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  Rotating his head at the neck he peered past Willaby and out into the night. Far below he could see a single spot of light shimmering in a sea of darkness.

  "Honolulu?"

  "That it is. It's always best to come in at night. It's the only thing you can see for thousands of miles in any direction. Just a single oasis in a desert of black."

  Dyson grunted in agreement, staring at the orb of light as it grew larger beneath them.

  It took several minutes the negotiate the final approach, the world outside dark as they coasted in for a landing. Dyson collected his things from the seat back in front of him and stuffed everything into his duffel, his knees and lower back screaming at him to stand and move about.

  "Well sir, it was good to meet you," Willaby said beside him, extending his hand again.

  Dyson accepted it once more. "Yeah, and thanks for all the sightseeing tips. Appreciate it."

  Pulling a wrinkled business card from his shirt pocket, Willaby held it out and said, "Here's all my contact information if you ever find yourself out on the west side. We'd love to have you for dinner sometime."

  "Thank you, I'll do that," Dyson lied, rising with the people across from him and working his way down the aisle.

  To his great relief, Willaby made no effort to keep pace with him.

  Chapter Four

  Two distinct things swept over Dyson as he exited the plane onto the tarmac at Honolulu International Airport.

  The first was warm, moist air that enveloped his body, fast making him realize how over-dressed he was. The clock indicated it was fast approaching midnight, but the air still felt balmy against his skin.

  The second was the tropical rain, falling in torrents across the soaked pavement and sending passengers running for the cover of the terminal.

  Using his coat as a poncho, Dyson lowered his head and jogged stiff-legged behind them, his duffel bag swinging by his side. Once inside, he sped past the crowd shuffling towards baggage claim, headed for the rental car counters.

  Twenty minutes after landing, Dyson was in a rented Dodge Caliber and following the signs towards Honolulu. On the way out he paused just long enough to take in the glowing red Aloha sign written in script letters overlooking the airport and the palm trees blowing in the rain alongside the road.

  Welcome to Hawaii.

  Dyson glanced at his own soaked appearance in the rearview mirror and slid past the airport Beach Side Hotel to merge onto the H1. Keeping a sharp eye out for signs announcing food or lodging, he turned south and did a quick scan through the radio dial. The lights of the downtown business district pushed by outside as he settled on the only country station he found. The voice of Kenny Chesney filled the car as Dyson cut a path through the night, soon passing signs for Makiki and Waikiki.

  Not a single sign for a hotel anywhere in sight.

  Continuing south on the H1 he passed Kahala and Hawaii Kai, soon finding the road narrowing to two lanes. Turning the radio off he leaned forward in the front seat and drove on into the night, the clock on the dash indicating it was now past one in the morning.

  Outside, the lights of town began to fade as Dyson turned off at Hanauma Bay and headed back north. Irritation was beginning to build in him and his stomach growled as the little car cut through the night, retracing its path from only a short time before.

  Ten minutes after turning back, he spotted a McDonald's sitting just off the freeway and exited towards it. The thought of fast food at that hour made his empty stomach turn, but he turned off and pulled into the well-lit drive-thru anyway.

  It was the first tangible sign of life he had seen since leaving the airport.

  "Aloha, t'anks for choosing one McDonald's, eh. I take you order when ready," a young male voice asked over the intercom.

  A face that was equal parts confusion and surprise sprang to Dyson’s features. "Um, yeah, can I get a double cheeseburger, some fries and a sweet tea, please?"

  "Don't got no sweet tea, yea. You wan' one other drink?"

  This time, Dyson's face fell slack. "Uh, yeah. Can I get a lemonade?"

  "Five and change, bro. Pull on ‘round."

  The intercom box fell silent as Dyson continued to stare at it for several long moments. He nudged the car forward, a handful of thoughts running through his head, ranging from what the language the young man was speaking to what kind of place charges that much for a burger and fries.

  Dyson pulled the car to a stop and dug his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out money as the double window flew open beside him.

  "Eh, howzit?" a young man with close cropped black hair and deep bronze skin asked.

  "Evening," Dyson said in return, thrusting the money towards him. "How's it going?"

  "Going good, yea," the young man said, counting out the change and handing it back. Right behind it he handed over a sack of food and the lemonade. "Enjoy. Ono grindz bruddah!"

  Dyson looked at the sack a moment and then at the young man, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "Um, thanks a lot?"

  The young man laughed, but said nothing.

  "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where a hotel is around here do you?" Dyson asked, setting the food down on the seat beside him.

  "Which one you want?"

  "Any of them," Dyson said. "I just got here and don't have a reservation. Holiday Inn, La Quinta, whatever."

  "This Hawaii bro, don't have none those. You come Hawaii, you stay resort on Waikiki, yea."

  "Damn," Dyson muttered. "There's nowhere I can just roll up to tonight and get a room?"

  "Maybe one airport. If no, just park one beach for the night."

  "Seriously?" Dyson asked.

  Again the young man laughed. "Such a mainlander. Fresh off the plane, yea?"

  Without another word he closed the window and turned away.

  Dyson watched as the young man regaled his co-workers with the story, laughing and pointing back towards the window behind him.

  Grumbling, Dyson pulled back out into the storm and set his sights towards the airport, munching on over-salted fries as he went.

  An hour and a half after landing in Honolulu, he managed to secure the last available room at the Beach Side Hotel he'd passed long before. As best he could tell, there was no beach anywhere nearby.

  Forty-six hours after leaving Bozeman, he was able to lay down to sleep in an actual bed.

  It didn’t last long.

  Chapter Five

  Despite the deep rooted exhaustion that gripped Dyson's body, he couldn't shake the mountain time zone he was attuned to. Shortly before six a.m., just three hours after falling into bed, he found himself wide awake and tossing back and forth atop the threadbare sheets.

  By six-thirty, he gave it up for good and rose to meet the day. It started off little better than the one before. He stumbled to the bathroom to find that the cleaning staff missed it the previous day.

  In its entirety.

  Dirty towels were wadded up in the corner and the hand soaps were opened, dry suds crusted to them. Shuffling to the toilet, he found the water to still be yellow and its smell to permeate the air.

  Making a face, Dyson turned the shower as hot as it would go and stood beneath it for the better part of a half hour. The layers of travel peeled themselves free from his skin and the exhaustion receded bit by bit.

  Afterwards he toweled off and dressed in jeans and a Montana State Bobcats t-shirt. Propping himself up on the edge of the bed he booted up his laptop and spent over an hour researching hotels in Honolulu.

  Careful to avoid Waikiki or any excessive bustle, he settled on the Ala Moana Hotel, signing up for a full week with the option to extend further. From there he stayed online just long enough to deactivate both his Twitter and Facebook accounts, avoiding his email the entire time.

  At nine a.m., he was packed up and ready to experience Hawaii.

  Unfortunately, Hawaii still wasn't ready for him.

  Standing just outside his door, Dyson watched as the mon
soon continued to wage on. Rain fell in heavy sheets across the blacktop of the parking lot, strong gusts of wind driving it almost sideways.

  A chill ran the length of Dyson's back as he stood and observed, a low dread rising within him.

  Shaking his head, Dyson circled down the closest stairwell and into the lobby to find a single Korean man working the counter. A pair of bleary-eyed guests sat on rattan furniture sipping coffee and watching The Morning Show beside him.

  "Checking out of room 243," Dyson said, dropping the bag by his feet and sliding his key across the counter.

  "Checking out, very good sir," the man said, taking the key and rifling through a file of room receipts in front of him. "How was everything?"

  A myriad of answers came to mind, but Dyson bit his tongue. "It was fine."

  "Good, good," the man replied, pulling Dyson's receipt from the stack and sliding it over for him to sign. "You just land on Oahu?"

  "I did," Dyson said, signing the form. "And I was wondering, what's the best stuff to see and do when it's raining like this?"

  The man craned his neck past Dyson and said, "This? This isn't rain! It's just sprinkling out there."

  Dyson slid his eyes outside to the torrent of water falling from the sky. "Really?"

  "This is wet season in Hawaii. Believe me, it can rain much, much harder than this."

  "Wet season?" Dyson asked. "Meaning it rains all day every day?"

  "Oh no," the man said, waving a hand. "Not all the time anyway. It might rain for a few hours each day, but there's a few hours of sun in there too."

  "Really?"

  "But don't worry, wet season ends around the first of March. After that, it won't rain again until this time next year. Nothing but beautiful Hawaii for eight solid months!"

  "Oh, wow, eight months," Dyson said, hefting his bag up from the ground.

  "Eight months," the man said, holding his hands out by his chest for effect. "Thank you for coming, have a good trip!"

  "Thank you," Dyson mumbled with a nod, walking out the front door and standing beneath the awning as rain continued to sheet down around him.

  "Rain every day through March," Dyson said aloud. "Now there's something you don't read about in the brochures."

  Chapter Six

  Dyson sat in the front seat of his rented Caliber waiting for the condensation to clear from the windows. The rain continued to fall as the wipers beat out a steady rhythm across the windshield, trying to keep pace.

  His blue Bobcats t-shirt stuck to his wet skin and his hair was plastered to his head after his sprint from the front door to the car.

  Sliding his paperback from the side pocket of his duffel bag, Dyson thumbed to the back cover and scanned the list of suggestions Willaby gave him. He had at least five hours to kill before the Ala Moana allowed him to check in, many more if the weather broke in the meantime.

  The bulk of the list consisted of outdoor activities like surfing and snorkeling, none of which sounded that appealing. The skies above were grey with dense packed clouds and he was already shivering from the rain.

  Fifty degrees warmer than when he left Montana and somehow he was still cold.

  Choosing an option from the list, Dyson consulted the map and for the second time in ten hours exited away from the airport.

  The mid-morning traffic was moderate heading away from town, the random hour on a workday and the weather both aiding a great deal. With the radio off and the steering wheel clutched in his hands, Dyson managed to navigate the signs toward Aiea and pulled to a stop just fifteen minutes after leaving the hotel.

  WELCOME TO PEARL HARBOR - VALOR IN THE PACIFIC MEMORIAL.

  Dropping the car into park, Dyson pulled a faded ball cap down low over his eyes and stepped out into the rain. The intensity of it had receded to a steady drizzle, the kind of precipitation that fell somewhere between a sprinkle and a heavy mist.

  Looking down, Dyson could see moisture beading up on the hairs along his forearms and shivered again.

  He walked past the polished gold plated sign welcoming him to Pearl Harbor and up to the front gate. To the right was a sprawling outbuilding for visitors to deposit all bags before entering and to the left a steady stream of tourists spilled out of passenger buses and headed for the door.

  With a small nod to the woman manning the gate, Dyson stepped through and paused, taking in the scene around him.

  On the ground at his feet was an enormous mural of the Oceania region with an information desk manned by park rangers directly behind it. To one side the U.S.S. Bowfin submarine sat parked with tourists climbing aboard and to the other, across the harbor, was the U.S.S. Arizona memorial.

  Dyson waited for a group of Japanese tourists to finish photographing the map on the ground before striding across it to the information desk. Two middle-aged rangers sat behind it looking thoroughly bored and directed him to everything that could be seen. They gave him a ticket for the eleven o'clock water shuttle out to the Arizona and went back to their conversation about the newest Adam Sandler movie without giving him a second thought.

  With a little over an hour to kill Dyson wandered the grounds, starting to the far right and working his way across. He opted against paying the exorbitant fee to board the Bowfin or visit the Missouri, instead sticking to the reflection path.

  Ignoring the mist that continued to hang in the air and left his shirt damp with water, he trolled across the grounds, reading panel after panel about that fateful day in 1941. Several times he had to sidestep clumps of tourists as he went. Twice he was asked to take pictures for Japanese visitors who couldn't speak English, but could mime well enough to get across what they were hoping for.

  Twenty minutes before eleven, he ducked in through the walking museum that led to the Arizona theater, taking his time as he read the full story from start to end. From there he sat through the requisite film introducing the story of Pearl Harbor and the Arizona to guests before catching the water shuttle across to the monument.

  Standing gleaming white even on such a gray day, the memorial rested atop the water perpendicular to the ship below. As it grew closer, Dyson could see pieces of the massive ship's fuselage protruding above the surface and make out buoys in either direction to signify its length.

  One by the one those around him unloaded and went through the memorial, a line of passengers from the last trip waiting to return.

  Taking his time Dyson strolled through, gazing at the Missouri in the distance and the rusted out bulkheads just inches below the surface. Careful to avoid the chapel on the far end, he came to a stop on the southern side of the monument and stared down at the stained water beneath him.

  One at a time, black amoebas rose to the surface and floated away, their small shape spread out wide as it drifted across the water.

  "They say it still leaks between two and ten quarts a day," a gruff voice said, startling Dyson as he jerked his head to the side.

  An old man with several days of scruff and thinning white hair motioned with his hand towards the oil below. "They've been trying for years to figure out where it's coming from, but every time they think they have it stopped up, it just comes out somewhere else."

  "Hmm," Dyson said, pushing himself up from his elbows to his hands along the railing. "Any idea how much is still down there?"

  "No way of knowing for sure," the old man said. "The ship held well over a million gallons, but how much of that went up in the explosion is anybody's guess. Most people seem to think at least half of that is still down there."

  Dyson pushed a small whistle out between his teeth, gazing down at the water.

  "Paul Rider," the old man said, extending a hand. "First time out here?"

  "Yes, sir," Dyson said, returning the shake. "Dyson Nicks."

  Rider nodded. "I figured as much. You seemed to take your time and study things. Think on them a bit instead of just rushing through with a camera or a herd of kids."

  Dyson shifted his gaze to the throng of peop
le around them, most doing exactly as Rider suggested. "So you've been here before?"

  "Huh," Rider said, still scowling at the crowd. "You could say that."

  Dyson returned his gaze to the water, the words coming together in his mind. "So you were here before."

  The old man rested his palms on the rail beside Dyson and looked down, swinging the toe of his shoe across the floor beneath him. "Not here here. I was over on the California when it all went down."

  Dyson wasn't sure if he should thank the man or shake his hand again. "Which was damaged, but not destroyed?"

  "Oh, I think a part of all of us was destroyed that day.” Dyson nodded, but said nothing.

  "You know the part I still don't understand?" Rider said, lowering his voice and leaning in closer.

  "Hmm?" Dyson grunted, signaling for him to continue.

  "Take a look around here. What do you see?"

  "People," Dyson said, rolling his eyes over the crowd.

  "Look harder."

  "Lots of...Japanese people," Dyson said, realization setting in.

  Rider bobbed his head beside him. "Good boy. I just don't get it. You don't see us going over to look at Nagasaki or Hiroshima, do you?"

  "No, you don't," Dyson acknowledged.

  Before either one could say another word, the air whistle of the next approaching shuttle rang out and the crowd began shuffling towards the opposite end.

  With another nod Rider excused himself, disappearing among the masses.

  Chapter Seven

  It was almost noon when Dyson made it back to the car. Still two hours before he could check into his new hotel room.

  Overhead the clouds continued to hang in tight bunches, blotting any sunlight from the sky. Rain no longer fell, though the low lying clouds kept moisture suspending in the air like a heavy fog.

  Falling back to the list of suggestions given to him by Willaby, Dyson angled the car towards Honolulu. Turning both the heater and the radio on, he drummed out a beat on the dashboard as he swung past the airport and downtown. A host of signs announcing various neighborhoods sped by on his right as he kept the car pointed south, exiting on the tail end of the city and cutting across the neighborhoods of Kahala.