Nothing good is going to happen to you if you decide not to listen. Tell your men, too. There’s been plenty of people who found this out the hard way.”
Dan eventually broke into a nervous smile, “Sounds like a lot of trouble over a stupid rock.”
“They aren’t just rocks. Those rocks were once lava and magma, spewed forth by the volcanoes of this island. Created by the goddess Pele.”
“Okay…”
“This is her land, this island and everything on it still belongs to her.” The man ushered Dan out the door, adding, “Don’t forget.”
As he walked out of the auditorium, Dan couldn't help but scoff. But when he turned around to glance one last time at the man, he was gone.
What a weird fucking guy, Dan thought to himself.
Part III
Two weeks later, Dan was under the stars nearing the conclusion of his unit’s live fires. They’d spent the last two weeks maneuvering across jagged lava and generally being miserable. He was exhausted and ready to go home.
His company had bivouacked on what was known as “Range 20,” a sprawling live fire area full of targets and mock objectives for the infantry to seize under the watching gaze of Mauna Loa. His command had decided to grant some mercy, letting the soldiers sleep through the night in the “non-tactical” comfort of a few heated tents.
Having finished a meeting with his platoon sergeant and squad leaders before bed down, Dan decided to get away and try to get some cell phone reception to text his girlfriend.
He looked up into the night and saw the Milky Way was out in full force. Until now he never appreciated how little light pollution there was out here. Without the full moon, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see his own hands in front of him. Luckily, the moonlight helped guide him as he walked up the flattened path away from the sleeping tents towards and outcropping of lava rocks.
He found a flat rock to sit on before he looked around. He was all alone. He took out his phone and opened his messages. Nina was back in Oahu. They had just moved in together and things were starting to get serious. He was glad to be texting her back and forth now that he had some time (and reception).
Dan: I should be home in a few days’ babe.
Nina: Ok, I miss you. Can’t wait to see you again. I’m still jealous you got to go to the Big Island. Think you’ll be able to bring me home a souvenir?
Dan: Idk babe. We are pretty much locked down here and it’s the middle of nowhere. Probably not in all honesty.
Nina: :( ok
Dan: But maybe I can find something cool from you, I’ll try.
Nina: :) ok, I love you <3
Dan: <3 <3
Shit, he thought as he looked up.
Now he had to figure something out. He looked around. Nothing but fucking rocks. But then something caught his eye. It was a mass that stood out among the black. It was the opening to a lava tube, hidden by the jagged waves of the solidified lava.
He got an idea.
He got up and moved towards the opening of the lava tube. He stood at the edge and took out his flashlight. He squatted down and activated the white light, revealing a steep descent into the maw of the tube. It looked like it leveled out on the bottom. With little thought, he decided he was going on an adventure.
Before he could step off, Dan got the sensation he was being watched. He shut his light off and turned around. He scanned about him, maybe it was one of his soldiers? Range Control?
