Minutes to Burn

A wave rolled in, hitting the lava plain to the west and sending up steam-whistle bursts through the blowholes. Just above the water's edge, a ruddy turnstone picked at sea lion afterbirth. Szabla turned and faced the island, admiring how the low shrubs of the beach gave way to dry, rocky terrain and tree-spotted slopes. Above the slopes the green-hazed mountaintops presided over the island, imperious and remote, lurking behind fingers of garua. "What a fuckin' place," she said. "From desert to forest in a stone's throw."

Tucker smeared a handful of sunblock across her shoulders, rubbing it high on her neck and along the rims of her ears. Justin eyed the sun-block across Szabla's back. "I don't see what you need that shit for, given you're a native people."

Szabla turned to face him with a half-smile. "You'd better watch your mouth, boy, or I'll tell your wife to bitch-slap your shit in line like she normally does."

"Please don't," Justin said. "She's been doing a lot of curls lately."

"Where the hell did Savage go?" Szabla asked, looking around.

Tucker pointed down across the face of the cliffs. "He wandered off that way while you were pulling your shirt off."

"He makes no causal argument," Justin said.

Szabla rose and pulled her tank top on, adjusting her bra. "I'll go grab him."

She took off at a jog along the beach, kicking the sand behind her in white sprays. She slowed when she stepped up onto the lava plain that spread like an apron out from the base of the Punta Berlanga cliffs. The lava was slick with sea spray, and the tide pools were clogged with brown floating algae and dotted with black-shelled snails.

She put her foot down on something live and it twisted and squirmed out from under her. Leaping back, she stumbled and went down hard on her ass, breaking her fall with the heels of her hands. A shape moved on the rock, black against black, and she realized she'd almost crushed a marine iguana.

A fat lizard about two feet long with tough folds of black skin and a row of spikes running from its neck to the base of its substantial tail, it had a prehistoric appearance. Two beady black eyes peered out from the lumpy white scales encrusting its face.

Szabla stayed still for a moment, suddenly aware that all around her, the lava was covered with marine iguanas, some longer than two feet. Their gray-dusted black scales blended perfectly with the dark rock. Sev-eral were pushed up on their front legs in a position of elevated basking, allowing the breeze to cool them off. They all lazily rotated their heads toward her.

One of the marine iguanas made a sharp sneezing sound, spitting through its nose to clear the brine, and a few others followed suit. Though Szabla knew they were harmless herbivores, they looked fierce, almost ferocious, and she rose quickly to her feet.

A promontory abruptly interrupted the curve of the cliffs to the west, angling out into the sea with a spill of rocks. Szabla headed for the point, carefully avoiding tide pools and iguana colonies. She waded out around the cliff, navigating her way through patches of green sea urchins. The water surged in, forcing her toward the wall, but she held her ground, planting her boots underwater against a flat lava ledge as the undertow spent itself.

A large spray of white mangrove sprouted from the outermost point of the promontory like a strange tumor. A fallen beetle floated on its back below the leaves, paddling in little circles with the bicycling move-ments of its legs. Szabla pulled back the mangrove, revealing a small crescent of black sand nestled just beyond the promontory, cliffs towering protectively above and around it. She inhaled sharply.

Naked, Savage was standing on the dark beach, gazing out at the bril-liant aquamarine bay. Szabla drew back slightly, hiding behind an out-cropping.

Savage rested his clothes in a mound atop his boots. He stepped into the water, dipping his hips beneath with a slight grimace, and backstroked in circles as the birds swooped to their nests in the cliffs above him.

A penguin wiggled through the water and shot up onto a shady nook in the cliff, sticking out its belly to shade its feet. It was very small, standing little more than a foot tall, its white underbelly a dot against the dark lava. It opened its beak, panting to expel heat, and spread its wings to pick up the breeze. It shit on its feet to cool them off.

A manta ray lazed through the water to Savage's left, and he turned on his side, avoiding it. He leaned back, pulling his bandanna free, his hair soaking in the water. He ducked underwater, then slicked his locks back over his head.

Szabla watched in silence, the sun beating down on her. Sweat glis-tened across the top of her chest, and her forest-green tank top was ringed with moisture along the scoop neck. His back to her, Savage exited the water. He shook his hair from side to side, sending droplets of water flying. Szabla couldn't take her eyes off him.