"We can't bury them all," Hugh said.

"No."

"You see, the police will want to know what happened, and all those graves…"

"Yes. I know."

The wind lifted tatters of clothing, strands of reddened hair; the sea had withdrawn to expose a beach as smooth as it must have been before the island had its people.

"And what about Lilla?"

"If Matt's right and she stayed down there in the cave…"

Then she was dead, drowned. No sense in hunting despite the fact that he could not imagine her gone with the others. She knew about Gran and knew what the old man had taught her, even after her mind had finally hidden itself in madness. If she were still alive, she was dangerous, more than anyone would ever believe.

"What'll we tell the police?"

"The storm is out," Hugh said immediately, taking away his one decent solution. "It was never that strong, and they'd never go for it." He turned. "Colin, there has to be a disaster here. It has to be storm-related, but it can't be the storm."

The wind blew steadily. It was a breeze in contrast to the Screamer of the night before, but a wind nevertheless, and even as he rechecked the island he didn't know who had the idea first, who seconded it, who decided they wouldn't tell the others. But it started with the market-a fire that fed on the cartons and boxes, ceiling and walls, was curiously dull in the dull morning air as it sparked to the church, which torched the library, which turned trees to matches and caught the building Peg's drug store was in.

A house was started.

The Anchor Inn, where they assumed investigators would notice the wires from the traffic light fallen during the night.

A second house, just to be sure, and the wind did the rest.

Without a word, using gestures only, they drove back to Gran's shack and piled as many bodies as they could into the trunk, into the back seat. The Adamses they returned to their own house; Hattie went to the library; Tess to her front yard under the wreck of Colin's car.

Hours transporting the dead to their temporary graves.

Then they wrapped Garve in a sheet and rowed him out beyond the jetty. Colin remembered the night on the beach, just before Gran's funeral, and knew at least that Garve wouldn't be alone.

The body sank without floating.

The fire spread, filling the island with the sound of wood crackling, of windows breaking, of tree trunks steaming as the sap boiled and expanded.

Then they found the boat Garve had hidden, rowed through the smoke to the mainland, and watched the light for almost an hour before they began the long walk into Flocks.