The Island(38)

She’d sent the kids out first and they’d waited here. Then she’d come, then the Dutch couple. Where had they gone next? He followed the trail into the long grass with Blue limping along beside him. The trail was fresh, only about two or three hours old. They must have been sawing the ropes when he came by to bring them water. He wouldn’t tell Ma that part.

They had run east straight toward the old snow gum plantation about five hundred meters out from the farm. They were making for the larger clump of woods on the far side of the island. They might get cover over there. It was one of the few places on Dutch Island that wasn’t heathland. It wasn’t a bad plan, but…Matt bent down and examined the ground.

No, that wasn’t right, was it?

“Come on, Blue,” he said. He followed the trail for another three hundred meters into the heath where it spread out and then, yes—

Stopped abruptly.

“That’s what she wants us to think. She wants us to think they’re trying to hide out in the wood. But that’s not what they’re doing at all, is it?”

Blue barked in agreement.

“They’re all headed south toward the ferry, aren’t they? They don’t know that I had Brian take the ferry and tie it up on the other side of the channel last night, Brian grumbling and moaning about having to kip over there. But it’s a bloody good job, isn’t it, Blue?”

Blue wagged his tail.

It was a bloody good job because otherwise she might have been able to steal the ferry and escape. She looked like a light breeze could blow her over, but she was a shrewd one, this one.

Matt shook his head. He wished he’d asked her a few more questions about her background. Massage therapist, she’d said she was. From the city. But there were clues he should have picked up on. What was it she’d said? Goose Island community…homeschooling…Indian reservation…bushcraft. She’d said something about her parents being in the army. They might have taught her some survival skills. And there were other things about her too. She had attempted to take sole responsibility for the hit-and-run. She hadn’t hesitated to go after Danny. Yeah, all of that could amount to a nasty little combo.

In retrospect, he should have gotten one of the older boys to watch the shearing shed all night.

Lock-the-barn-door-after-the-horse-is-gone thoughts. He patted Blue on the head again. “With all due respect, mate, we might need to get some dogs from the mainland to help us out here,” he said.

He walked back toward the farm. Kate was standing on the veranda, all chill, with a cup of coffee. Nobody knew yet.

“Kate! Sound the alarm! The Yanks have escaped!”

“What?”

“The Yanks have escaped! Wake Ma! Never mind, I’ll do it.” He raised his rifle in the air and fired it three times.

By the time he got back to the house, everyone was up.





14



Deadfall and dry grass. Furrows, bulging roots, ravines, gullies. Bladygrass. Blowfly grass. Prickly Moses bushes. Hard, red, ancient dirt. Spinifex.

Something flying overhead through the ebbing darkness.

Owls? Bats?

The air warm, pungent, metallic.

The terrain was harsher than it looked from the window of a car. What had seemed like pleasant fields of yellow-white grass from the road was actually tough country. The little hills were covered with divots and sudden drop-offs, the undulating effect of the landscape making for an exhausting trek. In the grass there were tall thistles covered with needlelike spines. They all knew that silence was important, but every few minutes or so Heather would hear a sharp gasp of pain as someone brushed against one of these thistles. She, Olivia, and Petra were in jeans, which afforded them some protection. Owen and Hans, however, were wearing shorts.

The hills and the thistles had nixed her plan of running to the far side of the island, and they didn’t actually get close to the ferry terminal until the sun was starting to come up.

When they were almost there, Heather had them stop and take a break. She handed around the water bottle, making sure Owen and Olivia drank first.

After Owen drank, he fell on his back and gulped air.

Olivia sank to her knees.

The ferry pier was over the small range of low hills to the west. Only about a quarter mile now as the crow flew.

“I’ll go ahead. You stay here,” Heather said.

“No, I am coming with you,” Hans insisted.

As soon as the two of them reached the brow of the last hill, it was obvious that the ferry was not there. Heather scanned the coast, but nope, it wasn’t tied up anywhere here. It must have been docked on the other side of the channel.

“Now what? The boat is gone,” Hans said.

“It’s not gone, it’s just tied up over there,” Heather said.

“But we cannot get it,” Hans said.

Heather walked cautiously down to the dock. The O’Neills weren’t here yet but they would be soon enough.

There was no way to summon the ferry. There was no phone or walkie-talkie or even a bell. And what would happen if they successfully signaled it? If anyone was sleeping on it over there, it was bound to be one of the O’Neill family.

The mainland was just a mile and a half away. So close. Heather could see cars over there. Lights from houses farther down the coast.

“Let’s get back,” she said to Hans and they solemnly trudged back to the others, who were waiting up on the mesa.