Mom was at her office, gearing up for Christmas Day shenanigans. The week before, she'd told me, "I've come this far, and I'm not about to give up." Her voice revealed how tired she was, but it had a strength and determination that would not let go. She believed in her cause, no matter how unlikely. The best of us never give up on the noblest of causes. Ghandi, King, Sadat--they didn't give up, but they gave their lives, and, in doing so, they gave the world hope and understanding and perhaps one more reason for the human race to continue to strive to be what it could be. Mom, I believe, was ready to lay down her life if the need came.
"D-day," or Demonstration Day, "is set for Christmas. President Li won't be able to back down from the very people who put him where he is now," she said. On Christmas Day, Mom expected thousands of New Hawaiians to turn out to show the U.S. and New Republic presidents that the people of the New Republic, in the quest for a safer world, wanted the military out immediately. She said they would settle for nothing less.
Little did she know.
Dr. Timothy Tanaka was finishing up paperwork in his office at the university and collecting a few last pieces of equipment for his home laboratory. He had resigned from the University of Hawaii three days earlier, weary of academic competition, as well as the ridicule and headaches resulting from colleagues jealous of his brilliance. He told Keala and reporters alike that he could do much better on his own, that he would someday operate the grandest research and development corporation of the Twenty-First Century.
Little did he know.
George Keahiolalo was with Dr. Tanaka, still in love with Keala, and still just as inept as a gorilla courting a butterfly. He'd acted kinder over the last few weeks, had even spoken nicely to me a couple of times, but it was an obvious ruse to win Keala back. I'm sure he believed he would someday. She would tire of the haole and come back to where she belonged, to him.
Little did he know.
Keala and I were sitting in the Mustang, parked in her driveway, our reflection bouncing off the mirror George had hung on the garage door. In my hand I held a screwdriver. I'd just finished tightening the time device's day dial. The ignition key was set to the accessory position so the radio could play, but running down what little juice the old battery still had. I had planned to replace it sooner or later, probably later since I didn't like letting my money go, especially if I could squeeze just a few more amps out of the bugger before it died completely. An occasional jumpstart until the battery's final gasp was okay by me.
I grinned and looked over at Keala. "When we get married--"
"Married?" Keala laughed. "I'm too young to think about that kind of thing, haole-boy. I may never marry anyone."
The afternoon newspaper hit the back of the car.
"Marriage," Keala laughed again. She got out to retrieve the paper, shaking her head at such a silly suggestion. "This isn't Alabama. We wait until we're at least in our twenties here."
"I wasn't exactly proposing to you, and I wasn't suggesting taking vows today," I called back to her. "I was talking about the future."
She came back around, opening the paper to the editorial page, uninterested in anything further on the subject of nuptials.
"About time!" she snapped. "Your letter--it's in." She lowered the paper and pointed to a small headline that read "Writer Claims to be Time Zapper." "This will certainly surprise my father," she said.
I reached between the bucket seats to the back and opened the small toolbox of wrenches, pliers, and tubing to put the screwdriver away. I settled back in my seat and scanned the letter with Keala. I immediately spotted two typos. "They really should get a copy-editor," I grumbled, but Keala shushed me.
The song on the radio abruptly stopped, replaced by an urgent voice. But then, they always interrupted in an urgent voice, as though the world was coming to an end again.
"This is a special bulletin from CNN News. Durban today launched attacks against Libya and Israel. Single bombs exploded over several major cities, but no deaths have been reported; only minor injuries. The detonations, according to eyewitnesses, released huge plumes of gas that drifted over the cities. One Israeli cabinet minister suggested the bombs could be a new type of bio-chemical weapon."
Keala turned down the volume. "My dad still wants me to date George," she said.
"Australian and Chinese officials have urged all major countries to maintain their current level of--"
"So that's why the word marriage scared you so much," I said. I grinned and winked. "Still playing the field."
"Oh, so it's okay with you if I go with George again?"
I shifted in the seat, tried to feign indifference, but I don't think I was very convincing. "He's a bone-head," I said, "but if that's what tickles your fancy."
Keala wrinkled her mouth into a grin. She rested her head back on the seat. The radio popped, and the newsman's voice went silent, replaced by a hiss. Then the hiss vanished, and a new voice came on.
"Looks like we're having some difficulty with the satellite feed," said a local announcer. "In the meantime--"
A jet screamed overhead. As the noise died away, a low moaning sound began to build slowly into a wail. Keala straightened and glanced around, annoyed by the wailing. This wasn't the scheduled time for defense tests. I turned up the radio volume so we could hear it over the siren.
"...Republic of Hawaii Civil Defense Network. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. Please remain tuned to this emergency broadcast station for further information and instructions. You are to proceed immediately to the nearest..."
Keala's eyes grew large with fear. "Joshua?" she whispered.
"...evacuation point. Do not panic. I repeat, do not panic. Proceed in a peaceful and orderly manner. There is plenty of time. Please assist neighbors who are elderly or require..."
I grabbed at my belt. No cell phone. I'd left it on Dad's desk. I twisted out of the car and sprinted into the house. The land phone was still working. I dialed Mom's office number. "I'm sorry," came the mechanical recording. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service." I dialed again, got a busy signal. I dialed yet again, and this time I got through.
"Josh, where are you?"
"Keala's."
"Is anyone else there--her father?"
"Just Keala and me."
"Listen," she said, her voice grave, "both of you go to the New Palace now. I'll meet you."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. Nobody's sure." Fighter jets swarmed overhead. "President Li's ordered all cabinet members and their families into the underground center at the New Palace." Her voice grew firm. "Get in your car now and get down here." A pause. "Josh?" Another pause. "Please hurry. I love you. Come now." The phone jostled as she started to hang up.
"Mom!"
"Now, Josh."
"Okay, okay," I said, and dropped the phone into its cradle.
I fell in behind the Mustang's wheel. "Anything else?" I asked Keala.
"They've lost all communication from the mainland," she said softly. She took my hand into hers, her dark eyes searching for answers I didn't have. Jets shrieked through the sky.
"Try to call your father," I said. "Does he have a cell phone?"
She nodded.
"Go! Mom said we need to get to the shelter at the capital building. Tell him to meet us at the New Palace." I pushed her gently against the shoulder, urging her out. "Go." She got out of the car and started up the walkway in a daze. "Hurry up!" I shouted. She vanished inside the house as I tuned in station after station, searching for one still receiving mainland satellite feeds, but all I could get were local announcers or the emergency broadcast feed. Vehicles streamed into the street behind me, clogging it like an old, rigid artery. Horns blared under the wailing of the Civil Defense signal. One car bounced up onto the sidewalk three houses down in an attempt to go around the others. The driver clipped a fire hydrant, and water spewed two stories into the air.
Keala burst out of the house and rushed back to the car. "I can't get through. Something's wrong with the lines."
I pulled my door closed and strapped on my seatbelt, reached for the ignition. "We'll try again from the New Palace. There's a shelter there." I gave a backward nod at the traffic. Horns blared. "We wait any longer, we won't make it."
"...calm and orderly manner..." the radio babbled.
"I can't leave without my father!"
"We can't wait here. If he's at the university, he's as safe as he would be with us. We've got to go!"
She glared at me for a moment, then closed her door and stared straight ahead. I turned the ignition key. The starter clicked, but the engine did not turn over. "Wonderful," I muttered. The battery had chosen now to lose its spunk. Wonderful.
"...do not panic," the radio voice instructed. "Proceed in a peaceful--"
The voice went abruptly silent, the airwaves empty even of static. I spun the tuner from one end of the dial to the other. Nothing. The Civil Defense sirens whined to silence. People abandoned their cars to flee on foot for the downtown docks.
"We're not going to make it," I mumbled.
"What?" Keala's eyes filled with tears, her face twisting with fear, but she was holding on, refusing to allow hysteria to escape. That's one thing I've always admired about her, her ability not to panic, even when panic's a pretty justified reaction to certain situations.
"Have you got an atlas?"
She looked at me as though I'd lost my mind. And, I admit, I pretty much had.
"An atlas, Keala! An atlas!"
She nodded dumbly.
"Get it," I barked. "Go on," I shouted, pushing her again to get out of the car.
As she raced into the house, I retrieved jumper cables from the tool box and ran to an abandoned Honda Civic that was blocking the driveway, engine still humming. I got in, jerked it into gear, and banged bumpers in front and back until I had wrestled it out of the street and into the driveway beside the Mustang. I threw open the hoods of both cars, connected the cables to each battery, got into the Mustang. It fired right up. I disconnected the cables, put them back in the tool box, and blew the horn. A few seconds later, Keala came down the steps, an atlas in her hand.
I set the time gadget in place on the dash and secured it. Keala fell into her seat and opened the atlas. I located what seemed to be a logical choice, the island of Niihau, the least populated island in the chain, private, no cities, no bases, no threat. Even so, I knew that going only one day into the future would be idiotic, especially if World War III had indeed begun. I dialed in "182500," then set the location for 22 degrees north latitude, 161 degrees west longitude. The car vibrated from the thrust of a jet.
I adjusted the gadget's aim. "Hold on." I reached for the firing switch, but Keala grabbed my wrist and yanked my hand back, her face twisting in disbelief.
"What about my dad?"
"We can't wait any longer. We haven't got time."
"You don't know how much time we have. We may have all the time in the world. You don't know! And I cannot leave him behind!" She flung open her door as the eastern horizon ignited.
"That gives us a pretty good idea of how much time we have!" I shouted, and I grabbed her hair and yanked her back in. She fell backward against me, knocking me against the door. I reached up and flipped the gadget's switch. Sapphire and yellow rays streaked out from the focal housing on the gadget's front casing, hit the mirror on the garage door, and bounced immediately back to engulf the Mustang.
The car shivered as everything around us began to drain of color, and I saw the faint outline of a car pulling into the driveway behind us between. I was suddenly overcome with crippling pity for the people in that car and everyone we were leaving behind, all doomed by the ultimate stupidity of politicians. And, yet, I didn't know whether Keala and I would be any better off than those we were leaving behind. The best I could expect was a barren world where we'd die slowly, terribly, alone.
Little did I know.
)
