*Isla*

It’s the middle of the night when we arrive at the docks. Earlier in the day, Antony had abandoned the car, thinking we were being followed, and we’d all gotten on a train to Port Westerly. It hadn’t seemed like a good idea to me because in a car we could change courses. A train was kind of stuck in one path, no matter what.

But like most things on this trip, I’d left it up to my cousin to decide what he thought was best.

Now, we were making what he described ...