The sea shape-shifted from rough to smooth, from black to dark green to a brilliant magenta.
It was Valentine’s Day. Tom would have remembered to get her something. He never forgot anything. He remembered big chunks of every book he’d ever read. Could recite fifty lines of poetry at a time. He had helped so many people with his knowledge of knees and ankles and everything in between. And those scumbags had killed him like he was nothing.
She looked out across the water. It was amazing to think that less than ten miles away were the outer suburbs of Melbourne. Police, lawyers, doctors, churches, hospitals, and everything you needed for civilization to work. Just across that little strip of water and over those fields. Help.
But it was no good thinking about that. The ferry was on the other shore, waiting. Waiting for the men with dogs. Trying to raft it or swim the channel with the kids would be suicidal.
She watched a plane fly toward the city. How long until someone realized that they weren’t coming home? How long until someone figured out where they’d gone? The O’Neills wouldn’t deny that they’d come over to Dutch Island; there were witnesses who would corroborate that. But that wouldn’t bother them.
Heather could just see Matt standing there, grinning and being all cooperative, a couple of days from now when they were dead and buried. Yeah, that’s right, your witness was correct, Detective. They did come over here on the ferry. They took a few photos and went right back. Just ask Ivan, he took them over. I expect you’ll find their car stuck in some ditch over there somewhere.
And that would be that; the cops would find the car stuck in some ditch over there, and what had happened to the family would be one of those unsolved mysteries TV shows loved to talk about.
Flies and wasps flew about her head. Her belly rumbled. Her belly ached. No food for anyone for over a day and a half now.
But at least they had water.
She walked back to the beach and checked on everyone. Olivia and Owen were sleeping together under Owen’s big hoodie, which he had draped over them like a blanket. Petra was lying beside them with a protective arm over the boy.
Heather smiled. Thank you, Petra.
She tapped Petra on the shoulder. “It’s OK, it’s only me,” Heather whispered.
Petra stirred, shivered. “Is everything all right?”
“So far. I’m going back to the mesa to see what’s happening.”
“OK,” Petra said, reluctant to move and wake the kids. “I’ll look after them,” Petra added.
Heather nodded and walked to an old gnarled gum tree that had been burned to charcoal. A bird with blue feathers and a long beak was sitting on the upper branches gazing at her.
The bird squawked.
“Same to you,” she said.
She sat at the base of the tree.
The dogs were coming today. Dutch Island was not big. There were no forests, no mountains, no places to hide. The dogs would find them.
If they gave themselves up, she knew exactly what would happen. Probably only Olivia would survive. And that wouldn’t be much of a survival.
Better to risk it with the sharks.
“What would you do?” she asked the bird.
It was looking south.
She followed its gaze and saw movement by the ferry terminal. She watched for a while and saw vehicles on the far shore.
She heard the sound of motorcycles and that distinctive Toyota Hilux engine.
She leaned against the tree and waited.
Eventually she heard the ferry’s big diesel engines kick in and she watched the vessel churn up a wake. There was a pickup truck on it and some kind of cage in the back of the pickup.
The dogs were coming.
She ran back to the beach. The kids were already awake. Petra was pointing at the water. “The ferry is coming back,” Petra said.
Heather nodded. “They are going to be hunting us with dogs today. We’ve got to move. We’ve got to keep one step ahead of them.”
“Where will we go?” Olivia asked.
“As far away from here as we can get. Our scent is all over this beach.”
They watched the ferry cross the water. They could hear a couple of the dogs barking excitedly. She was angry at herself. The trail from the prison would take them directly here. She should have thought of that last night, tried a diversion or a— “We should go,” Petra said.
And it was on. Olivia, Owen, and Petra got to their feet and brushed themselves off. Olivia knocked sand out of her sneakers. Owen tightened the belt on his shorts.
South was the ferry terminal, east was the heath, west was the water—their business now was north.
North along the beach.
Through the rock pools.
Through the mangrove bushes, mosquitoes, flies, land crabs. The kelp was stinking; the day was hot and it had only just begun.
The tide was out, exposing those friendly rocks from yesterday. They’d be seen easily if they tried that trick again. The rocks wouldn’t save them today.
Heather could hear another motorcycle and an ATV. At least two cars. A lot of people. Three or four dogs.
She didn’t know if they were doing that line thing again, but they weren’t fooling around today.
“What’s the water situation?” she asked Petra as they waded around a large clump of trees that was blocking the beach.
Petra looked in the bag. “One and a half bottles.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Heather nodded.
“We will save them for the children,” Petra said.
“Yes,” Heather agreed.
Up the beach.
Through the flies.
In the sun.
In the red Southern Hemisphere sun.
Sunburn on sunburn.
Up the beach.
Running.
Moving.
Wading.
Swimming.
Resting.
Moving again.
North along the curvy shore.
No geographer or Google Earther knew this bit of shore as well as them. The rocks, the little bushes, the tide pools, the dried-up river estuaries. The bays that curved in, the headlands that jutted out. The swamp, the drowned mangrove trees, each gully, each rock, each— “Look! Over there—what’s that in the sand?” Owen said.
“What do you see?” Heather asked.
“It’s something. What is that?” he said, running to a bit of the beach she couldn’t see. He picked up the object and showed it to her. “What do you think? This will come in handy, yeah?”
He gave it to her. It was a knife. A big knife. No—a machete, with a cracked wooden handle and a rusted blade about nine inches long.
“Yes, well done, Owen, this will help.”
She balanced it in her left hand and then her right. It was a rusty old thing that looked like it had been lying on the beach for a hundred years.
At least I’ll go down swinging, Heather thought. “Let’s take a water break,” she said. She handed their penultimate bottle to Owen and Olivia. “Ration it, just one sip each,” she said.
After that, she held it out to Petra, who shook her head.
The ferry had landed. They could hear the dogs and the motorcycles but it was hard to tell where exactly they were. Olivia climbed a tree to look.