Page 38 of The Island

“Nothing can bring back Ellen. Nothing. This is what’s for the best,” Matt said.

“I understand,” Danny said. “I went out and got a job and got a wife. And you lot do nothing but sit here smoking and bitching and knocking back the grog in your trackies. And you scumbags are deciding for me?”

He went back to Ellen’s body and kissed her and held her. He took something out of his pocket. A crucifix, Tom thought, as he saw it glint in the moonlight.

No, it wasn’t a crucifix, it was a…

“Look out!” Heather yelled as Danny turned, ran at Tom, and stabbed the knife into him with such force that it nearly knocked him off his feet.

Heather screamed.

“Huhh,” Tom said as the knife penetrated deep into his right side.

“Jesus! What have you done!” Tom heard Matt yelling.

“He got what was coming to him,” Danny yelled back.

Danny pulled back the knife to stab Tom again. Before he could do it, Heather was on his back, scrambling to get her tied hands around his throat.

She has fight in her, that one, Tom thought as his legs gave way and he fell to the ground like a destringed marionette.

The ground was warm. Comforting.

The view from here was of feet and sideways farm buildings.

Heather was a tiny little thing, and Danny was, by comparison, a big man. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Ivan and Matt were stepping in.

“You bloody arsehole!” Ivan was saying.

Danny was yelling something back.

The voices were fading. Everything was fading.

The fields.

The falling stars.

The sickle moon dissolving into vapor above the Earth.

His eyes were heavy.

Four thoughts went through his failing consciousness. Four thoughts that were four words:

Judith.

Heather.

Olivia.

Owen.

He tried to surf the now but it was so hard; the now kept slipping between his fingers.

He felt a spasm of worry, anxiety, fear.

Regrets.

Mistakes.

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