The Island (3 page)

They took some time to eat, all of them but Pathik. He stood a few feet away from them, impatiently watching. Then they organized all the supplies into several packs so that they could each carry one or two. It was afternoon when they started out, but nobody even hinted at waiting for the next morning; they knew they had to stay as close behind whomever had taken Rachel as they could. Daniel and Nandy filled Vivian and Malgam in on what they’d found as they walked. Pathik was silent, walking ahead of the rest.

“I’m worried about him.” Vivian spoke to Nandy in a low voice, nodding toward Pathik. “He’s just over blaming himself for his grandfather’s death, and now he’s convinced Rachel getting taken is his fault, too.”

Nandy kept walking, her eyes on the ground. “Do
you
blame him?”

“Blame Pathik?” Vivian sounded surprised. “Why would I?”

Nandy shrugged. “He let her go with him, let her scout when she could have stayed at the camp, with you.”

Vivian snorted. “
Let
her? Like she
let
him go into Bensen?” She was silent for a moment, remembering the awful cost of that thrill-seeking trip Pathik and Rachel had made to Bensen. Indigo had paid for it with his life. But she shook her head at the thought that anyone could be blamed for it—that was wrong, really. Indigo, Pathik, Rachel—all of them—they all had choices to make. She looked sideways at Nandy. “Do you really think either one of them could stop the other from doing whatever they set their minds to?”

Nandy smiled. “Probably not. No more than Malgam could stop me—or Daniel, you?”

“Exactly.” Vivian shook her head. “I’d like to blame
someone
, but it wouldn’t help anything. Rachel would still be gone.” She eyed the rocky field, the foothills ahead. She tried not to think about what might be happening to Rachel.

It was after dusk when they finally stopped for the night. They’d made it to the first of the foothills and located a carefully hidden trailhead. Pathik sniffed around, trying to determine if anyone was near.

“They’ll just block you, if they’re still close.” Malgam put a hand on Pathik’s shoulder. “Come get some food now.”

Pathik followed him to where the rest of the group had set up a makeshift camp. The plan was to eat, sleep a few hours, and be back to hiking before dawn.

“I don’t think we can be that far behind,” said Nandy, trying to ease Pathik’s mind a bit. “They’ll be either leading her or carrying her and that will slow them down.”

“Why would . . . whoever they are . . . take Rachel and not Pathik?” Vivian chewed on a piece of freeze-dried meat, tasting nothing. She swallowed and took another bite. She wasn’t hungry at all—her stomach was tight with worry for her daughter—but she knew she might need every bit of strength the meal provided. “And how did they even know we were here?”

“If they can block a gift like Pathik’s, they probably have people with the same gift, or something like it.” Daniel untied a bedroll. “They probably knew about us the minute we got here.”

Pathik stood. “I’ll take first watch.” He stared through the growing dark at the trailhead, or at least at the place he knew it was—they’d barely been able to identify it in daylight. Someone had taken great care to ensure that the trail wasn’t easy to see, that it looked like no more than an animal path. He wanted nothing more than to follow it, now, and find Rachel, but he knew the others were right. They had no idea what they’d be walking into. Best to have strength in numbers.

The others settled into fitful sleep. Pathik leaned against a rock outcropping, as still as though he was made of stone, too. He listened, straining to hear anything that might warn him of danger. He
felt
, too, trying to see if he could sense a block. He hadn’t known he was being blocked that morning, so he hadn’t tried to sense anything different, but now, he did. He concentrated, casting out with his mind, feeling for anything unusual. He didn’t feel any human presence, but just as he was about to stop, he did feel—something. It was like a veil, a soft black wall, past which everything was obscured. As soon as he felt it, he withdrew.

He didn’t know if it was possible for whoever was casting that veil to sense him, here in the dark, reaching out to feel them, but he didn’t want to take the chance. He stared up, into the murky blackness of the mountain, mammoth against the night sky. Rachel was there, somewhere. Alive. He had to believe that.

T
he winter sun shone dimly through the roof of the greenhouse, its tepid evening rays magnified by the glass panes. Elizabeth took the last pot from the tray of orchids she was working on. Repotting was an endless task, but she’d made good progress today. Just one more plant and then she would walk to the main house, where Jonathan, who’d moved into one of the guest bedrooms, would certainly be making some catastrophe for dinner.

She had to smile, thinking of how bad he was at cooking. He’d been so kind, though, tried so hard to see to her needs since Vivian and Rachel had left, Crossing the Line to who knew where.

Crossing the Line. Like she should have done, all those years ago, with Indigo and her baby son. She still felt the shame of her cowardice, even now, when it made no difference at all. Indigo was dead, her son was Away. Her grandson, too. At least she’d been able to meet Pathik, brief as that acquaintance had been. He was a bright boy, made of good stuff, she could tell, even in the short time she’d had with him. She wondered if his father, Malgam, was like him. Malgam, her son.

“Just about finished?” Jonathan stood in the greenhouse doorway. His ever-present hat was tilted down over his wrinkled forehead, tufts of gray hair peeking out from the brim.

“Yes.” Elizabeth trimmed the dried roots of the plant she held, careful to stop just short of viable tissue. She popped the orchid back into the pot, tamping potting mixture around it gently.

“Hope you’re hungry.” Jonathan grinned. “I think tonight is my best dish yet.”

Elizabeth didn’t look up. “I’ll be along directly.”

“I’ll wait. Looks like you’re almost done, and it’s getting dark out.” Jonathan leaned against the door frame. He glanced toward the main road, looking for lights.

“I don’t think they’ll be back tonight.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Surely once today is enough, even for them.”

The Enforcement Officers had been by earlier, as they had every day since Vivian, Rachel and the rest had Crossed. They knew something was suspect about Elizabeth’s story—they weren’t buying that her household employee had just disappeared, especially not so soon after that very employee’s daughter had been reported missing under strange circumstances. Elizabeth did her best to ignore the EO’s vehicle as it drove slowly down the long driveway to The Property each day. She was grateful they didn’t stop and question her. She knew that luck wouldn’t last.

“Still, better safe than sorry.” Jonathan didn’t move from his place in the doorway.

“Have it your way.” Elizabeth checked the timer on the misters and cleaned her tools. When she was satisfied that all was as it should be, she joined Jonathan. They walked the short path to the main house, sharing a companionable silence. Jonathan opened the back kitchen door for her; they’d stopped using the grand front doors much.

“Smells . . . good?” Elizabeth couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

Jonathan shot her a look. “Like I said, my best yet.” He bustled around the kitchen, lifting the lid from a pot, letting fragrant steam escape.

“Shall I set the table when I’ve washed up?” Elizabeth started for the hall bathroom.

“All set. You could pour the wine, though.”

The table was set for the two of them—a sad little sight, Elizabeth thought, looking at the empty chairs, remembering the grand dinner parties her mother and father used to have. That seemed a century ago, though. So many things had changed. She poured them each a glass of wine, and sniffed appreciatively when Jonathan brought in the main dish. It was pasta of some sort, with a sauce that actually smelled delicious.

“What’s the occasion?” Elizabeth gestured toward the wine bottle. They didn’t usually have wine with dinner.

Jonathan held up a hand. “Let me get this dished out, first.” He scooped up some pasta with tongs and placed it on Elizabeth’s plate. Then he ladled a sauce over the pasta and added some freshly ground pepper.

The front doorbell chimed.

Elizabeth and Jonathan exchanged a glance.

“Who?” Jonathan whispered the word.

“No one good.” Elizabeth stood. She placed her napkin—a fine linen napkin from her mother’s supply—on the table next to her plate. “Let me handle it.”

Jonathan set the saucepan down carefully, making sure it was squarely on the trivet which protected the fine wood table. “I’ll come with you.”

“I said
let me handle it
.” Elizabeth immediately regretted her tone. So many years of rebuffing Jonathan had become habit. Still, they both knew that someone at the door this late couldn’t be bringing welcomed news. And Elizabeth didn’t want Jonathan put at any more risk than he already had been.

Jonathan remained standing. “Go on, then.” He didn’t look at her.

Elizabeth tried to soften her tone. “I’ll just tell them we’re at dinner.” She moved toward the front doors slowly, dread in each step. When she reached them she pressed the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Elizabeth Moore?” The voice was a man’s, brusque and official.

“Yes.”

“I’m here to interview you regarding a Vivian Quillen. Open the door, please.”

Elizabeth did. The man waiting wore a typical government suit: dark jacket, dark pants, dark shoes. He carried a slim briefcase and looked impatient. “This won’t take long.” He pushed past Elizabeth and into the foyer.

She turned to face him, slowly. “We,” she said, carefully enunciating each word, “have just begun to dine.”

“I guess that will have to wait.” The man was unimpressed with Elizabeth’s frostiness. “I need to get some information from you, Ms. Moore. Where shall we have our little talk?”

“What did you say your name was?” Elizabeth kept the ice in her voice.

“I didn’t say.” The man flashed an identification card and raised his eyebrows over cold, gray eyes. “I don’t have time to waste here, Ms. Moore.”

Elizabeth wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of him, wanted to show him the door and go back to the dining room where Jonathan waited with his pasta. But she knew she couldn’t. The fact that this man was on her doorstep, the fact that he wasn’t just some EO, cruising by the house, giving her some stupid grin from the vehicle, told her she needed to be careful. “We can talk in the parlor.” She turned without waiting to see if he followed, and settled herself in one of the chairs flanking the fireplace.

“Now.” The man set his briefcase on the low table between them and opened it. He took out a digitab and scanned the screen for a moment, flicking his finger back and forth. Without looking up, he spoke.

“It says here that your employee, one Vivian Quillen, is missing.” He frowned at the screen. “And that her daughter was reported missing as well, sometime before Ms. Quillen.” The man finally raised his eyes, peering at Elizabeth over his digitab. “It says you weren’t too cooperative in your initial interview, Ms. Moore.” He leaned back against the chair, crossed his legs and watched her.

Elizabeth said nothing. She heard a sound out in the foyer and knew Jonathan had stationed himself outside the parlor door.

“Well?” The man uncrossed his legs. He leaned forward, lowering the digitab. “As I said, I don’t have time to waste here. I’m sure you know it’s in your best interest to cooperate with me.” He looked disdainfully around the room. “You wouldn’t want to have to leave all this . . . luxury.”

“I have no plans to leave.” Elizabeth followed his gaze with her own, taking in all of memories the room held. Her mother’s favorite glass box sat on the mantle, right next to the digim of Indigo. It was an image of him in his youth, blue eyes, ready smile. He’d been so handsome. He was dead now, she knew it. She’d stayed behind when the others Crossed, both to give them some time to escape and because she’d hoped that Indigo might somehow have survived. But he’d never come back from town that day—the day he had to go rescue Pathik and Rachel. She’d been foolish to hope, she knew that, but she had. She had hoped against all reason that somehow, Indigo would return to her.

Elizabeth felt tears welling in her eyes. It took her by surprise, and she had to grit her teeth hard to stop them. She turned her gaze back to the man sitting on her mother’s sofa, the despicable little man who held all the power he needed to have her hauled away to some cell, even killed.

He was waiting for her attention. “You,” he said, grinning, “don’t make the plans.” The grin transformed into a set of bared teeth, framed by his thin, hard lips. “
We
make the plans.” He waited until he was certain she’d taken his point. “Your former employee, this Ms. Quillen, has an interesting history.” He checked his digitab again. “From what I see here, you indicated in a previous interview that you had no idea she was a collaborator.”

“Of course I had no idea, and I don’t think it’s been established that she was one.” Elizabeth tried to look as affronted as possible. “I would never hire a collaborator. Why would I bring that kind of trouble to an already troubled business? I’ve been barely able to pay your taxes for years. Costs are up, sales are down—”

“I’m not interested in your personal problems.” The man breathed in through his nose, the sound like the hissing of a snake. “We’re watching you, as I’m sure you know, Ms. Moore. We plan to keep watching you. It would be better for you if you just tell us what you know now, instead of waiting until we discover it on our own. Things could go very badly for you then. For you, and for anyone else who might be involved.” He turned his head slightly toward the foyer, but he kept his eyes on her, and smiled. “It seems your hired man has taken up residence here, of late. Rather a cozy arrangement. It would be a shame if he somehow became involved in your mess, wouldn’t it?”