“Isle Royale? What’s that?”
“It’s an island off the coast of northern Minnesota in Lake Superior. That’s what most of the documents and maps were about that he had in his pack. You were right; he was planning a trip. He knew more about the stilts and their biology than most people, and he figured that that island would be one of the best places for refuge.”
Alice watched him for a long time and then glanced at Ty and Denver who rode on the floor together in the bow.
“How would we survive there?” she finally asked.
“It’s got a population of moose as well as an interior lake with fish, not to mention Lake Superior on all sides. There’d be plenty of food. The island itself is fifteen miles offshore, and I don’t see any of those things swimming that far, especially with how cold the water temperature typically is. In the winter, we won’t have to worry about them at all since they’ll have to migrate south to keep from freezing to death. There’s visitor lodges there that we can live in, plenty of wood to burn.” He studied her face, how the sunshine lit her hair into a raven flare each time the wind caught it. “What do you think?”
She stared ahead at the water glimmering beyond the boat. He waited, content to watch her rather than the scenic landscape that slipped past them. After a time, she turned back to him.
“I think I’m in love with you,” she said. His jaw slackened and he blinked. Alice laughed, tossing her head to one side and leaned in, kissing him firmly on the lips. When she drew back, she smiled and stroked the side of his face. “Let’s go to your island.”
Epilogue
3 Years Later
The lure splashed, hitting the water in a spray that caught the late fall sunlight.
Ty began to reel, jigging the rod with an expert hand as he felt the bump of a fish testing the bait. He froze, slowly bringing up the slack line until it tightened, the jerking tug transferring through the rod into his hands. He snapped his arms up, setting the hook and began to reel again, the tension of the fish making him whoop with delight.
“Another one?” Quinn asked, casting his own line out again into the lake.
“Of course.”
“Oh listen to you, great white fisherman.”
“You’re just upset that a blind kid can out-catch you.”
“And you’re pretty cocky for someone who’s only been fishing for three years.”
Ty laughed and drew the whipping perch out of the water, catching it as it swung toward him on the end of the line. In a matter of seconds, he had the fish off the hook and strung on the shining stringer that trailed into the water at their feet. The other four fish swimming in place that were threaded there flipped indignantly until he released the chain holding them.
“So that’s four to one,” Ty said, baiting his hook before casting it out again in a graceful curve of line.
“You’re gonna beat me again,” Quinn said. He scratched at the thick beard covering his face, still not fully used to the feeling of it there even after growing it for over a year.
“Are you going to take me to shore when you go this time?” Ty asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“But I’m almost ten,” he protested, jigging his rod harder.
“You’re barely nine.”
“But you said yourself that you hadn’t seen one of them in almost two years.”
“That doesn’t mean that they aren’t there.”