‘No, I found his bike in the parking lot of the No-Names. He’s in there.’ I know I’m stumbling breathlessly over my words but I can’t make myself stop. ‘We have to go and find him.’

‘Mona – argh, shit,’ he says, and kneads his brow. ‘What in the hell is he doing in there?’

‘I don’t know. We had an argument, about Roxy, about everything, and he said he wanted to look for himself, and – I don’t know what could have happened. Anything could have happened. He wouldn’t stay out there that long unless he was hurt or worse. He gets nervous, he would’ve turned back. He –’

‘All right, relax, I –’

‘What? What? We need to go now! He’s in there for sure. I know for a fact he’s –’

‘Kid, I believe you, and you bet your ass I’m gonna be the first one out there looking for him, but this entire island is Category A,’ he says, voice raised now. He settles, blinking, in what seems like some silent apology. I understand. I want to scream too. ‘Everyone’s gearing up to evacuate. We need to get a party together, we – damn it! Why did he have to pick now?’ Booker mumbles something into his walkie-talkie.

He asks if Sylvia knows.

‘Not that he’s in the woods.’ How am I even speaking? I can feel my mouth moving and my vocal cords flexing but I don’t feel I am compelling any of these things to happen.

‘Shit,’ Booker says quietly, and frowns. ‘Well, I’m stayin’ either way.’

I’m silent, my gut twisting at the thought of Ellis lost and alone, hurt and scared, convinced he’ll never find his way back out. ‘Through the hurricane?’

He shrugs as though the answer’s obvious. I have to go with him. I have to go in. But the woods – I don’t want to go into the woods. I don’t want to go into the …

Mary Anne. I need to talk to her.

I give Booker my phone number and ask him to please call me, let me know when they’re going to start searching. Booker nods sadly and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘It’s gonna be OK. We’ll get him, we’ll get him.’

I have to believe him if I’m going to find the energy to will my body through the door of the police station and straight to The Island Spot.

The diner is empty and vaguely apocalyptic. No usual passers-by or joggers. The glass on the outside reflects the churning yellow of the sky. Round the back, there’s still the police tape from my antics, bits of window still scattered on the ground. Something about it makes me feel powerful in a way I haven’t before.