Quaranteam - 808 State Ch. 01

Quaranteam - 808 State

Hi! So, I'm super sorry for everyone who thought 808 in the title was referring to the awesome TR-808 drum machine. I'm sure that at least one or two people maybe made that connection. No, the 808 refers to the Hawaiʻi area code -- the entire state, from Ka Lae on Hawaiʻi Island to Kīlauea Point on Kauaʻi Island has the same area code. As such, it's not uncommon for folks from Hawaiʻi -- particularly those who may have moved away -- which sadly, more and more do every year,to say things like, "back in the 808", or to see bumper stickers that say "808 State (of Mind)" or similar references.

Aloha! QT:808 State is a spinoff of Corrupting Power's (Devin McTaggert) seminal Quaranteam work. It's also inspired by the premise in QT: Flyover Country. Much mahalo to both CP and BirchesLovesBooks. In fact, mahalo nui loa to ALL the Quaranteam authors for their feedback and encouragement to this novice. But especially to CP/DMcT, for graciously permitting us to play in his sandbox. I hope that QT:808 lives up to the high bar set by the rest of the august peerage.

A couple of author's notes:

Note 1. I like exploring interpersonal interactions -- and my feeling is, to do that well requires significant character building. Like, lots of it. This story is EXTREMELY slow, sexually. If you just wanna wank, there's some female masturbation in Chapter 3, and then there's actual sex in Chapter 8.

Note 2. The MC has a young child.

THERE IS NO UNDERAGE SEXUAL ACTIVITY IN THIS OR ANY OTHER QUARANTEAM STORY!

That is WoD (Word of Devin [McTaggert]), and I'm totally on board with it. There's a reason all the teenagers and pre-teens were in the "Kill Zone". All sexy-times or discussions are with the MC's child ELSEWHERE. All adults are on their best behavior around the child.

Note 3. Hawaiʻi is an ethnic melting pot, and that's reflected partly in the words used in everyday conversations. I'll include a glossary at the end of each chapter with the non-English words used, but please understand, the way the characters use these words isn't an affectation. Here in Hawaiʻi we really do regularly use Hawaiian words like pau (done -- although, technically, a lot of the colloquial usage of "pau" is incorrect, like, "Are you pau?" because you really should say, "... pau with [something]". Unless you're dead. Or asking if someone else is dead.), ʻono (tasty), and pilikia (trouble, frequently small-ish kind), or Pidgin words like bocha (Hawai'i-evolved from a Japanese onomatopoeic word to mean bath), habuteru (likewise evolved to mean cranky), or shibai (evolved: bullshit -- often of the "performative" type) in conversation.

Also, ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian language) has a couple of special diacritical marks, the ʻokina, or glottal stop, which is a consonant, and indicates a pause in pronunciation between vowels. It's not an apostrophe, but sometimes is rendered using one, if you aren't able to use the proper Unicode character [U+02BB]. The best way I can explain how it (doesn't) sound is with the ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi word "aʻā" which is a particular type of coarse, chunky cindery lava. The way that's said is "ah-ahh," just like when you tell a kid not to do something (drawing out the second "ah" slightly, but WITHOUT the upward rise in tone). That pause between the "ah"s? That's the ʻokina. It's important: ʻono, with the 'okina, means delicious, but ono, without, is a type of fish.

The other diacritical mark is the kahakō, and is a bar over a vowel, giving that vowel a long sound. Makua is pronounced "Mah•koo•ah," but Mākua is pronounced more like, "Maa•koo•ah."

There's one other key thing to know (well, there's probably lots, but this one will hopefully help you to not sound quite as much like one tourist) -- the letter "w" has a different sound, depending on what vowel it follows and where it is in a word. After a "u" or an "o", it's a "w". After an "e" or an "i", it's a "v". If it's after an "a", or at the beginning of a word, it could be either like a normal "w" sound or have a "v" sound. Sorry!

Now, Waikīkī is pronounced the way pretty much everyone says it, but the outrigger canoes there? They're called "waʻa", and pronounced "va•ah". (Stop giving me stink eye, Kauaʻi people.) Now, recall the "after a" (sometimes v) rule? Guess where that applies? If you guessed the name of the 808 State, A+ for you! Hawaiʻi is properly pronounced "Ha•vai•ee." But for the love of all the gods above and below, DON'T pronounce "Hawaiian" with a "v" sound, OR put the ʻokina between the "i"s. "Hawaiian" is NOT an ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi word. Also, FYI, I'm not fluent in or in any way expert in ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi -- I've simply lived my entire life here and it's one of our two "Official State Languages." Gotta have respect for your roots.

One of my absolute favorite ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi place names is Kaʻaʻawa. It's a small coastal community on the Windward side of Oʻahu, and if you look at all the vowels and ʻokina, you can see why it's so fun to say! (Or, if you stay kolohe, to try for get tourists to say.)

Right. That said, I hope you enjoy Quaranteam - 808 State.

Chapter 1

July 7th, 2020

Mal pushed back slightly from his desk and dropped his head against the surface. No work, no plans to review -- again. He didn't know if it was power-related or just a consequence of the quarantine. People had been doing a lot of DIY home renovation at the start, which had kept his department busy for a while, even given Hawaiʻi County's inefficiencies in transitioning to a work-from-home model. But over the past month-plus, the number of projects had slowed, then slowed some more, until it was just a trickle. Which had stopped three days ago.

"Daddy?!" The clatter of the window screen as his daughter banged against it to get his attention made him lift his head. "Daddy? The cows are still in the up-field pasture -- I heard them moo-ing this morning, so me and Callie went to look and they're still there! You said Uncle Mitch would move them yester-week, but when me and Callie checked this morning. They. Were. Still. There!"

Mal smiled to himself as the 4-year old ran out of steam after her announcement. "Last week, honey. 'Yester-week' isn't actually a word, but if it were, it would mean 'Last week'. And when did you go out? I checked on you 15 minutes ago and you were still snoring!"

"Dad-dy! I told you! I heard the cows moo-ing, so I got up. You were on your 'puter, so me and Callie went to check! Daddy? I think the cows are hungry."

Mal frowned. The herd of cows that rotated through the pastures upslope were beef-cattle, grass-fed, so they'd get a premium at auction or the slaughterhouse, whichever Mitchell Kopua chose to sell at. The rotation of the herd through the pasture behind their house was fairly regular -- as they ate the majority of the forage in the field, they needed to be moved to fresh grass. Leaving the cows too long in one pasture wasn't prudent, or good herd or land management, and Mal knew that was unlike the cattleman.

"OK, honey. Let me make you and Mom breakfast, then we'll go look at the cows and I'll see if I can get ahold of Mr. Kopua." Mal and his family had no relation to the Kopua's, but in Hawaiʻi, it was common for keiki to refer to adults as Auntie or Uncle.

Mal tensed, "Did Callie come back down with you?"

"Yes, daddy, she's right here. I had to pull her collar to make her come at first, but then she came with." Mal relaxed -- leaving a cattle-dog (particularly one that had failed at herding) watching hungry cows through a fence wasn't a good idea.

Mal rapped on the door to the "quarantine wing" -- a former carport long ago converted to a studio for visitors. Unlike Mal, his wife of 15 years, Gwen, a pharmacist, had been deemed "essential", which meant that she had to make a daily trip into town to fill prescriptions for delivery. Even though lockdowns were in effect, people still needed their insulin, statins, blood-thinners, heart, or asthma medications, which meant that someone had to verify and dispense them. Mal wasn't happy about it, but Gwen had refused to consider quitting, so for the past 8 months she had been living in the studio, which was sealed off from the rest of the house.

"Babe? You up? I'm gonna make Kat some breakfast, then we need to head to the back of the lot. You need or want anything?" The studio didn't have a proper kitchen, just a hotplate. Their county power was still out courtesy of last week's storm knocking down the HV supply lines to the substation outside of Hilo town that powered their community, and the hotplate sucked too much juice to be used from their personal solar-battery microgrid. If Gwen wanted to cook anything, Mal would have to start the generator.

"Uhhnh... I am NOW. Why didn't you let me sleep?" Gwen's voice trailed into a low mutter of grumbles.

"Sorry, hon, but Kat said there's a problem with Mitchell Kopua's cows, so I'm going to make her eat something and then we're going to go look. If you need the generator running, it has to be now." Gwen could start the generator, but to minimize exposure for Malcolm and Katherine, she would have to suit up before leaving the studio.

"Fine. Whatever. Yeah, start it. Can you leave it running, or are the batteries full? I'll make some noodles and eat and shut it off before I leave if you two aren't back by then." Mal heard rustling as Gwen climbed out of bed. He leaned his head against the door and imagined her nude body slipping out of bed, her shoulder length black hair tousled from sleep, wildly framing her heart-shaped Asian face -- truly a fantasy, as the local Japanese woman had grown up in the heat of Oʻahu's Leeward side, hated the cool air and NEVER slept unclothed, much to Mal's disappointment -- but after months of Rosie Palm and her five daughters being his only sexual relief, almost every noise from his wife's room caused a corresponding involuntary reaction in both brain and body.

Mal looked at the system monitor and winced. "Ouch. Ya know, don't even worry about turning it off. It's been so overcast lately, let's charge the batteries a bit. I'll have to put in an order for more propane soon though, I think." He went outside and crossed the yard to the generator shed -- a smallish concrete-and-wood hut midway between the house and a large 1000 gallon propane tank several yards beyond.

Mal started the generator, made sure the charging indicators were in the green, then quickly headed back to the house to make breakfast for himself and his daughter.

"What do you want this morning, kitty-Kat? Pancakes? Eggs? Or do you want a banana or some papaya?"

"Eggs, yuck, gross, I'm not eating them anymore. Those come out of a bird's bottom! I want Froot Loops. But not that yucky powdered milk -- do birds poop that too?"

"No, honey, I've told you before, milk is from cows or goats. And I'm sorry you don't like the powdered stuff, but that's all we have. Unless you want goat's milk -- I still have some of the milk Mr. Sours gave us in the freezer, but then you'll have to wait to eat your Froot Loops, and we won't be able to make your goat cheese later on. And if you're not eating eggs anymore, then you won't be eating pancakes, or waffles, or toads-in-a-hole, yeah?"

Kat pursed her lips and frowned, her 4-year old face scrunching up. "No, Daddy, I just said I wasn't eating eggs. Why would I stop eating pancakes? And I love making toads-in-a-hole. Why would I stop eating them?"

"What do we do after we've cut the hole in the toast?"

"We... Oh. Um."

"Yes, Miss Um. We crack open an egg and fry it in the toast, don't we? So, I guess we're crossing toads-in-a-hole off the menu, aren't we? And you already know that Daddy mixes an egg into the flour and milk to make pancake batter, and remember what I told you eggs are for in baking?"

"They stick the other ingredients together, right?"

"Bingo, sweetie. So no more baking either. And how would you eat a pancake if it fell apart when you tried to pick it up? How would I cook it? Can you picture your poor daddy with the spatula, trying to flip warm flour and milk!"

Katherine giggled, as Mal pantomimed struggling to flip a pretend pancake. "Maybe eggs are okay when they're cooked in something, but I have to think about it some more."

"Okay, honey, you do that. But first -- milk!"

The four-year old blew out her lips in an exasperated noise. "Fine, I'll use the yucky powder milk. But I'm NOT drinking it."

*****

After breakfast was completed (at the end of which, despite her earlier protest, Kat did indeed drink the milk from her bowl), the father-daughter-dog trio trudged to the back of their 5 acre lot to survey the adjacent pasture.

As they came out of an ʻōhiʻa thicket and neared the fence, Mal frowned. Mitchell Kopua followed a rotational pasturing philosophy, but for the fields nearest to his neighbors, it was not the ultra-high intensity one that resulted in the cattle stripping all the forage from a pasture -- a courtesy that not every other rancher had the space or mindset to follow. This resulted in a field that typically varied from medium-tall grass to what Mal thought of as "mowed lawn", albeit a lawn that was divoted and spotted with cow pies.

That was not the field today. A few hundred cattle stood near the fencing, some sticking their heads through trying to reach tasty greens; the ground was churned with little green remaining. In several locations, the wooden posts were leaning slightly, likely from the pressure exerted by several hundreds of pounds of hungry beef on the hoof. Across the pasture, Mal could see one cow -- more athletic than her peers, evidently -- standing with her front legs braced against the trunk of one of the shade trees, stretching her neck and reaching for some low-hanging leaves.

The cows nearest let out huffing sounds when they saw the trio and began to press against the fence. Others in the herd looked over and seeing a human standing beyond their herd-mates, began to lumber toward the fence.

Mal crouched and said in a firm, but quiet voice, "Kat, grab Callie's collar and go back to the house. Right now. No questions, just do it." The little girl obeyed and as she and the dog moved away, Mal began crouch-walking away from the fence as the cows nearest him began to moo plaintively. He paused momentarily near a sheaf of buffel-grass and considered momentarily before ruefully shaking his head and continuing his retreat.

Once he reached the tree line and was out of sight of the cows, he straightened slightly to ease movement and hustled through the trees to catch up with his daughter and dog.

"You were right, honey, something IS wrong. Uncle Mitch wouldn't leave the herd there that long. If he doesn't move them soon, our lot will be their new pasture."

*****

Mal held the door while Kat climbed into the back seat of his Prius Prime -- the 4 year old had become very insistent that she could get in and out of the vehicle and her car seat and fasten the buckles herself, and refused to be lifted in anymore. Once she settled in place and finished fussing with the buckles, Mal checked and tightened the straps. Callie hopped in and crossed to climb into the other rear seat.

When the three of them had gotten back to the house, Mal had looked up Mitchell Kopua's number and tried to call. It went immediately to voicemail, but Mal wasn't sure if that was because of a service issue, or a phone issue. With the power being out for some time, Mal didn't know if the cell towers were even still functioning -- his call was made over Wi-Fi, as he hadn't had a cell signal all morning. The only way to get ahold of the rancher, it seemed, would be in person.

After everyone was secure, Mal headed down the short drive, through the automatic gate and turned onto the road. The Kopua ranchhouse was less than 10 minutes away by car -- close enough to bike, if Mal was inclined, but he wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea of biking while wrapped in protective clothing, and he also hadn't driven the car for over a week. They were trying to minimize Gwen's exposure by having groceries delivered, rather than have her go shopping after she finished her shift at the pharmacy. Mal hoped that the medical establishment was correct and the risk of transmission via packaging was vanishingly low -- and also that the people involved in the supply chain were taking all the precautions they could. Hawaiʻi Island -- commonly referred to as "the Big Island" -- while being theoretically able to support itself food-wise, was not in fact set up to actually do so, even in the days pre-pandemic. Now, with the lockdowns, people were even more dependent on the twice weekly shipments of goods barged in from Oʻahu, 250 miles to the northeast.

Mal turned off the road and passed under the crossbar that read simply "KOPUA". As he cruised up the long driveway toward the sprawling ranchhouse, he was struck that there didn't seem to be any activity around. Pre-pandemic, the Kopuas had an annual open house luʻau, and every time Mal and his family had gone before, there were horses and goats and cows on either side of the drive up to the house.

Mal pulled the car up under the porte-cochere and set it to park. He checked his phone -- and to his surprise, had cell service. He turned to his rear-seat passengers. "Kat, honey, I'm going to mask up and get out of the car. I want you to put your mask on too, but you're staying in here with Callie, okay? I'll unbuckle you, but no climbing in the front, okay. That goes for both you and Callie - I'm relying on you to make sure she stays back here." Mal purposely was unspecific about which of the two he was addressing, looking between them as he spoke. The cattle-dog gave him a toothy grin and lolled her tongue -- Mal was about 90% sure she knew what he expected, and wasn't too worried. Kat took her responsibilities toward her fur-sib seriously, and would certainly remind Callie not to climb in the front, regardless of whether the dog was about to or was continuing to lie on the seat. And if Kat forgot and started to climb into the front, Mal was fairly certain Callie would attempt to discourage her -- and if she couldn't, would certainly make enough noise about it that Mal would know.

The little girl nodded and put her child-size paper medical mask on, then covered it with a cloth mask -- she'd chosen her Elmo one today. Mal put his own KN-94 mask on, then wrapped a bandanna around the lower half of his face. For good measure, he pulled up a gaiter from where it was slung around his neck, and topped it all off with a plastic face shield. Nitrile gloves were secured to Mal's windbreaker sleeves with some duct tape. Mal breathed deeply, trying to settle the uneasy pit his stomach had turned into, and then stepped out of the car.

"Mr. Kopua! Mitch! Hello, the house?!" Receiving no response, Mal moved to the door and rang the doorbell. He could hear the chime from inside the house, and after waiting several minutes, rapped with the horseshoe knocker, which produced a surprisingly loud report. Mal pulled his phone out and tried to call Mitch's number again -- this time, instead of voicemail, the line rang, which he could hear from inside the house.

But nobody answered.

Mal tried to peer through the frosted panes adjacent to the doorway, but it was of no use. He turned to head back to the car, and spotted a pickup truck making its way up the drive.

The truck pulled up behind Mal's car and a figure jumped out, keeping one hand behind its back -- Mal wasn't certain, but he thought it might be female.

"Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here, haole?"

"I'm trying to get ahold of Mitch Kopua -- his cows are about to bust down the fence between his pasture and my lot, and I'd really like to avoid that. I'm Malcolm Pilchard -- I live about 10 minutes further along 11. I tried calling, but no luck. Who are you?"