Miss Manners sizzles, the boys so much more successful at getting under her skin than I was. “THE POINT,” she roars, “is we always come back tougher and harder than before. We’re cockroaches.”

“Oh, and you think we’re not?” I ask, closing the gap between us and bringing the splintered end of my spear against her bare shoulder. The gray-shirts raise their spikes and hover them in place, one lunge away from my skull.

Neither Miss Manners nor I blink.

The clinic door clangs open on Marcos’s strong kick, and the gray-shirts retreat. My boyfriend shuffles down the stairs with his spear in one hand and a large, bulging duffel bag in the other. “Got it all: everyone’s passports, phones, and money,” he reports as Briggs emerges gripping the limp, black body bag of Drew’s remains. The beast lumbers down the stairs with his ill-gotten love, his own eyes red and damp as he holds the boy in both arms, as if presenting a sacrificial offering to the crowd.

It’s so ugly, I can’t even watch or attempt to find meaning in it. It’s meaningless.

My heart pumps no blood, only venom, and I’m tired of this place and these people. “Get out of our way,” I order, but nobody flinches.

Rough soil crunches as two of my friends flank me from behind: Molly and Darcy, waving a spear and a small, rusted machete. “Maybe you didn’t hear him,” Molly says. “My friend tends to mumble. He said, ‘MOVE.’”

Miss Manners seethes, her lemony-cute chest pumping with hatred. She clicks her crimson talons, as if longing to give Molly one more good swipe.

“Move,” Darcy orders. “Or you’ll get moved.”

“You said it yourself, you got nothing to lose,” I say, shrugging.

With that, Miss Manners takes a long, deliberate step backward, and her army of gray-shirts and baffled lunch ladies follow her, providing a clear path onward into darkness. Remembering my arrival from last night, the clinic is the first sign of life on the island. The journey to the beach will require us to leave the beaten path and enter raw wilderness.

Our amoeba reforms without another word. With Briggs’s arms full, I claim his torch and lead my pack away from Nightlight for good.

The moment we set eyes on the beach, several people burst into tears—and not the ones I expect, either. Darcy bubbles over, almost hyperventilating into Lacrishia’s shoulder, as she explains, “I haven’t—I haven’t seen this since the day I got here.” Lacrishia pets her girlfriend’s head as her chest heaves in an attempt to corral her own unexpectedly frantic emotions.