“Stop trying to be a hero, Jack,” Jesus said. “Think of the greater good—”

“No,” Elizaveta said, shaking her head. As much as she wanted to leave the island too, she knew Jack was right. They couldn’t leave anyone behind. “We can’t go.”

“Then stay,” Pita said contemptuously. “Stay here and die. Jesus and I are taking the canoe.” She turned to Rosa. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Well…I guess if Jack wants to wait…I guess I should wait.”

“Do you want whatever was at your window to get you? Do you want to end up like Nitro? Do you want to end up dead?”

“Enough, Pita,” Jack said.

“Because that’s what’s going to happen,” she went on, her voice turning harsh. “You’re going to end up dead, and whatever’s out there is going to pull out your eyes. Is that what you want? Is that what you—?”

Elizaveta slapped Pita across the cheek. The sound was loud and flat, like a clap.

Jesus said, “Bitch!” and moved toward Elizaveta, as if to ram her with his shoulder. Jack stepped forward and cracked him across the temple with the butt of the pistol. His eyes rolled up in his head, so for a moment there was nothing showing but the whites, then he dropped to the floor like a felled tree.

Pita’s right hand went to her cheek, which had already flushed red. Her bottom lip trembled. But instead of crying, she spat. A gob of saliva splattered against Elizaveta’s chin.

While Elizaveta was wiping this away, Pita swung an overhead punch at Jack. It was easily telegraphed, and he batted it away.

“Stop it, Pita,” he told her softly. “Stop this.”

“Why are you doing this?” she said, and now she was crying.

“I’m trying to help us.”

“You’re not! You’re getting us killed.”

“It’s still dark out there. It’s dangerous. Wait twenty minutes, and we’ll all go to the pier together.”

“And do what? Sit there in the open?”

“In the light, on the pier, nobody can sneak up on us. The boatman will come. We’ll all go back together.”

Whether she believed what Jack was saying, or whether she realized he wasn’t changing his mind, she gave up her arguing. She crouched next to Jesus, who was bleeding from the temple, and helped him into a sitting position.

Rosa went to Jack. Given he didn’t have any free hands—one was holding his shirt to his wound, the other the pistol—she wrapped her arms around his legs and pressed her head into his stomach.

Elizaveta touched him on the shoulder reassuringly, and she was about to say something when there was as knock at the door.

1957

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