THE ISLAND 

By Tessa Harvey


    When Deidre opened her eyes again, it was still dark. Her face hurt so badly, tears were no longer possible. She felt a presence near her and was afraid. "Who are you?" she asked, querulous.          
    A very small voice answered. "Dennis, miss. They sent me with a drink." Dimly, Deidre could see a shaky hand holding a juice carton containing a fixed straw. "Heaven," she thought. The child patiently held the container steady, even though she felt him crying. The drink did something amazing to the brain. She could think! Best of all, words were possible. Blinking, Deidre could see the small tousled boy. She searched her aching head for a name.
    "Dennis," she croaked. The boy looked inordinantly pleased. Then his face quivered. "I can't find Connie," he whispered, afraid. "The people say we have food, but some of us are missing. I can't find my mum," he added.
    "What about your dad? Can't remember name." The woman was exhausted. Bits and pieces were coming together. "What's wrong with my face?" she asked. "It feels funny. The answer was terrifying. "A man hit you and the big man with you. The bad man was near you. Mr. Shayle took him away. He was a stealer. I got your bag safe."


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