It raises its other hand, points its shimmery black nails at Tanq’s face.

I launch from the cot, but Manny gets there first, shoving Tanq aside. Her head knocks one of the bed frames and she crumples to the ground.

Manny’s neck occupies the space where Tanq’s face used to be. Before I can reach him, the creature darts its hand forward, plunges its nails into Manny’s neck, rips out his throat.

Someone screams; it might be me. I’m trying to reach Manny but something makes the floor slippery and I can’t get traction.

The creature steps toward me. “Who you?” it whispers. “Invissssible . . .”

“Paige, duck!” Trey yells.

I drop to my knees as a gun explodes in my ear. My head rings and my vision strobes, sending daggers of light into my brain. I have to get to my feet. I have to reach Manny. . . . I feel around for purchase, and my fingers encounter warm, sticky liquid. So much of it.

Large hands wrap my shoulders, yank me up. “It’s okay, Paige,” Trey whispers in my ear. “I got it. Are you hurt?”

I blink to clear strobing vision and wish I hadn’t. There lies Manny, eyes wide open, his head cricked at an unnatural angle, blood spreading farther and farther across the floor. Beyond him is the creature, slumped against the doorway, a single bullet hole in its forehead. It twitches a little, as though not quite dead. And maybe it isn’t. It’s the same one from the barge; I’m sure of it. Bullet holes from Wyatt’s gun mar its cloak. Somehow it survived. Followed us here, or even stowed away on the barge. Maybe its essential internal organs are in different places than human ones. Maybe they don’t have any at all.

But Trey’s shot seems to have done the trick. It struggles to breathe, its chin jerking sideways every few seconds. It can’t last long.

On the floor by the cot, Tanq is curled into a ball, sobbing. Wyatt crouches down and whispers something in her ear.

“Trey,” I whisper. “I can’t . . .”

A hole is opening up in my heart to think of Manny, dead so fast. I knew him for only a few days, but I was already counting him a friend. We came here because of him. He answered our questions. Took care of us. Gave us a home.

This kind of death—fast like lightning, unspeakably painful and cruel—could be waiting for all of us.

“I know,” Trey says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Just don’t look.”

“But we have to take care of . . .”

“We’ll wait. Make sure that thing dies. Then we’ll deal with . . . the mess. We’ll find a way to say good-bye to Manny.”