She bent over by the screened window and dug her thumb into the thick skin until it broke through, then she began peeling. Juice squirted all over her hands as she tore a section loose and bit into it. Juice, sweet and tangy, gushed onto her tongue. Delicious! She pushed the rest of the section into her mouth and was tearing another free when she noticed something funny about the taste. It wasn’t a bad taste, but it wasn’t a good taste either. She took a bite of the second section. It tasted the same.

Suddenly she was frightened. What if the orange was rotten? Maybe that’s why Jack wouldn’t let her have any this morning. What if it made her sick?

Panicked, Vicky bent and shoved the rest of the orange under the bed—she’d sneak it into the garbage later when she had a chance. Then she strolled as casually as she could out of the room and over to the bathroom, where she washed the juice off her hands and drank a Dixie Cup full of water.

She hoped she didn’t get a stomach ache. Mommy would be awfully mad if she found out about sneaking the orange. But more than anything, Vicky prayed she didn’t throw up. Throwing up was the worst thing in the world.

Vicky returned to the living room, averting her face so no one could see it. She felt guilty. One look at her and Mommy would know something was wrong. The weather lady was saying that tomorrow was going to be hot and dry and sunny again, and Mr. Grossman started talking about drought and people fighting over water. She sat down and hoped they’d let her watch The Partridge Family after this.

9

The dark bow of the freighter loomed over Jack, engulfing him in its shadow as he stood on the dock. The sun was sinking over New Jersey, but there was still plenty of light. Traffic rushed by above and behind him. He was oblivious to everything but the ship before him and the clatter of his heart against his ribs.

He had to go in. There was no way around it. For an instant, he actually considered calling the police, but rejected the idea immediately. As Kolabati had said, Kusum was legally untouchable. And even if Jack managed to convince the police that such things as rakoshi existed, all they were likely to do was get themselves killed and loose the rakoshi upon the city. Probably get Kolabati killed, too.

No, the police didn’t belong here, for practical reasons and for reasons of principle: This was his problem and he would solve it by himself. Repairman Jack always worked alone.

He had put Gia and Vicky out of harm’s way. Now he had to find Kolabati and see her to safety before he made a final move against her brother.

As he followed the wharf around to the starboard side of the ship, he pulled on a pair of heavy work gloves he had bought on his way over from Fifth Avenue. There were also three brand new Cricket butane lighters—three for $1.47 at the department store—scattered through his pockets. He didn’t know what good they would do, but Kolabati had been emphatic about fire and iron being the only weapons against rakoshi. If he needed fire, at least he would have a little of it available.