CHAPTER 28

It ended up taking several hours for Marin and Kana to find the materials necessary to fashion a proper brace, build it, and then affix it to Line’s ankle. They used wooden slats from a chair, wire from a whisk that Marin found in the kitchen, and padding from several of the mayor’s pillows. But once completed, the project appeared well worth it. Line was much more comfortable now. While he was looking for materials, Kana ransacked the mayor’s house but was unable to find a single additional morsel of food.

“We should go,” said Line. “There’s no point in sticking around here. And I’m sick of waiting.”

Marin looked at the clock on the wall, which she had wound several hours ago. It was a few minutes past eight—nearly dinnertime. More important, it was a reminder that they’d been awake for ages.

She looked at Line. “How much have you slept here?”

He thought about this for a moment. “I don’t know—a few hours.”

“And before that?”

“Before that . . . I don’t know . . .”

“And you were up for at least twenty-four hours in that hole,” said Marin with a shake of her head. “Kana and I haven’t slept much, either. It’s freezing outside and we probably won’t be able to stop until we reach the fishing depot. It’s going to be a nasty, cold slog. And then we’ll be in a small boat on the open sea.” She paused for a moment to let it all sink in. “I want to leave, too, but I think it’s smarter to rest here for a few more hours.”

“What about the thing?” asked Kana. “We’re just going to wait here for it to come back? Maybe we should go to another house. Maybe our house, or Line’s.” However, as soon as he said this, he realized he had no interest in going back to his house.

Marin looked at Line. “What do you think?”

Line nodded at the door. “That’s the heaviest door I’ve seen in town,” he said. “I don’t think going somewhere else would give us more protection.”

“And the signal lamp?” asked Kana.

“I’ll turn it off,” said Marin with a heavy sigh. “It’s only going to attract attention.”

“You understand what this means, right?” asked Kana. “If we turn it off, we have to be clear about what we’re saying. No one will rescue us. We do it ourselves. Together.”

For a moment, Marin was slightly short of breath. She felt as if she were standing at the edge of an endless chasm, teetering, about to fall.

“We can do it,” she whispered.

The room was silent. She stared at Kana, then at Line. They nodded.

“All right,” she said, more to herself than to anybody else.

Marin turned and left the room, knowing that both of them were staring after her. She walked through the darkened house, entered the closet in the pantry, ascended the stairs, climbed the long inset ladder past the mysterious, heavy boxes, and emerged onto the widow’s walk. She placed her hand on the top of the signal light. It was warm. She looked out at the narrow, triangular swath of light that the lamp was casting over Bliss. Somehow turning the light off felt like an act of surrender. She took several deep breaths. It makes sense, she told herself. You’re doing this to protect the last three people on this island. Do it. Marin stretched out her arm and turned the knob. The town fell into darkness.

By the time she returned to the mayor’s quarters, Line and Kana had moved the two main couches so that they faced each other, creating a space large enough for the three of them to sleep. There was a nest of sheets, a few blankets, and some towels to cover themselves with. They were already lying down, but when she crept into the room, they stood up without a word and all three pushed a massive armoire in front of the door, along with the dresser and bureau.

Marin was the last of the three to get back under the blanket. The open space was next to Line. She blew out the one candle that was still lit, huddled against the length of Line’s body, and tried to relax. Line turned on his back and slowly took her hand in his. He turned to look at her. They were very close, so close that Marin could feel his breath on her cheeks.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” he whispered.

“I haven’t yet,” she whispered back.

Marin slid her free hand into her coat pocket, feeling for the velvet bag that she’d retrieved from her luggage. She then wiggled her fingers into the bag itself, feeling the long silver chain and the clunky sunstone. Merely touching the necklace filled her with guilt and no small amount of self-loathing. This was the reason that they’d been left behind. And she’d had it all along.

Months ago, when she’d returned from the woods—after her failed adventure with Line and Kana—she’d looked inside the leather satchel and hadn’t found it. Marin had been furious with Line for leaving it by the edge of the pond. Then, a few days later, she picked up the satchel again and realized it was too heavy to be empty. The necklace was hidden within a tear on the inside seam of the bag.

Marin was both relieved and horrified. She’d intended to tell Line right away, she really had, but the right moment had never come. And after a while, it became too awkward to admit what happened. Then Line had gone looking for it, which was incredibly stupid, but the truth was that it was all her fault. She had been too embarrassed to tell Line that she’d found the necklace. It was her own stubborn pride that brought them here, and now their lives were in jeopardy.

Marin would have to tell them at some point, that much was clear, but perhaps it made the most sense to wait until they’d found the spare boat at the fishing depot and were making their escape along the river. At such a time, they’d be so glad to have the sunstone that they might forgive her. That was her hope. In any case, it would do no good to tell them now. Everybody was tense enough as it was. Marin kept rubbing the sunstone with her fingers, as if this would wipe the problem away. Finally a heavy drowsiness came over her and she fell into a deep sleep.

Sometime much later, Marin woke to a piercing sound. She thought then of the knives below, and of the sharpeners. Marin cursed. The knives. We should have taken all of them out of the mantel.

Slow, heavy footsteps came up the stairs. They sounded much louder than last time.

“It’s back!” she shouted. She didn’t dare voice her other thought—it sounded like there were more than just one.

In a heartbeat, Marin, Line, and Kana were on their feet. Together they braced themselves against the armoire and dressers that barricaded the entranceway. Then the pounding began—huge, powerful blows. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! There was no doubt about it. There were several bodies trying to force their way in. If it weren’t for the barricade, the door would have blown open. Still, the furniture shuddered ominously. The ferocity of the blows was unmistakable—the things on the other side of the door were determined to get in this time.

“Hold!” screamed Line, who was pushing madly against the armoire. “HOLD!”

They all focused their efforts on the massive armoire. If it slid away, the dressers behind it wouldn’t be strong enough to keep the door closed. They lined up against the armoire, dug their heels into the ground, and pushed with all the ferocity of those whose lives hung in the balance. The armoire slid forward an inch, and then backward an inch, again and again.

The hinge that fastened the top of the door to the wall started coming loose. The screws were being yanked out—it wouldn’t be long before the top of the door separated from the wall entirely. But there was nothing they could do about it.

The battering at the door continued for several minutes until, suddenly, Kana slipped at the same time that the door bulged inward from a series of ferocious blows. The force of this new attack jettisoned Kana backward. He sprawled across the floor and the armoire slid forward several inches. The door creaked open. Marin screamed. Grunting erupted from the hallway, and the door was under such pressure that it seemed to bend. Kana threw himself against the armoire with tremendous force. His effort seemed almost superhuman and, amazingly, the armoire slid forward by a half a foot and—once again—the door to the room closed.

Shortly after this, the battering stopped. One of the creatures bellowed and they heard a splintering, cracking sound. Marin’s heart sank. It was over. The door was breaking.

“It’s just a knife—the door is holding,” gasped Kana, seemingly reading her thoughts. Then came the sound of squeaking floorboards as the things made their way back down the stairs. Then silence. A long, eerie silence. A minute passed. Then another. Kana, Line, and Marin slumped to the floor, out of breath. More time passed. Finally, they rose to their feet and began to clear the barricade. When the furniture was moved away, they stood at the door and listened.

Silence.

Line tensed and put his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?” he whispered.

“Do it,” replied Marin.

Line opened the door in a fluid motion. Kana, out first, confirmed that the hallway was empty. He looked at the door. It was cracked in several places. Directly above each of the three hash marks was a knife stuck into the wood. Line reached up and tried to extract one of the daggers. It wouldn’t budge.

Marin stood at the top of the stairs and listened. Kana joined her.

“They’re gone,” Kana said. “Or at least they’re not in the house anymore.”

“They’ll be back,” said Marin. She looked around, taking in the pervasive gloom, polished banisters, walls, floors, and ceiling. A feeling of clarity descended upon her. “Don’t you see? They built this house.” Then she extended both arms and gestured all around. “They built all of this.”

“She’s right,” said Kana softly.

“Do you think the mayor knew?” asked Line, eyes trained on the floor.

“Doesn’t matter at this point,” said Marin. She reached down and began to tighten the laces on her boots. “What matters is, this town is theirs—and they want it back.”