Excerpt from The Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Probably isn't good enough when you're a famished epileptic surrounded by flashing lights and you're twelve stories off the ground in a burning building.

"Lei, come on. It was worth a thought, but it's no good."

"I need those meds, Dad. I need them." Several lanai lengths to the right, I can see black smoke billowing out of the fourth- or fifth-floor windows.

"We can look for more, hon. I'm sure we can walk right into nine out of ten pharmacies tonight and . . ."

"And how will you get to them? Just wander around on foot with all these bags? We need the keys, too!"

"Lei, we'll find another car. This is crazy. We have to get out of here, now!" He's either angry or scared, but it all sounds the same.

I'm angry, too. "You're going to walk up to the first car parked along the curb and flip down the visor and catch a set of keys?"

"Leilani! You can't jump that gap. I can't jump that gap. End of argument!"

My idea grows wings. I smile, and when I answer, my tone is relaxed. "We still have the climbing gear?"

Dad nods. "I thought maybe we could trade it."

I run back into the room and yank what I'll need out of my pack.

Dad doesn't protest. He studies the balconies. I won this one, I think, and the thought is followed by a surge of adrenaline. I throw on my harness and run a double figure-eight knot through the loops.

I rush back onto the balcony.

"That fire's crept up another flight. We—"

"Put this on," I interrupt. Dad slips into his harness like a pro.

The now-familiar pop of a gunshot startles me. That was close. I follow the sound across the gardens to the neighboring hotel tower. A flickering light comes from a window several floors down, followed by rapid gunfire.

Is someone gunning people down? I turn back to Dad, the question plastered all over my face. He's staring across the divide with naked shock.

"Dad."

He shakes himself back to attention. "Quick!" We check each other's harness straps, and then I hand him the carabiner and the belay device.

"No," he says. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you do it."

"Dad, I can't belay your weight the way you can belay mine. And your hand's hurt. How are you going to grab onto the railing with one hand?"

"Leilani."

"No time, Dad. Just give me plenny slack." I strap on my climbing helmet.

"Oh, God," he moans.

I step onto a chair, psyching myself up to stand on the wall.

"Wait!" Dad says. "Loop the rope over the lanai above."

"Dad, I've got this. It's just like the uneven bars."

"If you miss, you could fall out of your harness. I don't—"

"I won't miss."

Dad groans. I wait until he's sitting on the ground with his feet planted at an angle up against the low wall and the rope doubled through his belay device and choked off with two loops around his good hand, and then I stand up on the edge of the lip, my feet balanced just below the railing. My chest is pounding. My senses are sharp, and I focus on my target like a sniper.

Another round of gunfire. My eyes dart to the chilling flicker of light. A different window. What are they doing?

Dr. Makani's voice echoes in my head: "Seizures can be induced by stress. You need to avoid any adventures . . ."

Way too late for that. I glance down and see tongues of flame pushing smoke out of more windows. A coast guard boat in the bay attempts to reach the hotel's burning facade with its fire hoses, falls short. The ground—I might as well be a mile high.

My pills. I can't go on like this, and we're not going anywhere without the keys.

Excerpted from The Islands at the End of the World by Austin Aslan. Copyright © 2014 by Austin Aslan. Excerpted by permission of Wendy Lamb Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.