She struggled free of the woman’s grasp and twisted around.

And screamed.

Bryce was covered in them. His chest, arms, shoulders…all boiling with black, swarming infestation. His jaw opened and closed soundlessly, his eyes bloodshot and vacant. The knife, Eva noticed, was stuck deep into one shriveling thigh.

“Get back, Mike,” Stacy said through her own tears. “For God’s sake, get away from him.”

“The knife ….” Mike said lamely.

“Fuck the knife!” Stacy screamed, and Mike nodded and stepped another rock away from where Bryce was sitting, the creatures running through him like water, devouring his flesh so fast that he appeared shrink before their eyes.

Eva put her face into her hands and sobbed. She couldn’t look at him anymore. Part of her—a part that was likely dead forever—wondered if he’d had an engagement ring in the pocket of that swimsuit, tucked into the pocket on the inside of the waistband that you used for keys when you couldn’t leave them safely on shore. Maybe she could check, later, after the rest of him was gone—had been eaten—maybe then she could check for a ring.

They wouldn’t eat the suit, would they? It was such a stupid question, she thought. I must be in shock, because otherwise I’d still be screaming. Screaming because my boyfriend, the man I share my bed with, is turning black and crispy just a few feet away, being eaten alive, in fact. How very odd it all is. Yes … I’d surely be screaming.

But she was screaming. And Stacy clutched her as best she could, grabbed her and held her while she wailed and wept and baked beneath the hot, careless sun.

HOURS LATER, MANU’S BOAT CAME puttering back into the harbor.

Eva, Mike, and Stacy were perched on the highest rocks they could safely get to.

What was left of Bryce had fallen over into the sand, where the remaining flesh had been quickly covered. He’d been reduced to nothing but black dust on a brown stone, a blue swimsuit, and a blackened, skeleton-thin husk of the man he’d once been.

His teeth are still white, Eva noticed. But his blue eyes were gone. And his hair looked brittle and dark, the luscious, blonde-streaked russet color somehow sucked dry.

Eva remained free of the creatures in the sand. She was badly sunburned but couldn’t bring herself to care.

Mike and Stacy had spoken softly with one another—too softly for Eva to overhear—over the last few hours, and she figured Mike was making his case for a run to the trees.

For help.

But after seeing what happened to Bryce, seeing what those things did close-up, Eva thought Mike seemed less enthusiastic about stepping off the rocks, rubber booties or no.

As the boat neared the beach, all three survivors stood to watch.

Manu didn’t wave this time, and Eva could make out an uncharacteristic frown on his handsome face.

“Think we disappointed him,” Mike said.

“Good,” Stacy replied, without enthusiasm.

Eva looked at the other two. “He thought we’d be dead.”

Mike nodded. “He certainly doesn’t seem as exuberant as he was earlier.”

They all continued watching as Manu parked the boat thirty feet off their position, cut the engine, and lowered the anchor once more.

“I wonder,” Mike said.

“What?” Eva asked, seeing that Stacy was eyeing him hotly.

“Well, if I could get to that boat before he pulled in the anchor ….”

“Across the sand,” Stacy snapped. “And don’t forget he has that stupid spear.”

“True,” Mike said, but Eva didn’t think he sounded worried. Mike looked to be in better-than-average shape. Lean and rippling with muscle. She wondered if he had some sort of combat experience. He seemed comfortable enough with that knife, anyway.

“Hello again!” Manu addressed them once more from the bow of the gently rocking boat.

He’s trying to put on a good face, but I don’t think he’s happy at all, Eva thought.

“You guys are hard to kill!” He flashed a smile. “That’s okay! Like I said, more interesting for me!”

“This might be our only chance,” Mike said quietly, head bent toward Stacy. “The scuba shoes will protect my feet. I can make it to that boat in three minutes flat. There’s no way he could get the anchor up and the engine started before I reach him.”

“And a spear in the eye for your trouble!” she retorted, and Eva winced at how loudly she’d said it. She didn’t want Manu hearing Mike’s idea.

Personally, she was all for it. Mike was right, he would be protected with those rubber booties. And if he could overpower Manu, then they could all get out of here. They could take turns with the shoes, maybe. There had to be a way!

“Eva, stand aside, would you?”

“Mike, please don’t ….”

“It’s this or we die. Right here. All of us. It could be our only chance.”

Eva stepped carefully to another rock, her eyes lowering to the spot where Bryce had crumpled. She saw the glimmer of the knife, fallen free of Bryce’s thigh, which now looked more like beef jerky than flesh.

“Mike,” she said, pointing.

He followed her finger to the knife. “Can you grab it?”

It seemed a small risk compared to what Mike was willing to do. It was stuck between two rocks, so Manu couldn’t see it. She slowly bent her knees, minding her balance while watching the sand for movement.

There was some subtle activity near Bryce’s corpse, but the handle was above the sand. Only the blade was buried. She lowered her hand, slowly, gripped the handle, and pulled the blade free. She waggled the knife a little to throw off any loose sand still clinging to it.

“Looks okay,” Mike said, wiping his mouth. “I don’t think they care about stuff that’s not, you know, organic.” He spoke the words softly, and Eva hoped he was right.

She straightened, keeping her body between the knife and Manu, who was likely watching from the water. Mike pinched the metal blade between two fingers and gave it another little shake. Finally, he gripped the handle in one fist.

They all held their breath.

A bead of nervous sweat dripped off his chin. “Think it’s okay.” He exhaled with obvious relief, then deftly turned the knife in his hand so that the metal was hidden by his forearm.

This guy is definitely military, Eva thought. Either that or he’s a helluva boy scout.

“Good luck,” she said.