On the way out she stopped by Jake’s body, knelt down and brushed his face with her fingers. She wished she could do something for him, bury him, treat him with the tenderness he deserved. But the needs of the living trumped the needs of the dead.

She did the best she could with little time. She dragged his body to the greenhouse, cycled the simple airlock, pulled him inside and laid him flat. The plants and the rich earth and the warm, humid, CO2-laden air smelled of life to her. She’d leave him here, the most peaceful place she knew. The CO2 levels fed the plants and killed insects, and the airlock would keep scavengers out. He’d at least be spared some indignities.

A tear made its way down her face, a sob threatened to emerge, and she knew that it was now or never, that she’d be paralyzed if she stayed here even a moment longer. Go. She had to go.

A trucker stopped for her on the highway, gave her a ride as far north as Thung Song through agonizingly slow traffic. At a truck stop she tried for two hours to find a ride further on. When it became clear there was none, she found an old motorbike, far from the lights and cameras. Sam sat on the bike, used her hands to break off the panel that hid the ignition wiring, and hotwired it like the ERD had taught her to. Then she was off, into the night.

It was just after midnight when she crossed the mainland bridge into Phuket. She abandoned the bike on the side of the road, took a cheap room in the seedier part of town, showered and changed into the dark pants and dark sleeveless blouse she’d purchased here, months ago. She replaced the bandage with a triple layer of wide black vinyl tape around her tricep, then applied more concealer to the cuts, abrasions, and bruises on her body. She stuffed cash, phone, and fake ID into her pockets. Finally, she pulled on the four-inch spiked and LED-studded heels she’d acquired here, months ago.

She left the gun and knives in the room. They’d search her before letting her in to see Lo Prang. An obvious weapon could blow her chances.

And she herself was weapon enough.

Phuket was the ultimate beach town by day, the ultimate vice town by night. Like a cross between Miami and Las Vegas, it offered all the pleasures of water and sun twelve hours of the day, and all the pleasures of gambling, drugs, and sex at any hour, day or night.

Lo Prang’s House of Pleasure was at the end of a long strip of bars, nightclubs, and brothels where Chinese, American, and European tourists gathered to spend their money on drinks and drugs and the willing flesh of the thousands of girls that flocked here from the countryside.