They pulled Wendell out into the corridor, and the gamy reek of the cell came with him. They stood him up, but he stumbled as if his legs were asleep, and his head wobbled. He looked to each of them, squinting, blinking. They sat him on the floor, his back against the wall. He was covered in purple-and-blue bruises, scrapes and crimson marks, the stains of excrement. Jock checked him out like a medic would, feeling here and tugging there. Wendell let him, his arms out like a baby boy hoping for a piggyback ride. Meanwhile Kanani peeled a smashed cockroach off his ribs. She stroked his upper arm, kissed his head, his greasy hair.

Jock nodded at her that Wendell was fit enough to move.

“I’ll live,” Lett grunted.

“We came for you,” Kanani said, “we gonna get you out.”

“We’re a team,” Jock said, “me and her and you. Can’t just go and leave you here.”

Wendell raised a hand to shield his eyes and they widened, bloodshot but aware, adjusting to the caged light bulbs above. A smile spread across his face. Kanani grinned, gasped. Jock laughed. And Wendell laughed, his voice cracking.

***

Kanani and Jock carried Wendell between them on their shoulders and hurtled him down the corridor, his feet dragging but doing their best to help push himself along. They turned back, passed the stairs leading up, and slowed as they neared the first corridor.

Kanani propped Wendell against the wall. Jock pulled out the small revolver and peered around the corner. The corridor was empty and the debris still there, the door to the room closed.

Kanani saw Jock’s lungs heaving, pumping. She knew what he was feeling. A heat kept surging through her chest and up her neck. It was the bloodlust, and it was transforming her, too. Now it became a revenge lust, that marauder of the aftermath. A plunderer. Dark thoughts filled her mind. They were going to finish off those two vile fuckers in that room, make damn sure they were goners. She and Jock were gonna carve them up for what they did to Wendell and plenty, too, just like a kālua pig for roasting in a pit but without the care and good cheer. “You better believe it,” Jock muttered as if reading her thoughts, a sick smile spreading on his face. Let it happen, a snarling sweet voice told her. Let it feel powerful. The Marine was nineteen again, and she one tough tita.

They reached the break room door, Jock’s shoulder gliding along the wall, the revolver an extension of his fist. He waved Kanani over to him. She brought Wendell, who stared at the blood-splattered debris, his hands balled at his chest as if he’d done all this himself and it was only now coming back to him.