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“What do you propose?”
My turn to sigh. “MacManus’s plan was to hole up in the jet. Easy to defend from outside intruders, not so much so from inside traitors. I guess we head there. Try to see if we can make contact with him or Elias.”
Vaughn has the shotgun down by his side. “All right,” he concedes. “We need to be careful, though. Keahi—”
“Is also looking for them.” I hesitate. “Marilee?”
“I delivered the first aid supplies to Chef Kiki. Last I saw, she was getting busy with alcohol wipes.”
“And Charlie?”
“Still cranky.”
“Well, go us. We’re harder to kill than they think.”
Vaughn leads the way to the muddy ribbon of trail Brent and I had just used to approach the rear of his cabin. It’s the most direct route to the landing strip, but also not obvious to outsiders. I admire his thinking as I fall in step behind him.
I’m shaking. I’m aware of it in an abstract way. Later, when the dust settles, should we survive this… There is a giant wave of horror locked down deep inside me. An endless ocean of agony and self-recrimination and regret that comes from leading a man step by step toward his execution.
I can’t think about it now.
The night sounds are back. Crazy birds and crashing waves. The air remains humid and thick, but soothing against my tearstained cheeks. We don’t pass any more coconut crabs before arriving once more at the main path. To our right, the landing strip. To our left, base camp.
It’s very tempting to retreat. Find my cabin, hunker down with my arms over my head. While we wait for the sounds of distant gunshots or aborted screams or approaching footsteps?
I’d rather face my fate head-on than endure that kind of drawn-out horror. Whatever happens next, at least it’s a choice I made.
We stick to one side of the path. I keep the flashlight pointed low, enough light to guide our feet without broadcasting our position. I lead us forward. Vaughn, shotgun at the ready, guards our sides and rear.
Bit by bit we make it to the runway. The Cessna glows like a sleek white arrow in the middle of an inky-black field.
It looks exactly as it did last time I saw it. Side door still open, stairs spilling down to the runway.
The first hairs prickle at the back of my neck. This doesn’t look like a buttoned-up hidey hole.
Vaughn and I exchange a glance. Slowly, we move into the cleared strip, exposing our position, becoming more and more vulnerable.
No faces appear in the windows of the jet. No forms materialize from the thick brush behind us. No human voices compete with the calls of the birds.
In the end, I climb the stairs and peer inside the cabin, just to confirm what we already know: no one’s here.
We’re too late.
“WE SHOULD GO back to your cabin,” Vaughn whispers. We’ve retreated to the main path. “Given I have the shotgun, Charlie, Marilee, Kiki, and Ronin are completely defenseless.”
“I wouldn’t call Ronin defenseless.”
“He’s not faster than a speeding bullet.”
I acknowledge his point with a short nod. But then: “If Leilani had made her move… I think we’d see it. Signs of a struggle. Elias’s body, something. There’s nothing here at all.”
“You don’t think they made it this far.”
“They could’ve changed their minds. Or been intercepted. Or had to change their minds because they were about to be intercepted.”
Vaughn doesn’t argue with my vague possibilities.
“Brent set the mess hall on fire,” I murmur now. “We all scattered. Keahi watched us go. So what does she know right now?”
