Twenty-Seven

Morning comes, pale and yellow and new. I find a small motor launch at the end of one of the jetties. Lisa carries the baby and I help her climb down onto the wet, rocking floor of the boat. The child blinks slowly, her face wrinkled and soft. Tiny fingers pull at the edge of the blanket in which she's wrapped.

"I love her," says Lisa. "Already I love her."

I start the boat. It is simpler than I thought. The engine is controlled by a simple switch, and there is a steering wheel just like in a car. I compare the map with the compass on the control panel, then pull away from the jetty, leaving behind the mainland and the Creatures and the place where I almost died.

I look at the baby. I look at Lisa. As long as I live I know that I will never let any Creature near either one of them. For as long as I live I will never let them be hurt.

The island is just a smudge against the slow yellow of the sun, so that I have to squint and shield my eyes to see it at all. Around the boat the sea is infinite and glistening.

Closer. I can see the rearing chalk cliffs and the dark stick of a tumbledown tower. Trees, and the yellowish curve of a beach.

Closer. I see a wooden jetty. I can’t be sure, but at the top of the cliff I see a moving, red dot. Someone’s jacket?

Closer. A flare from the tower paints the morning sky orange. Six small figures – barely more than coloured dots are crossing the beach towards the jetty.

Closer. They’re waving at me, at us. I can hear distant shouts, human voices. Another flare bursts. Lisa is awake now, and she joins me at the prow of the boat with the baby in her arms. Still the people on the beach are waving and I can’t stop myself from smiling.

Closer. Lisa leans her head into the hollow at the base of my neck. I close my eyes.

Closer.