Page 30 of Here for a Good Time

ELEVEN

“Ms. Poe,” Antonio says, watching as I dig around in my backpack. “Why do you have a pair of binoculars in your bag?”

“I was going to go bird-watching,” I reply as I produce the item.

“Since when do you bird-watch?” Zwe asks.

I shoot him a glare. “I was going to start here. Try a new hobby, get the creative juices flowing, remember? Maybe the main character in my new book is a bird-watcher.”

“A time-traveling, bird-watching protagonist?” he asks.

“Whatever,” I sneer, the best retort I can come up with on the spot. “Do you want to use the binoculars or not?”

“Yes, please,” Leila says, and I hand them over to her.

Too tired to produce any meaningful conversation, and still somewhat irked, I mainly stayed silent during our walk down to the beach; in contrast, Leila and Zwe talked.

A lot. The whole way. In some ways, it was like they were on a date.

An acute, sharp sensation poked at my solar plexus from behind the whole time, something that felt a lot like, frankly, jealousy.

But that was ridiculous, because what did I have to be jealous about?

Zwe and I had made up. And Leila is really, really great, the kind of girl who, if you met her in a club bathroom, would slide you an extra tampon from under the stall divider while giving you a pep talk about why you absolutely should not text your terrible ex.

All I was doing was being possessive, like a child who’s been forced to share her favorite toy with the new kid in class.

I tried to make small talk with Antonio, who turns out to be a great person to make small talk with when you don’t really want to talk because all you have to do is throw out a question like I wonder how many different types of berries are growing in this forest?

and he’ll take care of the rest. And while typically I’d be exhausted by a man who took over the majority of the conversation, in this case, that was precisely what I wanted until our trek reached level ground.

Now, we’re huddled against the wall of one of the beachfront villas, trying to get a gauge of the exact manpower we’re up against.

“There are two of them,” Leila says, binoculars pressed against her eyes. “They’re only patrolling up and down the pier.” Her head moves a few degrees to the left. “The resort boats are all still there.”

“They must be keeping them for their getaway,” I say.

“My babies,” Antonio murmurs. “No one will lay a hand on any of you, I promise.”

“Are they armed?” Zwe asks.

“Yes,” Leila says. “But I think we could take them.”

“How?” I ask.

She lowers the binoculars, a small smile on her lips indicating that she’s already got a plan.

“With a little help from—” Reaching into her back pocket, she takes out two long pieces of metallic silver.

“—my trusty friends,” she says, the sun reflecting off of the knives.

“Poe, I’m assuming you have a spare hair tie in that Swiss Army knife of a backpack? Preferably two?”

“Naturally.” I dig into the front zip pocket and retrieve two black ties.

“On an island, do you know what people’s number-one fear is? Because there’s nowhere to hide or run, apart from right in the ocean?” Her smirk tells me it’s a rhetorical question.

“What?” I ask.

“Fire.”

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” I mutter.

Zwe exhales, fingers folded into such tight fists that his knuckles are beginning to turn white. “Positive thinking,” he nonetheless replies.

“We’re about to find out,” Antonio says.

We managed to hop four bungalows over so that we’re as close as possible to the pier without being found.

From beside the next bungalow, the one directly facing the pier, Leila gives us a thumbs-up.

I watch her straighten from her crouched position, smoothing out her polo and tightening her ponytail as she gets ready.

She takes one step, pauses, and peeks into each of her long sleeves, where she’s tied the knives to her wrists with the hair ties.

When she’s satisfied, she slowly pushes her hands down in the air in front of her, as though reminding herself to remain calm. Then—

“Fire! Fire! You have to help me, there’s a fire!” Arms flailing, she rushes out into the open.

The intruders, who had had their masks attached to their elbows (assumedly because of the heat), scramble to put them back on. “Put your hands up!” one of them orders.

Leila obeys, and her run also slows down to a brisk walk. “I’m not armed!”

“Stop walking or I’ll shoot!” the other one barks.

“There’s a fire in the forest!” Leila screams, waving behind her. “Please! You have to put it out or it’s not going to matter if you shoot because we’re all going to die! You can take me hostage afterward, I don’t care! But there’s a fire!”

They’re still too far away for her to execute her plan. “There’s no smoke,” one of them says.

Leila groans, gesturing to imply that they can go see for themselves. “By the time you see the smoke, it’ll be too late. Do you have any idea how quickly wildfire spreads? Please, we have to get the fire extinguishers!”

Still flailing and shouting, she stumbles around, at one point pretending to almost trip backward on her own foot.

“Now,” Zwe says when the intruders have shifted enough that they’re both facing the ocean, their backs turned toward us.

We leave our shoes and bags behind, moving as briskly yet quietly as we can. On the plus side, the sand automatically mutes our movement, and the sound of the waves helps cover whatever other small noises we might make. The disadvantage is that having to power walk through sand is a real fucker.

My body freezes when I realize that the next step I take is the step—the point of no return. The step where, if even one of the masked people slightly pivots around, I’ll have nowhere to hide, no bush or bungalow steps to duck behind.

“I can’t,” I whisper to Zwe.

Pressure on the small of my back. A hand that has held mine through hundreds of terrifying scenarios.

“Just walk,” he whispers back. “Pretend it’s just us.”

I nod, and, gulping in air, will myself to pace forward and stay in step with the two of them.

The woman with a short pixie cut steps closer to Leila. Leila reacts appropriately, continuing to shift between acting scared and standing her ground. Perfect. Now to just get the other—

We all hear the engine at the same time. It’s unmistakable: blades slicing through water. A boat.

“Fuck! They’re early,” Antonio mutters as the vessel obliviously charges toward the pier.

He’s too distracted to notice his newfound attention. Having turned to locate the source of the noise, the two intruders have inevitably discovered us. “Hey! Don’t take another step!” Pixie Cut yells.

We raise our hands, Zwe yelling out, “Don’t shoot! We’re not armed!”

That doesn’t stop Pixie Cut from going to raise her rifle—but then she stops.

Leila’s removed the knives and has them pointed into the back of their necks. When she nods at us to signal that she’s got a handle on the situation, we approach.

“One word, one stray shot,” Leila warns.

“Give me a reason to slice your neck, I dare you. Now, slowly, give your guns to my friends here.” When they start lifting their weapons, Leila increases the pressure, digging the sharp metal tips deeper into their flesh.

Both of them flinch, but don’t say anything.

“I mean it, try something funny, and you’ll be fish food before anyone can find you. ”

After they’ve removed and handed over their guns to me and Zwe, Leila directs them toward the pier.

Now that they’ve taken off their masks and I see that they’re around our age, just like the first women who tackled us, I’m more convinced than ever that they’re all women, and that Leila mistakenly identified the two that captured her.

I make a note of one distinguishing feature each: Pixie Cut has a nose ring, and the other has freckles and roughly shoulder-length bleached hair (creatively, I’ve named her Bleached Hair).

They’re both Southeast Asian, too, although I can’t quite place their accents.

Bleached Hair has her light hair up in a ponytail, and when she turns around, I’m now close enough to see the same blob tattoo on the back of her neck; this time, I mentally trace it so that I can draw it later on.

Maybe it’s some sort of gang symbol that the police will be able to identify.

This whole time, the supply boat has been getting closer, close enough that I can make out people on it.

Unable to control my joy, I shoot up my hand and give large, frantic waves.

The person behind the wheel waves back, and I could cry at the mere sight of this stranger acknowledging that they see me.

This is it. We’re going home. I—

I know it’s not actually possible, but I swear the shot makes the whole pier vibrate.

“They spotted us!” Zwe yells as another shot leaves from the top of the resort and toward the boat.

It doesn’t hit the boat, but the vessel makes such a sharp swerve that it nearly topples over.

More fired shots hit the three resort boats that were tied to the pier, and the air is filled with the sounds of glass breaking and bullets ricocheting off of wood and metal.

“No!” I scream. “No, come back!” I go to run for the edge of the pier, already having decided that I’d rather jump into the ocean and try to swim to safety than spend another hour on this fucking island, but Zwe’s arm captures my waist. “Let me go!” I screech, hitting his forearm.

“I’ll swim! They’re so close! No! Come back!

Please! Please don’t leave us here! One of you, do something! ”

By the time I turn around, every inch of the picture has changed. It all happens in a literal blink of an eye, and I don’t even know it’s happened until I hear Leila yell, “They’re getting away! One of you shoot!”