"So… how do we make it out of this…" I waved a hand around at the muddy, rocky shore we'd crawled up onto. "Island?"
"Coast," Elena corrected, her voice barely above a whisper. She hugged herself tightly, her clothes still dripping, her skin pale but determined.
"It doesn't matter what you call it, girls," Carl said, standing tall, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. "All that matters is how we find the others… and get out of here alive."
The sun had dropped behind the treetops. A golden afterglow hugged the edge of the water like a false promise of warmth. I glanced at Grace—she was still trembling but conscious. That was a miracle in itself. Cal had carried her for so long, I could see his exhaustion settling behind his eyes, like smoke after fire.
