“We know that, Mom,” Sadina piped in, “but there had to be something else. For all three of you.”

Wilhelm was the oldest and crankiest of the three, the one who seemed most likely to have dreamed as a child about taking over the island and becoming dictator someday. So his reply surprised Isaac.

“I was sick of that place,” the older, bald, tired, wrinkled man said. “I’ll be honest with you all. I didn’t care much about Kletter’s reasons. I just wanted off that island, a chance to see the world. It was a prison to me. Always was.”

“Same,” Alvarez agreed, he of few words. “Same.” He of one word, for the moment.

“What about you, Mom?” Sadina asked.

Ms. Cowan shrugged. “Maybe there was a little of that. Or a lot, I don’t know. But if there’s even a small chance that a few samples of your blood or whatnot can change the world for the better, we have to take it. And I know you agree with me, sweetie. It’s not like we haven’t talked this to death already.”

Sadina only nodded, then gave her mom a quick side-hug.

“You’ll all feel better soon,” Kletter said. “If it makes you happy, when we reach the Villa, you can have a knife to my throat and slit it the moment you think you’ve been betrayed. You won’t be. You’ll finally know we did the right thing in coming back.

The Villa. At some point she’d started referring to her mythical compound with this fancy moniker, as if they should know what it meant.

Lacey surprised them all when she was the one to respond. “I’ll do it. I’ll have the knife to her throat.” She shrugged. “Just in case, ya know.”

Kletter smiled, a curiosity more rare than Lacey speaking. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

That kind of shut everyone up for a while.

They reached the steeper incline of the foothills.

Businesses and shops transitioned to once-bright, dilapidated homes, their yards gone rogue with hideous, choking weeds that could survive with little water. Each and every house looked haunted to Isaac. No one said much as they made their way through the creepy neighborhoods. If the others were like him, it took every breath just to get air to their lungs—not enough left over for talk. Two weeks of doing absolutely nothing on a boat is not an ideal exercise regimen, and he was really feeling the effects of it. The quick, deep breaths racing through his mouth and throat dried them to a desert landscape.

“Anyone got water left?” he asked in a rasp, the first person to have uttered a word in at least an hour.

“Aren’t you sick of water after floating on it for two weeks?” Miyoko retorted.

Isaac gave her a look.