Page 58 of The Island

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.

“The ferry is not there,” Hans announced.

“Now what do we do?” Petra asked.

“I don’t know,” Heather said and sat down in the grass. She looked at the kids. Olivia seemed to be doing OK, given the extraordinary circumstances, although she had gotten very good at concealing how she felt.

Owen was a wreck. All the water was gone now and he was clearly dehydrated. He was not in good physical shape to begin with. His mother’s death had hit him very hard, and he’d retreated into video games and overeating and hiding in his room. He’d been excused from gym and he’d given up riding his bicycle and skateboard. He wore only a shapeless hoodie and shorts, and clearly this night jog up and down hills had brought him to the limits of his physical capacity. Furthermore, he hadn’t had his ADHD or antianxiety medication for two days now, and Tom said that he needed those pills every day.