The Islands at the End of the World Read online

  Mr. Donnell asked all amateur astronomers and backyard stargazers to share their findings and contact him at the Bishop Museum.

  Mr. Donnell addressed growing support for an electromagnetic-pulse theory, in which damaging voltage surges result from certain varieties of high-energy explosions. He cautioned against making “wild guesses.”

  “There are a number of possible explanations,” he said.

  “I want to see it again,” I say.

  “Let’s hope it goes away,” Dad says.

  He reads the entire newspaper to me as the morning slowly unfolds. Apparently, whatever’s happening in Hawai`i is happening all over the world. Some satellite signals have returned, but they’re weak and erratic. A resident of Pearl City reports that one television station in the Balkans was broadcasting on his satellite receiver for almost half an hour before the signal was lost, but he had no idea what was being said. Some ham radio operators have made contact with peers on the mainland, but they’re only able to swap stories of mass power outages and confusion.

  The power at the lab keeps going on and off, but the generators bridge the divides. Dr. Makani visits about once an hour. Being off my drugs feels like floating on a life raft in the open ocean, with no idea what’s coming over the horizon.

  Mom and Kai. What are they up to? I keep seeing their pixilated faces frozen as they stare into the webcam.

  At least Grandpa’s with them.

  I go to charge my cell phone late in the afternoon when we have a power “on-age.” The network is up! I have full bars. “Dad! We can call home!”

  Dad snatches up his own phone. He raises his eyebrows and dials Mom. “See. Things are on the mend, just like that!”

  His phone never connects to a dial tone, though. We try my phone. Nothing.

  “There’s no way to route a call,” he says.

  Fifteen minutes later, my phone shows no network. Landlines don’t work, either.

  I’ve never missed anyone so much that it hurt before, but right now I’d give anything to be back with Mom and Kai and Grandpa.

  “I hope they’re not too worried about us.”

  Dad smiles. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

  “What do you think they’re doing?”

  Dad shifts. “Probably not much different from usual.”

  “Satellite issues wouldn’t only affect O`ahu. Mom and Grandpa must be as clueless as we are.”

  “Probably true. But there’s no reason to worry.”

  Afternoon rolls into evening. I work on my homework and pepper Dad with trigonometry questions. I eat dinner while Dad snacks on hotel loot. We go outside and watch the green cloud. It’s brighter, nearer, but somehow less menacing. Does it seem familiar already? Or just less mysterious, like the sound of thunder after the first big storm of the season?

  “Dad, go back to the hotel.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. You smell.”

  “Ha!” He punches my shoulder lightly. “Sure that’s not you? It would be nice to check on our room, make sure it hasn’t been given away.”

  “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “You must really like this place.” He’s joking, but I wonder—is he impatient?

  “Maybe these trial meds work,” I say hopefully.

  “It’s all going to come around, you’ll see.” He kisses me good-night and departs.

  The power goes off shortly after he leaves; the generators have finally run out of gas. In the new silence, I hear the rhythmic sounds of a Christian revival ceremony up the hill. Preaching, singing, weeping. The off-key laments and bass-guitar riffs comfort me. I think of home, and Kai’s laughter. I set my cell phone on the pillow next to me, willing it to ring, with Mom on the other end.

  A nurse hangs out with me by candlelight until I fall asleep.

  * * *

  Thursday morning the power is off, and now other equipment is busted, too. A technician is on the way, but I’m not holding my breath. Dad arrives at six a.m. with a bag of buffet goodies, including stale donuts.

  “Only the finest at your five-star accommodations,” I joke, chomping on the donuts. “Howzit out there?”

  “Getting weirder.”

  Today’s paper pokes out of his bag. I point at it. “Anything new?”

  “The paper’s dubbed it the ‘Emerald Orchid.’ I guess it does kind of look like a giant Georgia O’Keeffe painting.”

  I kind of like the name. It reminds me of home. The Big Island is also known as the Orchid Isle. And the green cloud did look like a flower. I wonder what they’re calling it in New York. The Big Apple Blossom? “Who cares what they name it? I want to know what it is. Can I see the paper?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  I feel my chest rise, my pulse pounding. “Why?”

  “Just … please? It’s nothing.”

  “The best way to create panic is to tell people not to panic,” I snap.

  Dad hems and haws. “Fine. Here.” He hands me the paper. “Remember, there’s no reason to think they’re not perfectly safe.”

  TSUNAMI STRIKES EASTERN SHORES

  Damage Reported on All Islands

  HONOLULU—The ocean rose as high as 20 feet over a period of hours, sending tsunami waves along O`ahu’s Kailua Bay early yesterday morning.

  Extensive damage was reported in Kailua and to the piers along O`ahu’s eastern side. Speaking on condition of anonymity, a military pilot described tsunami damage on each of the islands between O`ahu and the Big Island yesterday evening, and severe damage along the Big Island’s Hamakua Coast in and around Hilo.

  Officials have not released specific information.

  Theodore Thompson, a seismologist at the University of Hawai`i at Manoa, said the tsunamis are evidence that the green cloud entering the solar system is shedding meteorlike objects capable of striking Earth.

  “The timing of the arrival of these large waves could easily correspond with a large meteor impact in the Pacific,” he said. “A confirmed meteor impact south of Alaska on Sunday makes this a compelling assumption.”

  Mr. Thompson declined to speculate on how meteoric activity could disrupt global communications. He said his team was working on several theories.

  “Dad! Dad.”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “They’re fine.”

  “Yeah, but I want to know they’re fine.”

  “We’re mauka—high up—away from town. We’ve got a nice garden. We have chickens. Grandpa’s with them.”

  “But Tami doesn’t live near us! She doesn’t have a garden! If power’s out on the Big Island, then won’t the tsunami warning system be busted? What about her? What about …?”

  “Lei, it’s no good to … speculate. This won’t get us anywhere.”

  I’m silent, but I want to scream. Not knowing … not being able to find out. A simple text is all it would take. Click, click, send.

  Dad plays with the window slats and moodily wipes sweat off his face. After a few minutes, I grumble, “Knock that off.”

  “What, is there something in here you’re trying to focus on?” he snaps.

  “Yeah: calm,” I spit back.

  Dad freezes. “You know what, Lei, I’m the textbook definition of calm.”

  I burst out laughing. He looks startled, then joins in.

  Dad sits down, resting his forehead in his hands. The silence is broken by honking horns and helicopters. Finally, he stands. “I’ll be right back, honey.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I …”

  He strokes my hair. “We need to get home. We should start looking for other ways off this island now, before things—”

  “How bad is it out there?”

  “I just want to be ahead of the game, that’s all.” And he’s gone.

  I stare at a bamboo-framed poster of the Hawaiian Islands on the wall. I try to wrap my head around what Dad said. Other ways off this island?

  Does he mean finding another airport besides Honolulu International?

>   The main Hawaiian islands stretch away from each other in the shape of a lazy apostrophe. Hawai`i—the Big Island—is the farthest south and east of the chain. It’s bigger than all the other islands put together. I’ve always thought it looks like a giant arrowhead with the “point” facing east. The islands of Maui, Kaho`olawe, Lāna`i, and Moloka`i are a little to the northwest. It’s easy to see how they were a single island in the ancient past. As their volcanoes died and erosion took over, the sea eventually separated them.

  O`ahu is next, a ribbon of mountains running through its middle, Honolulu on the western side. It’s about two hundred miles from home, as the crow flies. The next islands are Kaua`i and its little neighbor, Ni`ihau. They’re the tapered end of the apostrophe, way to the west. It’s never really struck me how isolated each island is, or that the State of Hawai`i is so broken up and separated, because airplanes connect the dots.

  I bite my lip, wondering.

  Other ways off O`ahu?

  CHAPTER 7

  Dad returns with Dr. Makani. “How are you feeling, Leilani?” the doctor asks.

  I try to smile. “Okay.”

  He checks my blood pressure and pulse. He pauses for a moment and then nods to Dad. “I think you guys should both go back to your hotel.”

  “What?” I sit upright.

  “Go ahead and start your meds again, Leilani. We’re going to call this off. The EKG is broken. I’m trying to make sense of your chart from yesterday. I compared it to your records from Hilo—the pattern is totally different—gibberish. They can’t get the generators to work, and there’s just no point in the two of you roasting in this little room.”

  “But what if I—”

  Dad interrupts my question. “We talked that over, Lei. If something happens, I can help you through it just as well as any of the nurses here.”

  “Can you tell me: Was I on the real medication or the placebo?”

  “It’s a double-blind trial. I don’t know the answer to that, Leilani. But I’m guessing the trial medicine was working. You had episodes so easily the first night off your meds, but then nothing once the trial started the next morning.”

  Dad slips a packaged bite stick into his pocket. Tears well up in my eyes. I wipe them away. I pull out my normal pills and take one. Even though I’ve missed six doses, and I’m not out of the woods, it feels like a reprieve.

  Dad fills out a bunch of release forms while I put on my clothes. When we walk out, it feels like I’ve gotten time off for good behavior.

  The roads seem fine as we drive back into Waikīkī. People got the hint that they’re better off staying at home, I suppose. We search for lunch, but everything is closed. I eat an apple and a granola bar from one of Dad’s bags. I cheer up as we turn onto Ala Moana Boulevard. Dad has been quiet on the drive. I think he’s afraid that I’m mad at him.

  “This’ll be good,” I offer.

  “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “No, seriously. I’m okay. Calling it off … it just makes this whole mess feel … real.”

  “Leilani, can I be honest with you?”

  Here it comes. I know he’s been worried, but now it’ll be official. “Things are bad, I know.”

  Dad shakes his head. “It’s not that. God, I hope it’s not that. I just think they may get worse before they get better. We need to get out of here.”

  There’s a police car at the nearest intersection, but no one is directing cars through the blank lights. Police officers stand in groups every couple of intersections. Most of them look just as purposeless as the few people milling about.

  “How are we going to find a flight?” I ask. “Planes aren’t even working.”

  “Well, some planes and helicopters are flying. Whatever’s happening to electronics is hit-and-miss. Either way, I’d like to avoid the airport. I looked into the cruise ships that go to Hilo or Kona. There aren’t any at port, they’re all in Mexico or Alaska. Except one—and it capsized off Kaua`i during the tsunami.”

  “What?” I freeze. “Is everyone okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How many people were on board? How far off shore was it?”

  “I don’t know. Word of it just reached the island. Maybe the paper will cover it tomorrow.”

  I’m silent. Those poor people.

  “I’m hoping we can charter a helicopter. I’ve been thinking about this. The tour companies—if they aren’t already offering inter-island hops, maybe we can convince them to. Or a boat. Find someone around here who’ll agree to take us to the Big Island.”

  “Wait. By boat?” I try to imagine sailing from Honolulu to Hilo. It would take days to get home. And the powerful seas are dangerous. “Why? What if flights resume in the next couple days? Our flight would beat us home.”

  “Lei, I’ve got to do something. It’s only going to get harder as more people try to find a way off this island. We have a chance to get ahead of the game.”

  I take a deep breath, reading between the lines. “You’re worried that if we don’t go now, we won’t ever get home, aren’t you?”

  Dad won’t say anything.

  “Dad, I’m not stupid. You’ve been thinking a lot about this and not telling me anything. You need to bring me in.”

  He pauses for a long time, then says, “There are a million people on O`ahu. Ninety-five percent of the food is imported every day. If the planes and boats with the food really have stopped trickling in, well, do the math. Not to mention gas …”

  I feel dizzy. “We can all eat pineapples till kingdom come,” I say, trying to joke.

  “That’s exactly what we’ll be doing, and I’m guessing it’ll come by sometime next week.” Dad isn’t laughing.

  “Next week! There’s not that little food.”

  “Hon, it’s not about when the food runs out. It’s about when enough people realize that it’s going to.”

  * * *

  We sit in silence as we cross over a canal into Waikīkī, a boat harbor to our right. Sailboats of every type bob along the marina piers. I try to see us on one of them on the open ocean.

  We pull into the garage and park near the lobby stairwell. “Good thing we didn’t rent that electric, ah?” I joke as he shuts off the engine.

  “Naw. I bet it would have worked,” he says, but he’s just teasing. “Good thing we didn’t get a gas-guzzling, supercharged, V-8 tourist magnet. Ah?”

  “Whatevah. At least we would have looked good running out of gas.”

  “I’m just glad we topped it off at Costco. Did you see the lines at the station back there?”

  I nod.

  In the hotel lobby I learn that the power is on throughout Waikīkī, but the generators will still be required regularly. Crowds surround every wall outlet in an effort to charge endless lines of phones, computers, tablets. The cords of lamps and TVs and coolers are yanked out of the wall. Guests are asked to avoid using the air conditioners and to open their balconies and hallway doors to create a cross breeze on each floor. New signs are posted everywhere, providing instructions and evacuation routes in the event of a tsunami.

  Our fancy hotel feels like a Greyhound bus station. Somebody, please tell me it’s all a dream. Make it all stop. I pick up my pace.

  Families pack around the reception counters. Many are checked-out guests returning from the airport, demanding to be put back in their rooms.

  “No one is flying in, either,” one lady complains. “You must have vacancies. Just cancel the new reservations. It’s very easy.”

  “We’re doing everything we can to sort it out, ma’am. Just be patient. A few of our computers are up, but the records were online, and we’re having to manually arrange …”

  My attention shifts to a young husband trying to calm his wife. “… there’s nowhere to plug into, Molly.”

  “I don’t know how much longer we can wait.” The wife holds a toddler in her arms, and she’s almost in tears.

  “Just …” Her husband glances around in de
feat. He’s holding on to a device connected to a tiny mask by a coiled hose.

  “Excuse me,” an older man says. He’s guarding a phone plugged into the wall. “Is that a nebulizer? Do you need to use it?”

  The parents nod. The mother says, “Our boy has asthma. He hasn’t had his treatment today.”

  “Oh, well, here you go! Why didn’t you say something?” The older man yanks his phone charger from the socket. “Use this.”

  We step into the elevator; the door shuts.

  I try to imagine needing electricity to take my meds. That poor boy.

  The elevator jolts but continues rising. I laugh nervously. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  “No. But neither is a seizure in the eighth-floor stairwell.”

  “Oh.” Why did he have to bring that up?

  Dad and I pack our bags. He occasionally pauses to go out on the lanai, looking out at the sailboats and the yachts in the bay milling about like students in a crowded school hall waiting for the first bell to ring. He’s deep in thought.

  I examine the water, looking for signs of the tsunami. There’s debris washed up on the beach, but no obvious destruction. Lucky for Waikīkī that the east side of the island absorbed most of the wave energy. But what if something happens on this side?

  A few surfers glide back and forth on the gentle waves, and I can feel what it’s like. Cool water. Breeze. Salty taste.

  I can find that back on the Big Island, too, without nineteen thousand hotel windows facing me.

  I finish zipping my pack, and Dad suggests that we grab one last meal before heading off. I can tell that he’s as reluctant to execute this crazy plan as I am.

  “I’m starving, Dad, but we have plenny snacks. We can skip it.”

  “Better to eat now.”

  Dad and I sit at a cantina near the beachside pools. Both of us face the bay. Any hint of rising waters and we bolt back up to floor twelve.

  The surf looks perfect for me. Not too big, not too small, spaced far enough apart to make getting out past the swell easy.

  “I should be surfing right now.”

  “Lei, please.”

  “You got to surf on this trip.”