Free The Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan

shotguns. I even spy a harpoon and a fishing spear.
    Dad pushes past, eyes forward and jaw clenched. He has to drive slowly through a crowd milling in the street. My eyes are glued to the spectacle. Oddly, it looks as if everyone is having fun; lots of smiles. One guy is strumming a ukulele. I recognize an expression I’ve seen many times on Kai’s face: the triumph and wonder of getting away with something. These people seem to be looting just because they can, rejoicing in their mischievousness.
    The crowd bangs on the outside of our car. I shrink into my seat, gripping the cushion. The love taps grow steadily more intense … and then we’re through. Dad accelerates and lets out a deep breath.
    “Wow. This is really happening,” he says.
    “They were having so much fun.”
    “Yeah, but this won’t be a game to anybody for much longer.”
    We merge onto the highway and into bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Where’s everyone going?
Drive three hours in any direction and you end up right where you started.
    “Dad, I’m kind of scared.”
    “Me too, honey.”
    “I really miss Kai and Mom.”
    “Me too.”
    “Grandpa.”
    “I know.”
    “But—the Big Island is more rural. So this same stuff isn’t happening over there.”
    Dad is quiet. “Right. They’re safer than we are.” Something bothers me.
Safer
? I figure out my worry right away. “But they don’t love haoles. If people are going nuts … It kills me to say it, but maybe
we’re
safer
here
.”
    “You’re doing it again.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Talking about haoles and Hilo.”
    I shrug.
    “It’s not
that
bad, is it? I’ve never really felt it.”
    I scoff.
    “How badly are you bullied back there, Lei?”
    I stare at him. He really doesn’t get it. It’s not his fault; I only talk to Grandpa about it. “Dad, why do you think all the other professors at the U send their kids to private school?” His answer is practiced. “They’re cop-outs. They have no faith in the public schools.…”
    “Dad. It’s because their kids
beg
them. To get away from the bullies.”
    “Ah.” Dad frowns. He’s quiet for a while, driving. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe talk to Grandpa about it.”
    I roll my eyes.
    “Be that as it may, back to the original point: we’ll be much better off at home than here. Mom and Kai and Grandpa are
fine
. And we’ll be back there before we know it, okay?”
    “Yeah.” It’s home. That’s all that matters.
    As we pass the junction with the road that heads over the mountains toward Kailua and the Marine Corps Base, I spy six army buses caravanning up the green slope like a great caterpillar assaulting the world’s biggest leaf. They’re the first vehicles I’ve seen that seem to have a purpose: to move people away from Honolulu, and fast.
    Maybe we should be on one of those buses.
    The Kalaeloa Airport is bursting at the seams; there’s nowhere to park. We’re sucked into a vortex of aimlessly circling traffic. Dad fumes. I stay quiet. All the parking lots have broken barrier arms at their entrances and exits, but there are security guards to stop traffic.
    Finally, Dad double-parks along a maintenance alley a quarter of a mile away from the terminal. “Let’s go. Grab your stuff.”
    “Wait, we’re just going to leave the car parked like this?”
    “Yes.” He hands me a bag.
    We enter the terminal with our bags draped around us. Dad muscles through the crowd and we wedge ourselves close enough to the counter to hear a clerk talking to the guy ahead of us.
    “We’re already booked up through Tuesday morning.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Put us down.”
    “That’ll be three thousand. Cash.”
    “What?”
    “Each. That’s three thousand each.”
    “Here,” the man says. He leans over the counter and passes the clerk a watch. The clerk inspects the watch closely. He jots down the man’s information. The customer now has a bright tan line on his wrist.
    “Three thousand
each
?” I gasp.
    Dad