the chair. Her body felt as though it had been wrung out. All of her muscles burned. She looked over at Jill, now sitting back in her chair, too. Carl had taken off his mask and he’d just fist-bumped with Alec and then with Porter. Alec, still holding the knife, was swaying in place, his face hard to read. Carl and Porter walked back to Chip as Alec continued to stand over Jill.
“You really thought I was going to kill you?” Bruce said, and his voice was too loud, as though adrenaline was still flowing through his body.
Abigail said nothing. Her throat ached, and she could feel a sob rising through her, but she didn’t let it come out. The men, regrouped now, were comparing notes, laughing. She watched them, wondering what was going to happen next. Would she be expected to get on a plane with Bruce, leave the island? What would stop her from telling this story to the police, or to a reporter? Although at the moment she didn’t care about all that; she just wanted to get away, to go home, to forget everything that had happened.
“Alec?” It was Porter’s voice. He was stretched to his full height, looking through the fire to where Alec still stood with Jill. The other men had begun to look, and Abigail turned her head, knowing, from the tone of Porter’s voice, that she was about to see something she didn’t want to see.
Alec held a jagged rock in his hand and was slowly battering Jill with it. Or maybe he wasn’t doing it slowly, but it looked that way, his arm raising and lowering while the world froze around him. Everyone was silent; there was just the sound of the rock thunking into the side of Jill’s head, as he propped it with his other hand. Then he untangled his hand from her hair and brought the rock down in a long sweeping motion, hitting her on the jaw and knocking her off the chair and onto the ground. He dropped to a knee and hit her three more times with the rock, bringing it down harder each time. No one moved, but even if someone had, it would have been too late. The final strike had produced a sickening crack, and one of Jill’s legs was spasming.
Porter came around the fire and grabbed Alec from behind, lifting him up and away from Jill. All the men followed, forming a semicircle around Jill’s body. Her leg had stopped twitching, but Abigail got a clear look at her destroyed head in the light from the fire.
“Jesus,” Chip said, his voice with a hint of actual fear in it. Bruce was staring down, a hand over his mouth. The pilot pushed his mask off his head and it fell to the ground beside Jill.
Abigail stood up on weak legs. She thought everyone would look at her, but they didn’t.
A voice in her head said:
Run.
You’re a witness, and you need to run.
Chip grabbed Alec’s face and held it. “What the fuck, Alec? What did you do?”
Run.
Abigail took two steps away from the chair. The men were only looking at one another.
They have to kill you now, she thought. Whatever chance you thought you had that they’d let you off this island is now gone. You’re a witness to a murder.
Run.
But instead of running, she simply walked, putting one foot in front of the other, down the path that led out of the woods. She turned a corner, the path now dark because the fire was obscured by trees, then began to run, tripping on a root but managing to stay upright, her toe zinging with pain. The building that housed the pool and spa loomed suddenly in her vision on her right, its structure visible in the moonlight. She slowed a little; she hadn’t thought this far ahead, did not know immediately in what direction she should go. What exactly was she doing? Should she try to find someone—a staff member—and tell them what had happened? No, she told herself. Even if some of the staff didn’t know what went on in the woods late at night, that didn’t mean they would suddenly take her side. Very rich men owned this place and did what they wanted on it. She needed to get off the island. It was her only chance.
She stopped completely for a moment. For right now she needed to hide, to get somewhere where they wouldn’t find her. And