Abigail stopped and crouched, letting her breath return to normal and watching the boathouse for any sign of activity. There was enough light for her to see the canoes lined up along the shore, and also the kayaks she’d seen earlier that week. Each kayak was for one person, made from fiberglass, and Abigail knew from experience that it probably weighed only about fifty pounds. When she’d been thinking about how to get off the island, she kept going back to the fact that there were no boats here, but of course there were boats, sailboats and kayaks and canoes, but they were on the pond, not on the ocean’s shore. Abigail was pretty sure she could drag, or carry, the kayak to the ocean and paddle to the mainland. What she worried about right now was whether they’d thought of that, too. Would there be a guard? And if so, where was he?
The boathouse was a simple building, more of a shell, really, with unpainted wood sides and a green plastic roof. The side of the building that faced the pond was completely open, and Abigail imagined that if there was a guard, he’d be sitting in the boathouse, waiting, maybe even dozing.
She put her bow down on the ground, alongside the kitchen knife she’d used to kill Bruce, and ran her hands through the fallen leaves and needles till she found a stone about the size of a golf ball. She stood and threw the stone as far as she could, past the boathouse. It skittered along the rocky shore of the pond, and almost immediately a figure emerged from the boathouse, running after the sound, his head swiveling. He was too far away for Abigail to make out who he might be, but she could tell that he carried a rifle with him. The sight of the gun was shocking; maybe the plane she thought she’d heard earlier had brought guns as well as dogs.
Abigail picked up the bow, notched one arrow into the string, and ran quietly down to the boathouse, pressing up against its back wall, then moving to its edge, peering around at the man, who was still scouring the area. She suddenly felt stupid with the bow, remembering how long it had taken her at the Renaissance fair to get in one decent shot. What made her think that she’d be able to hit this man on her first try, before he turned and simply shot her? She should have brought the knife and charged him while his back was turned. At least then she might have had a fighting chance. She decided to wait in the shadow of the boathouse until he gave up wondering what had made the sound, then go back and get her knife and try to get the drop on him.
Just then she heard a sound, a brief snippet of static, and saw that he was on his walkie-talkie, probably calling for reinforcements. Without thinking, she took a step away from the boathouse, squared her feet, and pulled the arrow back. He must have heard the creak of the bow, because he turned and looked at her, and she fired, the string smacking against the windbreaker on the inside of her arm, but the arrow flying straight, striking the man below his left shoulder. He stepped backward, lost his balance, and went down. Abigail ran over and knelt above him. It was the island detective—Bob something—instantly recognizable by his white hair. He looked up at her with fear in his eyes, then yelled, “She’s here.” Another staticky squawk came from the walkie-talkie, still in his hand. Abigail picked up the rifle and, holding it by its barrel, smacked the other end down toward his forehead, but hit his nose instead, breaking it, blood pooling into his mouth. He squealed, an almost purely animal sound, and she hit him again, this time in the head, and he was quiet.
She ran to the kayaks and examined the nearest one. It had a convenient handle on its bow, a plastic grip attached to two inches of synthetic rope. She stowed the rifle inside the kayak, then went in search of a paddle, finding several lined up against the interior wall of the boathouse. She picked the shortest one. On the way out of the boathouse she smelled coffee and spotted an open thermos next to a lawn chair. She picked up the thermos and took a long pull, the coffee hot