Scar Island(17)

“What do I do if he talks to me?” Gerald asked, his voice high and fast.

“Just grunt,” Jonathan answered.

“He’s here,” Sebastian said. “Showtime.” Jonathan lowered his head and peeked out from beneath the coat.

The dingy metal boat was just pulling up to the algae-covered stone steps. It was the same boat that had dropped Jonathan off the day before, but this time, Patrick was alone.

“Hello, Mr. Vander!” Patrick shouted good-naturedly as the boat bumped up to the stairs. Gerald didn’t reply. Patrick leapt expertly out of the boat onto the steps, a rope tied to the boat in one hand and a canvas bag over his shoulder. Sebastian stepped down to meet him, the mailbag in his hand.

“I’ll trade ye,” Patrick said with a smile. Sebastian just held the bag out. Patrick shrugged and took it, then handed his own to Sebastian. “What’d ye do to get the supreme honor of being Mr. Vander’s little helper?” he asked with a wink.

Sebastian froze. “I … I … nothing.”

Jonathan winced from underneath Gerald.

Patrick squinted at Sebastian. “Ah. Well. Bet ye won’t be doin’ that again, now, will ye?” He looked past Sebastian, up to where Gerald stood atop Jonathan.

“How are ye there today, Mr. Vander?”

Gerald grunted. It sounded a little high and nervous to Jonathan. But Patrick only nodded and smiled with half his mouth. “Good to hear it.”

They all stood for a moment looking at each other.

Patrick cocked an eyebrow.

“Well,” he said. “Guess I best be off. Can’t stand here jabbering with ye all day, Mr. Vander.” He raised one hand to his forehead in a little salute and then waved. “Give me best to the Admiral, won’t ye?”

Gerald grunted again.

Patrick laughed and hopped into the boat. Looking back over his shoulder, he threw the boat into reverse and receded slowly away against the incoming waves.

All three boys watched him, holding their breath. When he was far enough out, Patrick whipped the boat around and gunned it, chugging toward the mainland. He didn’t look back.

Sebastian turned and walked up the stairs, a triumphant sneer on his face. “Nothing to it,” he said. Jonathan rolled his eyes.

Gerald hopped down from Jonathan’s back and tore the coat off like it was crawling with spiders. He threw the hat down on top of it.

“I’m never doing that again!” he cried.

Sebastian snorted and swung the big wooden door closed. “Yeah, you are. Mail comes tomorrow, too, you know.” Gerald’s shoulders slumped.

All the other boys were gathering around them. The rain had mostly stopped.

Sebastian stood shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan. He still had the cocky smile on his face.

“Well, boys, here we are,” he said. “Got the place all to ourselves. You’re welcome.”

They all stood looking at one another. A seagull shrieked from the top of the wall above them.

“Well, then,” Francis said, clearing his throat. “What should we do now?”

Sebastian looked at Jonathan and smiled, then looked back at the circle of questioning faces.

“Whatever the hell we want,” he said, and his grin widened even more. He cracked his knuckles and started walking through the circle, toward the door to the main building across the courtyard.

“Uh, Thebathtian?” Colin called after him, stopping him in mid-step. “What about the bodieth?”





They all turned and looked at the pile of soggy corpses. Sebastian stood with his mouth open, his eyebrows frowning.

Jonathan had already thought that through.

“The freezer,” he said. “Otherwise, they’ll—” He stopped and grimaced, then shrugged. “We have to put them in the freezer.”

Sebastian nodded at him. “That makes sense,” he said.

“The freezer’s a long ways away,” Tony said.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows at him. “Then we better get started.”



Sebastian did the math of eight bodies and sixteen boys and assigned each body to two boys. None of the pairs could get their body more than a few feet before dropping it with a stomach-twisting, meaty splash in a puddle, though.

Dead bodies are heavy, it turns out. When they’re wearing rain-drenched coats and wool trousers, they’re really heavy. And when they’re rain-soaked bodies of men being carried by a bunch of kids who don’t even really want to touch them, they’re almost impossibly heavy.

“Okay,” Sebastian barked, gasping for breath and still holding Mr. Warwick’s feet in his hands. “Two trips. Four people per body. Someone take one of these legs.”

The bodies were still heavy, but in teams of four, they at least managed to drag them toward the door. It was tough going, though. Curses and accusations echoed around the courtyard.

“Come on! You’re only pretending to hold that arm!”

“Lift higher! It’s hard to pull when his head’s dragging like that!”

“I am trying, Jason! His ankle is just too slippery!”

“No, not by the elbow, dummy! Grab under the armpits! Like this!”

“Gross! His tongue touched me!”

But, step by step, they got the bodies out of the courtyard and through the door and down the dark hallway and into the room where they’d eaten breakfast. The groups were spread out by then, depending on how big a body they’d gotten stuck with. Jonathan was with Colin, Miguel, and the kid named David. They, unfortunately, had ended up with the Admiral, and they were at the very end of the morbid, sweating, swearing parade.