Page 139 of The Island

More static before a weak-sounding Tom came back on. “Are the kids OK?”

“Yes.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yes, Tom, I’m fine!”

“Good…I think we have to…trust them. We can do this,” Tom said and broke off into a coughing fit.

Matt came back on. “He lost a lot of blood. He needs surgery and a blood transfusion. We need to get this done fast, Heather. You guys are going to have to come to the farm. You can go with me to a bank and we’ll get the cash, and then when we get back, we’ll let you all go. That’s the new deal. It’s sorted. Tom agreed.”

It sounded so reasonable.

But these people were crazy.

The things they’d done. Insane, horrible, terrible, sadistic things.

“You were hunting us down. You were going to kill us!” Heather said.

“We were trying to find you! Why do you think we brought in the dogs?” Matt said.

“You killed Petra!”

“No, she attacked the dogs and they started tearing her apart,” Matt said. “We tried to shoot them, and Ivan hit her in the back. Think about it, Heather. Who is the bad guy here? You came to our home. You killed Ellen. You attacked our farm. You shot our dogs. No one can find Jacko, and you’ve got his bloody rifle. You want to explain that?”

“No.”

“You’re the bad guy! We were minding our own business, living our own lives, and you came. My family has done nothing to your family. And you’ve wreaked havoc on us.”

“Jacko was going to rape me.”

“Well, Jacko’s bloody gone now, isn’t he? So, Heather, what do you think? You wanna get out of this alive?”

It sounded almost plausible. Tom had killed Ellen. She had tried to cover it up.

But that didn’t make any—no. “Hans, what you did to Hans…”

“Yeah, I know,” Matt said. “Shit. That was all crazy Jacko. Ivan and Jacko tried to get him to talk. It’s mad, I know. Look, there’s a couple of different factions here, Heather. It’s complicated. I’m trying to steer the best course for us and your family…Tom wants to talk to the children. Can you get them?”

Heather was really crying now. Owen and Olivia were sitting in the cab of the ruined bus looking at her.

“Get over here! Both of you!”

They ran over. She had to stop herself from dry-heaving. She had to keep her voice steady. “It’s your dad. He’s alive,” Heather said and handed Olivia the walkie-talkie.

The children listened while Tom spoke.

Heather walked far away from them. To give them space. This was family time. Private. It had nothing to do with her.

She sat under the shade of the farthest eucalyptus tree on a gnarled root so blackened and polished by successive waves of fire that she could almost see her reflection in it.

Last night’s rain had changed the hill.

Flowers were peeking up through the grass. Red, blue, and yellow flowers—of what genus, she did not know. Insects were hovering over the flowers, and little birds were swooping everywhere, eating their fill.

“Heather! Heather!”

Olivia was calling her. She walked back to the brother and sister. “I’m here,” she said.

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