He passed a gathering at the wall entrance—eight grills fired up, meats hissing, smoke rising like incense.

The paradise beneath his feet could turn septic fast— turning this beautiful, healing, track into a pathogen path to power. To restart the backup generators at the waste plant in Kāneʻohe, they’d need more than goodwill. They’d need fuel. Fifty thousand gallons, at least—just to keep the shit flowing. He’d always prepped for a few days. Not total collapse. He needed a way out—an escape plan—fast, else be held at the mercy of FEMA. He passed a gathering at the wall entrance—eight grills fired up, meats hissing, smoke rising like incense.