Austin Aslan - The Islands at the End of the World

We will do the long fastness to the other pool. We will be long in the ocean between the pools of fire

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“Dad … It’s taking its baby to another galaxy. The Orchids aren’t coming back in our lifetime.”

“Another galaxy ?”

“Far, far away.” And then it hits me. My thoughts tumble away. Dad had talked about how some turtle species that once crossed straits were fooled, over centuries, into crossing oceans. But these Orchids … They’ve been fooled, over eons, into crossing between drifting galaxies.

Dad’s voice pulls me back. He shakes his head. “I’d convinced myself that the iodide wasn’t a big deal, that we weren’t really going to need it after all. Either way, what good is cancer prevention if food stops growing?”

I shake my head. “If they leave now, we’re all dead. Other parts of the world might already be in trouble. We’re isolated. Maybe we’re safe for now, but … didn’t Akoni mention there were enough meltdowns to eventually sterilize a lot of the planet? The aircraft carriers around here, the submarines—would they eventually melt down? What if that’s why the military bolted?”

“Akoni and his ‘calculations,’ ” Dad says.

“Well, let’s see your numbers. What does your global network of ham radio operators think? You said this could be a problem before we even met Uncle Akoni. And … don’t you remember? The night all this began, you were making popcorn in the microwave. But it wouldn’t pop.”

Dad falls silent for a moment. “Because … there was no radiation in the microwave.”

He’s starting to understand.

“But … if you’re right … what do you want me to do? If radiation levels are rising again, now that the Orchids are leaving, how would we ever measure it?”

My legs grow weak. The iodide is gone. It’s over, isn’t it? It’s all over. Unless …

“What if I called them back? Got them to stay?”

I shiver. Why would I even think such a thing? They’ve done us so much harm. Turned us wild. Into killers. Erased a century of technology in the blink of an eye. If they were to go, maybe we could get that back—not all of it, but most of it. It’s not too late to pick up the pieces.

But if the threat of global radiation is real … it would all be over anyway, wouldn’t it? We’d turn on our toys just in time to be buried with them. That wouldn’t make any sense at all, would it? Maybe crews could contain the fallout once the power comes back on. Maybe the Orchids could stay just for a few months. Just long enough for us to get the word out and make sure all nuclear materials are stored somewhere safe. “How would you call them?” Dad asks.

I shrug, but even as I do, the answer comes to me:

“The second you reach Hilo, you go up on the mountain. Stand at the mouth of the cave. And when you hear the whisper, see if you can’t answer back. You promise?”

“We have to go up to Mauna Kea,” I say. “We should try.”

Dad is silent; then: “When?”

I shrug again. “Now? They’re leaving. We don’t have much time.”

“Tonight? Lei, what about our family?”

Where are they? Why can’t they just be here? When will this nightmare end?

This is ridiculous. What am I proposing? “I don’t know. I don’t know what we’d do, anyway.”

Dad changes his tone. “The scientist in me needs more proof, Lei. But I’m going to take that hat off, okay? The Dad in me has faith in you.”

“Really?”

“We’ll go in the morning. We’ll find a way. But we’ll go at first light, okay? It’s insane, but … I’d rather try and know than watch you all get sick, wondering.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I awaken from a sound sleep just after dawn. Strangely, I was dreaming of Aukina. We were holding hands on the beach. I shake the image away. Aukina’s on his way to the mainland right now. Forget about him .

Dad is already up, working on various projects. Mom and Kai and Grandpa have not magically appeared, and I steel myself against a growing sense of panic. The sunrise is beautiful through our broad living-room windows, casting a pink ribbon across the distant ocean horizon, but I have no room for joy.

They’re okay. They’re not far. Don’t worry .

I see the T-shirt Dad’s wearing and bark with laughter. He grins. It’s the exact same grin Kai gets after he makes me laugh.

“You’re sick, you know that?”

The shirt is printed with a windy, jungle-covered road. Bright green letters say I SURVIVED THE ROAD TO HANA.

We eat fast, leave a note, and pile into the hybrid. I’m wearing fresh clothes. They feel glorious, even though the shirt hangs on me and I need a belt to keep my pants up. A warm jacket sits bundled on my lap; the cold on top of Mauna Kea is a force of its own. I frown absently. The note we left might as well have read:

Hi, Mom! We’re back. Everything’s okay, but we had to run off for a bit. I can talk to the Emerald Orchid. Turns out it’s an alien, and it thrives on cosmic radiation. It has a soft spot for our atmosphere and for thermal nuclear meltdowns—which are happening all over the globe, btw. We’re heading up to the summit to try to convince it to stick around for several hundred million years—or at least long enough for people to fix nuclear power plants around the world. You know, save all life on Earth and all that. Wish me luck! Brb .

Dad presses the start button on the hybrid. Nothing. “I can’t even turn it on to check the charge?”

I crack up. “ ‘Go green. Save the planet.’ So much for that. ”

“It won’t even turn on.”

“Let’s forget it, then. Okay? It’s a stupid idea anyway.” I already know that he thinks this errand of ours is just as foolish as I do. But even as I say the words, I know that we must try.

“No, hon. We’ll do it. We’ll figure it out.”

The Civic is nearly empty, which was why Dad thought to take the hybrid, but we switch over to it when he finds half a gallon of gas in the old lawn mower at the back of the garage. The car turns on after the fourth crank of the ignition. We reluctantly pull away from the house. I can’t believe we’re leaving so soon. It feels like we’re abandoning a dream, acknowledging that there was no happy ending. As we wind down to the highway, I keep reminding myself we’re coming right back. We’re not ditching Mom and Kai, or giving up on their return.

We pull onto the highway and scan the lay of the land. A truck drives toward us from the direction of town, so we press forward, cautiously optimistic that the highway leading into Hilo is passable. Every couple hundred yards we pass heaps of cars. Mostly rentals. I’m guessing they were abandoned during the chaos surrounding the tsunami.

As promising as the roadways near Hilo prove to be, neither of our cars would have a prayer on the steep dirt switchbacks of the summit’s final ascent. We try firing up several abandoned rental Jeeps, but there are no keys hiding above visors, no way to start engines.

This is nuts. What are we doing? We’re in denial, that’s what. The Orchid is long gone. Nuclear winter is around the corner—even for Hawai`i. “Thanks for doing this, Dad,” I sigh.

I think he’s going to suggest we turn around, but he doesn’t. “Let’s keep trying. We can do a little more.”

In Wainaku, just a stone’s throw from Honoli`i Beach, I spot a rusty old four-by-four with a Baptist church sticker, facing downhill. Dad parks the Civic off a side road to make it look like it’s been abandoned, and we scurry over to the van. The driver’s-side door pops open. We jump in.