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She turns the camera to look out over the front of the boat, revealing Belaya Skala.
NOVAK: As you can see, we have arrived at Belaya Skala. At night—if you can call this night. Technically it’s...
She glances back at Carreau.
CARREAU: Nautical twilight.
NOVAK: It is expressly forbidden for any man or beast to linger on Belaya Skala at night or in the mist. But thanks to yesterday’s storm, all our flights out were canceled, so we’re all stuck on the island with nowhere to go. The forecast is clear, we’re leaving in the morning, the Perseids are peaking, and tonight is the first time we’ll gettruenight all summer. Which means that it’s our best chanceto see the meteor shower with the least amount of light pollution any of us is likely to experience in our lives.
BAKER: And it’s my birthday.
NOVAK: And it’s Carolyn’s birthday. So we’re going to get drunk, watch rocks fall from space, and get eaten by ghosts or aliens or whatever it is out here that everyone’s so afraid of.
KAPOOR: I cannot believe I let you all talk me into this.
There’s a rustle just off camera. Baker jumps with a squeak of surprise.
NOVAK: What the—
HARDCASTLE: Well, look at that. We’ve got a stowaway.
The camera swings around to focus on the three-year-old girl uncurling from under a tarp at the far back of the boat: Sophia Novak.
8
LIAM WATCHED MEwith a concerned expression as we made the crossing. That, I reminded myself, was a complication I didn’t need. Relationships required vulnerability and honesty. And I couldn’t offer either.
Our path brought us parallel to the jagged garland of rocks that connected the headland to the main island. Approaching from this angle, Belaya Skala was all tumbled grays and blacks, not the white that had given it its name. I knew from studying maps that the headland was roughly triangular, the tip of the broken crescent that was Bitter Rock. The leeward side—the side sheltered from the wind—was where the terns roosted on white rocks. Like Bitter Rock, there were no trees, and the biggest plants were low-lying bushes.
“Does anyone live here?” I asked as the engine cut and we puttered toward a sliver of shore. I knew the answer, but I was fishing for extra information.
“Not anymore,” Kenny replied. “There was the Landontown Fellowship, a sort of commune I guess you could say? But that, uh, didn’t last. It’s actually better land for building—lots more flat space—but for whatever reason nobody’s ever managed to stay there for long.”
“Not enough land to keep livestock, and hardly anything grows,” Dr. Kapoor added. It was true—but I wondered if that was deliberate, the way she implied that was why Landontown had faded. “Belaya Skala is only suitable for birds, looking at birds, and getting away from people.”
“Which is why we love it,” Kenny added, and Dr. Kapoor actually chuckled.
We all loaded up with bags and equipment, then hiked toward the eastern side of the headland. We heard the birds long before we saw them. They’d been a constant background chatter since we launched, but the sound became oppressive the closer we got. A thousand conversations in a dialect we didn’t understand. Though maybe Hardcastle and Kapoor did, after fifteen years.
The slight curve of the island cupped the remnants of the morning’s fog and kept the rocky hillside obscured as Kenny and Dr. Kapoor set up a pair of huge binoculars on a tripod. Hardcastle and Lily busied themselves with some kind of audio equipment—a parabolic microphone, bulky headphones, and a laptop in a waterproof case.
“Ms. Hayes,” Dr. Kapoor said, and I snapped to attention. “You’ll be assisting with a count today. If you get bored, I don’t care. If you have to pee, I don’t care. You stand and you watch until I release you. Got it?”
Liam swung a grin toward me, as if he was waiting to see myreaction. I just nodded. Do the job well.Don’t give her reason to question why she’s letting you stay.
“What should I do?” Abby asked.
Dr. Kapoor lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t wander off,” she said simply.
We’d come around to the southeastern tip of the headland. The shore stretching north and west was concave, creating a sheltered inlet of rocky cliffs, a steep snarl of rocks that were, as the explorer in Dr. Kapoor’s story discovered, white with bird guano. The angle of the shore and the hill we stood on gave us a clear view of the whole colony.
“Take a look,” Dr. Kapoor invited. Or rather, instructed. I stepped up to the binoculars. I could make out the nests tucked among the rocks. They were shallow bowls of twigs and grass. In pairs or singly, adult birds fussed and bobbled around chicks that ranged from grumpy-looking but cute balls of down to scraggly, skin-and-peach-fuzz creatures that looked like aliens.
“And we’re just counting the chicks?” I asked.
“No, I am counting the chicks,” Dr. Kapoor said. “You are standing right there and not interrupting.” She pointed toward an empty patch of grass near Abby. I shuffled over obediently.
Kenny pulled a binder and a laminated map of the nest sites, each numbered, out of his bag and sat cross-legged on the ground. He flipped the binder to a printed chart with empty cells and waited expectantly as Dr. Kapoor scanned the landscape before settling on a target.
