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KENNY ONLY ASKEDwhat had happened once, and when he didn’t get an answer he didn’t press. Maybe the looks on our faces were grim enough he didn’t want the answers. By the time we got back to the dock, Dr. Kapoor and Dr. Hardcastle were waiting for us. When they asked what had happened, silence wasn’t an option.
Liam cleared his throat, but I stepped forward. I gave them a sanitized version: we went to find Liam and Abby, Lily went in, when she didn’t come out, I’d gone in and found only Liam, insensible.
I’d composed the lie on the way over. People disappeared on this island. Trying to come up with a logical explanation for what had happened, saying that I’d seen them die or something—that would just lead to more questions I couldn’t answer. But the inexplicable? The people here were used to not digging too deeply.
“You’re hurt?” Dr. Kapoor asked Liam with brusque concern.
“No, I just—I had a panic attack or something. I don’t remember anything between going into the bunker and leaving with Sophia.”
“Going into the bunker that’s supposed to be welded shut because it’s dangerous and unstable, you mean,” Dr. Kapoor said. “A room might have collapsed. The two of them might have fallen. We’ll need to go and look for them. I’ll handle that. Kenny, drive Liam home and then take yourself and Ms. Hayes back to Mrs. Popova’s.”
“I can help look for them,” Kenny objected.
“We will handle this,” Dr. Hardcastle said, not a drop of his usual friendliness in his tone. He was looking over at the island, and I couldn’t read his expression. Dr. Kapoor, though—that look was fury, pure and incandescent. Did she know what had happened? Was she part of it?
I allowed myself to be bustled along. Kenny was full of concern and trying desperately not to demand details from me.
Dr. Kapoor must have called ahead, because Mrs. Popova was waiting for us on the porch.
“You’ll be all right, yeah?” Kenny asked, parking the car without turning off the engine. I nodded. “I need to get back. In case they need my help to search,” he said.
“You’re a good friend, Kenny,” I told him. “You’re a good person.” I didn’t lie and tell him that everything would be all right.
“Thanks,” he said, distracted. I don’t think he’d actually heard me. I curled my hands slowly into fists. I’d never had to use the void so frequently before. The backlash was already threatening, like a migraine aura at the edge of my vision.
One step at a time, I told myself, and made my way stiffly toward Mrs. Popova. She took a look at my face and clucked her tongue softly.
“You look exhausted,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I told her, but my voice broke. I gulped down a breath and looked away. I just needed to get inside. I just needed—
“Oh, you poor lamb,” she said, and the next thing I knew I was sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out.
“Don’t be absurd. You cry all you must,” she told me. “There are things worth crying over. You’ll be made of steel again in the morning, but for now you weep. Come inside, and I’ll make some cocoa for you.” She rubbed my arms briskly.
I wished I could have pulled it together then, in the face of her generosity, but it only made me cry harder. She installed me at the kitchen table and didn’t ask a single question. By the time the cocoa was gone, so were my tears, leaving behind a headache and a pile of tissues she wordlessly swept into the trash bin.
“Get some rest,” she suggested. I liked her way of taking care of people—nothing particularly maternal in it, just a gentle efficiency that recognized comfort alongside hunger and cold, a practical matter to be tended to. “And make sure you stay in. Mist tonight.” She rose. All the warmth went out of me.
Mrs. Popova lived on the island. She’d lived on the island for ages. Which meant she knew. Knew that it wasn’t safe to go out in the mist, and not just because you couldn’t see where you were going. No wonder she hadn’t asked me any questions. She either didn’t want the answers, or she had them already.
I mumbled something that might have been “thank you” and stumbled back to my room. After dumping my bag on the bed, I went over to the small desk where I’d left my laptop. I turned it on and fumbled in my jacket pocket for the SD card Abby had handed me.
I wiped a bit of grit off the memory card and slid it into the slot. Video files popped up—Abby’s files, dozens of them since she’d arrived on the island. The last one was from the exact time she went into the bunker.
I started to press play, then stopped. There was someone else who needed to see this. Or maybe it was that I knew he’d want to see it, and that I could use it to make him seeme.
I checked the time. Still an hour before the mist was expected to roll in. A light rain had started up, a thin layer of gray clouds rolling over the sky. I packed up my laptop and hurried out of the house, shutting the door lightly behind me so that I wouldn’t disturb Mrs. Popova.
Dr. Kapoor’s house was on the inward curve of the island, facing Belaya Skala. It took me only a few minutes to get there, crunching over the gravel road and weaving around potholes. I walked up to the front door and knocked.
I had to wait a long time before Liam appeared, his hair and clothes rumpled. He’d showered and changed, at least, but his eyes looked hollow. As soon as he saw who was at the door, he started to close it.
“Wait,” I said. I stuck out my hand, catching the door. “We need to talk.”
“We really don’t,” Liam said.
