CHAPTER IV: BUNKER PORT
I get up and go down to the hostel restaurant for breakfast. From the stairs, I can hear the commotion that has built up in the bar. This is driving me crazy; after what happened last night, having to put up with another racket is unbearable. The restaurant is packed, and I scan the crowd for a place to sit. I see Monica, who is sitting alone, so I go over to her table, and she invites me to join her.
—Nomad, where were you yesterday? —Monica asks me—. I was calling you, but you didn't answer the phone.
—I was on Palm Road all day—I reply.
—On Palm Road? —Monica asks me, surprised.
—Yes, didn't you hear about Nicki's accident?
"Of course, the party ended when the police arrived," he replies. "Luckily, it wasn't anything serious. Were you there?"
—I helped her out of the water, and the Bassets invited me to their house for helping her. Then I went with her and her brother Justin to a party at a house named Mia.
—So how did it go?
"It wasn't as good as I expected," I tell him, "although the neighborhood is very nice."
—No wonder you didn't have a good time—Monica tells me—, it was a party on Palm Road.
"Nothing there is what it seems," I tell him with great conviction.
“Absolutely!” Monica says. “Those people on Palm Road are only interested in material things; they have no feelings. Besides, they don’t care about the injustices on the island,” Monica adds. “By the way, speaking of injustices, would you like to come to a demonstration?”
"A demonstration?" I ask him, puzzled.
“Yes, in Bunker Port,” he replies. “My friends and I are going because a colleague lives there, and the President of Nomad Coast wants to auction off the area. Several construction companies are interested in buying the land to demolish it and develop it. The demonstration is being organized by a political group on the island and residents' associations from Bunker Port, but we're going separately. Want to join us?”
I don't know what to answer to that. I remain silent for a brief moment, but finally I say:
—I've never been to a demonstration.
"It doesn't matter, there's always a first time for everything," Monica interrupts, insisting that I go.
"Well, I'll go, but just so you know, I'm not a revolutionary," I added in response to his insistence.
"You don't have to be a revolutionary to fight injustice," he replies with a smile. "Go up to your room, you'll need to take something with you, we're going to camp out there. I'll wait for you here, I've got everything ready."
I'm not thrilled about going to a protest, but since I haven't been to Bunker Port yet, I agree. I finish my breakfast, quickly grab my backpack, and decide to embark on a new adventure in Nomad Coast. I meet up with Monica outside the hostel, we go outside, and get in her car to go to Bunker Port.
On the way to Bunker Port, from Monica's car window, I gaze at the Nomad Coast on a sunny morning that shines across the entire island. The road hugs the coast, and the beach dazzles with its golden sand and the shimmering, crystal-clear water. In Bunker Port, everything is very different from what I've seen so far on the Nomad Coast. A beautiful, unspoiled beach stretches along the entire coast to a stone pier where, nearby, stands a giant Ferris wheel and, a little further on, a lighthouse close to the harbor. Just a few feet from the shore, beach houses are scattered throughout the area; whoever lives there must be very lucky. Finally, we arrive at the part of the pier where the demonstration is taking place. There's a crowd of people with banners and flags protesting against the President, demanding his resignation and the halt to the auction of Bunker Port.
Monica parks near the demonstration and as we immerse ourselves in the sea of protesters, we come across her group of friends.
—I'm bringing someone else —Monica warns—. I finally managed to get them to come.
—You look familiar—Fabio, who was a finalist in TASURF, tells me.
"Of course he sounds familiar!" Monica interjects again. "He was with us at the surf tournament party, or have you forgotten?"
"Fabio, wake up!" Jordan exclaims. "Don't you remember how he saved Justin Basset's sister when the Palm Road rich kids started causing trouble?"
"Ah, okay," Fabio recalls. "With everything that happened in the competition, my mind was elsewhere. Nice to meet you again, my name is Fabio."
Fabio shakes my hand. Jordan shakes mine too, and we start talking about surfing and how unfair the judges were with their final decision. Soon after, Lena and Dafne appear; I also met them at the beach party. Golden .
"They're already filling your head with surfing," Lena tells me. "Guys, accept it already, you're really bad at surfing."
—You're really bad at surfing —Fabio teases her.
—No way, guys, you were great — Dafne interjects.
"Well, it's true that it wasn't our day, next time will be, we have a year to prepare," says Jordan.
—You can sign up for Surf Bay Academy—Lena suggests sardonically.
"Of course, I'm dying to share a desk with Noah Ross," Fabio says ironically. "When the Palm Road kids stop invading your dad's surf school, then I'll be happy to go."
This is followed by laughter. Shortly after, the protesters begin to mobilize. Such is the fervor of the political groups and neighborhood associations that the police are on the lookout for their every move. Mónica's group follows the tide of protesters with banners that read in gigantic letters:
PRESIDENT RESIGN, NO TO DEMOLITION
The activists, fervent, demanded the immediate halt to the sale of Bunker Port. Suddenly, a fleet of armored cars appeared in the distance. The crowd began to boo, and a police cordon immediately blocked their path. Some of the protesters tried to break through, but the police thwarted their attempts. From the imposing black cars that had just arrived emerged men in suits and dark sunglasses. They were followed by a tall man with piercing blue eyes and a circumspect expression. He had a chestnut horse, slicked back with hairspray, and was wearing a suit. The whistles and boos intensified, and some protesters even threw objects at them.
"This is Blaine, the President of Nomad Coast," Monica tells me, amidst the bustle of the demonstration.
—But if the construction companies are the ones with a vested interest, why are they attacking the President? —I ask Monica.
"Because he's the mastermind behind it all," he replies. "He's a very powerful person; he's the one who sets the system's rules and holds the reins of the island. However, we're here today to try to stop him."
Surrounded by his bodyguards, Blaine climbs onto a platform guarded by the police, taps the microphone twice and begins to deliver a speech that is followed by thousands of boos and whistles.
"Residents of Bunker Port," the leader of Nomad Coast said, "my goal always has been, and always will be, to improve the lives of everyone on the island. Although many of you oppose the auction of this place, you are unaware of the improvement that the construction and reconstruction of Bunker Port would bring to our island and to all of you. I know that many of you don't want to leave behind what is part of your lives; I understand that feeling. But it can continue to be a part of your lives, in a better way, with new opportunities and advancements that will allow us all to progress together on Nomad Coast." This was followed by countless whistles. "We just have to join hands and walk together, with nothing external separating us..."
The protesters continue to boo him, and some try to attack the president of Nomad Coast, but his bodyguards quickly repel them. Since they can't get too close, some begin throwing all sorts of objects at him. The police intervene, and many of the Nomad insurgents charge at the officers. The situation turns violent. The president leaves, escorted by his guards. They get into their cars, but the protesters surround them, making escape impossible. Police reinforcements arrive. The demonstration erupts into a turbulent riot, and Monica takes my arm to lead me out of the turmoil.
"Guys, let's get out of here!" Jordan shouts amid the commotion. "Let's go back to the open field."
—Those guys from Nomad Action have done it again —says Fabio—. They don't fight for the cause, they just do what they're told from above.
"The demonstration was supposed to be peaceful," Dafne says, "so we won't achieve anything this way."
"We have to have hope," Monica interjects, "we can still do something for this place, we just have to be smarter than them."
We head back to the open field where the residents of Bunker Port are still camping. A guy approaches us. He's tall with golden skin, wearing a brown hoodie with retro-style lettering that says "Bunker Port." His face seems familiar, and suddenly, it hits me who he is. My mind goes blank. I realize it's Alex, the guy who was arguing with Troy at Mia's party. I don't know how to react. He caught me watching them argue; he'll probably say something to me for giving them a dirty look that night.
"Alex, you missed it!" Fabio says. "The Nomad Action guys have screwed up again; the president had to be escorted out, and the police had to intervene."
"We're not going to achieve anything like this," Alex says. "These people think that by violently expressing their discontent they're going to do something good for Bunker Port."
"But at least they're rebelling," Lena interjects.
"Nonsense! They're just political party puppets," Alex retorts, "they agree with everything, they don't care if Bunker Port is auctioned off or not, they just do what they're told."
—Well, let's try it our way—says Monica—. Maybe we'll achieve something.
"I see it as very difficult," Alex replies, hopelessly.
We stayed in the open field all day. The residents of Bunker Port, who oppose the auction not for political reasons but out of longing to lose their own homes, began setting up tents and lighting fires to ward off the night's chill. Monica's group did the same. As we set up camp, Alex kept questioning me with his eyes; he knew who I was, but he hadn't yet deigned to speak to me. Monica hadn't introduced us because the opportunity hadn't arisen, as Alex was constantly pacing, overcome with a nervousness that wouldn't let him stay still.
As night fell, we sat on some palm tree trunks around a campfire, eating roasted marshmallows while we talked. Alex kept looking at me; I knew he wanted to say something, but he couldn't find the right moment. Monica's friends chatted amongst themselves about island gossip and other things I wasn't aware of. Jordan took out his acoustic guitar and started playing a few chords, which were then joined by a chorus of voices. Daphne and Summer got up and began to dance to the music. At that moment, Alex also got up and took the opportunity to approach me, now that his friends were lost in the music.
Alex sits next to me.
"Hey, you didn't see or hear anything that happened at Mia's party," she says suddenly, almost whispering. "Forget I talked to Troy, and don't you dare tell them anything."
"Why?" I ask him suddenly. "Are you hiding something?"
Alex remains silent for a few moments.
"It's none of your business," he replies.
"I understand why you don't tell me," I say, "but you shouldn't hide it from your friends."
"If I tell you, promise me you won't tell them anything," he says to me with a certain confidence.
-I promise you.
"Everything you heard that night has to do with the demolition of this place," Alex says.
"What do you mean?" I ask him.
“Look, I’ve lived in Bunker Port my whole life. I’m the lighthouse keeper’s grandson, I’ve worked at the lighthouse for ages, and I absolutely refuse to let Blaine buy this place,” Alex tells me firmly. “But no protest or sit-in will change anything. The only thing that can stop all this from disappearing is money. That’s why I turn a blind eye when the drug boats go by at the dock. They’re dealing with Troy, the guy you saw me arguing with at the party. I need the money to keep this place from going under. My life is here, and I’m not going to lose it for anything.”
"But is there another way to get the money legally?" I ask him.
"There isn't one," he replies, "looking away is the quickest and most profitable way to achieve it."
"There has to be one," I insist. "You're risking too much for this place; if you get caught, you'll lose everything."
—I will do whatever it takes to see the Bunker Port lighthouse continue to stand tall above the dock and continue to illuminate with its splendid light the course of all the ships that skirt these seas.
"Why is the lighthouse so significant to you?" I ask.
“One of the first people to arrive on this island was my great-grandfather. He built the lighthouse and watched over it his entire life. My grandfather honored his legacy by taking on the responsibility of its upkeep and maintenance. When I was a child, he used to take me to the lighthouse at night, and from the top, we would watch the ships sail by under the starlight. For my grandfather, the lighthouse wasn't just a landmark for ships; it was much more than that. He used to tell me that the lighthouse represents your purpose in life; it's the guide that illuminates your path and keeps you focused on what truly matters.”
While looking me in the eyes, Alex says:
—Keep your headlight on...
I am in suspense because of the words he just said to me.
—That's what my grandfather used to tell me. Keep your lighthouse beacon burning, Nomad, because I don't intend to turn mine off.
I don't know what to say to her; her words have pierced me so deeply, as if upon uttering them, an arrow of wonder pierced my heart. I snap out of my daze and say to her:
—I'll help you, we'll find a way for you to save Bunker Port.
"Believe me, I've been trying to find a solution for months, but money doesn't grow on trees, and for now Troy is my only option," he tells me, looking downcast.
"Forget about Troy, he's not to be trusted," I tell him. "We'll find a way..."
As we said this, we exchanged a knowing glance and together joined the dance that had formed around the bonfire. We stayed in Bunker Port all night, and the next morning, when we turned on our phones, we saw on social media and all the Nomad Coast online newspapers that the date and time of the Bunker Port auction had already been set.
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