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Brian could guess what she’d seen: no service.
“It’s nearly five,” she said, coming over to Brian. “When does it get dark?”
“Seven thirty?” said Brian. “I think. Somewhere in there.” He tapped his lips with his finger. STOP, that was the acronym when you were in trouble. Stop. Think. Observe. Plan. “We should figure out what we’re going to do.”
“Yeah,” said Coco. She was frowning. “Is a lake monster supernatural? Or is it more like a strange animal? If it is supernatural, is it smart? Can it plan and think? Is it just gonna give up? Brian—” She bent her head closer, whispering. “Is this what the smiling man meant? A black spot—a death? Or are we all supposed to die here?”
Brian shuddered. “Mr. Dimmonds died,” he said. Involuntarily, they both looked at Mr. Adler, sitting there hunched, holding his wrist with his good hand, his face an awful color. “Don’t say anything about death to Ollie right now,” added Brian.
Coco shook her head. “Ollie’s thinking about it already,” she said. Ollie’s face looked pinched and afraid. Brian supposed his did as well. They all loved Mr. Adler.
The sun was still shining, but they were on the east side of the island, and the sun would set to the west. Pretty soon the light would go behind the dome-shaped rock over their heads, and they’d be in shadow. A long, cold breeze riffled the still water and Coco’s straggling pinkish hair. Coco shivered. Brian shivered too. None of them were completely dry, what with the sloshing on the Cassie and the flying spray from the paddles as they raced toward shore.
Brian wished that they hadn’t lost their bags, with their warm, dry jackets and hats. It was going to be freezing once the sun went away.
But hopefully, Brian thought, we’ll be off this island before dark.
He knew they couldn’t count on it, though.
Mr. Adler said, “Any sign of a boat?” His mouth was clenched down to a small, thin line.
“No, Dad,” said Ollie. “But we’re using the radio. I’m sure one will come soon.” Ollie’s splashed hair was curling and wet under her purple beanie. The first aid kit lay open beside her, as though Ollie had rummaged through it in sudden desperation.
Ms. Zintner was swearing at the radio. Coco was watching Brian. Trusting him. “At least you know about outdoor stuff,” Coco said.
Brian took a deep breath. He had trusted Coco that winter, when she’d outsmarted the smiling man. She trusted him now to outsmart this cold, bare island. Brian tried to make his voice sound confident. He addressed the whole group. “Hey, guys? Um, question. Apart from Ollie’s dad, is anyone else hurt?”
Confused silence as four pairs of eyes turned his way. Brian had to repeat himself. Ollie spoke first. “I—no,” she said. “I’m okay.”
“I am too,” said Coco.
“So am I,” said Coco’s mom. “Although I’m not sure—”
“Phil?” said Brian.
Phil looked up. “It doesn’t matter. It’s coming back,” he said. “It’s coming back for us. It hates us. Maybe that was its baby, the little snake I caught. It hates us.”
Firmly Brian said, “Phil, come on. We need you with us. Come over here for a sec.”
“Phil, your hand is bleeding,” said Coco.
Phil looked down dully. Brian noticed it too: a spatter of little cuts. Brian said, “We should disinfect those.”
“Why?” said Phil hollowly. “If we’re just going to be eaten.”
Coco said sharply, “Phil. It’s a lake animal. It swims. How would it get on shore? Come on.”
“Dunno,” said Phil. But after a minute, he stopped staring at the lake and let Brian help him wrap up his hand.
“We only have a few hours until dark,” said Brian. “We need to get ready. First, Ms. Zintner, does the radio work at all?”
“No,” said Coco’s mom in frustration. She glared down at it. The tip of her nose was red. “It’s like, I can’t find anything wrong with it. Except that it doesn’t work. And I’ve been trying . . .”
Coco gave Brian one quick, meaningful glance. Brian didn’t have to ask to know what she was thinking. They’d gone through a misty squall, they were on an uncharted island, and nothing worked.
And the smiling man was involved somehow.
It was definitely going to take more than a radio to get them home.
