“What are we going to do?” Chase asks, frantic, once they disappear from view. “We can’t let him kill Dad!”

Straw Hat and Hawaiian Shirt look at each other helplessly. “Hemslock and Gries worked together for years,” Hawaiian Shirt says, in a bid to be comforting. “I’m sure Hemslock’s bluffing.”

He doesn’t succeed.

“He killed Steve Galant,” Chase says. “He killed Karl Rosmussen.”

Hawaiian Shirt flounders. “Er. It’s—”

“I don’t know what we can do, Chase,” Melissa says. “They’ve got all the guns. Maybe they’ll have it out with the god and wind up killing each other. And—and it kinda sounds like Mr. Gries was even worse than Mr. Hemslock in a lot of ways, you know? I don’t know if the god’s gonna let him go.”

Chase looks down, unable to contest that.

Melissa turns to me. “Would the god protect Mr. Gries? He regrets what he’s done, right?”

My throat is tight when I respond, “That might not be enough.”

“Seems to me there’s a lot of shit going on here that you knew about but didn’t share,” Hawaiian Shirt says angrily. “What the hell is Hemslock going on about? How did he control those things? And he’s related to fucking Lindsay Watson?”

“He’s just as unhinged as his cultist aunt,” Straw Hat says. “I ain’t getting paid enough for this shit.”

“I bet he has all of Lindsay Watson’s research and that’s what makes him so sure he can…” Melissa mutters. “If he can sacrifice all three—then he could potentially—”

She stops abruptly because we all hear it: familiar roaring sounds from above, growing louder with each passing moment.

“Holy shit!” Hawaiian Shirt is off toward the beach, waving his hands above his head, yelling frantically at the helicopter that has appeared from behind the clouds. It’s heading directly toward us. In a flash, Straw Hat, Melissa, and Chase are by his side, whooping and yelling. The others run to join our efforts.

We draw back as the helicopter finds solid ground, the rotors slowing to a stop.

“The Hollywood crew on the mainland sent for us,” says the pilot. There are only two people inside—him and a medic in uniform. “There was a bad storm, and we couldn’t fly out earlier.”

“You have no idea how glad we are to see you,” Straw Hat says fervently.

“It’ll take two or three trips to get everyone out of here safely. Is this all of you?”

The others exchange glances, as if not sure how much to tell him. Hawaiian Shirt is the highest ranked of the crew, and he takes charge. “We’ll tell you everything you want to know after we’re all back in Leyte,” he says brusquely. “And man, do we have a story for you. Come on, y’all. Get on board. Injured first.”

He extends his hand to me, but I shake my head. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”

“You out of your mind, kid? Hemslock’s lost. He’s only going to shoot you again—”

The medic is already out of the helicopter and assessing my wounds. “You’ll need to have this treated,” she says, “and I doubt the facilities here are enough. What happened here?”