I DIDN’T STOP RUNNING until the first rays of daylight broke through the canopy. The dogs’ barking, distant as ghosts, might only have been my imagination. Closer, the sound of water led me to a stream. I collapsed on the bank to fill my dry throat with cool water.
That frantic night before, under moonlight echoing with the sound of screams, fleeing had seemed imperative. But in daylight I doubted my decision. My arms were covered with red scratches. I knew my face must look the same. The house shoes were little more than shreds. I peeled them off, wincing, and tossed them into the stream. They’d be useless to me now. I eased my bruised feet into the water. I buried my face in my hands, losing myself in the rushing sound of the stream.
A hand touched my shoulder.
I jerked up, ready to scream, but just as fast another hand was covering my mouth.
“Shh. It’s me.”
Panic made me twist away, tearing Mother’s dress against the river stones. “Edward!”
Sweat ran down his face from running. I could only stare as if he were a ghost. He’d followed me. My dream came back, the blood on his hands, that cold kiss.
“What are you doing here?” I asked between breaths.
“I saw you from my window tearing through the jungle like a demon was after you.” He splashed water over his face and neck and wiped it off with his cuff. “I came after you. It’s not safe out here, Juliet—”
“Did you see? Inside the laboratory?”
He paused. Took in my bruised feet, my torn dress. “No, but I heard the screams. I can guess what he was doing in there. I told you there was no good reason for a doctor to live in such a remote place. But you shouldn’t have run. It’s dangerous. I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt.…”
My heart wrenched a little that he’d risked his own safety to come after me. And then I remembered why I had run. How my curiosity had pulled me to that laboratory like a hungry animal to a fresh kill. I shuddered, disgusted with myself.
“I had to get away.” I rubbed the life back into my aching feet, pushing hard until I felt sparks of pain. “I saw something I wish I hadn’t.” I looked him in the eye, wondering if he was strong enough to deal with the truth. He’d survived twenty days at sea. He’d had the courage to run away from a wealthy life—not an easy feat. Something in me wanted to test his strength, to see just how much he could take.
He lowered his voice. “What did you see?”
I closed my eyes and replayed the scene from the laboratory. The twisted limbs, just like Balthazar and the rest of the islanders. All the caged animals. My head had suspected the connection, even though my heart didn’t want to believe it: Father might be creating things—creatures—out of vivisected animals.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t go back there. I thought there might be other people on the island. The missionaries, maybe …”
“It’s dangerous out here. People are dying.”
I frowned. “That islander who was killed? Father said it was an accident.”
“It was no accident. No one accidentally has his heart clawed out of his chest.”
My spine went rigid, forcing me to my feet. I paced without even meaning to. I’d suspected Father hadn’t told me the truth, but not like this. “What do you mean?”
“They found the body near the beach. Three claw marks to the chest. Not the first one, either. They’re still finding some of the bodies. Puck told me some terrible stories.”
I glanced at the dark jungle. It wasn’t the dogs Edward was worried about, but a dangerous wild animal. I remembered the bandoliers around Balthazar’s chest. Father eating a strawberry slowly, telling me it was nothing to worry about.
I shook my head. “Montgomery would have said something. He wouldn’t have let me come if it was dangerous.”
“Montgomery’s been away six months. He didn’t know,” Edward continued. “Neither he nor your father knows what’s killing people. That’s why I came after you. We have to go back before it finds us.”
“No! I can’t face him. Don’t you understand? I don’t want to ever see him again.”
“It’s better than getting clawed to death!” He took a deep breath. “You need to go back. Whatever you saw in that laboratory, pretend you didn’t. Just long enough until we can think of a way off the island.”
“You don’t understand,” I said bitterly. “They lied to me—Father, Montgomery. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve heard rumors … there was a scandal.…” I shook my head. Tears were threatening to spill, and I hated myself for the vulnerability. Years of my life had hinged on this one question: What type of man was my father?
And now I knew.
But Edward didn’t. He thought I’d simply come to reunite with an estranged father. I leaned forward, cupping my face. “You don’t understand.”
He paused. The tic in his jaw started. “I know about the scandal,” he said.
My head jerked up. “How?”
He studied me as if anticipating my reaction. “When I was in London—”
Something growled in the trees, silencing him. I lost my footing and nearly slipped into the creek. It was an ungodly noise, not human or animal.
Edward flexed his still-bruised knuckles, his words forgotten. “We have to go back. Can you run?” He glanced at my bare feet.
“I’ll manage.”
We tore through the jungle. The ground sloped downhill and we stumbled over vines, over thorns, through dense foliage that clawed at our limbs and tangled our feet. I tripped on a twisted root and slammed into the ground, my knee finding a sharp rock, my hands sinking into the moist layers of rotting leaves. I wiped the stains of the island on my dress as Edward pulled me to my feet.
“Sh,” he said. “Listen.”
We stood together, my head so close to his chest that I could hear the thump of his heart. There were always sounds in the jungle. Insects. Birds. Creaks and cracking, like whispers. As if someone was always following, watching from the ever-present screen of leaves.
“I thought I heard …” His whisper trailed off. For a moment it was just us and our heartbeats in the wilderness.
And then the thing snarled again, sudden and shrill. I could feel its rabid excitement.
Whatever it was, it had caught our trail.
We darted in and out of the foliage, making our way along the narrow spaces between trees, following the slope downhill. As if the island were guiding us. To where, I didn’t know.
I glanced back fleetingly, wondering what it was—a wild animal or something worse. But the jungle was too dense. It could have been a stone’s throw away and I wouldn’t have seen it.
My feet screamed for relief. We came to another stream, and Edward dashed across some rocks, but I paused for a second to catch my breath with my aching feet in the cool water. My heart thudded in my ears. When I looked up, Edward had disappeared amid the undergrowth.
Behind me the thing screamed.
“Edward!” I called. But the rush of the stream drowned my words. I struggled out of the water, slipping on the mud. My fingers clawed at the soft bank. The twisting thorns along the side tangled in my hair, grabbing at my dress, carving their mark into my arms. The island had its claim on me. I tore at the thorns with my bare hands, feeling stings of pain but not caring. The island wasn’t going to make me its prisoner.
A vine of thorns snapped back and struck me across the face. I stumbled back into the water, gasping for breath.
If the island wasn’t going to let me through to Edward, I’d find another way. I moved with the stream, fast as I could, following its winding bed. The water would wash away my scent, I realized. There’d be nothing for any animals to follow.
Except Edward’s trail.
I tried to tell myself he’d be fine. He was stronger than he looked. He was a survivor.
I stopped to catch my breath. For what felt like hours I stood, listening, hearing nothing. Whatever had been pursuing us, I’d lost it. I sank into the water, letting it soak me through, and mixed my tears with the stream water of the island.
LATER, I FOLLOWED THE twists and turns of the stream until my feet were numb. I found a gnarled stick to use as a crutch for my left foot, which bled from a gash on the toe. My thoughts grew more frantic with each hobbling step forward. I listened for the dogs, to find my way back to the compound. It would mean facing Father, swallowing back my disgust and disappointment and fear, but at least I’d be alive. Why hadn’t he told me the truth about the deaths?
What else might he be lying about?
One way or another my whole life had led to this moment, to him, and now I had nothing. I couldn’t return to London. I couldn’t even be sure about Montgomery anymore.
It was useless anyway. I was hopelessly lost and hadn’t heard the dogs for hours.
The stream turned, and a rotting footbridge with a handrail blocked my progress.
I stopped, surprised. A bridge meant people. This one clearly hadn’t been used in years, but it was far enough from the compound and old enough that it couldn’t be my father’s doing. I glanced through the woods, wondering who had built it and if they were still alive—and if they were dangerous. All I could hear was the trickle of water and wind in the trees.
I climbed out of the stream. The ground here was softer, and I followed it cautiously until I broke out of the jungle into a grassy clearing.
A cabin sat decaying in the middle of the clearing.
I stopped.
My feet didn’t dare go any closer, though I knew there might be something useful inside. I tried to remember what Father had said about the island’s previous inhabitants. The Spanish who had built the fort. The Anglican missionaries who came later. Father said they’d all gone—what exactly had happened to them, he’d neglected to say.
I circled the cabin cautiously. The soft blades of grass felt like down feathers on my bruised and bloody feet. A support beam had collapsed and the roof sagged on one end. The tin roofing was rusted and eaten away in places. No one could live here now, but the previous occupants might have left an old pair of shoes. Maybe a knife. I’d settle for a strong board with a rusty nail—anything I could use as a weapon.
I hobbled toward the cabin. The wooden steps had long ago rotted and collapsed. I set my stick aside and pulled myself onto the bowed porch. The soles of my feet left bloody prints on the rough old boards, which protested under my weight as I crossed to the doorway. The door hung open a few inches. I only had to push it a little farther.
The hinges groaned, sending gooseflesh over my skin. I peered inside. The interior was as dilapidated as the outside. It was sparsely furnished—a low table, a wooden bed frame. No sign of inhabitants. I stepped inside but felt a tug at my skirt. With a shriek I ripped it away, but it had only caught on a nail in the doorframe. A snag of dingy fur was also caught on the nail.
My throat tightened. Just because the cabin had been abandoned by people didn’t mean some wild animal hadn’t taken up occupancy.
A wild animal … maybe one that was killing the islanders by clawing their chests. I glanced around the clearing, looking for signs I was being watched. Not a blade of grass rustled. I slipped in anyway and closed the door behind me, breathless. There was a crude wooden latch attached to the door that I fumbled to twist closed.
Sunlight poured in from rusted-out patches in the roof, throwing puddles of light on the room. Dust danced in the hazy air.
My breath began to calm. I was alone, I told myself. I cleaned the cabin’s one dirty window with the edge of my sleeve. Outside there was nothing but empty porch and my walking stick leaning against a post.
On the table was a nub of tallow candle and a grimy green bottle filled with dust and the petrified husks of flying insects. I spied a cupboard in the corner and twisted open the latch. The door came off in my hand, and a heavy, rusted wrench spilled out at my feet, just missing my toes. I jumped back, my heart in my throat. Several more tools tumbled out with a dull crash of metal. I stooped to look. A claw-headed hammer. A railroad spike. A rusted pair of shears. My hand closed over the shears. Though the blades were dull, they could be used as a weapon. I slipped it into my pocket.
I turned to the bed and sucked in a quick breath. The remnants of a straw mattress and old quilt were matted with thick yellow fur. Something had made a den out of the bed—some animal. Images jumped to mind of a savage beast with claws big enough to slice a man open.
I fumbled with my skirt pocket and pulled out the shears. With my other hand I touched the quilt, hesitantly. The fur felt gritty and rough against my fingers. A creature lived here.
And it might return.
A desperate need to flee pulled at my gut. When I turned, I caught sight of something startlingly white on the mantel above the caved-in fireplace. I stepped closer to see what it was.
On the mantel was a small glass bottle, broken at the top, filled halfway with water. In the bottle was a single fresh white flower.
No animal could do that. Someone had been here. A human.
A chill seized me.
This wasn’t the den of some wild animal—it was the filthy home of some person. I hurled myself at the door. But the wooden latch wouldn’t turn.
A creak sounded from the porch. I pulled back my hand as though the latch were on fire. My body went still as stone. I closed my eyes.
I waited.
I licked some moisture back into my quivering lips.
Another creak. And another, slow as the shallow breaths I took. Someone was walking on the bowed wooden boards on the other side of the door.
My eyes flew open. I dared not take a step and make my presence known. From my position I could see out of the window’s corner. The shadow of a tall figure stretched across the porch.
I shrank into myself, feeling a silent scream coming from every pore in my skin. There was no other way out of the cabin. The window was on the same side as the door, and the chimney had fallen in. I looked up into the dappled sunlight blinding my eyes. The roof would never take my weight.
The latch rattled again.
I fought against consuming fear. Panic would get me nowhere. I needed my head. He’d be bigger than me, no doubt, so I couldn’t overpower him. The shears were an extension of my hand, deadly and ready to strike. I needed to catch him by surprise as soon as the door opened. Strike something essential but soft, easy to damage with the shears. His abdomen. No—his eyes. I could get away easier from a blind attacker.
The latch rattled again, harder this time. Sweat rolled down the sides of my face. Somewhere beneath the fear, there was a thrill. I could almost taste it, like chimney ash. In the next minute, I might blind a man with my own hands. It made me feel savage and powerful.
Outside, somewhere in the jungle, one of the bloodhounds howled. A small ripple of hope.
Suddenly the door went still. The dog howled again, and then several more joined it. They had picked up a scent. I tried to peer out the window but saw nothing. The shears were slick in my sweating palm.
Then, as sudden as they had come, the footsteps left.
I waited ten seconds. Twenty. I lost count. Still, the doorknob did not move. I forced my legs to walk to the window. The porch outside was totally empty.
Had the dogs frightened him off? Or was he just around the corner, waiting for me? I stood still as long as I could before the dust dancing in the air began to choke me like poison. I pounded at the latch with the shears until I could twist it. Slowly, I inched open the door. Sweat rolled off my face and soaked my blouse. I took a step onto the porch.
There was no one there. He’d gone. But he’d left behind wet footprints on the sagging wooden porch, interspersed with my own bloody prints. I crouched down to study the print closest to the door. It dwarfed my own. He’d been barefoot, which was strange. Stranger still was the number of toes.
One, two, three.