Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

“It’s started. The looting. Everything. Lei, please. Get some more sleep. We leave here tomorrow.”

“Okay.” As I turn to enter the room, I notice silent lightning bolts infrequently flashing across the petals of the Emerald Orchid.

“Dad, are you seeing this?”

He pats my shoulder. “The atmosphere is putting on a hell of a show.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” I’m stoking his anxiety , I realize, and I silently step back inside.

“Eat something real quick,” he suggests. “Take your meds.”

I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see his kindness and patience.

The bathroom light won’t turn on, so I use my cell phone to see what I’m doing. At least it’s good for that much . I shake a pill into my hand and attempt to turn on the faucet. Nothing.

“Water doesn’t run anymore. Try the minibar,” Dad suggests from the door. “Grab a candy bar while you’re at it. It’s on the house.”

Our backpacks and other bags are arranged neatly in one corner of the room. Heaped beside them in a pile are my computer, our snorkeling gear, my schoolwork, and Dad’s thick folders of graded exams among the now-useless junk. Dad’s been busy while I was out. I wonder how many times he idly rifled through the bags, endlessly organizing and reorganizing our food and gear while he waited for me to wake up.

“Did you pack my Hawaiiana book?”

“It’s in your bag. Don’t worry.”

I wonder what it must have been like for him to haul me off the pier and get me safely back to the hotel in the first place.

“Thank you, Dad.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

He smiles. “Eat up, hon. You’re wasting away. Then back to bed. Okay?”

I take a few moments to eat a Snickers and a bag of corn chips. I wash down my evening pill with a can of warm cola, and then I drift back to sleep.

A piercing buzz rockets through my ears. White, flashing lights batter my eyelids. Oh, no, again? Already? “Leilani, wake up! Come on.” I can barely hear words over the buzz.

I’m being gently shaken. Dad is standing over me. It’s still dark, but white lights flicker on and off at regular intervals. The lanai door is wide open, and a gentle breeze soothes my sweaty face. I hear nothing but the ungodly alarm. A fire alarm? “Time to go,” he says. “Now!”

I sit up, scrambling up the muddy walls of the dark, murky pit where my mind has crouched. “What time is it? What day?”

“Nearly five o’clock Monday morning.” Dad hands me some clothes. “Come on. The bags are ready. We just have to get down to the car.”

“Is there really a fire?” I pull on the shorts and T-shirt he’s thrust upon me.

“Yes. They’ve been torching things up and down the beach all night.”

What ? “Who?”

“The Anti-Tourist Brigade. Please, hurry!” Dad yanks our phones out of the wall and stuffs them and their chargers into his pockets.

I swing my backpack onto my shoulder and buckle the waistband. The smell of smoke drifts into the room from the lanai.

“Now.”

We dart out of the room, each of us with a backpack and a duffel and tote bags filled with our food. The neighboring door bursts open, and a mother with two boys flees down the hallway. A man shouts after them from the room, “We’re right behind you!” and the door closes.

The lights in the hallway are making me dizzy.

Dad’s reading my mind. “Are you okay with the lights?”

I gasp and freeze in the hallway. Dad bumps into me. “What? What is it?” he asks.

“My pills. Did you pack them? They were in the bathroom.”

Dad grows pale. “Shoot. No!” He turns back to the door and tries to open it. Locked.

“Oh, no,” I mumble.

Dad freezes. He laughs nervously. “I think I left the car keys in there, too.”

He fumbles through his pockets with his good hand while navigating around the hip strap of his pack. He pulls the key card into view and swipes it through the reader on the doorknob. No response. Again. Nothing.

From the room next to ours, a man and another boy emerge into the hallway, rolling two suitcases. They race away into the flashing darkness.

“It’s expired,” Dad says. “We can’t get in.”

Almost without thought, I press my hand against the closing door of the neighboring room. “Do you remember if there’s a connecting door we can break down?”

“Good thinking.” We push into the room.

“Nothing. Dammit.”

The smell of smoke is stronger. A helicopter zooms past the lanai. I gasp. “Wait,” I say. My heart’s pounding as a new idea takes root within my mind. Calm down , I think. You have to stay calm .

I drop my bags and take off the pack. I walk out onto the lanai, nervous and hopeful.

Dad follows me outside and freezes. “Lei. That’s crazy. Stop.”

I stare at our lanai, my mind strangely focused. The alarm isn’t so bad out here, and I can finally hear myself think. The petals of the Emerald Orchid are brighter than ever, and they bathe the side of the tower in eerie green light. The balconies have high lips, crowned with decorative handrailings. The distance between them is about eight feet. There’s a very thin molding running along the wall, but no one could sidle along it without falling off. My eyes turn back to the distance between the lips. If I stood up on top of this wall, I could probably jump far enough to grab on to the next railing.

Probably isn’t good enough when you’re a famished epileptic surrounded by flashing lights and you’re twelve stories off the ground in a burning building.

“Lei, come on. It was worth a thought, but it’s no good.”

“I need those meds, Dad. I need them.” Several lanai lengths to the right, I can see black smoke billowing out of the fourth- or fifth-floor windows.

“We can look for more, hon. I’m sure we can walk right into nine out of ten pharmacies tonight and—”

“And how will you get to them? Just wander around on foot with all these bags? We need the keys, too!”

“Lei, we’ll find another car. This is crazy. We have to get out of here, now!” He’s either angry or scared, but it all sounds the same.

I’m angry, too. “You’re going to walk up to the first car parked along the curb and flip down the visor and catch a set of keys?”

“Leilani! You can’t jump that gap. I can’t jump that gap. End of argument!”

My idea grows wings. I smile, and when I answer, my tone is relaxed. “We still have the climbing gear?”

Dad nods. “I thought maybe we could trade it.”

I run back into the room and yank what I’ll need out of my pack.

Dad doesn’t protest. He studies the balconies. I won this one , I think, and the thought is followed by a surge of adrenaline. I throw on my harness and run a double figure-eight knot through the loops.

I rush back onto the lanai.

“That fire’s crept up another flight. We—”

“Put this on,” I interrupt. Dad slips into his harness like a pro.

The now-familiar pop of a gunshot startles me. That was close . I follow the sound across the gardens to the neighboring hotel tower. A flickering light comes from a window several floors down, followed by rapid gunfire.

Is someone gunning people down? I turn back to Dad, the question plastered all over my face. He’s staring across the divide with naked shock.

“Dad.”

He shakes himself back to attention. “Quick!” We check each other’s harness straps, and then I hand him the carabiner and the belay device.