“The Runners are aligned with Yanx,” I say, remembering Millie’s words. I’m overwhelmed with crushing guilt. We should never have gone after those books. “The Runners’ enemy is Yanx’s enemy, I suppose…” My voice trails off.
Delphine is watching us, a confused expression on her face.
“The men guarding the library, the ones with the skull tattoo, they were Runners,” I say to her. “They recognized Millie’s quarrel when she set fire to the library. She also told me she killed one of their men during a transaction that went bad. Now—together with Yanx, I think the Runners are sending a warning.”
Morris is nodding as I speak. I turn to him. “I’m so sorry, Morris. We would never have stolen those books if we knew this would happen.”
“It’s okay, son,” he says. “It’s all speculation at this stage. We don’t know if this was deliberate. It could just be a random attack.” I know he is just being kind.
“You set fire to the library? You stole the books?” interrupts Prue. “What happened to the gold?”
I realize we have been so distracted by Yanx’s onslaught and Millie’s disappearance we have not yet told Prue and Morris the details of our mission to New York City. I know they are eager to hear our explanation but I ask Morris if we can bury Lucky first.
We take shovels from the cellar and dig a large grave. With all four of us working it doesn’t take long. I’m equal part repulsed and equal part driven by a sense of duty when it comes time to touch Lucky's destroyed body. We lower him into the hole and I swear to myself that one day I will get revenge for this cowardly act.
Then we sit in the ashes of the winery and I tell Morris and Prue everything that happened after we left for New York City. They ask lots of questions and frequently exchange worried looks. By now we’ve all resigned ourselves to the idea that the Runners and Yanx are working together. The thought of Millie out there alone is almost too much to bear.
The afternoon sun dwindles in the sky. A kind of eerie calm has settled over the violence inflicted on the Graces’ home. Inexplicably, we hear songbirds. The contrast against the apocalyptic destruction of the winery is stark. Delphine passes me her notebook.
We have to leave tomorrow to meet your brother.
“Tomorrow? Are you sure?”
Yes, we agreed we would meet him exactly two weeks from when he dropped us at the mainland. That’s tomorrow.
Morris reads the note. “Yes, she’s right.”
“But what about Millie?” My words hang in the air and then melt away. Delphine looks at the ground.
“She’ll find her way back to us,” says Morris. He looks at Prue for a long moment. I search her face too, but she looks back at me expressionless. Many words take seed in my throat but nothing comes out. I want to scream and shout at them, refuse to leave until we find her. But I say nothing at all.
We spend the night in the cellar and at daybreak Delphine and I prepare to make our way back to the shore. Prue packs us a loaf of bread and a jar of homemade jam. Our good bye is awkward and sad without Millie there, standing in the burnt-out shell of their home. We walk a short distance and I turn back to wave. Prue and Morris stand side by side, not touching, in the ashes. I’ve never seen a lonelier, more desolate sight.
By some miracle I find our dinghy in the trees where we left it. We just reach the beach—the dinghy clunking heavily between us—when I notice the body face down in the sand.
“Millie,” I whisper.
I drop my end of the dinghy and step closer. I see immediately that it is not her and experience intense relief. It’s a man, and he’s lying motionless. I pull out my gun and inch closer. With one foot I flip the man on to his stomach. It’s Jones, the man I healed when we first arrived. His face is red and bloated, his eyes crusted with sand. The stench of death is upon him.
Delphine and I drag the boat in a wide circle away from Jones and then sit at the water’s edge. I remember Rich’s instructions to set out from the shore at high sun. I search for Block Island and find the small, forested island just off the coast. We share bread with sweet jam and, when it’s time, we push off from the shore.
It takes a long time to row the dinghy through the waves. My arms are aching and I’m glad to take a break when we fall in line with Block Island. We bob up and down while I search the horizon. I cannot see Rich’s boat.
“There’s no sign of him. What should we do?”
We could wait here, but what if he does not come?
“He will be here. I’m certain. Let’s wait.”
We roll up and down over the waves, drifting away in the current until I row us back into place, again and again. The minutes stretch out endlessly and we watch the sun make its descent towards the horizon. It’s mid-afternoon when I admit to myself that perhaps Rich won’t come today.
“Do we definitely have the right day?” I ask.
Delphine nods. I refuse to entertain any of the frightening thoughts that try to creep their way into my mind
“What do we do? We could wait on the mainland. He might come tomorrow?”
The thought of going back to the Graces’ place fills me with dread. But what if Yanx and the army come back? We can’t just camp out on the beach.
“We could try to make our own way back to the island,” I suggest.
Delphine looks back at the shore and cringes. I sense she is hesitant to return to the mainland too.
It will take us two days to get back to the island if we row. We could do it, provided we get help from the current. We can take turns sleeping and rowing.
“Let’s go home now,” I agree, after a moment’s thought.
Too many terrible things have happened on the mainland. I want to be back on the safety of the island. I pick up the oars in my hands, say a prayer, and begin the long row back.
Chapter Nine
The sun is just rising and my hands are still numb from the cool air and sea spray when Delphine sees the island and points it out to me. I look over my shoulder and see it; the sight reenergizes me and I press harder with the oars to get us home. As we approach, the tree-lined beach appears in finer detail. We can see the West Chop Light peering at us from above the beach. Delphine doesn’t smile and continues to clutch the books in her hands tensely. Her face looks sunburnt and exhausted and she is covered in grime. I look down at my own dirty, salt-encrusted clothes.
We have rowed mostly in silence for the last two days, both lost in the depths of our own thoughts. Although we have taken it in turns to row and rest, my arms still ache keenly and hunger gnaws at my stomach. I prayed constantly that we would see Rich, but he never came. The motion of the waves has left me dizzy and disoriented. I can’t wait to finally get off this boat.
I tried to bring up the subject of Millie on the second day but Delphine seemed unwilling or unable to talk about her, turning her face towards the books instead. At least she seems pleased by the contents of the books we retrieved from the library, I think bitterly to myself.
I spot a small boy on the shore as we approach. He is my neighbor’s youngest son and I wave my hand in the air. He looks at us, then turns and runs back up the beach.
“Hey! It’s me, Chris Kennedy” I call out. But my voice does not seem to reach him and he keeps running up the beach towards our village.
“None of the fishing boats have been taken out today,” I say to Delphine. “That’s strange.” I sense the tension in the dinghy rising as we both turn this over in our minds.
We leap out as the dinghy scrapes the sandy bottom. Water laps at my bare feet and there is the glorious sensation of land beneath me. Home at last. It takes a moment to register that the beach is unusually empty. We haul the dinghy out of the water and past the high tide mark and Delphine takes my hand as we walk by unspoken agreement towards my house. The anxiety in my head is spreading through my body like an infection. Where is everyone?
The leaf-covered track we walk on is as familiar to me as my brother’s face from the thous
ands of times I have traversed it in my lifetime. The path is not wide enough for two carts to pass and on the rare occasion this becomes necessary, one driver needs to pull to the side against the thick brambles. The tree canopy towers overhead, casting shadows on the path, and the adjoining understory grows high and wild.
We’ve cleared some of the forested land on the island to grow crops like poppies, corn and potatoes. As we pass, I search the fields beyond for people. The farmers should be working the ground by now. It’s almost time to plant the new corn crops. But I see no one.
We are almost to Edgartown when I hear people. I stop and listen, trying to make out the words. Fear has made me cautious. I realize with a start that the voices are raised and angry.
“There is someone talking up ahead,” I explain to Delphine. “Things don’t seem right. I think we should try to see what’s going on before we enter the village.” Delphine agrees and we proceed more cautiously.
The village comes into view. It comprises about thirty houses and a large village hall in a clearing surrounded on three sides by stately oak trees. The buildings are whitewashed and built with logs using scribed saddle notches. The roofage is made from tiles produced on the island. The process of glazing the tiles has been passed down through several families that specialize in producing the bright tiles. The houses are well built and sturdy but the village is vulnerable to hurricanes. We have rebuilt many times.
We bend down low and run quickly and quietly to the closest house. I turn towards the voices and spot the group, including my parents, standing in the center of the clearing by our village hall. I point them out to Delphine. My father is face to face with Elder Spool. Both hold guns by their side. They have not seen us yet. I watch them for a few moments, trying to gauge what is going on, when suddenly Delphine pulls me behind the house, out of sight. She writes frantically.
They are talking about us.
“Are you sure?” I whisper. I could not make out any of their words.
I’m certain. They are angry with us. They are talking about what to do with us when we get back to the village. They know we are coming. That boy on the beach must have told them.
“Let’s move closer,” I say. “I want to listen to what they are saying.” Delphine nods and we creep around whitewashed logs and duck beneath wide windows, crawling nearer to the gathering. We keep out of sight until I can make out my mother’s voice.
“We should give them a chance to come forward,” she says forcefully.
“These are dangerous times. We can’t risk the safety of the island, the safety of our people. Your son and this deranged woman have committed a serious violation by going to the mainland. Not to mention the blasphemous lies they are seeking to confirm,” says a voice I don’t recognize. I assume it is one of the elders from another village.
“I agree that they should be punished,” says my mother. “But I refuse to let you issue a warrant for them. Jackson, tell them. Chris and Delphine will come peacefully.”
“And what if they don’t?” asks a voice I recognize as Elder Spool.
I press myself against the house and peer around the notched corner. I see my mother standing next to my father, a defiant look on her face. There are five other men gathered in the clearing, all elders.
Spool continues: “We must have the authority to bring them in by whatever means necessary. I insist on a warrant.”
“If it becomes necessary, I will consent,” says my father stiffly.
I pull my head back out of sight. “What’s a warrant?” I whisper to Delphine. I summarize the conversation I’ve just overheard. She doesn’t know what a warrant is either.
Where is everyone?
“I’m not sure. Should we wait until they disperse and try to speak to my mother and father?”
Delphine shakes her head vigorously.
“Maybe you’re right. Let’s try to find my brother. He might be able to tell us what is going on.” Delphine agrees.
I know every inch of Edgartown and Delphine and I move unseen to the edge of the village, running carefully from log house to log house. The elders continue to talk but I can no longer make out their words. I’m confident we haven’t been spotted.
We pass Abigail’s house and I stop below her bedroom window. Delphine slides down next to me, her back also pressed against the wall. She looks at me enquiringly.
“One minute,” I say.
I raise my head slowly and peer into the room through the crack between the sun-faded yellow curtains hanging over the window. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkened room and I’m vulnerable as I stare, unseeing, into the inkiness. Before my eyes can properly focus, the curtains shift and Abigail’s face appears. Delphine startles next to me.
“Chris! Where have you been? What are you doing here? Quick, come in before someone sees you.” Abigail speaks in a low, urgent whisper.
She slides her window open and leans out to glance over my head, scanning the nearby area. “Oh, Delphine is here,” she says, her voice cool. I push Abigail gently to the side, offering my hand to Delphine so she can stand. We climb in one by one to Abigail’s bedroom.
Abigail closes the curtains behind us and I take a seat on Abigail’s bed. It is in the traditional style of the island and is low, scarcely half a cubit above the floor. I run my hand over the thick, woven mattress identical to my own. It feels like home. Delphine sits next to me and Abigail leans against the wall. The room is sparse with a small table in one corner upon which rests a hairbrush, a small pot of oil and a clay lamp. Some clothes hang in the opposite corner and another longer, yellow curtain hangs open at the doorway.
“My parents are not home,” Abigail says. “They’re working. Your father has us all working on a rotation system after you disappeared. They confine anyone not working to their home.” Abigail looks at me with her dark eyes wide, her lips set in a thin line. She tucks her wild black hair behind her ear and continues to stare at me.
“Really? That sounds like an overreaction. Didn’t Rich tell them I was taking a pilgrimage?”
“You don’t know, do you?” she asks.
“What’s going on Abigail?”
“Rich is in the pit, Chris. Elder Spool put him in there for helping you to the mainland. They discovered where you went.”
“How could they possibly have discovered where we were?” I ask. Panic rises like bile in my throat.
“They found written notes of your plan in her house,” she says, turning her head towards Delphine.
Suddenly, my head is spinning. I remember the large sheet of paper we were writing on in Delphine’s house. Abigail crouches down in front of me and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her arm is too hot and I shrug it off. My skin is burning. Delphine passes me a note, which I read and then give to Abigail.
I threw all our notes out. They must have searched my place, even the garbage receptacle.
Delphine looks horrified. I take her hand but it’s uncomfortable against my sweat soaked palm. I drop her hand and wipe my own on my stained tunic.
“Is Rich okay?” I mumble the words. It is all I can think to say.
“I don’t think so. He’s struggling in there. Your mother told me. She visits him whenever they let her. They are holding Ada down there too.”
“Who is Ada?” I ask automatically, not really caring for the answer.
“She is the one who fell from the sky.”
“Fell from the sky?” I don’t understand what Abigail is saying.
“Her people live in a huge craft, like a ship but made of rings, and it orbits the Earth.”
“What?”
“You need food. Then we can talk. You look terrible.”
Abigail comes back with flat bread and cold smoked fish. She passes us both water and we eat and drink in silence for a few minutes. I’m grateful for the food. Just as I am about to ask Abigail about Rich and the other woman, there is a sharp knock at the front door. Abigail jumps up, startled.
“They are aware we are back on the island. One of the village boys saw us on the beach,” I say in a low voice. Abigail curses and there is another knock. Then I hear my father call out to Abigail.
“Hide,” she whispers urgently.
I spin around the empty room. Delphine points to the window and we jump out. Abigail leans out the window and whispers: “Run, Chris. You need to hide. I’ll find you. Go to our place. There are others that support you. We’ll figure this out.”
Delphine takes my hand and slides along the wall towards the nearest group of trees, but I pull her back beneath the window. I want to hear what my father has to say. We press ourselves against the wall, next to the sewage-gas digester tank, while I strain to hear.
There is the sound of Abigail opening the front door. I can picture her, leaning with one hip resting on the doorframe. “Elder Kennedy” says Abigail. “Sorry for the delay. I was sleeping.” Her voice is thinner and higher than usual.
“Chris is back on the island, Abigail.” He speaks so quietly I can barely make out his voice. “Have you seen him?”
“No, Elder Kennedy. I haven’t.”
My father says something indecipherable. Then: “If you see Chris, you must tell him to find me immediately. I can help him.” He speaks the last words loudly, almost as though for the benefit of someone else. I wonder if he knows I am here. Delphine squeezes my hand and I realize that there are others approaching the house—their steps fall ominously on the gravel path. It’s time to go.
We edge our way to the corner of Abigail’s house. The closest trees are about ten chains away. It’s a short distance but there is no cover. Peering around the corner, I can see my father with a few other men standing in a group near Abigail’s front door. They aren’t looking in our direction.
I take Delphine’s hand and we bend low and run softly. The little bluestem grass that brushes against our legs as we pass dampen our footfall, and we make it unseen to the nearby trees. Once we clear Edgartown, we straighten and run hard. Despite our fatigue, adrenaline fuels us further into the safety of the dense forest. When we are surrounded by wild, untamed woodland, we pause in a clearing and sit down to rest.
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