Redemption Page 2

  The magnitude of this seemingly impossible reality was bewildering—staggering. I used to be one of those people who read futuristic novels and laughed at their absurdity—that could never happen … ridiculous. I was certain I would’ve laughed at a story like this. Planet of the Apes would have been more believable.

  None of us were laughing now. It happened. A nation of nearly four hundred million people shredded, whittled down to less than a hundredth of that in a week. We survived only to exist in a reality beyond our wildest nightmares. A chemical attack brought us here—a coordinated massacre of such unfathomable proportions that no one ever dreamed, or imagined, it possible. On American soil? No way. And yet here we were, a small few of the very few Americans remaining. We were there when it went down, stuck in Minnesota, surrounded by death and dying without even knowing. Somehow, we happened to be remote enough to miss the chemical clouds—then fortunate enough to make it to Hawaii. We survived, but we lost. We lost a lot.

  A part of me believed our military would overcome the odds. There had to still be hundreds of thousands of troops out there stationed around the planet—even with the president’s worldwide recall in early 2020. Surely they could band together, swoop in, and bail us out. But then Danny explained the reality. Our counterattacks most likely had incidentally—unavoidably—taken out many of our own bases around the world. We didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to give up hope, but it made sense. They were stationed in places we had enemies. They were stationed in places we would have blown away.

  There wasn’t going to be a miracle solution to this. We were sunk. Our only hope was a helping hand. America had always been there for our allies. Surely someone would be there for us. Someone had to come help us.

  But no one did. No one else attacked Qi Jia.

  Sympathy and empathy clearly weren’t guaranteed. A lot of the world hated us. American survivors wouldn’t find shelter or support in those parts. Many other nations—those on the fence—had likely been turned against us by our retaliatory missile launch. But we couldn’t blame the people at the controls—what choice did they have? They couldn’t pick and choose. They didn’t know where the attack was coming from.

  What a mess!

  We figured at least there were places like Australia, England, France, and Brazil—our supposed allies, our friends—places we wouldn’t have attacked. In a way this all was a wager against each of them too. Survivors would likely be seeking shelter in those countries—if they could get there. But all of those places were far from Hawaii. They were far from us. China, Russia, and Japan had probably been the countries we’d hit the hardest. Provoked or preemptive—it wouldn’t matter to them. They would be watching the seas to Hawaii’s west, and Qi Jia controlled the water between us and the mainland. Help was probably not on the way … from anywhere.

  Not long ago America had the strongest military in the world—the strongest army, navy, air force, and marines. Not long ago we were the superpower of superpowers. No one country could ever have taken us down. One couldn’t. But seven did. And now, all that remained of the United States was one of the smallest states—appropriately, an island—all alone … on our own. Alone sucked.

  It all sucked. I thought of the parents who never saw their kids grow up, and the babies who never had the chance to speak or marvel at all the significant little things in this great big, wonderful world—flying birds, crazy squirrels, bubbles … and books. No Seuss, no Snowy Day … no Goodnight Moon!

  I thought of all the people whose last words were hateful, of those who survived but lost the one—or ones—they loved the most. I thought of the people who never had time to do what they always wanted to do, who put off until later what they could have done before. I thought of those who saved all their money for a rainy day, of those who went out for a little while and never came back. I thought of all the celebrities who had become mere mortals—like the rest of us—their fame and fortune worth nothing. And I thought of the atheists, who had to feel decimation like this justified their lack of faith. Truthfully, I could almost see their point. What God would let this happen?

  I wouldn’t say I was an atheist, but God and I had pretty much parted ways when my first wife—Sophie—died. I certainly didn’t feel like any of this redeemed him. I didn’t participate in religious activities—not the evening prayers or the Sunday services my dad orchestrated. It was a touchy spot between my wife—Tara—and me now, but thinking about what God had done to me over the years only made me angry. Tara was relentless though … she never let it go. I could hear Tara and our daughter—Emily—praying for me every night … praying I’d come around. It bothered me, but I didn’t object. I was a mess inside already. Their prayers couldn’t hurt—they couldn’t make me worse.

  Tara always told me I should be thankful I was alive—that God still had a plan for me. I would laugh, mostly to myself. If God’s master plan involved keeping me alive, he’d messed up. He should have saved that miracle for someone else—for someone who could make a difference.

  As time went on and my bitterness waned, I acknowledged that at the very least I was, in fact, pretty fortunate. Almost everyone I loved was in Hawaii with me. How many other people could say that?

  So I’d sit in this chair, on the edge of Redemption and concede to God … a little. I’d ask him to watch over my newborn son, Ollie … to take care of Tara and Emily … and to keep my two oldest kids—Danny and Hayley—safe. I’d thank God for Danny’s wife—Kate—and for her best friend, Jenna … for Hayley’s boyfriend Sam, for Dad, and for our extended family on the island—Blake and his sister Kaci, our African friend, Lazzo, Reagan and her little sister Abbey.

  Tara would remind me from time to time that prayer wasn’t about getting our way but accepting God’s. In my opinion that was too generous—it let the man upstairs off the hook.

  I wasn’t nearly as courteous. Though I wouldn’t say it aloud, I certainly thought it … He owed me.

  You owe me.

  God may not work that way, but I couldn’t lie to myself. That’s how I felt. Nonetheless, I knew I was lucky … maybe even blessed … to still have all these people—to still have this life. We had it good in Hawaii—on Redemption. Despite all our losses, it wasn’t the end of the world.

  Not yet.

  ONE – Redemption Island (Ryan)

  ---------- (Wednesday. July 20, 2022.) ----------

  Twenty-one months since the attacks.

  Redemption Island, Hawaii. (25 miles west of Kauai)

  I had to keep telling myself this wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t a dream. This was all very, very real. I was awake now.

  Or was I? Squinting out the window above our bed, I could see the flag whipping in the early morning ocean breeze, but the colors looked backward. They were backward.

  I heard a baby crying now. It wouldn’t stop crying. Someone get that baby already! I felt a hand shoving me from behind, grabbing my shoulder, shaking me. Leave me alone!

  “It’s your turn,” a female voice mumbled.

  My turn? For … what exactly? I should have asked, but I let out an exaggerated groan instead.

  “Ryan, come on, it’s your turn.”

  My turn? What the heck is she talking about? Then it hit me and I bolted upright. The baby. That was my baby. Oliver. I swung out of bed. I’m coming. I was definitely awake now.

  I glanced back at my wife, Tara, lying face down on top of the covers in only a white T-shirt. I was distracted by her naked lower body, and my right shoulder took the brunt of my collision with the doorframe. Son of a … man … that hurt! Tara didn’t even look up. She shouldn’t have been sleeping like that. It was unfair to me. And I had to leave that smooth curvy body behind to go get a screaming baby. The sacrifices a man makes as a dad.

  But seeing those bright little blue eyes in that crib, that face smiling in recognition, and those chubby legs pumping madly as I walked over to pick him up—I forgot about the sacrifices and relished the exponential rewa
rds. This little boy is so worth it.

  I carried Ollie out onto the porch of our two-bedroom cabin and stared east across the water toward Kauai. He was only six months old, but he loved to watch the seagulls swirl around us. If “bird” isn’t his first word, I’ll be shocked. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth long enough to make an “ooh” sound, then shoved the thumb back in. “Ooh.” Close enough.

  It was a beautiful, clear, blue-sky day in Hawaii. I almost didn’t miss Minnesota at all. I bent down, picked up a rock, and launched it off the cliff in the general direction of our former home, as I did each morning and evening—my “good morning” and “good night” to Sophie. She would have loved it here. I still missed her—some days, a little; other days, a lot—but if there was a heaven, I knew she was in it. I was certain—or at least I’d convinced myself—that she was happy for me and what I had with Tara and Oliver.

  Oliver cooed at another passing seagull, and I glanced down at the water in the cove about sixty feet below our cliff-side porch. It was glassy and clear. There was a small boat about two hundred yards offshore with two people in it. I could tell one of them was my son, Danny, and one of his two German shepherds was with him—either Six or Dice. But the other person was hard to make out—sweatshirt on, hood up, and back turned to me. I figured it was my daughter, Hayley, or Danny’s lovely bride, Kate.

  I turned out to be wrong on both guesses. The telescope on our porch helped me identify Emily, Tara’s daughter. That made sense too. She loved fishing and snorkeling with Danny and Blake. She spent way more time with those two than she ever did with her mother and me. I’d gladly admit it—they were definitely more interesting than we were.

  When Oliver was born, Emily moved to the tree house—the Big House—with all the others, sharing a room with her new best friend, Abbey. Considering the main house was a giant tree house, I couldn’t blame her for that either. That place was incredible. Plus, her moving out gave Tara and me additional privacy. Emily was almost fourteen, plenty old enough to know what the two of us were occasionally up to, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near that.

  Another boat sat just outside the cove. There were two people in that boat, but I knew who they were without having to look closer—Trey James and Torrey Wixell, Danny’s bodyguards. Former Navy SEALs, they went wherever he went, governor’s orders. Their room was even next to his and Kate’s in the Big House.

  They were great guys. Trey, nicknamed “Trigger,” was built like Vin Diesel but taller—at six foot five. Danny described him as both “the fastest draw I’ve ever seen” and “six kinds of nuts.” I’d seen Trigger tackle an injured wild pig, and cliff dive from forty feet without hesitation, so I was confident Danny’s descriptions were appropriate. Torrey went by “Twix,” but not for any apparent reason beyond the combined letters in his first and last names—Torrey Wixell. He was a workout fanatic, and seemingly half fish. Supposedly, he could hold his breath underwater for three minutes. Twix was relatively short—compared to Trigger—at only six foot one, but similarly built like a linebacker. He was covered head to toe in tattoos—well, except for his head and toes—and he was missing a front tooth. He hid that well though since he seldom smiled.

  A squeal and scattered barking echoed across the cove and up to our porch as Danny helped Emily haul a fish into the boat. Lunch.

  My mind and stomach were apparently in sync, as the hunger alarm rumbled through my body. The coos from the bundle in my arms reminded me I had a bottle warming in the kitchen for Oliver. “Let’s go eat, buddy.” I smiled down at him. He waved his arms wildly in reply—almost clapping—as if to say, “About time, Dad.” Or something to that effect.

  As I walked into the kitchen, Tara was standing at the counter with her back to me, making coffee. “Oh, so now you get up.” I walked up behind her, kissed her cheek, and casually tugged up the back of her T-shirt for a peek, drawing a quick hand slap. Dang it. She had panties on now.

  “Hey now.” She turned with a huge grin and kissed me, holding her arms out for Oliver. “Why don’t you give him to me and go take a nice cold shower.”

  I handed him over and tried to push my luck one more time, but she laughed and walked away. “You can’t fault a guy for trying,” I called over my shoulder as I headed toward that cold shower. “With an ass like that…”

  “Ryan!” she scolded. “Language!”

  Oliver squealed. I laughed. “He doesn’t mind.”

  “Well, I do,” she replied, even though I knew she didn’t. “Besides, I think you had enough fun last night.” Her laugh echoed down the hall.

  Yes. Yes, I did. Can’t believe I get that whenever I want. Or—who am I kidding—whenever she wants.

  “Hey, did you run into the door again this morning?”

  “What?” I feigned ignorance. I could hear her smiling. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

  She was still laughing. Yeah, ha ha.

  The cold shower woke me up and calmed me down. I dressed, stole Tara’s toast from the toaster, and headed over to the Big House.

  TWO – The Big House (Ryan)

  ---------- (Wednesday. July 20, 2022.) ----------

  It was kind of an insult to call the Big House a house. It was more of a tree castle. Blake and Sam had channeled their inner Swiss Family Robinson in creating this 4,400-square-foot “palace in the sky.” They wove it around twenty or so thick trees clustered above the eastern cliffs. Exposed as it was, the strongest of winds barely swayed it—talk about incredible engineering. The first floor was roughly twelve feet off the ground—a little extra insurance for tsunamis. Two staircases and two wooden ladders led to the only four legitimate entry points, with a fire pole down through the floor of the kitchen and a zip line to our front porch as alternative quicker exits. We even had a one-person, generator-powered elevator, although we mostly used that for moving supplies.

  The main floor had a huge living area, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a wraparound porch with bridges running off it to various storage sheds, our generator room, and two bathrooms—each with pumped water for the showers, sinks, and toilets. The plumbing was complex—if not altogether irrational—but it worked, so there were no complaints. The second floor had three more large bedrooms and a “strategy room” with a ladder leading up to a covered observation deck—from which we had nearly 360 degrees of unobstructed views.

  Four telescopes fastened to the railings faced each direction—and four inflatable rafts were hooked to the roof—in case we lost the ones stored down in the cove. The observation deck had one more amenity worth mentioning—zip lines. A pair of parallel 200-yard zip lines ran to and from the last house on the island, Blake and his sister Kaci’s place. The zip lines were the quickest way back and forth—from our second floor to their front door and from a 20-foot platform at their place to the base of the Big House. While they were built mostly for emergencies—the kids loved them. The final zip line was the “Intimidator.” The kids weren’t allowed on that one. Even scares the crap out of me! It went from the roof of the deck to our dock down in the cove, a terrifyingly steep 600 yards away. It had taken Danny, Blake, and Sam almost as long to build and secure that one zip line as it did for them to build the entire tree palace.

  The concept of the Intimidator was more for thrill than practicality—more log ride than grocery cart—though it quickly proved to be worthy of each purpose. The ride—turned conveyor belt—operated on a pulley system. When one tether was descending the other tether came up on a parallel line. One day Danny attached a bundle of supplies to one tether while Blake rode down the other side and the bag made it all the way up to the Big House—sure beat carrying them up the steep cliff path. Accidents can be the greatest inventions. That “invention” also allowed for a rapid evacuation should we ever need one.

  Standing on the observation deck you were almost exactly one hundred feet above the ocean. Our island—Redemption—was mostly protected from the open Pacific by the privately owned Ni’ihau—the
westernmost Hawaiian island. A major seismic shift several years ago had broken the southeastern tip off from the narrow Ni’ihau mainland, and the Bradys—Blake and Kaci—purchased it from Ni’ihau’s owners. When the oceanic plates finally came to rest, the main portion of Ni’ihau had slid two hundred yards north and sunk almost three hundred feet down into the ocean. Now a waterway—which we called the Discovery Channel—passed between our islands with a series of caves cut into Ni’ihau. Danny and Blake considered it the best spearfishing location they’d ever found, but it was also full of sharks with the same predator mentality. Only Trigger and Twix were crazy enough to join those two down there.

  Most of Redemption’s perimeter was sheer cliffs. If we included the cliffs, our island would be nearly eighty acres, but only a third of it was habitable. We did have two sandy beaches though: a small one in our reef-protected cove—free of sharks—and a large one on the northernmost tip, about a ten-minute walk from the houses. The exact opposite of shark free.

  Ni’ihau’s owners granted us access to their land for hunting and farming, since virtually none of our land was fit for either. We took a boat back and forth across the Discovery Channel, as necessary, for those purposes. Otherwise we mostly stayed here. We had enough to do here.

  Sam was currently putting his architecture expertise to use helping Danny and Blake build a bunker/garage in a cave below Blake’s house. Given how significant bunkers and caves had been to our survival, no one even questioned the idea—or Sam’s methods. It actually would have seemed strange to not have one. Danny wanted a “vault”—somewhere to stockpile weapons, keep our ATV, and to serve as a storm cellar or potential hideout from Qi Jia. The lava rock wasn’t easy to work with, and creating a safe “driveway” down for the ATV was equally challenging, but I’d seen a lot of progress lately. They were getting there. A few more structural beams and a ladder-accessible escape hatch into Blake’s office above the cave and Sam declared it would be done.