I left the others to go down to the shore for a good wash. 

The mere act of cleaning myself calmed my stomach a bit, and maybe Pamela had gone that way, too. I didn't find her there, though. 

After rinsing my hands and face, I looked out onto the open sea. The water lay still this morning, dark blue at my feet but reflecting the golden dawn towards the horizon. 

Endless.

And it didn't give a shit about our plight.

I turned my back on it and headed towards the ravine that would take me to the campsite. Maybe Pamela had gone off exploring the island. She might have returned to the others now.

As I scaled a brownish slab of stone, a sprinkling of pebbles rolled down the slope to my left.

I froze.

"Pamela?"

The slope was mostly scree and rocks, with a few plants clinging to the crevices.

More pebbles, a few yards ahead of me. Something moved up there, furry gray, the size of a guinea pig. It disappeared in a crack.

A mouse or a rat. Maybe.

My stomach cramped again.

When I returned to the others, our co-pilot was still gone. We searched the shrubs around the campsite once more, shouting her name and shooing up the birds.

But there was no reply.

I found the others sitting around Chris Pond—without Pamela. 

I joined them, sitting next to Farid. "Any sign of her?"

He shook his head. "No. And you shouldn't walk off on your own."

I shrugged. This island was too small for predators, and I was careful. Pamela was probably just exploring. Hopefully.

"I'm worried for her," Nita said. Her face was pale, from sickness or worry. "No one should be alone after..." She gestured at the sea. "After what we've been through."

"Right." Yves nodded. He didn't look much better.

"My..." She gulped. "I went back home to India because my nani died, my grandmother. We... were very close, but I wasn't there for her on the day she went. I was on the other side of the world."

"I'm sorry to—" Yves began.

Nita held up her hand. "It's okay. When I went to the United States, I knew this might happen, and she knew, too. She was over ninety years old. And we did have a proper goodbye when I left. And she died with family around her. Still..."

"But Pamela hasn't died," Chris said. "She's probably just exploring the island." He made an irritated face as he gestured towards the hills.

"That wouldn't be like her," I said, irritated by the lack of empathy in his voice. "She wouldn't walk off just like that. She'd have told someone."

No one commented on this.

Maybe she really had walked off, sick of our petty quarreling. Then the stomach cramps had hit her hard, and she was now suffering somewhere, unable to return. We couldn't just let this rest. My stomach might give me trouble, but I didn't want to abandon Pamela out there.

"We need a search party," I said. "I'll go looking for her. Is anyone coming along?"

"I am sorry, Megan," Yves said, "I feel too bad in my stomach."

Nita, at his side, shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Chris snorted. "Let's wait for her a little longer. If she doesn't turn up before noon, there's still time to set up a search. It's not as if she can run far."

I looked at Farid and Bruna. They still seemed unaffected by whatever we had caught. I envied them.

"I'll come with you," Farid said.

Bruna frowned at him. "You're sure you're up to this?"

"Yes, why not?"

She shrugged, then she looked at me. "I can't, alas." She gestured at her legs.

The skin visible between her charred trousers and black shoes had a pinkish hue, much of the scab and blisters that I had seen there was gone. She seemed to be recovering well enough. 

But she didn's seem to be one to go out of her way to help others.

Clenching my teeth at another twitch of my stomach, I got up. "Okay, let's go."

We started along the same trail that I had taken with Pamela the day before yesterday, heading for the flat hill in the south.

The pain in my belly abated somewhat while we ascended in silence.

As we reached the top, the sun hovered still low over the eastern horizon, bathing the island in a warm light. To the west, a massive front of clouds had piled up, their dark bellies the color of lead, untouched by the sunshine. A gust of wind hit us as we stood and scanned the land for the black and white of Pamela's uniform.

It wasn't in sight.

"Looks like a storm's coming up," Farid said. "We should head back soon."

"We can have a quick look at the north peak first."

We descended into the depression between the two hills. The beach I had visited with Pamela sprawled to the left of us, and the north peak loomed straight ahead. From this point, its volcanic origins showed clearly in its flanks of petrified lava. They still were bright with the light of the sun while a vanguard of the clouds started to invade the sky above us.

"Let's check this out." I pointed upwards. "I guess Pamela might have been tempted by it." It did tempt me, at least. I loved the mountains. It was a passion I had caught from my husband. On our honeymoon, we had spent some weeks in Yosemite, scaling rocks and climbing peaks.

"And what about the storm?"

"The peak is not that high." I felt better, and the tension of the oncoming tempest had charged me up with restless energy.

"The way up to the top of a mountain is always longer than you think," he said.

I nodded, my gaze searching the rocky slabs and crannies for the best path up. "Yes. But the Lord has given us mountains to rise above our lowly selves."

He chuckled. "Good one. Mine's from Coelho. Yours?"

"It's from me." But it was something that Pamela might have said.

I tore my gaze from the rocks and looked at him. A rare smile played on the corners of his lips. It disappeared; he nodded and started the climb.

The rough rock provided a secure foothold, and scaling the hill's flanks wasn't as hard as it had looked. The familiarity and effort of climbing soothed me.

We ascended quickly, Farid a couple of steps ahead, moving deftly. He seemed to be familiar with mountains, too.

When he finally stopped, I joined him. My breath and the unsteady thrum of the wind were the only things disturbing the silence. We were on a plateau at the top and had left the constant chatter of the birds behind, below us.

At the north edge of the peak, a small section of the wall of the original caldera still stood, like a ragged tooth of a long-dead predator. Beyond it, dark clouds were piling up in the sky. They made me shiver even though the air was warm against my skin.

"The crater has caved in." Farid nodded at the debris before us. His voice was steady, unfazed by the ascent.

"Yeah," I nodded while still fighting for my breath. "Looks so. And the stink here reminds me of Chris Pond." A faint smell of sulfur hung in the air in spite of the wind from the east.

We toured the top, looking down the flanks at the north side.

"Pamela isn't here." Frustrated, I sat down on a black rock and faced west.

The front of the storm had come closer. Next to the island, the sea was almost black and the clouds a metallic gray. Further out, the two blurred where long, ghostly sheets of rain hung between them.

My back, though, was still heated by the sunshine.

The stormscape flickered with mute lightning.

"You should be careful," Farid said, breaking the silence of the spectacle.

He stood beside me—arms crossed, his gaze taking in the soundless onslaught from the east.

"Careful?" I didn't understand what he was talking about.

He glanced at me, then waved a hand at the island. "This place, it gives me the creeps."

I looked left and right, at the rocks and the greenery below us. It all seemed peaceful, still glowing in the sunlight. But the oncoming storm and the sulfuric scent made me shiver.

"What's wrong with it?" My mind was unwilling to go with the uneasiness in my guts—an uneasiness that may not only have been born from stale water or strange fruits.

"I don't know." He rubbed his arms. "The day before yesterday, we found the body of that man. And then it was gone. Today, we wake up, and Pamela is gone, too. I don't like this. I think it's best not to walk around the island alone."

"Why? This place is certainly too small for large predators."

"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. Just... don't wander this place alone." He gazed out at the sea. Black stubble had populated his bronze chin as he watched the clouds.

I was tempted to say something about a man's intuition. But the way he stood there—hands clasping his forearms, lower lip sucked in, dark-eyed gaze on the horizon—he looked worried. It stopped me from mocking him.

"Very well." I nodded as the warmth was swept off my back. The vibrant colors of the rocks around us bleached into shades of gray.

The clouds had blotted out the sun.