The boat she has procured for your use turns out to be a dugout canoe with a pair of outriggers. Instead of the outboard motor you had with the Zodiac, this beauty comes with a pair of paddles.


"How far is it to Woban Island?" you say, trying to calculate just how arduous this journey is going to be.


"Not quite three miles," Dr. Bolt says, concerned that you still haven't ditched your manufactured Western clothing in favor of her hand-woven grass skirt... which you understand is something she has made herself during her time on the island.


"How does this thing handle ocean waves?" you ask.


"Quite well, actually. We surf in canoes like this. But the weather is calm today, so we shouldn't have any issues."


It's not like you see many alternatives, so together you push the canoe into the water and climb inside.


The sun is not as hot as you expected, but it is still somewhat early in the morning. As it climbs higher into the tropical sky, however, there is no escaping its intensity. You're somewhat embarrassed to look at your half-dressed companion, even though she is sitting in front of you in the canoe and there is no real way you cannot look at her. Stare, actually. In her native state she is quite fair-skinned, despite all her time here on the islands; now, as you paddle the channel that separates Woban Island from Auri Island, she is turning pink right before your eyes.


"Those slopes look pretty steep over there," you say, trying to distract yourself by studying Woban Island's rugged shoreline. "Where does anybody make landfall in a place like that?"


"That's the hehi mu," Dr. Bolt says. "That part of the island is uninhabitable. No, we have to paddle around that headland on the left. That's where we land."


The canoe cuts through the water surprisingly well, and in just forty-five minutes you are turning the corner around the small point. You can now get a better look at the bulk of Woban Island, which is ruggedly mountainous at its south end, but tapers off into a long cape to the northeast. The jungle still seems thick and dark, but there are at least beaches on this part of the island.


But then you spot something bright red ahead of you on the shore.


"That's my Zodiac!" you say.


"I wouldn't be surprised if it was," Dr. Bolt says. "Somebody else probably didn't like their own boat, so they took yours."


As you get closer, you can see the Zodiac has been beached directly ahead of you. There are no people around, but the dark object beside your stolen boat turns out to be a small dinghy.


Both boats are sitting right where Dr. Bolt wants to land, and the implication makes you nervous: the people who stole the Zodiac from you are probably nearby.


Your topless companion doesn't seem concerned at all. "Looks like it's a busy day on Woban Island!" she says. "Thankfully there are still plenty of parking spaces left."


As you near the shoreline she starts paddling faster instead of easing up, so you do the same. A wave picks up the canoe and floats it onto the sand, and you come to rest on Woban Island with a minor thud. The dugout is now parked right beside the dinghy and the Zodiac.


"Are you sure you won't change your mind about your clothes?" Dr. Bolt says. "Every adventurer on the island is probably dressed like a model in a Cabella's catalog, so if we—"


Just then you hear shouting coming from somewhere in the woods.


"What's that?" you ask.


"Someone's in trouble," Bolt replies. "Come on!"


And before you can discuss it any further, your companion — with her uninterrupted run of bad luck, and her apparently heedless optimism (among her other assets) — runs off into the woods, towards the sounds of trouble you just heard. Towards the people who probably stole your boat.


You follow her up a narrow trail, finding that it leads to a small campsite about a hundred yards inland. There are two young people, a man and a woman, standing in the middle, frantically waving sticks. "Go away!" the woman shouts. "Shoo! Our friends will be here any moment, and they have guns! You know: Bang! Bang!"


It's not you they're trying to frighten off, though. As Dr. Bolt pulls you to a hasty hiding spot behind a tree, you see three large figures steadily advancing on the two people.


"Wobans!" you whisper.


"Yes, trying to expel a few more outsiders from their sacred island," Bolt says. "These two people are toast, I'm afraid. Wobans show no mercy."


"If they aren't looking for us, then we should get out of here."


"What do you mean? We need to help them. They are such a cute couple!" she says.


You suppress a groan. "OK. How?"


"Those Wobans are very strong. I say we create a diversion, let those men run for cover."


"Then what do we do when they come after us?" you say. "If we're going to do something, we should make a frontal attack, use the element of surprise to overpower the Wobans. The advantage will be ours for only a moment, though."


__________________________________________________

You make a frontal attack.

You pride yourself in not being a violent person. Your job is to obtain objects, not inflict harm; you carry no weapons because doing so can only escalate a situation, igniting what you would rather defuse. You are no idiot; you are fully aware that more than a few of the other people in your profession take the opposite view. But this is a philosophy that has served you well over the years, from that episode in Burma to your little escapade in Peru.


The downside, though, are the moments like this, in which you have rashly committed yourself to a course of action… without the luxury of time to think the situation through.


Without any further discussion, you rush out from the hiding spot behind the tree, charging directly at the three Wobans, armed with nothing more than the first stick you find. You can only hope that Dr. Bolt is right behind you, because then it will at least be two against three — and if the two men you are rescuing take the cue, it will be four against three.


But you have only been in the presence of Wobans for about fifty seconds, so you can be forgiven (sort of) for not fully appreciating what you're up against. That realization hits you mid-stride, as you are running forward, stick raised high, preparing to swing at the first figure in your path. They are huge, a good seven feet tall; hominids, but not human, with a curved black fingernail on each index finger like the claw of a velociraptor. You are unarmed by choice, but the Wobans bear no weapons because they have no need to use them.


When they turn and see you, what they perceive with those three eyes must not be anything of concern to them. All it takes is a quick flick of the wrist, and you are instantly cut down, never to rise again. Whether your actions allowed others to live, you'll never know.


THE END