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believed that cremation was necessary to release their souls. Emily didn’t know what she believed, but she would do everything in her power to stop him.
    Trembling, she slowly faced her parents, almost expecting them to be angry with her for yelling at Kevin. Father’s usual stern expression was gone, replaced by a look of wonder, like he was having a peaceful dream. A gold bracelet with a red ruby dangled from Mother’s wrist.
    Emily broke down and sobbed.
    Her brother entered the room carrying a pot. He walked up to her and blinked. “Emily, I won’t do it.”
    She bit her lip, unable to hold the gaze of his sad eyes. “Thank you.”
    When Kevin put the pot on the floor, Emily saw that it held water and a sponge. She knew immediately what he was planning to do. He gently pulled the covers back. Next he folded up the bottoms of Father’s pajamas and wrung out the sponge, ready to begin the Hindu ritual of washing the dead.
    Emily could not watch, or remain in the room, or even the house. Downstairs, she drew in a deep breath, a final memory of spices. When she stepped outside, she knew she would never return.
    * * *
    An hour after Kevin had returned from his house, Jordan was standing behind him, watching him type furiously on his laptop.
    “I’m in!” Kevin shouted.
    Jordan pumped his fist. “Yes!” Now they could check their email. He hoped that his mother had sent them an email, explaining where she was and what they should do. And he’d write back. But he wouldn’t tell her about Dad. Not yet.
    Emily, tuning her violin on the couch nearby, showed no reaction to her brother’s announcement that he had connected to the internet. She’d been glum ever since she had returned from her house. Jordan was just glad she hadn’t gone into shock again. Upstairs, Abby was putting Toucan down for a nap. His sister would be as excited as he was.
    “I’ve only established a wireless connection to the router in my house,” Kevin added a moment later. “It’s going to take much longer to access the internet.”
    Jordan’s spirits sank. “How much longer?” he asked.
    Kevin kept his eyes glued to the screen. “Assuming the internet still works, a few hours maybe. I need to generate an IP address.”
    IP address. Whatever that was. Tired of looking over Kevin’s shoulder, Jordan winced when he took a step. His ankle was sore from twisting it when he had jumped down half the flight of stairs. His stomach didn’t feel much better, still knotted up from the encounter with the coyotes.
    His mind hurt the most. Horrible images of what he had seen and experienced visited repeatedly without warning.
    He wanted to find something to do. Solve a problem. Keep his mind so busy that there would be no room for dark thoughts.
    He searched for a nautical chart of the strait between Castine Island and the Maine coast. If no one came for them soon, they might have to cross the twenty-mile stretch of ocean to get help. He’d devise a plan.
    Jordan finally found a chart of the strait in a kitchen drawer. Laminated in plastic, it was actually a placemat. Even though it was old and hard to read through the coffee stains, Jordan was happy to have it. The chart gave accurate water depths and shoal markings. One lighthouse, though, had not operated for at least five years.
    He considered two ways of reaching the mainland. Each way had pros and cons, including serious dangers. A commercial fishing boat offered the fastest passage. Several trawlers would be at the docks, having returned to port to refuel, unload fish, pick up a fresh crew. With the crew and captain likely dead, he saw no problem in taking the boat. How difficult would it be to drive one? He was confident he could do it. On the ferry one time Dad took him to the bridge and the captain let him steer and control the throttle all the way to the mouth of Portland Harbor. The ferry was ten times bigger than a trawler. The problem with a fishing trawler was that it rode low in