Page 88 of The Island

“Don’t do it!”

She walked across the living room and picked up the bag of water bottles. She walked to the front door and fumbled with the lock.

“Don’t! I’ll shoot.”

She opened the door and pushed on the screen door.

“Come back here!”

The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck.

Her legs were rubber.

The screen door opened.

“This is your last warning!”

She stepped into the night. Onto the veranda.

Just a few…

Fire. Light. Noise.

Something struck her arm and shoulder.

Pain. Heat. A hot scarlet flame.

She fell to the ground, dropped the bag, got up, and ran as hard as she could into the darkness.

There was another shotgun blast, this one nowhere near her.

She ran and ran over the dry grass and red dirt.

At a hundred and fifty yards, she turned and looked back.

A Jeep arrived. Matt, Kate, Ivan, and Jacko got out.

Rory was reloading the shotgun, pointing into the darkness. Pointing in the wrong direction.

It was then she realized that he had deliberately missed.

There was heated conversation before Jacko walked off the veranda. “Yeah, run, you bloody mingy bitch! See how far you get! I’m enjoying this!” he yelled.

Kate aimed her shotgun into the darkness and fired both barrels.

Heather ducked down and, trembling, watched the white-hot buckshot rip the air.

“When I catch you, I am going to skin you alive like one of me foxes!” Kate screamed.

Heather crouched in the darkness trying to ignore the burning sensation in her shoulder and upper arm. It was like trying to ignore a hot iron rod being pressed into your flesh.

The O’Neills were talking to Rory. Heather crawled a little closer so she could hear.

“Yeah, mate, she’s crafty, all right, sleekit wee skitter, so she is. And fast—she just ran out of here like a mad thing. I shot at her twice,” Rory said, his voice carrying in the still night air.

“Did you hit her?” Matt asked.

“I’m not sure.”

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