The Islands at the End of the World (28 page)

But we like the depths. We are many, there
.

Dad’s face. Brilliant white light floods outward from behind him. Clouds. My body rocks gently. I’m floating through the sky.

“Dad.” I swoon. To see his face …

“Hush, darling.”

“Am I …?”

“Go back to sleep. Everything is okay. I’m always watching over you.”

“No, Dad. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Hush. Rest.”

More clouds. The sky is still yellow, though. It’s hell. Dad is gone, and the Devil himself stands over me. I awaken to find the sheriff guarding me.
Am I one of his belongings now?
He’s looking away toward the horizon, unaware of my white-hot eyes.

We’re on a boat. A giant double canoe with two upside-down triangle sails. He glances down at me, looks away. “She woke up.”

I sit up with a grimace. So thirsty. Sore and stiff. But my thigh is bandaged and feels fine. My thousand mosquito bites have faded. A pit of nausea within me—anguish. I’m not ready. I will never be ready. Let oblivion wash over me so I can dream of Dad. I don’t want to grieve. I sense the pain emerging. The agony of true loss blooms.

There he is.

Dad.

Crossing the plank from the other hull. Rushing over to me.
Alive
? I struggle to breathe, stare at him with wonder. Tears pour down my cheeks.

“Leilani!” He embraces me. “Just in time.” He points. “Look!”

Tall cliffs loom to our right. We are about half a mile from shore. An immense valley opens up before us, breathtaking. A black, sandy beach stretches across the gap. Far behind it, barely visible at this angle, a waterfall a thousand feet tall pours serenely and silently from its distant heights. I gasp. “Waipi`o?”

Dad offers a warm smile in confirmation.

My heart soars.
The Big Island? This is the Big Island?
We’re almost home. Hilo’s only forty miles down the coast. Maybe this isn’t real, after all. It’s a delusion. Shielding my tattered mind from true fate.

“Are we going home?” I whisper.

“Yes,” Dad says. “We’ll be home in a few hours.”

I sit up carefully and embrace my father.

The majestic waterfall of Waipi`o Valley, narrowly visible back in its canyon, drifts out of sight as we rush south over the waters. Finally, Dad and I unlock our arms.

“Oh, Dad.” I’m sobbing. “How? Why? How long have I been out?”

“Two days. On and off.”

“What happened? I thought … I thought …”

“No, no.” He embraces me.

“But … what happened?”

Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You had a bad grand mal,” he whispers. “One hell of a show.”

“I don’t get it.”

Dad shrugs.
I don’t know what to tell you
. “You took … all the air out of the room. They stopped.”

“I—I …”

“Quiet, hon,” he says in a low voice. “We’re not out of the woods yet. This guy’s reputation is very important to him.”

The sheriff watches us. I watch him back. His expression is guarded.

“Thank you,” I say.

He furrows his brow and looks toward the shore.

“What’s your name?” I ask him.

“Hon.” Dad’s eyes are sharp.

The sheriff glances at me again. “Kalaimanokaho`owaha. Call me Kana`ina.”

I stifle a dry laugh. He goes by the name of the chief who slew Captain Cook in 1779.

I look around the boat. The canoes are filled with provisions and artillery and ammo. Almost twenty faces are watching me, mostly men. I see the men who chased and shot at us. The stout one who pulled my hair and hurt Dad. Several are heavily armed. They return to their tasks as my eyes meet each of them.

“Dad,” I whisper. “I still …”

Dad shakes his head, looks up at the sails, and then meets my eyes. “Relax a bit. We’ll be home soon. Just focus on that.”

The quarter hours pass as one waterfall after another gushes from the cliff face of the Hamakua Coast between Waipi`o Valley and Hilo Bay. I occasionally see old vehicles driving the lonely highway. One world may have ended, but
people will always come and go. I’ve traveled the coastal road often, zooming across the soaring bridges, never knowing the breadth of the beauty that hid over the edge of the road. I study each ravine and gorge from this new vantage point, remembering—not only with my mind, but with my aching body—the horrors of this same terrain on Maui.

From time to time the cliffs dip to the sea, and the naked peak of Mauna Kea can be seen touching the bluest part of the sky. The observatories crown the sacred summit. Such a joy to see this familiar sight.
I really am home
. We made it. In spite of everything.

The sheriff shouts orders to anchor in the bay up ahead.

And then I recognize where we are. I’ve never seen it from the water, but it’s Onomea Bay, the refuge of the Hawaiian Botanical Gardens. Our house is several miles up, directly above.

We’re going to walk home.

“Close enough,” the sheriff commands.

The mainsheet is released and several of the crew dip paddles into the water. We hover within several hundred yards of the wave-wracked inlet. An old dining-room hutch bobs in the surf to my right. Tsunami debris.

“Jump?” Dad asks.

The sheriff nods.

I look between them. I can’t help it. “Why … why are you doing this?”

Kana`ina stares at me. He doesn’t answer.

The hair-pulling thug sidles over and leans in close. I
shrink back, try not to show my disgust.
Just a few seconds more. Don’t make them change their minds
.

He says, “He owed your Grandpa one big debt.”

The sheriff overhears. He glances down at his polished boot, silent.

“Oh,” I say.

The hair puller grabs my upper arm and pulls me to my feet. “Remember: we only do what it takes to rebuild Hawai`i.”

I stare at him. They think they’re, what, part of ancient Hawai`i’s noble warrior class? A shiver goes down my spine.

Kana`ina turns to Dad. “You tell Lani Hawika to stay out of this. My price. His debt. Don’t make me regret it, yeah?”

“I’ll tell him,” Dad agrees.

“You
make
him.”

“I know.”

“Go.”

“Dad,” I whisper. “Our stuff? The iodide?”

He shakes his head. “Get ready to jump.”

“Leilani,” the sheriff says. I turn.

He tosses something at me. I catch it, barely. My Hawaiiana book. In a ziplock freezer bag. I look up at the sheriff. He turns away.

I leap into the water, half expecting to be shot in the back. Dad is right behind me.

We scramble up the boulder-covered shore and race into the trees, come upon a narrow path with a bench, and sit down. We’re in the botanical gardens, surrounded by overgrown tropical plants. A bright red sign stands erect next to the bench, broadcasting one of the great dangers of an ancient past:

WARNING
DO NOT STAND HERE
FALLING MANGOES

I point the sign out to Dad; we burst into laughter. Then we’re crying, holding each other, exhausted. “We’re on the Big Island,” I say. “We’re home.”

“I never allowed myself to believe that he would make good on that,” Dad says.

I inspect the freezer bag with my book. Looks dry. I won’t open it until we get home. I’m grateful, but the sheriff’s gift doesn’t fool me. “That is a bad, bad man. A
moke’s moke
. I hope I never see him again.”

“There’s going to be more where he came from. A lot more.”

“I know,” I sigh. “What was he doing? What are they going to do with all those guns? Arrows?”

“He wants to rule the islands.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words. But yeah. He already controls the channel between Maui and the Big Island, most of east Maui, some of the Big Island’s Kohala region. With the military gone, he’s thinking big. Off to pick a fight with several families in Puna right now.”

“He’s gonna ambush
Puna
?” That’s the large area on the Big Island south of Hilo. Hawai`i’s Wild West. Some antigovernment types, people who live off the grid and like to be left alone. “That’ll be epic.”

“Strike hard. Put his own man in place there, control the orchards, run all the firepower that’s piled up there.”

“Wow. Every man, woman, and child in Puna probably owns a gun or two.”

“I know. They don’t call them
Punatics
for nothing.”

“What was all that about Grandpa?”

“He and your grandpa were once partners on the police force.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Back on Maui. In Kahului. That sheriff is why Grandpa retired.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just connecting the dots the best I can.”

That’s crazy
. But I see the truth in it. Grandpa has complained to me about his time on Maui more than once; too many hotheads on the force, corruption. Racism in all directions. I never thought to ask him all about it. Now I can feel his guiding spirit, protecting us even from the past. Something he did decades ago saved our lives this week. More evidence that he’s a time traveler. I smile. “Small world,” I say ironically; it’s something people say all the time on these islands.

“And getting smaller every day.”

“What about the man you shot?”

“He’s alive. Grazed. The sheriff seems more interested in settling an old debt with Grandpa than in taking vengeance for a bumbling soldier.

“Let’s move. I can’t shake the thought that he’ll decide to come back.”

We march up a steep garden trail, hiking side by side from the shore to the road. We’re high up on the bluff now, with a breathtaking view of Onomea Bay. The sheriff and his posse are nowhere to be seen. They’ve probably reached Hilo Bay by now.

I can think about only one thing.

Home.

I’ve waited so long for this moment. Letting go of the
anticipation and bracing for the reality of what’s to come is almost painful. I reach for a naupaka plant, rip off a branch covered in white half-flowers. I whisper, “I want to see them so badly.”

“They’ll be there.” He squeezes my shoulder with a shaky hand. “We’re almost home.”

We continue to march mauka, straight uphill, my naupaka branch clutched in my hand. I’m surprised at how steep and long this road is. It takes us a good hour just to cross the highway that goes into Hilo.

As we cross I recognize a girl from school walking toward us from town. One of the local
titas
that was giving me the stink-eye at Honoli`i Beach. I tug on Dad’s shirt and pick up my pace.

“Leilani!” she calls. I stop. I had no idea she even knew my name. She trots up to us, a bright smile on her face.

I look down.
No. Look up
. I meet her eyes. “Hey, Aleka, howzit?”

“Haven’t seen you around. All good with you? You …” She glances at Dad. “You look … all banged up.”

“Uh, long story,” I say. “But, yeah, doin’ good, I guess. You?”

“Surf’s been touch and go. Only been out twice since … you know.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s the water? Lotta rubbish?”

“It’s getting better. See you out there soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, I hope so. Where you headed?”

“Waiting for a ride out to Laupahoehoe. My cuz is due any minute. You?”

“I’m walking home.”

“K’den.” She gives me a hug. At first I’m stiff, but then I return it. “So many people are missing,” she says, her voice cracking. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Me too. I’m glad you’re safe, too, I mean.”

She finally lets go, clears her throat, and continues on her way.

Dad and I resume our hike. “We’ve been here, what? An hour?” he says. “And you’ve already got friends bugging you to surf?”

I thought she hated my guts
. But I smile.

When we step into our long driveway, my heart pounds like a drum. My legs grow weak. I’m squeezing the naupaka branch in my fist so tight that the stem has grown mushy. I can’t wait for Mom to know that we’re safe, to see her relief. I can’t wait to tell her what we’ve been through, and to see her eyes widen. I can’t wait for her to embrace Dad and never let him go. I can’t wait to have Kai run up and jump into my arms.