The Island(37)

“I think…perhaps…we should come with you,” Hans said.

“You both want to come?” Heather asked.

He and Petra had a brief conversation in Dutch.

“Yes,” Petra said.

“All right, then,” Heather agreed. “But you do what I say. The kids are the priority. OK?”

“Yes.”

Heather took the penknife from her pocket, cut the ropes on their wrists, and unhooked the ropes from their necks.

“Olivia, you and Owen go first. Keep low and wait for us in the long grass over by the edge of the farm.”

“What if someone sees us?” Owen asked.

“In that case, don’t wait for us, just run and keep running,” Heather said. “Try to hide somewhere until you see a police car.”

“OK,” Owen said.

Olivia crawled through the hole and vanished into the darkness.

“What’s it like out there?” Owen asked.

“It’s all clear, come on!” Olivia said.

Owen went next. He had a little trouble getting through the hole but he made it. Heather turned to Petra and Hans. “You have to come immediately.”

“We will come,” Petra said.

Heather lay down on the dirt floor and pushed the water bottle out ahead of her. She crawled through the dirt, and in just a few seconds she was outside. Most of the stars were obscured by clouds, and the air was still. She could hear someone playing music in one of the distant farm buildings.

She pushed herself up to a crouch.

“Over here!” Owen whispered. He was hiding behind an ancient steamroller a few yards away. She ran to him. “I told you to go to the grass!”

“The grass is too far away,” Olivia said. “We would have gotten lost over there. We would have had to shout to find each other.”

Heather nodded. Petra’s head appeared in the hole, and she pulled her long lean frame through quite easily. Hans came immediately after. “Over here!” Heather said. They came over and crouched behind the steamroller.

“Now what?” Hans asked.

“Now we run like hell,” Heather said.





13



Matt woke with a start. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Something was wrong beyond the bigger wrong of what they were about to do to the Baxter family.

Blue was awake. Looking out the window. Nose up against the screen.

Matt pulled back the curtains. The sun was starting to come up. His watch claimed it was 4:50, and he could believe it. Jesus. Owen and Heather and the Krauts—or, more accurately, the Dutchies—would all be dead by 9:00.

Killing that little boy, bloody hell. That was going to be rough. But what choice did they have now? Ma would never let the cops take Danny away. He was the youngest boy, and for Ma it was love/hate. Unlike most of the family, Danny didn’t sit around all arvo drinking grog. Danny had gone over to the mainland and got himself a job and a girl. Poor bastard. Nah, Ma would never let them take him. It would be the bloody Alamo out here before she allowed that.

There was nothing else for it—die they must. It was going to be horrible.

Blue was growling about something. Matt slid up the screen and helped Blue out. His room was on the ground floor but Blue still managed to land on the other side with a loud thump. He recovered and his fat little body and arthritic legs hobbled over to the old steamroller. Blue didn’t like something about the steamroller. That’s what had woken him. That’s what was wrong. Something over there. “Oi, Blue, what is it?”

The dog looked at him and barked.

“Is it a fox?” Matt asked, but he knew it was no fox.

He knew what it was.

“Shit,” Matt said, pulling on pants and a T-shirt. He grabbed his rifle and climbed out the window.

He ignored the steamroller and ran straight for the old shearing shed. “How’s everyone doing in there?” he asked.

Silence.

Yeah, of course.

He unlocked the door and kicked it open. He looked inside, nodded. Light was pouring in from a hole at the back of the shed.

How had they done it? He examined the hole.

They’d kicked out the timber somehow and then dug through the dirt. Most of the tracks in the dirt floor focused on where Heather had been sitting. Tracks from her to the kids and the door. The lightest tracks were from the Dutch couple. This was Heather’s plan. The Dutchies hadn’t wanted to come but had changed their minds at the last minute. They hadn’t seen Tom get killed, but Heather had convinced them that they were going to be next if they stayed. So she was clever and persuasive.

Cleverer than she bloody looked. Danny was right about her.

But it wouldn’t make any difference. She would have to stay with the kids. The Dutch couple would stay together, and more than likely they’d tag along with the Americans. Perhaps one person could evade capture for a day or two, but five of them together? Two of them kids? And that Dutch bloke was in his late fifties or early sixties. Easily two meters tall. Stick out like a sore thumb, he would. And the fat American boy might not get a mile without passing out.

They’d catch them.

Matt went back outside and around the back of the shed. He patted Blue, who was waiting by the steamroller. “Good boy. Yeah, I see it. They escaped from the shed and came here. Good boy. If you had your puppy legs, I’m sure you would have run them down by now,” Matt said and Blue wagged his tail in agreement. Matt bent down and examined the tracks.