The Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan Page B

She was kicked off each island, not accepted anywhere. Even on the Big Island, she was forced to fight for her place. But she won her home. And now she belongs. She’s the pride of the island, the envy of the entire archipelago.
    When I get home, I will follow her lead. Fight back. Stake my claim
.
    “Oh, crap.” Dad taps on the brakes, and I jolt in my seat.
    “Military checkpoint.”
    I stick my head out to get a clear view. We’ve slowed to acomplete stop. A fleet of military vehicles crowds the road; armed military police patrol the line of cars.
    “Why?” I ask.
    “Tightening their grip.” Dad tightens his own grip on the wheel.
    Behind us, a truck does a U-turn. The driver is pursued by a camouflaged army van waiting along the shoulder of the road. Our view of their encounter is blocked by a bend in the highway.
    “So much for that idea.” Dad straightens up.
    MPs stop at each car as they advance along the road. Most cars are released after a brief interrogation. One vehicle ahead of us has a square of colored paper tucked beneath the windshield wiper, and an MP motions for it to pull forward into the parking lot of Maunalua Bay Beach Park.
    “Let me do the talking, Lei.”
    I stiffen. We pull forward and an MP leans into Dad’s window.
    “Good morning, Officer,” Dad offers.
    “What happened here?” the MP asks, tapping on our shattered windshield.
    “Looters.”
    The MP nods. “Where are you going?”
    “Home.”
    “Where’s home?”
    Dad points off to the left. “Home.”
    “What’s your address?”
    Dad doesn’t hesitate. “Nineteen-oh-one Apoke Street.”
    The MP looks through the back passenger window, studying our backpacks. “What day of the week is your trash pickup?” Dad scoffs. “Never, I’m guessing.”
    The MP cracks a smile. “Well, what day of the week
was
your trash pickup?”
    “Tuesdays.”
    “Where are you coming from?”
    “Her mom’s house.” Dad indicates me with his chin. “What’s her address?”
    “Twenty-one ten Kanini Drive.”
    “What are the backpacks for?”
    Dad pauses for a second, then says, “Look, we’re just staying prepared. It’s food and stuff. I want it all packed up in case we have to leave the car in a hurry. We don’t know what the hell is going to happen next.”
    “I understand. Any weapons?”
    “No. A couple utility knives.”
    “May I have your driver’s license and registration?”
    My heartbeat picks up. I bounce my knee up and down, force myself to stop.
    “Sure.” Dad reaches awkwardly into the pocket of his shorts. “The looters cleaned everything out. But I have my ID still.” He hands the driver’s license over to the MP with a hesitant smile.
    “This has your address as Hilo.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Dad answers. “I’m a professor at UH Manoa. I recently moved from UH Hilo. You won’t be the first person to give me stink-eye for not getting to the DMV.”
    The MP is very still. He studies my father and me with a trained eye. “If you’re trying to get to Hilo, you should just report to the right. We’re making arrangements for civilian transport at the Marine Corps Base.”
    “No, sir, that’s all right.”
    He leans in on the window and peers sternly at Dad. “Everything’s different now, Dr. Milton. You’ll get instructions up ahead. Stability is our primary concern. If everybody follows instructions, we’ll all get through this.”
    He puts a red card on our windshield.
    “Wait a second!” Dad raises his voice.
    The MP walks away. Another MP urgently motions us into the right lane.
    “Shit,” Dad gasps. “What do we do?”
    My cheeks are cold as death. I don’t even know why.
    The MP in front of us beckons again. Dad obeys, staring forward, in shock.
    “Maybe it’s okay, Dad. We’ve tried on our own long enough. What if they
are
sending people home?”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    Dad veers to the right. We continue into a parking lot full of military buses. A chill goes down my spine: