The Islands at the End of the World

by Austin Aslan

  I close the door. He looked as though he almost believed that. I text Tami:

  Strange things are afoot at the Circle K

  I smile, knowing that she’ll get my Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure reference. It’s one of Dad’s favorite old-timer movies; he forced us to watch it during a sleepover. The text doesn’t go through. I stare at the error symbol on my phone and then plug it in to charge.

  I try not to think about anything when I’m in the bath. I read from my Hawaiiana book. I’ve memorized lots of the mo`olelo. There are many versions of Hawaiian stories, because they’re based on oral histories told on isolated islands. I love them all. I run a warm washcloth over my skin and study the tan along my arms. I drain the bath, rinse off under the shower, run my long black hair through two treatments of conditioner. My room at the clinic the rest of the week won’t have such luxuries.

  I paint my toenails with my favorite polish: spearmint pearl. But it takes me ages. Why can’t I hold my hands steady?

  I get ready for bed, suddenly hearing the voice from my seizure dream: Come, drift upon me.… Never heard that before. Seizures are just … blackouts. I never dream or hear things during them. Add it to the list of weirdness today. Also, while I’m at it: I scarfed half a Costco pizza tonight. How come my stomach feels empty?

  When I come out, Dad’s on the lanai with the door wide open. He looks out on the bay, the blue screen still glowing across the room. I join him. The nightscape is as beautiful as ever. Waikīkī is ablaze with the checkered light from skyscraper hotels, tiki-torch-lit pathways, and busy streets. Another shooting star highlights the faintly jade horizon. The singing and drumming of a touristy luau party waft up from below. Everything looks normal.

  “You ready to call it a night?” he asks me.

  “Yeah. I wanted to call Tami back first.”

  “Phones aren’t working.”

  “Still?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “I’m only worried about Mom worrying about us.”

  “She knows better than to do that, hon. Put it out of your mind.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you feel all right?”

  “Dad. Yes. I’m fine.”

  We turn out the lights. I climb into bed. Dad says, “Love you, Lei. So proud. We’ll have it all behind us in no time.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  He goes out on the lanai. As I lie in the dark, I realize what’s been nagging at me.

  It was fear I saw in the president’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 5

  Muffled sounds from the luau invade my restless sleep. Drumming, the whipping sound of fire flung through the air. Performers grunt the Kumulipo, the epic chant of Hawaiian beginnings, and call out to their Hawaiian gods. The tales celebrate the link between all living things. Earth, sea, sky. Flora, fauna. Man, woman, gods. All is connected. All is sacred.

  O ke au i kahuli wela ka honua

  O ke au i kahuli lole ka lani

  O ke au i kuka`iaka ka la

  E ho`omalamalama i ka malama

  In the beginning there is only Po, disorder, churning throughout the deep.

  Out of the universe come the gods. Kāne, the creator god, appears in the darkness, holding aloft a great calabash. He tosses the gourd high into the vast emptiness. It breaks in two, its curved shell becoming the dome of the sky and its scattered seeds the stars, and the remnants drifting downward to form the Earth.

  Out of the oceans rise the shores, liquid fire roiling in the void. Ai, Ai, Ai. Rise up.

  Kāne fills the land and the sea and the air with creatures of every kind. He crafts the honu, the great turtles, to pass between earth and sea.

  There is new heat within my belly, and I yearn to spill the urge. Precious and majestic, the sea foam rocks me awake, and I stir with life.

  Kāne crafts the first human, Wākea, with a mound of red clay scooped from the sea cliffs. Wākea is made son of Papa and Rangi, Earth and Sky. He is joined with his wife Lihau`ula, and from them all the ali`i, the chiefs, and the kahunas, the priests, of Hawai`i shall descend.

  * * *

  The hum of the air conditioner reminds me where I am. A resort hotel on the shores of a sacred land. Dad hangs up the hotel phone.

  “Learn anything?” I ask.

  “Go back to sleep, hon. Everyone’s as clueless as we are.”

  The night is silent. I drift back to sleep. I dream of shores beyond contact with modern man. I see the sacred honu, the sea turtle, heaved ashore, bridging sea and surf, pushing back the sand to lay its eggs. I see the face of a mother and father, betrayed. My mother and father, Papa and Rangi. Earth and Sky. They suffer an unthinkable disorder. They weep, white with death.

  Kāne has fled, and in his absence billows Po.

  Chaos.

  * * *

  In the morning there is no alarm. I rise out of sleep slowly, to a distant chirping of car horns. I glance at the alarm clock. It’s blinking twelve o’clock. I push the covers back from my clammy skin and begin to drift back to sleep.

  Then I spring awake. No alarm? I look around. Dad is asleep. The lanai doors are closed and the room is stifling.

  I wipe sweat off my forehead. The curtains are open, and the bay is bright with pastel sunlight. Honking. Honolulu is supposed to have horrible traffic—there aren’t enough highways, no rail system—but this is ridiculous.

  “Dad. Dad, what time is it?”

  We’re due at the clinic at eight.

  “Dad!”

  Dad shoots up in bed. He glances at the alarm clock and frowns. He checks his watch. “We’re fine. Almost seven. You’re not supposed to eat breakfast anyway.”

  He’s still gathering his bearings, scanning the room and rubbing at his eyes. “Why’s it so humid?” He reaches above his headboard and tinkers with the air-conditioning. It blasts to life, and I immediately feel its cool relief.

  Dad tries the remote. The flatscreen turns on but remains blue. He slips into a pair of shorts and steps out onto the lanai. When the door opens, car horns assault my ears, and I recognize the grumble of generators.

  “Power’s actually out,” he says. “This is crazy.” He turns the air conditioner and television back off, habit guiding him to save energy.

  I join him on the balcony. Nothing looks particularly out of the ordinary, but we’re facing gardens and pools and beaches. There are a couple of surfers on the waves, and paddleboards, kayaks, canoes, and sailboats farther out. A helicopter hovers to the north. To the left, gridlocked traffic along the roads leading toward Diamond Head.

  “Jeez,” I say. “We may want to head out soon if that doesn’t let up.”

  Dad wears a look of deep concentration. Finally, he says, “Honey, I’m beginning to wonder if they’ll be able to do any tests today.”

  “But I already missed my meds last night!” My voice rises.

  A flash of worry in his eyes. “Right.”

  “We have to go, Dad. I don’t want to have a fit sitting here in the hotel.”

  “Sure. I’ll see if I can call the clinic. Grab me a glass of water, would you?”

  He shuffles over to the nightstand for his cell phone. When I emerge from the bathroom, he has the hotel phone to his ear instead. I place a glass of water down next to him, and he shows me his cell. “Thanks. Look: zero bars. The network’s not even activated.”

  I take the cell phone and study it like it’s a piece of art.

  “Yeah, good morning,” Dad says into the phone. “Hey, do you know what’s going on? Have you guys heard anything?… Everywhere?… I was wondering if I could place a call.… Allen Medical Group.… Well, why is this working?”

  Dad hangs up and shakes his head. “Net’s down. No phone books. Landlines aren’t working anyway. The hotel’s old switchboard works, but that’s it.”

  “Did they say what’s going on?”

  Dad shrugs. “No. Power is off and on. Satellite signals, too.”

  “Should we
just get to the clinic?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  “Why does all this have to be happening now?” I say.

  “It’s okay, hon. It’ll all work out. Go ahead and get ready.”

  “Are you going to have breakfast first?”

  “I’ll grab something I can bring.”

  Dad snatches up a Honolulu Star-Advertiser lying at our door. “Finally.” There’s a close-up screen-capture of a grave-looking president with the headline:

  DISCONNECTED!

  Satellite Networks and Electronics Down;

  Commercial Flights Grounded

  I’m able to read the front page over Dad’s shoulder during our trip down in the elevator:

  HONOLULU—Satellite signal losses and electronic failures were reported throughout O`ahu last night during a 10 p.m.-local-time address by the president.

  The failures started during the president’s remarks and continued overnight. The cause was unknown.

  The article details the president’s speech—just as we heard it. I skip ahead:

  No advance copy of the speech was issued to the media, so the rest of his statement remains unknown.

  Without GPS signals, all flights out of O`ahu’s airports were canceled. Widespread electronic malfunctions were also reported on aircraft, cruise ships, and some motor vehicles.

  Officials have not been able to make contact with the mainland. “Obviously, we’re concerned about the loss of communications,” Governor Leonard Mills said. “We’re doing everything we can to reestablish contact. We’re working with the military and engineers in every field.”

  He urged everyone to remain calm.

  “Dad, I’m worried,” I say as we walk through the lobby toward the parking garage.

  “Yeah,” Dad says. “The best way to create panic is to tell people not to panic. Don’t worry about it, though, Lei. We’ll just play it by ear, okay?”

  “Sure,” I say, anything but sure.

  Dad eyes the crowded restaurant across the atrium. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he says.

  When he reaches the garage, he’s carrying two small bags filled with apples, bananas, bagels, bottled water, granola bars, and yogurts from the breakfast buffet.

  “You bring the whole buffet with you?”

  “It’s for later,” he says.

  “Ah.” I frown. Is this one of those tragedies of the commons?

  Once we’re in the car, I read more of the article aloud:

  “As crews repaired blown power transformers around the island, rolling blackouts were initiated throughout O`ahu under a conservation plan ordered by the governor.

  O`ahu mayor Terry Kalali said, “Hang in there, O`ahu. We’ll be up and running in short order.”

  I ask, “How are we supposed to get home?”

  Dad smiles briefly. “It’ll be sorted out by the time our flight rolls around. Can you imagine if you were a tourist trying to fly home today?”

  “Is the power out in Hilo, too?”

  He pauses. “Probably not.”

  We stick to residential side streets to avoid the jammed intersections. Pedestrians and cyclists also crowd the streets. We all study one another on this strange morning.

  We arrive at the clinic right on time. I stare at the building’s front door from the car. Maybe I’ll have a seizure right away, end the trial on the first day so we can just get out of here.

  The lights are off inside. The receptionist greets us. “Dr. Makani hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Are they going to be able to run any tests?” Dad asks.

  The receptionist doesn’t know, but someone has left to get gas for the emergency generators. They need power before they can determine whether the machines are fried.

  Dad and I wait outside and watch mynas and other birds flitter among the trees like any other day.

  Dr. Makani run-walks up the steps from the parking lot, his dress shirt half tucked in. He listens to our report and suggests we stick around. “You’re off your meds now, Leilani. And you already had a small seizure. We might be on schedule if things get resolved quickly.”

  We settle down in one of the rooms. The doctor takes my blood pressure and pulse. Dad asks, “Any read on what’s happening?”

  Dr. Makani shrugs. “Rumors. My neighbor’s with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. He said something about a geomagnetic storm, but I think he was just guessing. Space weather. Solar winds—or something—interfering with the Earth’s magnetic field.”

  “That’s okay, let’s just look it up on the Web,” Dad jokes. We share a joyless laugh.

  Dr. Makani continues, “He told me a story about a big geomagnetic event back in the 1850s that zapped early telegraph operators and affected compass needles. Sounds about right to me, but there wasn’t enough in the way of electronics back then for the impact to be widely felt.”

  “So it’s a storm of some kind? It’s going to pass?”

  “Should be temporary, he thinks.”

  “Except for blown transformers and equipment malfunctions,” Dad adds. “Fried parts at the power plants will take time to replace—especially around here.”

  Dr. Makani hands me a paper cup with a fat yellow pill in it. “Here’s your new dose.”

  I pop it in my mouth and chase it down with some water.

  Two hours pass. I’m starving. The lights come on. Dr. Makani enters. “It looks like we can proceed. Generators working, EKG seems okay. The MRI is a paperweight, but we’ll get by without it. No need to fast every morning anymore.”

  “Yay,” I say.

  Here I’ll stay, my head attached to electrodes, until I either have a seizure or make it to the end of the week.

  Today, the whole world is on the fritz, and I’m working just fine.

  The power goes on and off during the tests. I read magazines and check my phone for incoming texts from Mom or Tami. Nope. I try to read, but I have no focus. I can only listen to Dad scratching his chin as he grades, the crinkle of his homework papers, and the clicking sound of my own thoughts being etched onto reams of paper.

  Dad eats some of his breakfast loot when my dinner is served. The sun sets, and a sudden calm descends upon Honolulu. Dad sits with me until a nurse asks him to respect visiting hours. He looks at me questioningly.

  “Go,” I say. “Your beard scratching is driving me crazy.”

  “I don’t have a beard.”

  “Exactly.”

  Dad chuckles. He gives me a gentle kiss goodnight and heads out. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  Two minutes later he’s back in the doorway.

  “Lei, come here. You need to see this.” Dad’s face is full of … awe?

  “What is it?”

  “Come outside.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  He gets the nurse, who strips the electrodes from my head.

  We step outside into a crowd, murmuring, looking upward.

  It’s so dark. No streetlamps. Very few buildings visible. And the stars … they smear the sky with milky whiteness all the way to the horizon.

  I look up higher and gasp. I feel the warmth drain from my face.

  “What is it?”

  Dad whispers. “Geomagnetic … solar flares …?”

  Vibrant, yet cloudy and frozen, a hazy green knot dominates a quarter of the night sky.

  “Aurora borealis?” I ask.

  “Not really.” Dad’s been to the arctic, and he always returns with amazing photos of the northern lights. “Sort of. But this is less ribbony and more like … a pinwheel.”

  “Well, this has to be what’s messing up the satellites and stuff, right?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  “So as soon as it’s gone, everything will return to normal.”

  Dad glances down at me. “That’s right, hon.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, hon?”

  “I want to go home.”


  He gives me a grave smile.

  We stare up at the strange glow in the night sky for several minutes. Finally, Dad nudges me. “Come on, you need your sleep.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Lei. I don’t care what the nurse says.”

  We return to my room. None of the staff protests, and Dad makes himself comfortable in a large armchair a nurse drags in for him. We drift off to sleep in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  In the morning I wake not from a strange dream but to a strange reality. Dad runs outside to check on the sky and returns moments later to report that everything looks normal in the daylight. He holds up a new newspaper. We read the front page together:

  ASTRONOMER: GREEN “CLOUD”

  ENTERING SOLAR SYSTEM

  MAY EXPLAIN OUTAGES

  HONOLULU—A gaseous green haze materialized in the night sky above O`ahu and has grown more pronounced since it was first spotted Monday night.

  Hovering high in the northwest after sunset, the celestial anomaly is believed to be the cause of satellite disruptions and other electronic failures that began at about the same time the haze was spotted.

  Upton Donnell, an astronomer at the Bishop Museum, observed the green light the night of the initial blackouts in Hawai`i. He says it is too early to confirm a causal relationship between the events or to speculate on why the anomaly might have disrupted satellites, shorted electronic equipment, and grounded airplanes throughout the state.

  “It’s not an aurora,” Mr. Donnell explained. “It’s too far away to be ionized atmospheric gas. It’s not acting like a comet, either. This is something new to me.”

  Mr. Donnell and his colleagues studying the phenomena say most of their telescopes and equipment are not working. They know that some metal composites and alloys are reacting differently. For example, cell phones, tablets, and computers from some manufacturers no longer turn on at all, while similar devices from other manufacturers experience only network communication failure.

  “We’re dusting off old scopes and our slide rules, and we’ll keep the public informed as we learn more,” he said.