Page 52 of The Island

She shook her wrists and the rope fell off her. She slackened the noose at her neck. In another thirty seconds, she was completely free. If she stood, she might be visible from outside. Best to keep low. She crawled to Olivia and removed the ropes around her neck, then did the same for Owen. “Dad didn’t want to come here. We made him! It’s our fault!” Owen said.

“No, it’s their fault. They killed him.”

She tried to hug Owen but he wouldn’t let her. “Don’t friggin’ touch me, Heather!” he wailed, pushing her away.

She attempted to untie the rope at Hans’s neck. “Do not do that! We do not want any trouble,” Hans said.

“We’re all in trouble,” Heather replied.

“You are in trouble. If we associate ourselves with you, we also will be in trouble.”

Heather turned to Petra. “What about you?”

“I—I don’t know,” she said.

“Just let me loosen the rope at your neck. I can see it’s choking you.”

Petra looked at Hans, who said something to her fast in Dutch.

“It is better if we are not helped by you,” she said.

“OK,” Heather said. She knelt in front of Owen, unscrewed the top from the water bottle. “You’re going to take another drink of this if I have to force it down your throat, OK?”

He didn’t answer.

“OK?”

“He’s behind his wall,” Olivia said.

“His what? Oh, yes, that,” Heather said.

“You don’t really understand about his wall, do you? You don’t know anything about us,” Olivia said. “Owen! Owen! It’s me, Olivia. Come out and take a drink.”

Owen stirred and grabbed the bottle. He took a little drink and then a bigger one.

“Well done,” Heather said and crawled back to Olivia. She began sawing at the ropes around Olivia’s wrists but Olivia stopped her.

“What are you doing?” Olivia asked.

“I’m cutting you loose and then we’re going to get out of here,” Heather said.

“No,” Olivia said. “I—I don’t think so. You’ll just get us in more trouble.”

Owen nodded. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Dad might know what to do, but she doesn’t.”

“Come on, guys!”

“No! Don’t touch me!” Olivia said and began to hyperventilate.

Owen and Olivia were looking at her the way they often looked at her: with contempt. This time, of course, through a veil of grief, terror, tears.

Heather closed her eyes. She hadn’t wanted to be their stepmother. What she’d wanted was to have a roof over her head and be comfortable and have nice things and maybe see a bit of the world. What she’d wanted was Tom. She was far too young for motherhood. She had literally never thought about it. She was exactly the wrong age to be Olivia and Owen’s mom. When she attempted to play with them, she wasn’t like one of those cool mothers who goof around and make everyone feel at ease. No, she was like one of those older kids on the periphery of the playground who are too lame to make friends with people their own age.

You couldn’t say she hadn’t tried.

She had tried.

If the kids didn’t want to come, well, she could escape by herself.