Hawaii: 5 a.m. local, 10 a.m. CST

               Kai Kalani and Makoa Hale clung to the rail of the last ferry off Lanai, their faces etched with horror as they turned for one last look. What met their eyes was surreal: half of the island was engulfed in glowing magma, while the other half was ablaze with fire. It resembled a scene from the depths of Hell.

            The two men had lived on Lanai their whole lives. The island was shaped like an apostrophe in the vastness of the Pacific, spanning a hundred and forty square miles and just eighteen miles wide. Once, Dole Pineapple had been the island's lifeblood, and its workers formed the backbone of the community. But as the plantation faded into history, the island's economy shifted to tourism. Many former fruit laborers transitioned into roles within the burgeoning resort industry, including Kai and Makoa, who served as stewards at the prestigious Hulopo'le Bay Resort on the left side of the harbor.

Or it used to be. Red-hot lava bombs had decimated the building an hour ago, leaving behind only a skeleton ruin rising out of the charred sand. Off to the right, they watched Old Man’s Pavilion, one of Hana Park’s beloved features and their favorite place to meet friends, succumb to the flames. Busy, vibrant shops, restaurants, and Airbnb accommodations were engulfed, the fire consuming everything in its path with terrifying speed. Even the dock they had departed from was now ablaze, adding to the inferno that destroyed their home island.

“They said Lána’ihale was extinct,” Makoa sounded numb as he stared in the direction of the volcanic mountain. An odd pattering noise began on the deck, and pea-sized objects accumulated around them.

“Well, clearly they were wrong,” Ducking under the hard top canopy, Kai rubbed his hands through his silvery hair, hastily tied into a lopsided ponytail. His colorful aloha shirt was rumpled and stained with soot, untucked over his dirty cargo shorts. The scrapes and burns on his legs were a testament to how hard the night had been.

As night fell, the tranquil hotel atmosphere of outdoor dinners and drinks on the lanais, overlooking the ocean, abruptly shattered when a colossal detonation rocked the island. Within minutes, massive clouds of thick smoke and a barrage of rocks of various sizes pelted the hotel. Guests and staff alike scrambled indoors as tremors began to shake the island, intensifying with each passing minute.

Then, before the islanders' disbelieving eyes, molten rock surged up through massive fissures on the mountain's side, cascading across the terrain in torrents and sprays, engulfing everything in its path. Overwhelmed with fear, the Hawaiians and their guests fled in terror.

“I was in the kitchen with Mirabelle when the first lava rock hit the front lawn of the resort,” Mirabelle was one of the cooks that Makoa, always a lady’s man, was sweet on.

“Giant fissures opened downslope from the ancient crater after that earthquake Tuesday. Some scientists from the Volcano Observatory had lunch in the resort yesterday. I overheard them talking. That mist hiding the mountain the last few days was smoke. Nobody expected this.” Kai coughed, the sulfur stench burning his throat.

Makoa’s eyes flashed as the burning landscape reflected off his dark irises. His face was smudged with soot, and the burns on his sturdy arms looked painful. “Why didn’t they start the evacuations before the mountain erupted?”

Kai sighed, the sound of an old man who had seen too much. “You know why. Remember Lahaina? The wildfires? It always rolls up to politics, money, and tourism. The leaders are in denial until they can’t deny facts anymore. We’re just lucky we got everyone out of the town alive.”

“The wildlife isn’t so lucky.”

There was nothing to say about that, so Kai remained silent.

With no home, no job, and only their singed clothes clinging to their backs, they stood in the volcano's eerie glow, which was consuming everything they had ever known. As dawn rose behind them, they watched the island burn.

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