Page 112 of The Island

She showed them how to load the weapon, how to eject the cartridge, how to aim, how to brace it against their shoulders, and how to shoot.

“There’s going to be a kick, so be ready for that when you pull the trigger, but don’t be scared of it, and don’t tug the trigger—pull it, gently.”

“Who taught you all this?” Owen wondered.

“My mom and dad were both in the military,” Heather said, without elaborating about her father’s breakdown and eventual medical discharge.

“Were they in the war and everything?” Owen asked.

“Yes.”

“Did either of them kill anybody?”

“Yes.”

“If we have a rifle, could we go down to the ferry and sort of hijack it?” Owen asked.

“Maybe. I think they tie it up on the far shore, but I’ll check tonight.”

“I’m hungry,” Olivia said.

“I’m thirsty,” Owen said.

“I know,” Heather said.

There was nothing else to say.

She took out the pack of cigarettes, her own cigarettes back again. She lit one with his lighter.

“Can I have a puff?” Owen said.

“No.”

“Why not? You’re smoking.”

“It’s like parents always tell kids: Do as I say, not as I do.”

Silence.

A lagoon of blue sky. A green sea. And that sun pouring down countless photons into the dreary, withered yellow valley on the very northern tip of Dutch Island.

Owen was staring at the trees. “Do you remember what they told us at Uluru? A single gum tree standing by itself might be evidence of an underground water source. And here there’s four of them.”

They stared at the eucalyptus trees.

“They’re drinking from somewhere,” Olivia said after a while.

“You two wait here in the shade and I’ll see what I can find,” Heather said.

“I’m coming with you. Two eyes are, like, totally better than one—I mean, four eyes are better than two,” Owen said.

“I’ll help too!” Olivia announced.

They walked to the base of the biggest tree. It was old, blackened, and weather-beaten; all the bark had gone from the trunk, and the lower branches crumbled to the touch. It wasn’t dead, though—there were leaves on the upper branches.

The soil around the tree was dry red dirt filled with large rocks and smaller white stones. Little spiky tufts of grass were growing up through the browner bits.

Heather bent down, dug two fingers into the soil, took out a clump of earth, and examined it. It fell apart in her hand.

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