Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

“I know,” Aukina says.

“I had that seizure on purpose.”

“What? You faked it?”

“No. It was real. I triggered it. And it showed that nobody gives a rat’s ass about us.”

“You want out that bad?”

“Are you honestly surprised?”

Aukina shifts his weight around. Silence settles between us. He hesitates, and then fishes through one of his breast pockets. His hand emerges with a small tin canister, like an Altoids box, but plain and dull. “Here. Take this. Quick. For your dad, too.” He hands me the tin, urging me with his eyes: Hurry! Hide it .

“What is it?” I whisper as I fit it into my shorts’ pocket.

“Iodide tablets.”

“What’re they for?” I know that most salt is iodized because it’s such an important vitamin, or something, but I’ve never heard of tablets.

Aukina grimaces. “Don’t ask. We’re all taking them. You should, too.”

I look him in the eyes. “I don’t understand how your good intentions went so bad.”

“Someone thought this camp would be a good idea. Someone else who doesn’t care was put in charge of making it happen.

“But now problems everywhere are bigger. These camps are so low on the list, Lei, that—” He stops himself and readjusts the rifle strapped around his shoulder. He takes a few steps toward the pile of construction materials, picks something up, and then continues talking in a hushed tone.

“Lei, I want to tell you a secret. But don’t repeat it. I’m trusting you.”

I look him in the eye.

“So, our carriers and subs operate on nuclear fuel, right?”

I didn’t know that, but I nod.

“There’s a few in the … neighborhood. They’re not acting right, though. There doesn’t seem to be any danger, but who knows? Anyway, on top of that, we’re out of gas. Unnecessary flights have stopped. We need what’s left for something big. Our orders are to … I’d take you and your dad with us if I could. But I can do the next best thing, I guess.”

“What?” I whisper. I’ve forgotten to inhale.

“I like you a lot, Lei. You’re strong and you’re … eye-catching. You’re way older than your age. Hawai`i’s going to need people like you. I really hope you’ll be okay. I hate goodbyes, but this is it, okay? Don’t come find me again.”

“I don’t understand.…”

He tosses something at my feet. “Your shoe’s untied.” He turns away, stiffening to attention.

I look down. A foot-long bolt cutter is lodged in the mud at my feet, its red handles blaring in the sunlight. I kneel and pretend to tie my shoe. Without looking around, I snag the tool and, grimacing, slip it under my shirt and into the band at the bottom of my bra. My heart is pounding. I feel like a fugitive.

I catch Aukina’s eye for a second. I want to say thank you, but his eyes shoo me away as if his gaze were a kick in my rear. I rise and walk away, hunched over, trying with all my might not to hurry or look suspicious.

Our ticket to ride .

I fasten the top two buttons of my blouse and roll my shoulders forward, praying that the handles aren’t obvious.

Thirty-two pills left. Past midnight on Tuesday morning. Very dark. The Orchid is slightly fainter tonight through the thickening haze. Still, it casts soft shadows from its shimmering perch in the sky. Dad’s group petition took several days to organize, and it was a spectacular flop. With the blurry stars twinkling heartlessly above, we’re finally ready to take matters into our own hands.

Crouched low, my knees in the mud, I slowly buckle my backpack, grimacing as its quiet click seems to shoot through the silent camp. Dad hefts his pack on his back, adjusting its weight, and nods to me. My heart thrumming in my chest, I abandon our cot.

We circle the perimeter of the canopy. The mud squishes beneath my boots.

We’ve accounted for the five guards patrolling inside the soccer field. It doesn’t look like they wear night-vision goggles, but we’re not taking any chances. One thing about a field of people is that when everyone spreads out to sleep, it’s easy to drop down and blend in—even with packs on our backs. That’s what we’re betting on, anyway.

We know there are guards stationed outside the fence, as well, but we don’t know where or how many. At least there are no watchtowers, unless you count the bleachers beyond the track. I remind myself: we’re trying to break out of a soccer field, not a high-security prison.

I drop and lie still, alerted by the muddy squish of an approaching guard.

A baby screams beneath the next tent, providing us cover to scurry forward several yards. I resist the urge to dash; no room for error. We must take our time weaving through the dense masses. We have all night, and our target position along the fence—the southeasternmost end nearest the bay—is only sixty yards away.

A flashlight scans in our vicinity, and we drop like possums again. Did a guard see us? I wait, breathless and motionless. Dad goes limp and relaxes his breathing somewhere behind me.

The light draws nearer, sweeping the ground in broad strokes. Someone is looking for us. I shift my position slightly, to be sure my pack will appear to be lying flat. An older Hawaiian man is lying next to me, no more than an arm’s length away. In the dim light, it looks like he’s staring right at me.

I smile sheepishly and give him a small wave with my fingers. Please don’t do anything , I urge him with my thoughts.

The flashlight draws nearer still. As its beam searches our area, the old man’s face is bathed in a flickering glow. I recognize him as the guy we talked to in line the first day. Wasn’t he going to Maui, then Lāna`i? He should be long gone. His eyes are wide open. His mouth is slightly agape. Stop staring at me; they’re going to notice! In a sudden, cold sweat, I realize that he’s not looking at me. He’s not looking at anything.

He’s dead.

No breath comes and goes across his stiffened lips. His eyes are vacant, his expression frozen upon a dirt-streaked face. His gray hair is tousled and bristles gently in response to the eddies of the wind.

The flashlight continues its greedy search. A cockroach casually emerges from the V in the old man’s button-down shirt, and I stifle a gasp. It crawls up onto his cheek, and then darts into his hair and out of view.

“Shhh!” Dad whispers from behind me. I bite my lip and close my eyes.

The light switches off. We wait. Eventually, the footsteps drift away. We raise our heads, gather our bearings, and continue toward the fence. I can’t help glancing back at the dead man in the mud. He will never reach his son’s farm. Above him, his wife sleeps peacefully on her cot.

I blink back tears.

Dad and I reach the edge of the field. The fence is only twenty feet away, across the hard-packed dirt track. It’s so dark, with nothing but faint starlight and a menacing green glow to guide our sight. Still, the gap ahead feels awfully exposed.

“Ready, Lei?” Dad’s breathing is short and fast.

I nod. “We have to be quick.”

“Once we go, we’re committed.”

We wait for several minutes, listening, watching the shadows for signs of movement. Another baby cries somewhere far behind us.

“Now,” Dad whispers.

We slink across the track, hunched over as low as possible without getting to our knees, and crouch at the base of the fence. Dad pulls the bolt cutter from the loose sleeve of his jacket and sets its jaws against the lowest link. He’s trembling.

The tall fence will take at least a minute to cut through. But I picked this route during my scouting so that we’d have an easier out.