Night of the Purple Moon by Scott Cramer Page A

understood that odor all too well.
    After Gabby and Ben realized they were truly on their own, they remembered from previous visits to Bar Harbor with their parents that a lighthouse keeper lived on one of the small islands dotting the harbor.
    “We didn’t think he’d be alive,” she said. “But to live on an island you must keep a good stock of food.”
    They found a rowboat on the shore that was perfect. It had oars and life jackets and a bleach bottle cut in half for bailing water.
    “We took turns rowing,” Gabby said, lightly resting her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When we were about a hundred yards from the island, the wind picked up. No matter how hard we rowed, we drifted out to sea.”
    They moved at the whim of the currents and winds, often out of sight of land. At still other times the fog was so thick they couldn’t see each other. They lost track of time. The peanut butter and pretzels long gone, they spoke of ice cream sundaes, apple pie, and Twizzlers. These fantasies sated their hunger briefly but left them hungrier than ever. The biggest problem was no fresh water. A powerful thirst consumed them. Their tongues swelled. They sipped sea water in a moment of weakness, triggering violent stomachaches.
    Kevin spoke up. “You can only last three days without water.” Nobody paid attention to him or took their eyes off Gabby.
    “When we saw a jetty, we thought we’d reached New Hampshire.”
    Helplessly they drifted past the mouth of the harbor—the Castine Island harbor. Gabby said she tried to keep her eyes open, fearing that if she fell asleep she would never awaken, never see her brother again.
    Someone to Jordan’s right started to cry.
    “Next thing I knew,” Gabby said, “I was drenched by icy water. We had washed ashore. I shook Ben but he wouldn’t open his eyes. Wave after wave pounded us, and I worried we might drown. Somehow I managed to roll over the side of the boat. I was up to my waist. I dragged Ben into the water, and he finally came to. We crawled up to the sand. And when we looked up, we saw this incredible house on the hill, and there was light coming through the window.”
    Her story finished, Jordan excused himself and stepped outside. He located their boat in the cove across the road. The ebbing tide caused it to lean onto the bed of wet polished stones dappled with moonlight. He was surprised to see that it was a sailing skiff, not a rowboat. He understood the confusion. The skiff had oars, a centerboard, transom for a mast, and pins for the rudder.
    The mainland was a cruel, ruthless, and dangerous place, and this tiny vessel had delivered Ben and Gabby here against impossible odds. He rested his hand on the stern, hoping to soak up some of their luck.
    * * *
    Abby parked the cruiser in front of the house where Toby, Chad, and Glen were staying this week. By going alone she hoped she’d stand a better chance of getting through to Toby, the leader. If he listened to her, the others would, too. She didn’t care where they chose to live, but they should share the workload.
    Abby felt an added urgency to her mission. The renegade boys had no idea how lucky they’d been. If Gabby and Ben had not arrived when they did, Colby would have paid them a visit. It wouldn’t have been pretty. Abby feared the next time they stole eggs, nobody could stop Colby.
    She walked to the front door, not the least bit surprised by the bottles and cans and garbage that littered the front and side yards and porch. This was how the three boys had lived ever since they declined the invitation to live in the mansion. They roamed from house to house, trashing one place before moving to the next. Derek had spotted their fresh trash heap in Eddie’s old neighborhood, which is how Abby knew where to find them.
    A piece of orange tape, the type used at crime scenes, was knotted around the doorknob. The burial team had recently cleared the neighborhood of bodies. Orange tape indicated a house