“Is that your daughter?” I still didn’t know why this lady chose to sit next to me when seventy-five percent of the beach is empty, but honestly, I don’t mind the company.
“That’s my little headache, yes.” She softens her words with a wan smile, and I join her in a laugh.
I dig my toes in the sand and watch the stranger’s daughter run from the waves as they crash onto shore. Her shrieks of delight ruin any semblance of peace and quiet, but I find myself smiling each time she sprints to and from the water.
“She’s such a friendly girl. It’s a shame how lonely it is for her out here,” the woman murmurs. “When her father and I moved from Ain Shams, we really thought she would be happier. It was a big adjustment—I grew up in Cairo, and I never cared about living near the coast. This neighborhood isn’t the busiest, but the schools were strong, and we were only a few blocks away from the hustle and bustle in Hannoville. Her father could drive her to school on his way to work instead of putting her in a microbus and asking the driver to keep his eye on her. She could play outside without us worrying about creeps or reckless motorcyclists. It would be a quieter life, but a safer one.”
I gesture to where the families still play in the distance. “I’m sure it’ll happen. The community here seems really strong. She might just need some time.”
She doesn’t bother glancing toward the other beachgoers. “They won’t be here for long. Sooner or later, one generation or the next, they’ll leave. Chased out by the very thing that keeps the rest of us trapped.”
I raise my brows, but she’s distracted again, calling for her daughter to stop wading so deep in the water.
On the other side of the beach, the families disappear.
“They buy up our homes, and then they abandon them,” she continues. With a sharp tug, she pulls her hair free from its bun. Cascades of wavy amber hair fall past her shoulders. “They leave these rotting shells behind, and the rest of us stuck inside them.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” The wind picks up just as the clouds converge over the sun. “Who abandons the homes?”
“The ones with other choices. The ones who might be missed.” She pulls a strand of her hair from her mouth. The waves creep higher and higher up the shore, nearly reaching my ankles.
“But not all the people who stay are good.”
Sand flies into my eyes as the wind turns vicious, kicking mini sandstorms along the waterline. I shield my face and try to get up, but my body refuses. My limbs remain fixed beneath an immovable weight.
“Some of the ones who stay don’t care about a good or honest life. They just care about an easy one. A life without hardship. A life with all the resources they can spend, all the power they could need.” A tear drips down her cheek, and an odd red rash circles the bottom of her throat. “They make us mortal so they can be everlasting.”
The waves crash, soaking my clothes, and something hard bumps against my foot.
I lower my hand, still blinking out grains of sand. Everything inside me curdles, withering until I’m nothing but a whimper in the void.
The woman’s daughter lies at my feet. Bloated, eyes empty and staring.
Dead.
“Janna always trusted too easily.”
I lift my horrified gaze to see the woman’s neck snap into an impossible angle right at the spot where the red rash—rope burn,the functioning part of my mind whispers—covers her skin.
“Then again,” she says, blood oozing from the corner of her lip, “in the end, I suppose you did, too.”
It’s only when Janna grabs my hand, dragging me into the next wave sweeping toward us, that I remember I can scream.
Iopen my eyes to Jesse’s face hovering inches from mine, his phone’s flashlight inches from my face.
The tense lines of his face melt in relief. He utters a low oath and sits back on his haunches. “God, Mansour. You nearly killed me.”
My gaze slides past Jesse and lands on a figure sprawled out by the first stall. Mr. Hale.
“Is he okay?” I whisper.
Jesse snorts. “He’s fine. After you vanished, the thing started shrieking. I saw the orange drain out of his eyes before he collapsed. I checked his pulse, but I’m pretty sure he’s just sleeping.”
“Pretty sure?”
Jesse groans, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Positive. I am absolutely positive that Ronald Hale is in perfect condition and only in danger of catching a strain of whatever bacteria lives on this bathroom floor. Now, can we talk about youdisappearing?”
Bile burns in my throat. I maneuver around Jesse, trying to pull myself off the ground. A strong arm comes around my waist as I stumble, helping me to my feet.
