Gail and I shouted for help. Gunther told us not to bother, that even if someone was close enough to hear, the truck’s engines would blot out our cries. Even gunshots would be muffled.

He moved to the rear of the truck and squatted down against its wall. “There is one car that patrols the roadways of the entire island and the approach from Yerba Buena. It passed here at 11:50. It won’t be back again until two A.M. We’ll be dead long before that.”

I looked at the mechanism that sealed the door shut to see if it had any vulnerable spots, but there was simply nothing to shoot at. Everything was on the outside. Still, I had to try. I pointed the gun at a big metal hinge, angling my body so that, with luck, the shot wouldn’t ricochet into me, and fired. The result was negligible. The hinge ended up slightly chipped, and there was some scorching around it. I shot again. I could have fired until the gun was empty and we’d be just as dead.

I’d heard that it could take less than ten minutes for even a moderate amount of carbon monoxide to make someone unconscious in a closed garage. Already I could feel the effects of the gas. I felt far more fatigued than I’d been a minute earlier, and dizzy. My head was beginning to ache, sending a very sharp and throbbing pain into both sides of my skull. My feet were getting weighty.

Gail said, “We have to block the vent. Make Gunther give us his clothes.”

Gunther scoffed. “Do you think I would have designed it so that half a laundry basket of clothing could obstruct the gas? This truck can kill up to sixty people without taxing itself. Look for yourself— the vent is the length of the trailer.”

He slumped forward over his raised knees. “Exertion only speeds death. Carbon monoxide combines with the blood more quickly than oxygen and is reluctant to leave. The best hope you have is to do nothing.”

I turned to face Gail. It greatly saddened me that she looked so lovely. “I can’t just stand here waiting to die!” Gail cried, which was a mistake because her ensuing sharp intake of breath caused her to double up in wracking spasms. I was able to grab her before she hit the floor, and I helped her to the back of the truck. I set her down against the wall next to Gunther, who, despite his lack of movement, was beginning to cough as if from the croup.

My years of playing tenor sax were, for the moment, helping me fare better than the others. My lung capacity was surely greater, and I could go much longer between breaths.