Beyond the End

PART ONE

2050

ONE

Leilani

The rose and yellow sky stretched out over the horizon. The sun, still hidden below, was coming, acting as an offstage spotlight, casting an amber glow toward my family’s island.

I loved this spotlight moment, the colors mixing across the sky, the light calling attention to the jutting and cutting of the cliffs off in the distance. In moments like these, the island felt larger than it was, the brilliance adding a new dimension to everything, leaving me with hope that I could make it another day living here.

My oldest brother, Clark, liked to tell me how good I had it. Me, the first born after the world ended. Technically, I was born before the world ended. But not by much. Therefore, I was always lumped into the after group. My sister, Caroline, was six years older than me, and the last of us born in the before group. A big divide between me and all my half-siblings.

Our Labrador, Huck, found me sitting on the beach. He brought a stick, commanding my attention with his wagging tail and demanding bark. I willingly succumbed to his pleadings and tossed it along the crescent beach.

From our house, I came down to this spot every

morning. Sometimes to think, or to daydream of

going someplace else, or just to get away.

All my other siblings were married now, living

on other parts of the island. It was just me and Dad

and Mom—and sometimes that was still too many

people.

Behind me, Dad cleared his throat. With even

greater exuberance, Huck returned the stick to

him. Then Dad did his trick. He took the stick and

threw it so far into the patch of trees and bushes

that it would take Huck a good twenty minutes to

locate the right one. Huck was a loyalist, unwilling

to settle for anything other than the original stick,

which meant Dad wanted this time undisturbed.

Here on Mom’s errand, all three of us knew a

reprimand would come softer from Dad.

I stood but didn’t face him. Instead, I let the

waves bury my feet in the sand while I looked

toward the horizon. The sun now shone on my face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

At least he would talk respectfully, whereas

Mom would expect blind obedience and speak to

me like I was a little kid.

I gave a nod. “Just tracking the swells.”

“And? What have you found?” Amid his

assignment to reprimand me, he sounded pleased.

I let silence carry for a bit as I performed a count.

“Four feet at ten seconds.”

He let out a chuckle. “Nice job, scientist.”

Instead of smiling, I closed my eyes while I

waited for him to accomplish his task.

He breathed loudly. Finally, he said, “You know

why I came to talk to you.”

I kept my eyes closed and folded my arms. My

fight with Mom began yesterday afternoon only to

worsen this morning. I figured silence was my best

response.

“You shouldn’t have . . . talked to your

mother . . . like that,” he said.

I opened my eyes toward the blue sky. It took a

lot of willpower to hold back the exasperated huff

building inside. I placed a fist against my hip. “Dad,

she wants me to be like Violet and Grace. And I’m

not.”

His tactical silence caused me to look at him. He

stayed waiting until I dropped my fist to my side.

We stared at each other. As the island patriarch,

and self-appointed mediator of any family divide, he

most likely was trying to choose his words wisely.

Even though Mom was wrong, he would feel

obligated to side with her. However, my theory was,

if he understood the full story, he’d secretly agree

with me.

And, with his granddaughters, Violet and Grace,

even though I was right that they were lightminded

in what they thought about every day, Dad wouldn’t

be able to say anything unkind about them.

By the time he actually spoke, I concluded I

could have done a faster job of writing his mediation

script. “You don’t need to be like Violet or Grace.

But you do need to be respectful to your mom.”

My lips pressed together to suppress the

huff. Then I proceeded to give him the full story.

“Yesterday after school, I was reading The Descent

of Man—”

“I thought you were reading The Origin of

Species?

“I finished it.” I gave him a shrug. “So, when I

returned it to your shelf, I saw The Descent of Man

and borrowed it.”

“Oh.” He nodded at the ocean, but I caught

the pride that spread across his face. As I’d hypothesized,

the more details he had, the more support

he’d give me.

So, I continued. “But Violet and Grace were at

the house, and Violet said, ‘Why do you read that?’

So I said, ‘Because I like it.’ And Grace said, ‘I don’t

get how you can even understand that stuff.’ Then

Violet said, ‘I only read romance.’ Grace said, ‘I

don’t read.’ And Violet said, ‘Well, you should at

least read romance, it’s all about love and getting

together with your man.’” I raised my eyebrows at

him. “Dad. I don’t want to get together with my

man. So, all I said was if they learned how to actually

read, and then think, they wouldn’t need a man.”

Although his mouth didn’t share a smile, his eyes

did. “Your mom said you said a few other words,

too.”

“Only after she told me to be careful what I say,

and that right now I know too little about all that

myself.”

A half-smile came. “She just wants you to be

open to falling in love. Someday.”

“Like with who?” I tossed an arm toward the

sea emphasizing there were no options here.

His smile left. “Right now, you’re way too young

to be worried about any of this.”

I couldn’t help it; I had to roll my eyes at him.

Then, my annoyed chuckle followed. “I’m not

the one who needs that reminder. I’m not the one

reading to get together with my man.” I placed my

hands on my hips and took in a large breath. Then I

added, “I’m the one that would rather be out there

doing something with my life, instead of hanging

around those immature subadults.”

“Leilani!”

I knew it. Dad would support me once he had

the facts, but he would never tolerate any of us

engaging in name-calling—and I was guilty.

I let out a sigh—my effort to signify my remorse.

“I’m just tired of listening to Violet and Grace talk

about how the only reason they are willing to learn

‘stuff’ is so they can be better moms and teach that

‘stuff’ to their children, while they stay home and

take care of their herds of babies. Seriously, they

talk about it all the time! And if I speak up and say

I’d rather focus on doing something useful, with

science, Mom gets mad at me. I said I don’t want to

be like her, and she said, ‘What, be a mom?’ And I

said, ‘Yes.’ And she said, ‘Then I might as well give

myself a life sentence of despair and misery.’”

“I doubt she said those exact words.”

Dad also wouldn’t allow for exaggerations.

Guilty again.

“There’s a whole life ahead of you.” He kept his

words calm. “With lots of wonderful things. You

have plenty of time to figure out what you want.

And I think, in time, you’ll find you want some of

those joyful things.”

I scowled at him. The reprimand was only

leading us toward the bigger issue. I turned back

to the water and spoke to the waves. “I want to do

something good with my life.”

“And you will, Leilani,” he said softly.

“What I plan to do with my life doesn’t involve

me staying here on this island.”

He drew in a long breath. He did this every time

I brought up the suffocating feeling I felt. Every day

it just seemed to grow more intense.

But each time I mentioned it, he would pull in

a big breath of air, and let it circulate through his

lungs like he wanted to delay talking to me about

my real concerns. Like he was just trying to say

what I’d already heard others say: that I was lucky

to be alive, and that I was lucky to have a place to

live, even if it was just this island.

He shifted to look at a wave crashing against

some cliffs in the distance. “You’re right, Leilani.

You will do something good,” he said, “something

great, with your life. But what you are destined for

involves great things on this island.”

“No.” I moved to place myself directly in his

line of sight. I pressed my fists against my hips. Then

I tilted my head out toward the horizon. “I want off

this island.”

He looked past me. Finally, he said, “You

already know what I’m going to say.”

“How can there be nothing else out there?”

“Because there isn’t. You already know this.”

Again, I shifted, standing almost on tiptoe to

make sure I directly met his eyes. “It doesn’t make

sense that this is all there is.”

A movement occurred behind us. We both

turned. From the brush, I expected to see Huck

finally emerging with his stick. Instead, I caught the

movement of a larger shadow shifting, followed by

a low voice, “An excellent observation.”

Dad stepped back. I peered toward the brush.

“Certainly,” the voice came again, a bit louder

now, “there is more out there.”

Dad gasped. A strange man emerged. He was

dressed in a metallic purple suit with a nearly translucent

beige button shirt that opened at the chest. A

mass of blond hair, sculpted into a tousle around his

forehead, jetted out toward us. In place of flip-flops,

his alligator loafers treaded through the sand.

“You know there’s more.” The man nodded at

Dad coolly.

Dad said nothing, only tilted his head to look

closer at the man with his orange-tinted skin and his

sharp facial lines. Then, as the man’s ice crystal eyes

narrowed, Dad gasped again.

“Ashyr,” Dad said quietly.

“Hello, Foster.”

My mouth fell open as the two stared at each

other.

TWO

Leilani

One hundred and eighty-nine people lived on

the island. Actually, one hundred and ninety

due to my half-sister Kate’s recent baby boy. Every

person I knew. Either they were family, which was

the case with most people on the island, or the others

were on the island because they had a longtime

working relationship or friendship with my parents,

before the world ended.

So, it was hard to process what I now saw: this

stranger, there on the beach with his shiny suit, his

reptile-skinned shoes, and the black liner around his

eyes.

Even though it was rude, I couldn’t pull my eyes

away. And I couldn’t seem to shut my gaping mouth

either.

I felt a brain wave malfunction because I could

only process two ideas.

He knew Dad.

And he wasn’t from here.

Meanwhile, I liked his eyes. They were clear blue

as the softest wave on a quiet day. But when those

eyes met mine, I quickly looked away. My cheeks

burned like I should be ashamed over how intrigued

I was with this mystery man.

I shook off the feeling, only to spot the ink on his

neck: the word EnRapture in fancy script running

down toward his bared chest.

I looked to Dad. His head was pulled back, his

brow furrowed, his stance firm but shifting back

toward the house. He was tense, something I rarely

see in him.

“Who is he?” I whispered, although the man

was still close enough to hear.

“No one.” But right as Dad said that, the man

extended a hand covered in gold bangles and a large

ring and stepped toward me.

“Ashyr Harmon. And you?”

“Go get your mother.” Dad’s firm voice shook

me.

Before I could accept the handshake, Ashyr’s

hand drew toward his lips. “Ah, yes. Mariana.

Won’t she be delighted to see me?”

This was too much! I looked from this man,

Ashyr, to Dad. He knew Mom, too.

“Maybe she’ll invite me to stay for a bite,”

he said. “It was a long trip, as you know. You’re

not easy to find. But I figure that’s all part of your

infrastructure.”

Dad didn’t move.

“I suppose you didn’t expect to see me, did you,

old mate?” While Dad’s eyes stayed locked on him,

Ashyr’s eyebrows raised like he had just won a game

or something. “You’re not the only one whose hypothetical

invention worked out. Congrats to both of

us.”

My brain still felt caught in some kind of malfunction.

I tried to grasp what this Ashyr guy meant

while Dad turned toward me. The scowl on his face

ran deep. “Go, now!”

But I couldn’t move. Instead, I looked back and

forth. Dad’s shoulders were tight against his loose

Hawaiian shirt while this stranger, in his shiny suit,

shared a casual grin toward the ocean.

“Leilani,” Dad’s tone remained even, but the

discomfort on his face was clear.

I chose one of the many questions pounding

inside my head. “Which invention is he talking

about?”

I caught Ashyr’s grin widen. His bracelets

clanged together like music as he spread his hand

across the panorama beach, the ocean waves, the

land behind us. “This pl—”

“Stop!” Dad interjected. “Enough.”

“Dad?” Fear surfaced in my voice.

Although Ashyr’s grin softened, it still hung on

the corners of his lips. “Your daughter.” Those clear

blue eyes studied me, as if evaluating me.

I shot Dad a glance, but he volunteered nothing,

only kept his eyes fixed on Ashyr.

When I looked back, Ashyr nodded at me and

said, “How old?”

“Sixteen,” I volunteered. “Seventeen next month.”

A smile bent around Ashyr’s face. “In our

society, seventeen starts the integration process into

adult life.”

Suddenly, Dad moved fast. He stepped between

me and Ashyr and planted his hands firmly on my

shoulders. He met my eyes. “Get Mom, now. Quick.

It’s important.”

It was the pressure in his hands—and the fear in

his voice—that made me agree.

I hustled up the sand, but when I reached the

house’s path, I turned back to see the two still

standing near each other on the beach.

Whatever this was, it was clearly important—

this stranger who seemed to have fallen from the

sky.