Page 57 of The Island

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.

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.