Page 73 of The Island

Owen crying.

Owen getting in the boat.

Dad pulling the starter on the outboard motor.

The Zodiac leaving the dock.

Dad saying nothing.

Owen still crying.

Dad dumping the urn.

Mom saying nothing.

Mom splintering into a million pieces in the black water of Puget Sound.

A single seagull.

Owen crying.

Dad not crying.

Dad mad as all hell.

Dutch Island

Water up to her knees.

Birds on those rocks would have to find somewhere else to rest soon.

The rocks would be underwater in an hour and all those weird birds would have to—

Olivia stopped and rubbed her eyes and stared at the line of rocks about twenty feet offshore. They were jagged and funny-looking, and if you imagined a little you could pretend they were the spines of a dinosaur’s back.

A stegosaurus.

She looked at them and nodded and knew what she had to do next.

She turned and ran back the way she’d come as fast as she could.

20

Through the bushes. Through the water. Hard to breathe. Hard to think.

“Look behind us,” Petra whispered.

Heather turned.

Less than a hundred yards back, coming around the bend, a man and a boy, both with guns. With them was a very little girl tagging along like they were going to a birthday party. The pursuers couldn’t see them in this vegetation, but they were certainly going to catch them soon.

Heather had been cooking up a little Hail Mary plan in her head: Hide. Wait. Ambush the kid as he pushed through the bushes. She’d get one go at him with the penknife, but one go was better than none.

But she had no chance against two of them, armed. The man looked like Ivan, the big brute from the ferry.

Shit.

Her against the two of them?

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