It was quiet in the fog. Even the birds—so busy in the trees just
moments before—had fallen silent. All I
could hear: my breath, my footsteps—my slow, deliberate footsteps. I tried to take the advice I’d offered to
Harriet just moments before. Shuffling
steps. Trying to tell by sound and feel
if I were still on the path. I knew from
the maps we’d seen at the Headquarters that the trail was a big oval—if I just
kept on it, the path would take me back to where we started. To the bus.
To others. To safety.
But the fog was so thick, the
silence so perfect, that soon I was not certain at all that I was anywhere near
the trail anymore. I tried calling out,
but the fog sucked away my words, absorbing them like a thick towel.
And then I thought I heard something—just
a little to my right. Was it the chirp
of a sparrow? It continued, sharp,
lilting. But somehow … comforting. I moved toward it, slowly.
And then … muffled sounds. But I was fairly certain I was hearing the
human voice—probably more than one. Had
I wandered that far off? How could
anyone be on that side of me? But I decided to move that way, slowly, and
find out.
The voices did indeed grow louder
as I drew closer to them. They were not children’s
voices. But there was something familiar
about them—both of them. I crept
closer. And just ahead of me, a shaft of
sunlight pierced the fog and I could see with absolute clarity where I
was. I had wandered off the trail, to my
right, and I had ended up back near the little road. Right near the old grave marker.
Two figures with shovels were
digging around it, neither of them noticing me.
But I recognized both of them immediately. One was Dr. Eastbrook; the other, Blue Boyle.
Alarmed, I inhaled sharply, a sound
loud enough that both of them turned my way.
The fog was lifting, the shafts of sun slicing through here and there
like waterfalls of light. One was now
illuminating me like a spotlight. I
don’t know who was more shocked at that moment.
Dr. Eastbrook I had not seen since he left his family. And Blue Boyle had grown even more since
first grade. He looked …
impossible. He had to be six feet tall,
thick and solid as if carved from a tree.
In his hand, he held a large sack.
He dropped it in surprise.
“What is she doing here!” Dr. Eastbrook cried to no one in particular.
Blue Boyle didn’t answer; he just
stared at me with a look of bafflement.
At least, I guess that’s what it was because at that moment I felt
myself slumping to the ground, as if someone had let all the air out of me. Or my bones had changed to soft rubber.
I was not unconscious—just, well,
disabled. I couldn’t move. I heard the two of them move over toward me,
then looked up to see them, standing over me.
Dr. Eastbrook again spoke—again speaking about me rather than to
me. “We’re going to have to do something
with her,” he said. “She’s seen us.”
Then he did look at me, and his glance contained nothing human in it
whatsoever. And for the first time in my
life, death became to me something more than what I’d read about in books. It became someone I knew, someone standing
right next to me. Looking at me. Calculating …
I looked over at Blue Boyle. In his yellowish eyes I saw only the faintest
of lights, a fireplace ember nearly expired.
But not quite. Not quite …
I heard myself groan. And I heard Blue Boyle say—in a voice
impossibly deep: “Leave her alone.” He
moved between me and Dr. Eastbrook.
There was a pause. And then I heard the doctor sigh.
“All right,” he said. “We’re going to have to leave the island anyway. We don’t have much time to cover up what
we’ve done. And he turned and
disappeared into the fog that was thickening once again.
Blue Boyle leaned over to me and
whispered huskily. “This is the only
time. I cannot …” His breath was foul—like rotting meat. His teeth a disgusting greenish-yellow. I closed my eyes only a moment. And when I opened them, he was gone, his
mysterious sentence unfinished.
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