Shadows of Kalalau by Doug Walsh

Author:Doug Walsh [Walsh, Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Snoke Valley Books
Published: 2021-08-11T19:20:16+00:00

Smoke spiraled into the still air as the ukulele’s dulcet notes led a sizzling accompaniment to the fire’s crackle and pop. Malia leaned into the bamboo backrest, as untroubled as smooth jazz, strumming once-forgotten chords as she awaited dinner on the third night after the storm.

A dozen freshwater prawns, some nearly the size of her hand, lay skewered atop the grill. That Jordan’s trap managed to feed them wasn’t nearly as surprising as his ability to scrounge up the makings of a chili-citrus marinade.

She closed her eyes and hummed as she played, allowing the tangy aromas to carry her back to Oʻahu, to barbecues at Makapuu Park with family and friends, to heaping piles of kālua pork and teriyaki chicken, coconut rice and mac salad. The few prawns they had couldn’t hope to satisfy her hunger, not like those remembered gatherings where she’d always eaten till she burst, but there was nowhere she’d rather be. She finally had the tranquility she sought—and wasn’t about to let anything sour her final days in the valley.

Tiki approached dragging a java plum limb, its branches raking the ground behind him. He knelt to saw it into firewood with Jordan’s survival knife, then looked up sporting a puckish smirk. “Too bad plums aren’t in season.” He poked a prawn with the knife as though it might bite and said, “I hear their seeds are antidiarrheal.” Jordan looked up, at first without reaction, but when Malia giggled at Tiki’s teasing, Jordan immediately joined in. A welcome sign the prior days’ tension was behind them.

“Ha-ha, wiseass,” Jordan said in jest. “Keep it up and there’ll be no dinner for you.”

“Somebody say dinner?”

Malia’s stomach knotted as Darren stepped from the shadowy approach to camp. She exchanged furtive glances with Tiki and Jordan, whose corduroy brows mirrored her own.

Darren’s legs and hands were streaked with mud, his arms a mesh of scratches. He looked exhausted, but otherwise in good spirits. “Whoa. I like what you’ve done with the place. Some serious Swiss Family Robinson level shit.” Malia watched with an unsettling mix of pride and disappointment as Darren took in the camp’s table, benches, and shelter. The construction wasn’t perfect. Much sagged, the shelves weren’t perfectly square, but it held—and it was theirs. Just as Malia had dreamed it could be. But if she had her way, she’d have been long gone before Darren, Inoke, or any of the others threatened to muck it up.

“You did all this in what? Three or four days? Damn, Tiki. I gotta say, after hearing about your raft, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Tiki pushed an awkward hand through his hair. “Actually, it was Jordan.”

“Get the fuck outta here. For real?”

“Tiki and Malia helped,” Jordan said.

Darren scrunched his face as he inventoried the new configuration, causing Malia to say, “We took down your tent. Hope you don’t mind.”

“It stank,” Jordan spat.

“That so?” Darren tossed his pack on the table, muddying a spot Malia had just cleaned. She sat bone straight

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