SHELTER

The party was at Jackson’s place, at the end of an unpaved road, on the eastern tip of the island. In good weather, it was a forty-five-minute drive from town. The weather wasn’t good. The rain had fallen for three days, sometimes turning lighter, even to a drizzle, but never once letting up.

People said Jackson was staring to lose it out there in that old shack he’d been renovating for the last nine months. When he tore the walls down to the studs, it…