are things worth crying over. You’ll be made of steel again in the morning, but for now you weep. Come inside, and I’ll make some cocoa for you.” She rubbed my arms briskly.
I wished I could have pulled it together then, in the face of her generosity, but it only made me cry harder. She installed me at the kitchen table and didn’t ask a single question. By the time the cocoa was gone, so were my tears, leaving behind a headache and a pile of tissues she wordlessly swept into the trash bin.
“Get some rest,” she suggested. I liked her way of taking care of people—nothing particularly maternal in it, just a gentle efficiency that recognized comfort alongside hunger and cold, a practical matter to be tended to. “And make sure you stay in. Mist tonight.” She rose. All the warmth went out of me.
Mrs. Popova lived on the island. She’d lived on the island for ages. Which meant she knew. Knew that it wasn’t safe to go out in the mist, and not just because you couldn’t see where you were going. No wonder she hadn’t asked me any questions. She either didn’t want the answers, or she had them already.
I mumbled something that might have been “thank you” and stumbled back to my room. After dumping my bag on the bed, I went over to the small desk where I’d left my laptop. I turned it on and fumbled in my jacket pocket for the SD card Abby had handed me.
I wiped a bit of grit off the memory card and slid it into the slot. Video files popped up—Abby’s files, dozens of them since she’d arrived on the island. The last one was from the exact time she went into the bunker.
I started to press play, then stopped. There was someone else who needed to see this. Or maybe it was that I knew he’d want to see it, and that I could use it to make him see me.
I checked the time. Still an hour before the mist was expected to roll in. A light rain had started up, a thin layer of gray clouds rolling over the sky. I packed up my laptop and hurried out of the house, shutting the door lightly behind me so that I wouldn’t disturb Mrs. Popova.
Dr. Kapoor’s house was on the inward curve of the island, facing Belaya Skala. It took me only a few minutes to get there, crunching over the gravel road and weaving around potholes. I walked up to the front door and knocked.
I had to wait a long time before Liam appeared, his hair and clothes rumpled. He’d showered and changed, at least, but his eyes looked hollow. As soon as he saw who was at the door, he started to close it.
“Wait,” I said. I stuck out my hand, catching the door. “We need to talk.”
“We really don’t,” Liam said.
“I know you’re angry with me. Just let me explain.”
“Explain how you’re a sociopath? Or possibly a robot?” he asked.
I glared at him. “We’re in this together whether we like each other or not,” I said. “And I have Abby’s camera. If you want to know what happened to you two, you’d better let me in.”
He stared at me for the space of three quick heartbeats, then simply turned and walked inside, leaving the door open. I followed him in, shutting the door behind me. And, after a moment’s consideration, doing up all three heavy locks.
Liam’s room was at the back of the house. There was just enough space for a small desk, a bookshelf, and a bed. In typical teenage fashion, he hadn’t unpacked, and a large suitcase filled with unevenly folded clothes sat crammed in the corner. A few books—science fiction, mostly—were stacked on top of the bookshelf, but the only other hint of personalization was a line of collected objects on the windowsill—seashells, stones, and yet another little carving, this one of a deer. Mikhail’s work.
Liam had sat on the bed, hands laced around one knee. “All right,” he said. “Let’s see it.”
I took out the laptop. “You’re sure you want to?” I asked.
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’d rather know. But it should be your choice.”
“I want to see,” he insisted.
I sat beside him and started the video.
VIDEO EVIDENCE
Recorded by Abigail Ryder
JUNE 30, 2018, 8:22 AM
Abby’s breath is loud as she follows Liam into the bunker. The change in light is too much for the camera, and the scene goes dark for