“He’s not here.” Elin follows her inside. “I think he’s gone over to the main island. You haven’t seen him?”
“No, but I’ve been drifting in and out of sleep.”
Elin nods and she realizes that Caleb hadn’t come back for Farrah because whether she lived or died was irrelevant to him. Coming to the islet was an exercise in distracting Elin, one of the only obstacles in his path, drawing her away from the main island. Winning him enough time to get to his real target.
Ronan.
Farrah climbs back into bed, relaxing against the pillow. “I’m tired.”
“I know. Let me quickly check you over again and then I’ll get help. Try to rest.”
“Okay.” Farrah opens her mouth as if she’s about to say something, but her eyes droop closed again.
Back outside a few minutes later, Elin starts picking her way through the trees toward the bridge. Slower this time: every step she takes hurts from Caleb’s blows—a dull throbbing in every limb. She’s never felt so drained, the heavy, numbing fatigue settling over her, making it hard even to put one foot in front of another.
It seems like an age before she makes it through the trees. She’s only a few feet from the water when her stomach lurches.
The bridge is gone.
94
The swaying slats of the bridge have become a void: all Elin can see is the sea swirling below.
The bridge itself is hanging from its fastening.
Caleb’s cut it from the other side.
Up close, she can see that the full length of the structure is now submerged in the water, wooden slats being tossed around in the waves.
She can’t get back to the main island.
Elin’s gaze lurches to the foaming water. Even with the bridge down, it marks the narrowest point between the islet and the main island. Swimming across is the only way.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t balk at it, it’s only fifty yards at most, yet Elin looks at it with a feeling of trepidation. She’s over her fear of water now, has conquered the ugly memories of the Hayler case, but still.
Since the storm, the water has become something other, entirely unrecognizable. It’s boiling and rolling, worse than when she’d walked over just a little while ago. Waves crashing against the boulders closest to the surface are merging noisily with the backlash from the rocks on the main island, surging upward in wild peaks.
But Elin doesn’t think, she just moves.
Tearing off her shoes and jacket, she slips her phone into a zippered pocket. Inch by inch, she climbs down with her back to the water, using the boulders at the very edge of the islet as a makeshift ladder.
A sharp inhalation as the water surges at her ankles and calves, her body already stiffening, but she rapidly submerges herself. No hesitation.
Flipping over, Elin starts swimming left, away from the bridge that is still being tossed around in the water. Seawater flicks up as it pounds the rocks in front of her, the salt stinging her eyes.
Immediately she feels the churning current created by the backwash, pummeling her back toward the islet. She forces herself on, plowing through in a clumsy attempt at a front crawl, but it’s impossible to get any kind of rhythm with the water tugging at her clothes, the fabric heavy. She should have taken off another layer.
Her breathing is growing staccato. Not from the pain or exertion, but fear. She tries to clear her mind, remember the basics—use her legs more. The strongest part of her.
Swimming forward, she kicks out. It works—inch by inch, the motion giving her added propulsion.
Eventually, she finds herself a few yards from the rocks. Steadying herself with her hands, she starts clambering up, but the exertion of the swim has made her clumsy. She’s misjudging handholds, footholds, crying out as her knee scrapes the sharp protrusions of rock.
Nevertheless, she finally reaches the top, slowly makes her way across the rocks to the beach, water streaming down her face, body. When she jumps onto the sand, it’s tacky against her bare feet, no longer simply being peeled off in layers, but whipped into a vortex.
The water sports area has been further decimated—paddleboards scattered far and wide across the beach. One has hit something as it’s traveled, a lightning bolt of a crack ripping through the fiberglass.
Elin slowly makes her way across the beach and up the steps to the lodge. Halfway there, she has to stop, her breathing shallow, the pain in her ribs making it hard to take a deeper inhalation.
As the adrenaline drains from her, she can feel bruises blossoming across her body.
Everything’s hazy, the vision in her left eye slowly becoming compromised. She can only hope that it’s swelling from the punches rather than damage to the eye itself.