The Death of the Island (La mort de l’île)
Titian Ramsay Peale, “Kilauea by Day” (1842), oil on canvas.
By midnight, the Kona wind changed shape, and the trade winds had begun to cool Hawaii Island. Koa held his hand to the sky to confirm the change in direction. Now the cold air blew from the East instead of the West, away from the island and toward Oahu. This meant their voyage would commence in the morning. As stargazer and chief navigator for the Kahale tribe, Koa would lead a troop to Oahu to retrieve the tribe’s health supplement: Hā, the breath of life.
Every half quarter cycle, equivalent to six and a half weeks by the old calendar, a troop was sent to the neighboring island to replenish Kahale’s stock of Hā in exchange for crops and resources harvested on Hawaii Island. Oahu had once been a booming city full of businessmen, tourists, and doctors. Although now covered in toppled highrises of a society long extinct, it remained the only Hawaiian island in existence with the proper infrastructure to manufacture the Hā vital to human survival.
Over forty years ago, in February of the year 2131, COVID-31 struck the world. It was a matter of days before the world population was cut in half. The government slowly collapsed: officials were dying faster than countries could replace them. By 2132, there was no one left in charge. Many upper class aristocrats attempted to seize power over the country, but to no avail. The virus rendered everyone equal. It didn’t matter how rich or poor you were. Money was useless in a dying world.
The global disaster reached the Hawaiian Islands by plane. Travelers wanted to spend their final days in Waikiki’s paradise, but the infection followed them, killing hundreds of thousands. Hawaii Island, or Big Island, was the only safe haven. After learning that isolation was the only proven method to avoid getting sick, Five families had gathered to build a 30-foot tall rock wall around the Kailua-Kona area of the island. Using ancient Hawaiian plants, the Last Scientists on Oahu island were able to develop natural, immune-boosting supplements that are critical when living in proximity to other bloodlines. Every tribe traded what they could with the Last Scientists in order to receive Hā and continue living in communities. With their control over the production and supply of Hā, the Last Scientists possessed the power to decide who lived and who died.
———
The three men of the troop set out on the canoe at dusk. The voyage would take about four days’ time to complete. Makani, the youngest of the three, was at the front of the canoe. He had a clenched jaw that was permanently set in a stern frown. Behind him sat Ikaika, who had a wide frame, black hair, and sturdy arms. With forty years of pandemic life under his belt, he was as wise as he was strong. Like all the other members of the Kahale tribe, evolution had gifted both of them greater height and agility, along with larger respiratory systems to filter toxins from the polluted air. These two understood their duty to their people and always participated in the troop mission for Hā.
Koa paddled at the back of the boat. His face was angular, and his voice boomed loudly over the sounds of the waves, keeping the men in time and motivated. Every two hours, they would take breaks. Koa would go fishing during this time.
Gone were the days of wild boar and chicken on the island. Fish were a dwindling source of protein for the tribe, and many adults would give up their portions to feed the growing children, the future of mankind. Most people weren’t interested in the art of fishing anymore. They lost their patience waiting for the fish to bite their hooks, but Koa found the wait thrilling.
His line danced on the water, slipping beneath the glassy surface every so often. The slightest movement of his rod would ripple the ocean like an earthquake shakes the ground. Here, it was so deep that the waves barely made a whisper. Koa felt like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for a moment to strike. He enjoyed the adventure of the catch. It made him feel alive.
— Ikaika’s voice carried over the water, “Makani, hand me that gourd. This afternoon sun burns the skin.”
Along with a half-quarter’s worth of rations in exchange for a half-quarter’s worth of Hā, the men had brought six gourds full of water for the journey. Water shortages were never a threat on Hawaii Island because of the land’s natural watershed. The fallen volcano reached so high into the sky that rain was constant. Koa loved to picture raindrops splashing, pooling mid-air, and crashing against the mountains like water thrashing off a paddle with a single stroke. The drops would land on soil and moisten the land, then sink into rock, and filter through earth, until they drowned in the springs underground and were pumped back to the surface to repeat the cycle. The groundwater aquifer had provided enough water reserves to support the entire island’s population for generations. Now, the Kahale tribe was one of the only communities left.
— “Wake me up when it is time to keep moving.”
— “How can you sleep, Ikaika? If the sharks come, we’re dead. I can’t wait to be back on land.”
— “But look, Makani! There are blue skies, no strangers around, and an endless supply of fish! Really, the water’s the safest place to be,” Koa smiled. He had always felt at home on the sea. There was something about the thrill of the ride, the proximity to predators, the chance of death, that made Koa feel more alive. He knew that outside the 30-foot wall, there were dangers beyond imagination, but that gave him endless reasons to persevere, to fight for the safety of his people. He wanted them to live, not just survive.
— Without opening an eye, Ikaika cleared his throat. “Koa’s right, boy. The solitude of land can be more isolating and frightening than sharks. You’ll rest up now while he catches dinner, if you know what’s good for you.”
———
The men landed on the coast of Oahu island by sunset the following day. In the dark sky, they could see smoke overflowing from multiple sites inland. They hid the canoe ashore under a fallen tree, in preparation for a swift escape once in possession of their Hā.
They hiked to Honolulu, the city of the Last Scientists, each carrying a month and a half’s worth of food rations in a rucksack. But when they reached the city, they found the gate unguarded. Multiple fires had been set along the once pristine roads, and there were countless corpses left half-burned. The ground was covered in shattered glass, splintering wood, and empty bottles that once held Hā. It appeared like the scene of a riot.
— “Makani, Koa, back to the canoe.”
Suddenly, Koa started sprinting to the compound of the Last Scientists, where all bartering for Hā takes place. Like a hero acts before he thinks, Koa’s feet moved before Ikaika had a chance to stop him. When he reached the compound, it was deserted, hollowed out as if there had never been any Hā there to begin with. He fell to his knees in defeat, glass shards digging into his skin.
And then a hand touched Koa’s shoulder.
— “Koa. I was hoping to see you here.” Nahoa’s voice cut through the crackling sound of fire and broken glass. Nahoa was a gentle creature, but an outsider to the Kahale tribe, nonetheless. His job was similar to that of a pharmacist; he was responsible for the bartering between the Kahale tribe and the Last Scientists. As a result, Nahoa and Koa had become more familiar with one another over the years. Nahoa had two babies and a third on the way, and he lived a warm life, isolated in a lab from the dangers of the ocean. He was much slimmer than Koa remembered, and his ordinarily neat clothes were torn into a tattered costume. Koa’s eyes looked heavy and tired, his hair all disheveled, and his chin left unshaven. He looked wild. He looked savage.
— “Nahoa. Cousin, I’m glad to see you alive. My men came to barter our rations for Hā. What happened here?”
— “About two weeks ago, our crops were destroyed and our reserves were stolen. Offenders burned it all. We had to replant and start from scratch, but without our reserves, we couldn’t manufacture enough Hā to meet public demand. So we started turning people away, and they fought back. They pushed and rioted until our shelves were empty and their fires burned the remaining pills in the road. They took it. It’s all gone. Some are scrambling to find new resources, but most of the Last Scientists are taking their families to the mountains to isolate before the sickness starts to spread.”
— “So how do we get Hā? How do we survive as a tribe without the Last Scientists?”
— “That’s why I’m here. You don’t survive without us. How many months worth of rations were you going to trade today, Koa?”
— “I have a month and a half’s worth of rations on my back. Why do you ask, Nahoa?”
— “The same as usual then. And your men? How much are they carrying?”
— “We always trade with you at the compound, you know it’s always four and a half months worth of food. What’s this about, Nahoa?”
— “I just had to be sure. That’s why I came here today, to find you. I came to trade.”
— “What do you have to offer?”
— “I have enough Hā for your tribe to last the rest of the year.”
— “Why should I trade with you? How do I know you’re telling the truth about the pills when the compound was ransacked? You could be lying to me right now.”
— “Because I need food for my family, Koa. We are hiking to the North Shore of the island to find new shelter in isolation. I am begging you. I am telling you as your friend that I have good intentions. Tell me what I must do to earn your trust.”
— “Swallow a pill. Prove it to me. Prove that those are truly Hā, and my men and I will trade our rations fairly. Prove it.”
Nahoa, a man of his word, unscrewed a bottle from his satchel and shook a pill into his palm. He clenched his eyes shut and took a deep breath. Just as Makani and Ikaika were running up behind Koa, Nahoa nodded to the familiar faces and swallowed the pill whole.
As soon as they took their place next to him, Koa whispered the news to Ikaika and Makani. The men waited for a reaction, a sudden collapse, or some kind of medical situation. But nothing happened. Nahoa was perfectly healthy, meaning the pill was perfectly safe.
— Nahoa stepped toward Koa, “Do we have a deal?”
— “But what if it is a placebo? What then, Koa?” boomed Ikaika.
— “I have reasons to trade, not to lie. Since the formula was developed, we’ve never had a reason to manufacture placebos. These are real, I swear to you.” Nahoa held out the bottle for Ikaika to see.
— “Koa, he is probably lying.”
— “No, I give you my word. Koa, you know me. I promise you what I say is true,” Nahoa sighed with urgency. And he was right. Koa knew this man. Koa trusted the word of a man willing to show him proof. This was a gentle creature. The pills were indeed Hā.
The men quickly exchanged bags with Nahoa, but before Koa handed over his own sack, he pulled Nahoa aside for a question.
— “No, no, no. Koa, I can’t answer that. If I tell you how Hā is made, the remaining Last Scientists will surely kill me. I can’t put my family at risk. I’m sorry friend, but I cannot.”
— “I have a family, too. Please, you understand I can’t go back home without knowing how to save my sister and my wife, my dear Leilani. Tell me how to make Hā and keep the final pills for yourself. If you do that, I will give you these final rations.”
— “For the rations and the last bottles? Okay, I will trust you with this information, but you must never reveal where you learned of this formula. You must use pure, dehydrated taro root encased in a hard gelatin capsule. The pure vitamin C, B6, and E within the plant, they give your immune system the necessary strength to fight the sickness. Your kindness will not be forgotten, Koa. Now go.”
The three ran straight through fire to get back to the beach. They took their positions next to the canoe, backs hunched and arms bent holding the vessel beside them. Moving as a unit, they pushed the canoe off the beach and into the tide, jumping in one after the other. Koa fought waves to climb into the boat and watched his friend disappear into the island landscape. He knew they would be returning with less Hā than the tribe needed to survive, but Koa had a plan. He knew what needed to be done.
———
Within the month, Koa had located an overgrown taro patch on Hawaii Iisland. It was in the valley about five5 miles away from the tribe’s camp. Koa had been surprised to find it one day while hiking back from an exploration on the other side of the island. He had been looking too far away.
Within a year, the Kahale tribe had built a 30-foot wall around the taro patch, but the hike there remained unprotected from the sickness. Soon, there was enough taro root to make Hā to last a whole generation of Kahale families. Grandparents who thought they would never see the plant again taught their families how to wade through the taro patch and carefully harvest the root. The first time Koa stepped foot in the patch, the water rippled from his bare foot like an earthquake, and though there wasn’t danger here like in ocean, Koa felt the pull of life, the pull of Hā on his soul. The mud oozed in between his toes, as he carefully removed stray leaves from around a singular taro plant. His hands dipped beneath the surface of the same water that had filtered through miles of mountain and drowned in an aquifer to reach this very patch. Koa gently loosened the taro roots and softly pulled the plant from its mud-caked patch. The harvested taro was then separated from its leaves, but a section around a quarter inch long was left at the stem to be replanted in the water to grow new offspring. Koa laid its leaves on a warm lava rock and carried the root to a fire, where it was roasted until safe for consumption. Once fully cooked, the root was ground against two smooth stones to form a powder which would fill empty capsules. This is how Hā was born.
Within a decade, the Kahale tribe had doubled in population. They grew unafraid of the sickness and thrived without the shadow of the Last Scientists hanging over them. With their ability to manufacture Hā, they had the power to become a new monopoly, but they kept the secret for themselves and flourished for years. Koa and his wife Leilani had a son and a daughter, and their family had welcomed Ikaika as a husband to Koa’s sister Akea. Akea was a loving wife to Ikaika, reminding him to take his supplements, and once their two children were born, she saw his hopes for the future grow. Koa taught the children everything about Hā, recognizing they would be responsible for it someday. Their family ties grew to be as strong as the roots of the taro plants they harvested together.
———
When Koa’s daughter and son were fourteen and twelve, respectively, a terrible evil passed. The old Hawaiian volcano, Mauna Loa, awoke. Overnight, Mauna Loa bled over the island, and when its spill reached the taro patch, it left nothing but rock behind. The lava flow was contained in the valley, and no lives were lost, but never had the tribe faced such tragedy. That day felt like the death of the future of mankind.
———
The crowd eyed Koa harshly. His suggestion sounded absurd to the audience: a journey to the south of the island in search of another miracle taro patch. The volcano still posed a threat, and the sickness was always a concern. People had lost hope. They recognized the need for human survival, but Koa was the only one who still thought they could someday thrive once more.
— “Who’s with me?” Koa searched the eyes of his friends and colleagues for a spark of hope, a touch of inspiration. He found nothing but acceptance of their shared fate.
And then a familiar voice spoke up in the crowd. Ikaika, the brother-in-law, took a step forward, placing a hand on Koa’s shoulder with a nod.
— “We must do everything we can to save as many lives as we can for as long as we can. But I think it is time to consider other options to give our loved ones a chance. I know I am ready to give my life for my family, but an endless search for a patch of taro that might not exist? I am sorry, brother, but you know it is useless. We were already lucky once. The best thing we can do is offer our children more time. We can go gently. We can manufacture a euthanasia. Who is with me?”
———
By sunrise, half of the population of the Kahale tribe was dead. They had volunteered their own lives in order to preserve the future of the species. They had lost hope and the will to live. Koa knew that as long as his family was isolated as one bloodline, they would be safe from the sickness. It was about survival now.
— “Uncle, a wa‘a? But where will we go?”
Koa moved swiftly in the sand, tossing leaves and branches off the hidden canoe, tearing its roots from the ground. Like them, this boat was leaving its birthplace behind.
— “We aim for Niʻihau. Boys, fill those gourds at the pump, go quickly.”
— “But Father, we’ll run out of water in a week, and Niʻihau is dry as sand.”
— Helping him tighten the lashings, “Koa, Brother. What if the island is still inhabited? Will we even be permitted to dock? That could be a death sentence.”
— Koa’s hands finished the knot with a sigh. He turned around to face their fear, “Niʻihau is a chance for us to live. We’ve barely survived here, and now the tribe is lost. We need to try. Who’s with me?”
Then, the last human lives sailed for the shadow laying on the horizon.
“La Mort de l’Île” (“The Death of the Island”) is a short story mimicry of La mort de la terre (The Death of the Earth), written by J.-H. Rosny in 1912.