Page 70 of The Island

“Hide until you see police,” she told Olivia.

“What am I supposed to do about water?”

“Owen’s bottle trick. Please, honey, just go,” Heather said. “They’re coming. Just go!” Heather looked in Olivia’s eyes, pleading with her. You still have a chance—please.

“If that’s what you want!” Olivia said and ran off down the beach.

The two women carried Owen for another few minutes until Petra called a halt. “I have to stop,” she said.

“We can’t take a break.”

“I have to, I’m sorry,” Petra said. She unhooked herself from Owen and flopped on the sand between two mangrove bushes. Heather could not continue without her, so she laid Owen down on the sand and then propped him up on her lap, out of the surf. She touched Owen’s forehead. He was probably running a fever now and his lips were chapped. Dehydration, without a doubt. He couldn’t take much more of this. He would die soon.

“I’m sorry, Owen,” she said, and she started to cry.

The narrow strip of beach had been reduced to a few yards now, and the water was swilling about their legs. Heather took the penknife out of her pocket and pulled out the blade.

Petra looked at her and nodded. She picked up a sharp stone from the beach.

These wouldn’t do much good against a rifle, but they weren’t going to go down without a fight.

19

Dutch Island, Australia

Olivia knew it was all her fault.

She was the one who had planted the seed.

Her.

Alki Beach, Seattle

Dad, we need a vacation. We need to get away. From this place. From the staircase. From this house. We need to get away.

I don’t think so.

We’ll make a trade. I’ll start softball again in the spring.

You should do that anyway. You’re a talented pitcher.

Dad! Come on, we need this. For Owen’s sake. And mine too.

Owen? You think a trip to Australia is going to fix him?

We need to get away. I’ve been thinking about it. Your conference in Australia. Could we come? Me and Owen and Heather too if she wants. I’ve always wanted to see the outback. A kangaroo. A koala. Dad. Dad?

Dutch Island

Seawater lapping. Gulls. Heat. The sun cooking her brain.

Dad gone, the Dutch guy gone, Heather and Owen and the woman gone. Only her left. Running.

She didn’t want to be by herself.

The sun.

The sea.

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