There was no hope for the children in the cabins. How many of them would even move? She must get to the water, save herself and anyone else she could. It was too late for the children in these cabins. It was not too late for her.

She continued down the path to the edge of the island, and down the narrow steps cut into the pink-gray rock, like a tunnel toward the sea below. To her right was a narrow ledge a few meters above the water.

A man on the ledge. An adult. He had cut his leg open dragging himself up the rock face.

“Come up here,” he said. She thought again of her father. The man smiled down at her, extending his hand, and for a moment she felt she was saved. But this man was not her father, and she was not yet safe.

The man’s hair was wild, his T-shirt torn. She recognized him, she thought. Part of the welcoming committee as she had stepped onto the dock with the other kids. Did something in the office, he had said.

As she frowned up at him she heard an engine approaching, the familiar ruck-ruck-ruck of chopper blades. She felt the rush of air, saw the water begin to swirl and dance in the downdraft, and when she looked up she saw the helicopter forty feet above.

Christ, she thought. Thank you, Christ.

The man threw himself from the ledge into the water and vanished. She scanned the water. He surfaced, waving wildly.

She looked up again, and saw the camera mounted beneath the fuselage, saw the white-on-red of the TVZ logo. The helicopter hovered, hummingbird-still, and she realized that the camera was lining up on her.

They’re filming us.

From the top of the steps a boy and a girl appeared, running as if for their lives. The boy from the woods, she realized, little Arno, with a girl she had not seen before. Another two girls appeared. They pushed past her, stood at the foot of the steps, waving. A burst of gunfire close by. The plexiglass in the near-side door shattered. The helicopter lifted upward, turned, and headed inland.

“Where did they go?” said one of the girls. “Where the fuck did they go?”

The man in the torn T-shirt began pushing past them up the steps, shouting after the helicopter. “Here! I’m here.” He reached the top, disappeared, still shouting.

She could see the others looking up the steps after him. One of the girls began to move past her. She put her hand on the girl’s arm.

“We should—” said the girl.

“We can’t.”

“He is the only adult,” said Arno very quietly.

“I know,” she said. “But we are not going to do that.”

She swung the backpack off her shoulder, took off her dress.