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

“What about them? I have relatives on Big Island. They knew me as a little girl, when I used to sing about liberating Hawaii, just like Faddah. I know where to go if I need them here.”

“I mean your parents.”

Kanani glared at Lett. “I haven’t spoken to Mother in years. She’s still not happy with me for Hotel Street. It was ‘below me,’ she said. But I was getting into trouble and it was a good way out.” She paused and looked away, as if finding the right words, and Lett caught her wiping the glisten of a tear from the corner of her eye. “Faddah, he must not be happy, either.”

“Must not?”

“He’s dead. Last year. Organizing. They say it was an accident. Crushed. Crates fell. But you know crates don’t just go tumbling down on their own. Mother, she’s still in mourning, I bet. And she probably blames me for that, too.” Kanani dropped back against the stone wall, letting her head roll around wearily like a GI coming off a patrol that went on far too long.

“I’m sorry. I think I get your angle now: You’re going to show them. Every last one of them. Make them all pay if you can help it.”

Kanani pulled out the gold dragon lighter, as if on instinct, like a good luck charm. She even rubbed it. “That’s right. Just the way I like it.”

4.

Gotta keep moving. Always keep moving, don’t bunch up. Stop and you’re cornered. Keep your eyes open.

Kanani was tugging on Lett’s shoulder.

Lett jerked up. They were riding in the bed of an old jalopy pickup. It had approached behind them as they trudged a long narrow high road heading straight up mountain. Kanani had said the pots and pails hanging off it usually meant the pickup was coffee pickers, but it wasn’t. The windows were rolled down. The driver wore khaki without insignia, had hard dark balls for eyes. Big cast-iron pots surrounded them in back as the truck jostled along, then the pots were clanking and clunking and combining with the squeaking squealing undercarriage, and to Lett all the clatter became halftracks full of SS troops flanking their line, then a King Tiger tank rolling over him in his forward hole, helmets colliding, the heads inside already dead.

Kanani yanked him back down as if he might jump out any moment. “You were muttering something. Your face is plenty pale.”

“Nothing, it’s nothing. I’m all right.”

Lett wasn’t all right. He was getting that old feeling. Why on Earth was he going in like this, without a lick of intelligence? Sending himself into unscouted terrain. Trusting in Captain Charles Selfer? He had invoked the dreaded name himself. What a fool . . .