Page 137 of The Island

Heather watched them.

The day was beautiful. The swaying grass. A blue-silk sky. Pink herons over the mirror sea.

“Uh-oh!” Owen said.

“Uh-oh what?” Heather yelled.

“I found another one of those fox-trap things at the back of the bus.”

“Don’t go near it!” Heather went over to see it. It was another vicious-looking animal trap like the one they’d nearly stepped in at the range, all red rusted teeth and black iron jaws. She was tempted to spring it with a stick but then reconsidered. If they were stuck out here another night, maybe it would catch them a sheep or a rabbit. She hadn’t seen any rabbits or sheep outside the farm, but you never knew.

She told the kids her plan and then she marked the trap with sticks with little pieces of fabric ripped from her T-shirt.

“No one’s allowed anywhere near the back of the bus!” she said, and she did a thorough scout of the hill to see if there were any more traps.

When that was done, Heather turned on the walkie-talkie again. Battery life was down to one bar.

“My name is Heather Baxter. We need the police. We are stranded on Dutch Island off the coast of Victoria…”

She repeated the message on every channel as the battery light faded.

Suddenly, on channel 2, a voice cut through the static.

“Heather, is that you?”

“It’s me. Who’s this?”

“Heather, it’s Matt. What the hell have you done?”

“What do you mean, Matt?”

“We are all sick, Heather. Diarrhea, and some people have been vomiting! Hans! My God, Heather! You poisoned the well!”

“I guess you won’t be chasing us today, then, will you?”

“You shot Blue! He was a good dog. Jesus. And the other dogs! And the bloody generator!”

“Tell you what, you just bring the ferry over and let us go back to the mainland, and your problems will be over.”

“Funny. Our problems won’t be over—you’ll go to the cops!”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Shit, you don’t even know, do you?” Matt said.

“Know what?”

“We were trying to make a deal with bloody Tom when all hell broke loose last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean, what am I talking about?”

“You said you were trying to make a deal with Tom.”

“Jesus, you really don’t know, do you? Gillian’s a nurse, she…Christ Almighty. Hold on.”

Heather eyes closed. She swayed, then righted herself.