45

It was nearly dark when Chase and Tall Man reached the island; a sliver of pink still lit the western horizon, but the sky overhead was a blanket of blue-black, broken by the golden dots of the evening's first stars.  The only lights on the island were in the windows of Amanda's little house.

The tide was high, so Chase could drive the boat close to shore without fear of hitting submerged rocks.  Tall Man stood in the bow and shone a powerful flashlight on the passing land.

Everything seemed normal, undisturbed.  The flashlight's beam fell on a raccoon feeding on a fish on a flat rock, and the animal froze, its eyes glowing red.  A fox fled the light, scampering away into the underbrush.  Only the sea lions seemed agitated, huddled together by the mouth of their den, rocking back and forth.

"Maybe it turned north," Tall Man said.  "Napatree would've been closer for it than here."

"I hope," said Chase.  "I still want to get Amanda and the kids into town... just in case."

"She won't want to leave her sea lions."

"I don't plan to give her a choice."  Chase had made up his mind on the way back from Block:  if there was a chance, even a remote possibility, of that thing coming to Osprey, he would evacuate the island.  They could return tomorrow, in daylight, with the police and as much heavy weaponry as they could muster, and scour the island from end to end.

When he had circled the island and seen nothing out of the ordinary, no dead animal or fresh trail, Chase returned to the dock and swung the Mako into its slip.  He turned off the motor, and stepped onto the dock.  "Stay here," he said, looping the bow line over a cleat.  "I'll go get them."  He started up the path.

Tall Man stood on the dock, listening to the sounds of the night:  crickets, birdcalls, the lap of lazy waves on the shore.  Suddenly he sensed that something was out of place, or missing; it took him a moment to realize what it was.  The heron.  Where was Chief Joseph?  Normally, by now the bird would be standing in the water by the dock, demanding food with its irascible glare.  He looked over the side of the dock, but the cove was completely dark, he couldn't see anything, so he returned to the boat, fetched the flashlight and shone it on the tidal pool.

The bird wasn't there.  Where had it gone?  He swung the beam up to the boulders, then to the shore.

Amid a tangle of brush he saw a feather:  long, blue-gray.  He walked up the path, stepped into the brush, parted it with his hands.  The brush felt sticky, and when he shone the light on his fingers, he saw blood.

He yanked a clump of brush out by its roots, clearing a space.  There, in the dirt, was the heron's head.  It had been torn from its neck, and its eyes were gone.

A rush of panic flooded Tall Man's chest.  He turned and ran toward the house.