BooksBarbecue
Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Had they really seen him? It didn’t matter. Lett now knew that his soldier friend was both a ghost and an angel.

48.

Lett could not think of a more wonderful spot to contemplate how far he’d come—yet still had to go. His open lanai looked out over a sparkling gurgling stream that ran down to him from a spring far away and high up on Mauna Kea. Beyond lay a field of tall, moist, and thick grass that was lined on either side by lush tropical forest. Like all the few structures here, his simple shack was built from debris. Planks and beams and corrugated metal made up his lanai and one-room domain. Thick vines cascaded down on all sides, helping to conceal the rust and graying wood.

The soft, lush basin around him had to be the most remote valley on the island. It ran along the bottom of a steep gorge that plummeted thousands of feet from the fertile plains above. Up there along the Hamakua Coast, the sugar plantations still held onto their iron rule. Up there might as well be Alaska. Inland from Lett’s shack, the canyon stretched and snaked and narrowed for a couple miles at least, as far as he knew. No matter the spot, the summits and cliffs high above basked in sun long after the shade and dusk had cloaked them down below. In the other direction from Lett’s shack lay a stretch of new taro crops and palm trees, then a compact beach of black lava sand, and finally, the vast Pacific Ocean, the sea softly lapping up.

Only one road led down into this valley, a twisting, rutted, plunging track that few jeeps or their drivers could handle. At first Lett feared one of those four-by-four vehicles would bring Lansdale, or a team of sunburned CIC men, or even CID detectives grouchy from a long journey. But they never did come. He got used to seeing the occasional local or rare haole adventurer. He hadn’t gotten used to witnessing the wild horses cross his stream now and then, and he hoped he never would. Same went for the mango and avocado trees and especially the secluded waterfalls he heard. On the whole, it was like the Earth before man, the child before the disease.

Lett and Kanani had reached this valley two days after fleeing The Preserve. After Jock saved their lives, they had marched around Mauna Kea. In the dark, the scrubby grass had given way to shrubs and then a ragged forest of short dry mamane trees. Lett’s hand was cut from the loose jagged ’a’a lava, and Kanani cleaned and bandaged it. It grew cool and they could’ve used a fire, but Lett didn’t want to risk the smoke and light and Kanani agreed, adding that mamane were rare Hawaiian floras. They slept on soft underbrush, spooning. Too tired to talk, too relieved to worry.