The Island(45)

But not for much longer. They maneuvered Owen over a low-hanging tree branch. His ankles got stuck and they had to stop and lift his feet over one by one.

It took forever.

Heather looked over her shoulder. No sign of the teenager following them, but they could hear the O’Neill clan coming toward them across the heath.

“What do we do?” Petra asked.

Heather knew she couldn’t reason with them. Not after what they’d done to Hans. They were capable of anything. They could do anything they wanted on their island. Eventually the police would come looking for the four of them. She had to pin all her hopes on that.

“Hide and stay alive as long as possible,” she said.

They got Owen through the trees, and there was Olivia, standing there, hands on hips, refusing to move. “I told you to keep going, didn’t I?” Heather snapped.

“I don’t want to go by myself!” Olivia wailed.

“Just go!”

“And leave my brother? I can’t.”

“They’re probably going to catch the three of us,” Heather said. “You can run ahead by yourself. You have a chance.”

Olivia shook her head.

“Just frigging go!” Heather insisted.

“You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mom,” Olivia said.

“That’s Owen’s line, Olivia. You need some of your own goddamn material. Come on, now, be a good girl and get the hell out of here!”

“And then what?”

“Just keep going as long as you can until dark. They’ll go back to the farm then. Especially if they have us.”

“Then what? If I do get away today, what am I supposed to do by myself?” Olivia said, sounding lost and bereft like the fourteen-year-old girl she was.

Heather forced her brain to function. Everything between her ears was like wet cement. What was Olivia supposed to do? What could she do by herself?

They carried Owen over another low tree branch. Heather looked behind her. Still no sign of the kid with the gun, but it wouldn’t be long now at the rate they were moving.

“Hide until you see police,” she told Olivia.

“What am I supposed to do about water?”

“Owen’s bottle trick. Please, honey, just go,” Heather said. “They’re coming. Just go!” Heather looked in Olivia’s eyes, pleading with her. You still have a chance—please.

“If that’s what you want!” Olivia said and ran off down the beach.

The two women carried Owen for another few minutes until Petra called a halt. “I have to stop,” she said.

“We can’t take a break.”

“I have to, I’m sorry,” Petra said. She unhooked herself from Owen and flopped on the sand between two mangrove bushes. Heather could not continue without her, so she laid Owen down on the sand and then propped him up on her lap, out of the surf. She touched Owen’s forehead. He was probably running a fever now and his lips were chapped. Dehydration, without a doubt. He couldn’t take much more of this. He would die soon.

“I’m sorry, Owen,” she said, and she started to cry.

The narrow strip of beach had been reduced to a few yards now, and the water was swilling about their legs. Heather took the penknife out of her pocket and pulled out the blade.

Petra looked at her and nodded. She picked up a sharp stone from the beach.

These wouldn’t do much good against a rifle, but they weren’t going to go down without a fight.





19




Dutch Island, Australia Olivia knew it was all her fault.

She was the one who had planted the seed.

Her.


Alki Beach, Seattle Dad, we need a vacation. We need to get away. From this place. From the staircase. From this house. We need to get away.

I don’t think so.

We’ll make a trade. I’ll start softball again in the spring.

You should do that anyway. You’re a talented pitcher.

Dad! Come on, we need this. For Owen’s sake. And mine too.

Owen? You think a trip to Australia is going to fix him?

We need to get away. I’ve been thinking about it. Your conference in Australia. Could we come? Me and Owen and Heather too if she wants. I’ve always wanted to see the outback. A kangaroo. A koala. Dad. Dad?


Dutch Island Seawater lapping. Gulls. Heat. The sun cooking her brain.

Dad gone, the Dutch guy gone, Heather and Owen and the woman gone. Only her left. Running.

She didn’t want to be by herself.

The sun.

The sea.

What choice did she have?


Alki Beach It is good to have the ocean at one’s back.

Why is it good, Dad?

It gives you heft, sweetie. It gives balance to a mind adrift on change and harassed by the irrepressible new.

What?

Doesn’t matter. Listen. Listen to me, now. Your mother. Don’t let them say things about your mother. She loved you. She would never do that to herself. It was an accident.

Was she drunk?

No. It had nothing to do with that. It was an accident. An accident. Yes…

Dad, are you OK?

Sorry. Of course. This is about your mom. Let’s think about her.


Dutch Island The heat was everything. The heat was incredible. The heat was destroying her cell by cell, killing her, as it would kill all of them.