“We almost there,” Ming-Ji said, and Nola let go of some tension. She was not relaxed, but the balloon of terror was shrinking. She calmed Lulu with a bottle, and then asked Ming-Ji to roll down the window. She leaned over and filled her lungs with fresh air.

The full moon, huge and radiant, transformed the world to charred black and translucent white. A world of two colors. Like hers. Make it out safely or fail.

The stench of canneries told Nola they had entered a fishing village, where the rising corners of the tiled roofs suggested Chinese architecture. The truck rolled down a silent street until it came to a stop at the docks. Dozens of small ships and boats were moored, and to the far right, fishnets stretched across a field of bamboo poles, all bathed in moonlight.

“We here,” Ming-Ji said. She and the driver got out and disappeared in the darkness.

Where was “here?” The only sounds were the lapping of waves at the dock, the creaking of rusted hinges, the soft bumping of boats against each other, and the flapping of loose canvas sails.

Headaches occupied the places behind Nola's eyes, her temples and the base of her skull. She needed to move her legs to get the circulation going again. She kissed the sleeping Lulu, put on her wool-lined jacket, and scrambled down from the truck. Her feet sank into mud. Her arms stretched out like a tightrope walker, she sloshed her way onto a broken piece of wood, conscious of staying within hearing range of Lulu. The rolling mist carried the tartness of seaweed and rotting clams, biting but not unpleasant. Nola filled her lungs, and it soothed her headache somewhat.

A jerking of light startled her, but it was next to Ming-Ji, who reappeared with a man. A lantern dangling from his outstretched arm illuminated a path of flat stones, which enabled Nola to find steadier footing.

Ming-Ji told her to leave her bags but to bring Lulu, and they followed the lantern-bearer into a two-story warehouse with rusted galvanized tin sidings. They plodded up a dark, wobbly staircase that smelled of mildew and stopped at a bathroom. The man flipped on the light switch then left, his straw flip-flops slapping the creaking stairs on his way down.

Nola crouched over the hole in a small stall, then walked over to the sink.

“Don’t let water in your eyes and mouth,” Ming-Ji said. “Your body not immune to bacteria here.”

Nola splashed water on the back of her neck and dabbed some on her cheeks and forehead. In spite of the chill, she still felt hot. “What are we doing here?” she whispered, although the building seemed deserted.

“Getting documents.”

Back in the stairwell, something swished by Nola's face, then another. She yelped and waved her arms above Ming-Ji’s head to scare the bats away. By then Ming-Ji had pushed open a door.