I was tying the lightest canoe to the dinghy’s port stern cleat when Rivera said, “What’re we gonna do with . . . her?”

“Who?”

She tilted her head back up the street.

“Oh. Ah . . . yeah, maybe we oughta . . .” I hadn’t a clue what we oughta.

“We oughta just leave her,” Gracie said.

Rivera’s mouth thinned.

I had zero urge to go back and deal with a bloody corpse, but I got Rivera’s point. “We could set her afloat. Den burial.”

Rivera nodded. “It’s the least we can do.”

“Forget it!” Grace snapped.

“Float her on what?” Jenn asked.

“On nothing!” Grace planted hands on hips.

“No, she’s right,” said Breakers. “My shot. I’ll find something.”

“It’s my find. My call.”

“And how good would you have done, carrying all this back by your lonesome?”

“Did y’all forget she tried to kill us?”

“Have some respect, Grace,” Rivera murmured. “It won’t take long.”

“You finish up.” Breakers thrust her rifle at me and sprinted back up the block. Rivera hesitated, then raced after.

Gracie watched them go, jumpy now and irritated. She wanted out of there. “Softies. We’re a bunch of friggin’ softies.”

“Long as we can be.” Jenn reached to relieve me of the gun. “Hold it like this, kiddo. It’s not going to bite you.”

“This one’s lighter.” Poppy offered me the dead girl’s weapon.

“No, thanks.” I was grateful to be alive and all. But I wanted nothing to do with that dark-smelling piece of steel.

Breakers and Rivera were back by the time we’d packed everything into the raft and dinghy. They’d found a wooden pallet, half-crushed but good enough to hold the small body. They’d even wrapped her in a scrap of tarp.

“That will be so much better,” said Jenn. We ran to help drag it to the water. It eased in like it was meant for the task, but then just sat there refusing the tide, as if waiting on us.

“We should tow her out farther.” I had the rope ready in hand.

“We should get the fuck going,” growled Gracie.

Poppy pointed east between the buildings. “We’ll lose light if we don’t hurry.”

“So we’ll hurry.” Breakers sounded like gravel in the pull of a wave. “Don’t want her washing right back to shore, do we?”

And that settled it.

I was glad for the tow weight on the dinghy’s other stern cleat. Balanced the load, and maybe, a little of my guilt. We’d give the girl’s sad death some dignity, at least.