Children of the Storm

had refused to look at it again.
        Sonya tugged at the boy's hand and got him turned around.
        Holding tightly to both of them, her heart racing, determined not to be upset by what she'd seen, but upset anyway, she plunged back into the denser regions of the palm forest, heading again toward Hawk House.

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    TWENTY-SIX
        
        Jeremy saw the three of them running across the lawn and into the first of the palm trees, but he did not realize, for a moment, what Sonya had in mind. While he watched, they had nearly been blown from their feet half a dozen times during that short journey; only a fool would attempt to run the gauntlet of the hurricane clear to the far end of Distingue, more than a mile away. Instead of that, he was certain, she intended to get the kids into the trees, without him seeing where they had gone, then hide them there until such a time as it was safe to bring them back-either until the storm ended and help had arrived (which might be day yet), or until the others in the storm cellar learned about Saine and found who the villain was. She would expect them to overpower him, Jeremy, and make it safe for her to lead the kids back to Seawatch.
        He chuckled.
        At first, when she had locked herself in that room, and when he had broken the door down only to find them gone through the window, he had been more furious than ever in his life. He would have killed anyone just then, no matter whether they had already suffered enough in their life or not.
        Now, however, he was calm again.
        He watched them duck into the trees and laughed out loud.
        He was not completely over his anger, but now that he knew where they were and had already decided how to get at them, he felt in control of things again, and he was not worried. When he caught them, he'd spend a little extra time carving up the woman before he killed her, a few extra minutes of pain so that she would better understand what he was trying to do, what his mission in life was. But that was all. Otherwise, he would carry on with the plan just as he would have if she had not pulled that trick in the upstairs hall and locked him out of the kids' room.
        Careful to keep out of sight of the palms where she had entered them, he went down the seaward side of the hill on which the house was built, and always keeping the sea at his side, crept around the hill, so that he would eventually enter the palms just slightly behind them.
        He felt good.
        He carried the knife, even out here in the wind and rain, opened and pointed straight ahead of him.
        He was surprised to find how high the sea had come, and he felt it surge at his feet once or twice as he skirted the side of the hill, like a cold-nose nudge from a favorite dog.
        Following the edge of the hill, he reached the first narrow ravine where the land fell for a short space before rising again, saw that the depression was filled with a thick finger of seawater. He was sure she wouldn't try crossing that, with two kids, not a woman alone, and he finally turned inland, expecting to come up behind them.
        In the heart of the island, crouching down out of sight in the water-bottomed gully, the roar of the disturbed palms made his head ache pretty badly, though nothing so insignificant as a headache could turn him back.
        Not now.
        Not so close the kill.
        Rather-not so close the execution, the punishment, not so close the application of the sentence which he, as the judge, had so long ago decreed.
        Besides, though the wind in the palm boughs was grating on the nerves, it also reminded him of the noise that might be generated by a thousand raging sword fights… Two thousand blades singing and smashing off one another… And that image was not altogether unpleasant. Swords were sharp, all honed and glistening, with tips fine enough to peel an apple with… And he had a special fondness for sharp things, more than a sportsman's interest…
        He crept up the gully, into the trees on the top of the second hill, and he peered out between the jumble of dark boles, looking for a sign of movement.
        He saw none.
        He moved, first, to the right, being careful not to lose his footing, keeping a low profile, hidden by trees and brush, and he looked for the woman and kids. When he saw nothing to the right, he went left, and even when he had no success there, he was not