“Get up!” I yell at the zombified Jaelle, who, just as I last found her, sits on a log. Nothing. I shake her shoulder. Still nothing. Her eyes are open, and she stares ahead.

I take in the scenery. We’re at the shore. Waves crash over a sandy beach.

With quick glances left and right, I check on the boy and girl. They’re still there, but both appear agitated now. The baby girl sucks on her fist with her twitching mouth just one gasp away from a wail. The boy rocks back and forth with his knees folded into his chest and his eyes wide with fear.

Again the sand shifts under my feet, and I comprehend the precariousness of the situation. Unless I do something now, it will all slip away.

Spying a giant clamshell the size of a sink, I struggle through the collapsing terrain. The shell is massively heavy, and I lug it to the water’s edge on legs now cramping with each torturous step. A breaker slams a wall of cold water into me, but it also fills the shell.

The return trek is even more difficult. My outstretched arms grow weary with the weight of the makeshift basin, and it’s difficult not to spill.

Finally, I reach the still-catatonic Jaelle, and, with a heave-ho that almost bowls me over, too, I dump the seawater over her. She splutters, mumbling expletives; never am I so happy to be cussed out.

As Jaelle grumbles and pulls at her drenched nightgown, I gather the baby girl to my chest. She squirms, screaming with fear. I press her into Jaelle’s arms, and they both gasp and hush. A sob draws my eyes to the boy. He stands, wiping tears from his dirty cheeks and looks ready to run off. I hurry to him, grasping his warm, dry hand in mine.

A boom fills my ears as a giant roller crashes onto the beach. Water is rushing toward us. I scoop the boy up. Jaelle stands and the water reaches her knees. High ground is only a short jog away; Jaelle’s eyes are already focused there. I shift the boy onto my hip, readying for the climb, when I spot something floating in the water. I unclasp the boy’s hands from around my neck and thrust him — roughly, I regret — onto Jaelle’s back. “Run,” I yell, pushing her away from the still surging surf.

I don’t have time to contemplate what I’ve done, because it’s a body that’s borne by the current. I wade through the now-receding tide to find Marik facedown. I roll him over and can’t tell by his closed lids if he’s sleeping or unconscious or dead.

As I reach out to check for signs of life, a bird flits into view. A gull. It darts in and out just above my head so that I have to lift my eyes to swat at it. With the expanded view, I notice the beach is dotted with dozens of giant clamshells, all closed except for three that are hinged open and contain infants, gurgling and babbling.

I am momentarily filled with joy until the sound of an approaching wave roars in my ears. I watch as the shells close while another swell floods the area. I lift Marik under his arms, keeping his head above this newest deluge. When it recedes, the three shells not only remain closed but have been scattered and are indistinguishable from the others, now numbering in the hundreds.

The gull continues to hover and pester me. I bat at it until it wings away to a nearby shell, upon which it lands and begins cawing.

A sign? I rush over, the bird flies off, and I wrench the massive shell open. It’s empty. I fall back on my butt into the wet sand and survey a beach littered with closed shells. It’s a shell game, an impossible shell game. I scream in frustration.