We ditched the car in one of the big shopping plazas in Nanaimo's north end. From there, we'd hop a city bus to the ferry. Before that, though, I found a pay phone. I put in my money and dialed my grandmother's number in Skidegate.
It rang four times. I knew the machine was going to pick up, and as I waited, I considered what I'd say. I had to make sure she knew it was me, not some ghoul pretending to be her dead granddaughter. I couldn't give any information about where I was. I just wanted to get a message to my parents that I was okay. I imagined what would happen then. I imagined them confronting the St. Clouds, demanding to know where I was, accusing them of lying and threatening to call the authorities.
I imagined how the St. Clouds would react to that.
My grandmother's voice invited me to leave a message. I closed my eyes and listened to her. As I hung up, I whispered "I love you." Then I went back to the guys.
We splurged in the gift shop, buying hoodies. Then we split up to buy the ferry tickets, and didn't reunite until the boat left the harbor.
We stood on the back deck, watching our island fade into the mist. When it disappeared, I took out the notes from Rafe again and reread the second page--details on the subjects who'd escaped. Rafe had added notes at the bottom, about a real contact his mother had given him.
He might know more, he'd written. Find him. Then find them.
"Find them," I whispered, shaking my head. "How do we find them if the St. Clouds can't?"
Daniel put his arm around my shoulders as we leaned over the railing, cold mist spattering our faces, our island long vanished. "We try."
I leaned against him and nodded. Try. That was all we could do. And we would.