Page 90 of Try Easy

Nothing to Lose

Honolulu,Hawaii

February 12

Keoni

Keoni dreamed of sharks.

They circled him in a figure eight pattern, swimming closer with each pass. They were above and below. He was surrounded. They slid through the water, sleek and strong and graceful.

They stirred a longing deep inside Keoni. He wanted to be like them, a brave predator of the deep, without a care for anything but his next meal.

He swam closer, reaching for them. Just when he thought he could touch them, he woke with a start. Dread clutched his belly. Something was wrong.

Keoni sat up too quickly and banged his head on a lampshade. His head spun, causing a riot of pain to slam through his body. His heart raced, and his palms sweat. He thought he was going to throw up. Holding his head in his hands as if it that could make the pain stop, Keoni glanced around the darkened room. It wasn’t his bedroom.

Something was wrong. He struggled to remember, but he couldn’t place what it was. The dread grew worse, and then with a shiver, Keoni remembered that Bones was missing.

He was going to be sick. He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. He heard a shrill noise pierce the air, and it brought him back to the present. His head was still aching, but he remember that Bones was okay.

Keoni blinked in confusion, inclining his head toward the noise. It was coming from down the hall. That must have been what had woken him up. He glanced around the room. Darkness cloaked the room, but Keoni could make out the lumpy forms of two chairs and a coffee table.

The tension in Keoni’s body lessened as he recognized Bones’s living room.

The phone continued to ring, and Keoni realized that no one was going to answer it. The room was still spinning as he pushed to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen.

He jerked the phone off the wall. “What?” he growled.

“Hey, Keoni? That you, mate?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Ian.”

“I know.” Keoni’s brain wasn’t so foggy that he didn’t recognize Ian’s thick Australian accent. A quick glance at the stovetop clock told him it was almost 4:00 a.m. “Why you callin’ so early?”

“It’s a storm,” Ian said. “My house is shaking.”

Keoni’s brain cleared enough for him to realize what Ian was saying. Ian lived a mile from Waimea Bay.

“Waimea’s heavy?” Keoni asked.

“Yeah, second time this month. It’s a fucking miracle, mate.”

“I’m coming,” said Keoni.

“Hurry up.”

Keoni replaced the phone on the wall and then picked it up again. He switched on the bright light in the kitchen. Momentarily blinded by the harsh light, he squinted and pulled a piece of paper from where it was stuck to the fridge. He dialed the first number on the list.

After about a dozen rings, Rabbit finally picked up, sounding groggy.

“Waimea’s heavy,” Keoni said without bothering to say hello.

“Yeah?”

Keoni didn’t bother saying goodbye either. He hung up, knowing Rabbit would call the next person on the list. That’s how the hotline worked. One surfer called the next, and before sunrise, they would all be lined up on Waimea Bay’s shore with their boards.

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