If Thy Hand Offend Thee

At the first jolt of the earthquake, David launched himself from his bed and scrambled under the bathroom door jamb. It lasted only a minute, but the rocking motion pitched ceiling tiles, books, dishes and papers to the floor. His new wide-screen Internet Portal shattered into a thousand shards of glass. He picked his way to the front door and tested the light switch – nothing. Outside, rain beat down on the porch roof; lightning flashed. His Rolex read 10:15. What was that rotten egg smell? He thought he could reach up and touch the black clouds that roiled in the sky. His neck stung like hell; the quake must have twisted it.

He stumbled outside, dodging palm fronds, trash and twigs, and heaved off the branch that lay on his smashed Lexus. He glanced at the ominous lump on his hand just above the Mark. His Internet research told him it was cancer, and he’d called the Health Service to get an appointment, but the wait was over six months just for an evaluation. Part of an old saying from his childhood rattled in his brain: “If thy hand offend thee…” What was that from?

He turned to look toward the beach. Abandoned bikes and cars lined the road. The windows of Mr. Sun’s house gaped at him from across the street. The screen door flapped open and closed; the rocking chair moved as if Mr. Sun sat in it even now. “Johnny?” he called. Silence.

Dave needed to get to high ground. Within a few hours, the sea would vent its fury on the land and drown everything for a mile inland. After his disastrous 2004 Christmas vacation in Thailand, David knew better than to stay close to the beach.

Just two weeks earlier the power had gone out but the PX had still had electricity. Maybe they’d know what was happening and the evacuation plans were.

Rain filled the air as he lurched along the street. He stopped on Mrs. Hanamea’s lawn. Her wheelchair sat on the porch, empty, like Mr. Sun’s rocking chair. "Katie! You there?" Dumb lady– she refused to get a Mark. A month earlier he gave her three loaves of bread and a package of cheese, and she paid him a Krugerrand. The gold was worth a thousand Ameros, at least! David had three gold pieces at his place, two from her and one from Mr. Sun. She'd paid other people for food with antique silverware when the gold was gone. He knew a guy at the Post Office who would do a deal and get him maybe 300 Ameros deposited in his Mark account, no questions asked.

He felt for the cell phone in his damp shorts pocket– there it was. No signal. He called 911– nothing. The towers were either down, or unpowered. This new StarPhone stayed charged for three weeks at a time, much longer than his old one. Besides, the new GPS could come in handy. He'd leave it on.

Why, only a couple months earlier he'd fallen behind the tour group in the Mauna Loa rainforest, and after he had stayed put as instructed by the StarPhone Locator Service, a ranger in a green uniform had walked right up to him. “Mr. Silverman?” Of course the guy knew his name from the call. The ranger had taken him to the park entrance, scanned his Mark and told him there was no charge, but he'd said next time it would cost him 50 bucks. That was lucky.

But then David was a lucky guy. He’d been one of the first to get his Mark, just before AmeriServe Corps had discharged him. Mom had told him not to get the Mark, but she was like Mrs. Hanamea – dumb and afraid of new stuff. The AmeriServe workers with Marks had gotten one Amero for each old dollar before the Devaluation. After that, the rate was one Amero for every 10 dollars, and finally the dollars were worthless. Stores only took Ameros now, by law, and Ameros weren't paper; they were stored in your Mark account. Even pawn shops paid in Ameros. It was the only way to do anything: get passports, buy stuff, identify yourself, get a job. Since he had an original Mark from the Service, he always got great deals on stuff. Like the StarPhone– only 20 Ameros, and he’d seen it for 49.95 on sale.

He scowled as he passed the dark houses. Where was everyone? The tsunami sirens should be sounding, but David heard only wind and thunder.

Ahead, a dull red glow streaked the side of Mauna Loa. A fire? No– how could trees burn in this rain? The earth rumbled and he dashed under a palm tree. Fronds flew off as the treetop flailed the air and the ground buckled under him like a 737 in a hard landing. Behind him, a building collapsed with a rumble and the dull clink of bricks falling. He released the tree, unhurt– his luck held.

When he reached the corner he leaned against a fence and gulped the rotten-egg air, his heart drumming frantically against his ribs. He hurried to the PX and waved his Mark hand near the door reader. Damn, that lump looked weird. The reader was dead, but he pushed the door open– the quake must have loosened the latch. In the darkness, groceries floated in the ankle deep water. He opened a flashlight package and found what he wanted: an umbrella, a knife, a couple of bottles of Energy Water and two bags of NutroChips (Now With Intense Cheez-EE-Ness!). NutroChips, with their salty cheddar flavor, were his favorite. Now he needed to figure out how to get to higher ground. He put the flashlight and knife into his pocket and threw the rest into a bag.

Outside again, raindrops big as bumblebees pelted him as he dodged the garbage cans, roof shingles and trash. Hang loose, brother. Go to the mountain. Mauna Loa spilled lava to the other side of the island, so the hiking trail on this side would be safe. The tidal wave would never get that high.

At the end of the block, he stopped. The dull red glow had become a bright orange swath straight down the hill. A smell like burning matches surrounded him. Damn! That wasn’t a fire, but lava flowing down the mountain, headed for him!

He flung away the bag and umbrella and ran headlong down the road that skirted the mountainside. Through the sheets of rain he climbed the first trail he found and clambered up, slipping in the mud. Water showered down and rivulets flowed around him; lightning flashed and thunder boomed overhead. Here he stayed, huddled under the trees, with the smell of wet leaves around him. He clutched the sopping tree and threw up.

Footfalls and screams filled the forest as dozens of people ran downhill from the big mountain, crashing through the dense growth. Maybe it was a tour group from the top of the trail. In pairs, holding hands, flailing against the brush, slipping downhill, they rushed past him toward the beach. He yelled to warn them but the wind and their screams drowned his words.

He tried the StarPhone. No signal. Stupid system. He tried to put it into his pocket but it fell from his grip and slid down the hillside. The rumbling started again. He clung to the soaking tree and watched the crowd head straight toward their doom.

But as he watched, the ground split open under them. Bright pink lava glowed within and a couple of fleeing men tumbled into it. A new split opened like an X and swallowed a young woman and an older man. And now the fissures opened wider, an evil lurid grin on the face of the green earth.

A hunched, animal-like being crawled out of the red hot pit and clutched David's hand. Its voice split the air like a chainsaw. “Another Marked human! Down we go, sucker! Down we go!”

What the hell? This can't be happening– David's heart nearly burst through his chest as he screamed. "Get away! No! Let go!"

He wrenched his hand away, slashed by the demon's claws. A gash cut through the lump and it oozed a greenish-brown goo. A yellowish tumor lay underneath, laced with red veins.

The thing clenched his hand again and dragged him toward the pit. David grabbed the knife in his pocket and opened it. He tried to stab the being, but its skin was like armor. He had only one choice.

“If thy hand offend thee…”

He stabbed through the bones of his own wrist and sawed through gristle and muscle and bone. His arm was on fire and the blood spurted thick and brownish red into the mud as his severed hand pitched into the chasm with the demon.