“We separated. I told them to hide somewhere. I don’t know where he is,” Heather replied.
“Bollocks! Where is he?”
“We separated. I thought we’d have more of a chance.”
“Balls you did. You wouldn’t leave the bloody kids.”
“They’re not really my kids. They’re Tom’s. We’ve been married less than a year. I told them to hide and I’d get help. I didn’t mind separating. The kids hate me,” Heather said.
She said this with such passion that Jacko went for it for a few beats but then smiled a horrible graveyard smile and shook his head.
“Nah. It’s not you. Is he in the bush over there?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
Jacko put the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Listen, mate, she says the boy isn’t with her. If you send a couple of lads over in the Toyota and bring one of the dogs, we’ll soon flush him out. We’ll have all of them in one bloody swoop.”
“Did you really get them or are you pissing us about?” Ivan asked.
“I got them! I saw the girl and ran her down, clobbered her, and this one comes at me with a knife. I got ’em both!”
“Well done, mate. We’ll be there. Over and out.”
Jacko put the walkie-talkie in his pocket and lifted the rifle and looked down the sight at her. “Tell the boy to come out or I’ll blow your bloody tits off.”
The Lee-Enfield was pressed against his shoulder. He was squinting at her with one eye closed, his finger on the trigger.
She shook her head.
“Big mistake. You know what we’re going to do with you? We’re going to rut you. Every man and boy on this island. Me first. And then it’s Terry’s anthill.”
Heather caught her breath as she saw Owen stand up from the undergrowth. He was holding a long tree branch in his hands, one of those brittle, dry eucalyptus branches that looked as if they would snap in half if you gripped them too hard. He was going to try to use it as a club or spear.
She tried to catch Owen’s eye. She didn’t want to shake her head, because if she did, Jacko would almost certainly spot the gesture and spin around, and, startled, he might pull the trigger.
“Your life is worth nothing out here, Heather. Not after what you done to Ellen. I could bloody kill you right now and nothing would happen. No cops. No nothing. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “I completely understand.”
Owen was walking closer. It was madness. That spindly branch would barely irritate Jacko if Owen got near enough to swing it.
She tried telepathy. Go back, go back, go back! Go back to the bush and run!
Owen’s chin was jutting out and he was biting his lower lip the way he did when he was set on doing something. Olivia was sitting up now. She was going to try to do something too.
Oh my God.
“OK, OK. Look, I’m sorry,” Heather said. “Please don’t shoot. I’ll get up. I’ll get up slowly and I’ll call Owen, OK? You were right. He’s in the bush waiting for me. I’ll get up now, OK? And I’ll yell for him to come.”
Jacko nodded and took a step back from her while keeping the gun pointed at her head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re quite the bullshit artist, aren’t you? But I saw through you,” he said in a snarl of triumph.
She stood up awkwardly, blinking in the sunlight, and stumbled two steps toward the machete lying in the sand. Jacko didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care. What could she do with death only a hair-trigger-pull away?
She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Get away, Owen! Run! I have a plan! Run!” she screamed.
Owen hesitated.
“Get away from here! Run!” she yelled.
Jacko turned and saw Owen vanish into the undergrowth. “You really are one stupid bitch, aren’t you?” he said. He deftly flipped the rifle, took half a stride forward, and clubbed her in the face with the butt. The brass cover on the wooden stock caught her on her left cheek and left eye.
She staggered backward, tripped over her feet, and collapsed.
Her forehead was bleeding. Blood was pouring out of her nose. The cut on her foot reopened.
“Come back, you fat little shit!” Jacko yelled and ran after Owen.
Heather tried to get to her feet. Her left leg responded but her right had a mind of its own. The landscape was swimming. Her head throbbed. She spit blood.
Swayed.
Two horizons. Two suns.
The day seemed to pulse its wings. The wind picked up.
Thick wool carpets of heat.