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

I look at Dad. He has pulled the rope tight against his right hip, locking the belay device. Ten feet of rope dangle in a loop below me. I'm ready. Dad wears a look of pure agony.

I focus on the handrail eight feet away. If you were doing this six feet off the ground, you wouldn't even hesitate. This is a piece of cake.

I step up onto the handrail, leaning my weight forward into thin air, and I leap.

My hands latch firmly onto our lanai's railing as my feet dangle against the wall, desperately seeking purchase.

"Leilani!" Dad shouts. He can't see me because he's locked in place on the floor.

"Got it! Don't move."

"Thank God."

More gunfire. I pull up with my arms and shoulders and swing my left leg around enough so that I can jam my foot between the wall and the handrail. The rest is muscle and sheer determination. I pull myself over the edge to solid ground without a hitch.

"I'm in. I did it!"

Dad stands up. From across the gap, he eyes me with terror and triumph and pride.

"Didn't even need the rope. Kai can't top that."

"Go! Now!"

I dart into our dark room, aided by alternating red and white lights, snatch my meds, toiletry kit, and the keys. Gunfire. The alarm buzzing. Hunted. Every muscle begs to flee.

Dad and I meet in the corridor, race down the long hallway to the furthest stairwell and spiral down toward the lobby, our bags banging after us. As we pass the fifth floor, I hear gunfire behind the stairwell door. I yelp. Dad and I pick up our pace and catch up to a logjam of people trying to pour through the final door into the lobby.

We heave forward, struggling to stay upright with our things. Unseen smoke burns my throat. In the lobby the crowd thins, and we race for the garage. Two men near the main entrance tackle people as if they're felling stampeding wildebeests. They look Hawaiian. Covered with tattoos. One tosses a bag of pretzels atop a cart loaded with groceries and toilet paper.

Some sort of gang raid?

We leap across the hallway, fly down the last stairs, and run to our car.

Seconds later we're dodging other cars. Dad squeezes my hand as the truck ahead of us jumps the curb and speeds across the gardens. We pull forward and flee over the canal.

I silently study the destruction that has taken root in every direction as we slip into the dawn of a new Hawai`i. The glow of morning illuminates the city. Smoke rises like columns holding up the sky. Abandoned cars, shattered and burnt to smoldering shells, are scattered everywhere. Trash bins spill their guts upon streets and sidewalks. Storefronts are cavities of empty racks and shattered glass. All that remains are the postcards and souvenirs lining ABC Store shelves. The beach is empty, and the bay contains only a few coast guard vessels.

"Has it really only been a week?" I marvel.

"We're all werewolves under a green full moon."

"It's going to get much worse." I try on the words. As unwelcome as they are, they feel right. It crushes me that those men were Hawaiian. I'm haunted by their tribal tattoos. They weren't even bothering to wear masks or cover their markings. Here. O`ahu. Those poor tourists. I was one of them. Almost certainly gangbangers, but still. I shiver and run my hand through my smoky hair.

"Lei." Dad shakes his head. "You were amazing up there. I don't think I could have done it. You're a hero, you know that?"

I feel my cheeks grow warm. "Heroine." Adrenaline still simmers in my veins. I feel powerful, angry.

One week. Right before my eyes, my beautiful islands are changing forever.

And so am I.

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.