Page 110 of The Island

The smell was cordite and saltwater marsh and red blood cells.

“I smell it,” she said.

“The bunyip,” Jacko said, then keeled over and died.

31

Owen and Olivia had watched the whole thing. They hadn’t run. They should have, but they hadn’t.

They ran to her now.

She hugged them and kissed them and hugged them again.

They hugged her back.

“Is he dead?” Owen asked, pointing at Jacko.

“He’s dead,” Heather said, gasping.

She had killed a human being. A living man. He had been trying to kill her, but that didn’t matter. He had been a person with a brain and ideas and experiences and it was all gone now and she had taken it. It was a terrible thing to do when you thought about it.

She sank to her knees. I’m sorry it had to be this way. I’m sorry we came. I’m sorry for all of this.

“Can I touch him?” Owen asked.

Heather got to her feet. “No. We have to move fast. You guys wait over there while I see what he’s got,” Heather said.

“Here’s your shoes,” Owen said, handing them to her.

“Thank you.”

She searched Jacko and found a tin canteen a third full of water, some money, cigarettes—her cigarettes—a cigarette lighter, 8x50 binoculars, a plastic shopping bag with loose .303 ammunition, and the walkie-talkie. She took everything, including Jacko’s belt, shoelaces, socks, and hat, which she put backward on Owen’s head.

She put her sneakers on and examined Olivia’s face. Her lip was still bleeding a little. “Where did he hit you?” she asked.

“It was just a slap. He saw me and I tried to run, but he was too fast.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Heather said.

“Forget it. It doesn’t hurt. What do we do now?” Olivia asked.

“We have to get away from here. North, I think. Take a drink,” she said, handing them Jacko’s canteen. They both gulped the water.

“You drink something,” Owen said, handing her the canteen.

“I’m OK.”

“You haven’t drunk anything,” Olivia said. She was standing with her hands on her hips, feet apart, blocking Heather’s path.

“Get out of my way. We have to get moving,” Heather said.

“We’re not going anywhere until you drink something,” Owen said.

Owen’s serious, resolute brown eyes again. Olivia’s equally strong-minded blue eyes.

Heather reflected on how much they’d changed since…

Yesterday.

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