by Chanda Hahn
He heard Hook speaking to his companion about the high tides and the entrance being closed off for most of the day. His stomach plummeted even more. He was now trapped inside, and Wendy was alone outside.
“Way to go, Peter,” he chastised himself and once again prayed that Wendy would have the common sense to stay put and wait for him. Then he scrunched up his face in realization. Who was he kidding? That was not at all like Wendy. He could almost guarantee that she was in some kind of trouble already. If she wasn’t the cause of it, then it would most certainly seek her out.
“Hey, Peter,” Leroy whispered. “Where did you go on the ship with the other boy?”
“I needed to help a friend out. In fact, we are still trying to help them.”
Wu Zan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down Peter. “You’re trying to break out the others, aren’t you?” he accused. “The new ones.”
Peter didn’t have time to lie or dance around the truth. “Yes, I am. They’re my family.”
“Neverland is our family,” Wu Zan spoke indignantly.
Peter shook his head, “No, it’s not. This place is built on broken dreams and promises. I’ve been here before.” He pointed up aboveground. “Seven years ago, we were taken, all kids ranging from infants to twelve years old. We were in a psychiatric hospital as they tested us, treated us for this imaginary disease. When we weren’t taking to the treatments fast enough, Neverland ordered us to be destroyed, but instead, we destroyed Neverland. Or so we thought. This new drug, this PX-3 or whatever number they’re on now? It’s still bad news. What if they get tired of you and decide to order you destroyed as well?”
Wu Zan’s face paled and Leroy looked disturbed by the news.
Peter laughed dryly. “I guess they forgot to put that in the recruitment pamphlet.”
He turned to leave, but Wu Zan’s hand shot out and grabbed Peter’s elbow painfully.
“We should report you,” Wu Zan hissed. He looked around to wave down a guard.
Leroy stepped between the two boys, blocking Wu Zan from Peter. Leroy’s brown eyes were filled with worry. “Are you saying we’re going to die? That the drug doesn’t work, right?”
“I don’t know, but ask yourself, how many burned out? How many have you watched die unnecessarily?”
“We should stop him!” Wu Zan snapped. “Make him stay with us.”
“No.” Leroy’s deep voice made Wu Zan wince. “You will do no such thing. Let him go. Let him save his friends. If it was you Zan, if you got into trouble, I would do everything I could to save you.”
Wu Zan’s mouth opened to spew an even louder tirade, but Leroy clasped his hands over Wu Zan’s mouth, hushing him.
“Go, brother,” Leroy said sadly. “Save your family, and I will take care of mine.” He nodded to Wu Zan, who was vibrating and kicking violently, but not enough to hurt his friend.
Peter reached out and touched Leroy’s arm. “When we rebuild our home, you are always welcome there.”
There was a resigned sadness in Leroy’s face. His lips turned up in a smile, but it never reached his eyes. “Thank you.”
He turned, his hand still clamped over Wu Zan’s mouth, and faced the front with the other soldiers, pulling Wu Zan along with him. The larger boy leaned down and whispered something in Wu Zan’s ear, and he finally settled down, only casting one or two heated looks back over his shoulder at Peter, who was scoping out the idling truck parked on the side.
Slipping over to the truck bed, he swung his leg over the side and crawled into the back. Hands grabbed hold of him from behind and pulled him onto the truck bed with a thump. Peter began to fight, but Curly reached a hand out to calm him.
Peter felt the cool rush of peace wash over him, and then he punched Curly. “Don’t use your magic on me,” he snapped.
“Sorry, but you needed to get down fast,” Curly whispered.
The sounds of the Dusters marching down a tunnel echoed back, and Peter imagined his friends with them. Louder footsteps came as they drew near, and then they heard the driver door open. Seconds later, the truck began moving.
“I heard Hook say something about taking them to the locker room. Do you know where that is?”
Peter shook his head.
“What is this place?” Curly asked.
“It’s the island. We’re back.”
“I don’t remember this area.”
“We’re underground. Remember when the kids would disappear from the hospital? We passed through here, but it wasn’t finished then. I remember lots of construction and tarps and security.”
Curly lay on the truck bed on his back, his knees pulled up because there wasn’t much room to stay low. “It’s been here all this time.”
“I don’t think they ever stopped building it,” Peter mused. He was stuck between two other pods, lying uncomfortably on his side.
“I’m sorry again, Peter, for—”
“Don’t. Curly. You said your peace. Let it rest. Don’t drag up the past.” Peter lifted his head to see Curly. “Prove to me your loyalty by helping me shut down Neverland for good.”
Curly’s mouth turned down. It was obvious that he was still carrying a heavy burden that he wanted to get off his chest, but Peter needed him clearheaded and focused.
The truck came to a stop, and Curly and Peter slipped over the side closest to the wall, then kneeled by the truck’s tires.
“We can’t just break them out of there,” Peter warned in a low voice. “There has to be a way to safely unplug them.”
“Got it,” Curly nodded.
More Red Skulls arrived, and Peter and Curly rolled under the truck, lying on their backs looking up at the undercarriage.
“Well, this is fun,” Curly murmured, frowning, as if sneaking around Neverland should be a blast.
“You could make it fun.” Peter wiggled his eyebrows, and a slow smile crept up Curly’s face. He gently reached out a hand and brushed it across the boot of the nearest soldier.
The soldier paused and then continued working to unload the pods, but now he was quietly singing show tunes.
“Hey Potts, cut it out with the singing.”
Potts paused, and then broke out singing at the top of his lungs, “Don’t stop believing!”
Other Red Skulls groaned and made fun of him and then just begged him to stop, and Potts responded to all of them—but in song, growing louder and louder, his voice a little off-key from disuse, but unforgettable to say the least, and with a bit of vibrato to it. Curly was now cackling silently, his knees pulled up to his chest, rocking in undisguised mirth.
Peter knew, because Curly had only brushed his hand across the soldier’s boot, that his compulsion would only last a minute or so. If he had managed to touch skin, he would be singing tunes for hours.
“I’m warning you, Potts,” a third soldier grumbled. “At least sing something with a beat.”
The soldier no longer needed the compulsion of Curly’s gift and began to sing and throw some shade as he switched to beatboxing. The other soldiers hollered encouragement, while continuing to unload the pods, making a few trips. Within a few minutes, the pods were all unloaded onto pallet jacks and while the Red Skulls were well distracted, the boys slipped out from under the truck, keeping care to keep a moving pod between them and any Red Skulls.
When they got into a freight elevator with three Red Skulls, Curly touched the closest Red Skull and whispered, “You don’t see us.”
They both hugged the corner and tried to stay out of sight. The Red Skull nearest them was the last out of the elevator pulling the pod on the pallet jack, and they followed him down the hall where he deposited the last pod into a large warehouse. Peter and Curly slipped inside and ducked behind a row of metal lockers and benches. There seemed to be three large lifts in the middle of the room. Peter did a quick count and realized there was one pod missing. One from the trucks hadn’t been brought here.
When all the soldiers had exited, and the wa
rehouse was cleared, they moved over to the pods and began to inspect them.
“Where’s the instruction manual?” Curly joked as he ran his hands over the pod, looking for hidden panels.
“In here,” a female voice spoke up from behind them.
The boys turned around and were greeted by Candace, who was pointing to her head. Her right hand was tucked by her thigh.
Curly took two steps toward her, and she yelled, “Stop!” aiming a gun at both of them. “I know what you can do. You will stay over there where I can see you. If you come any closer to me, I will shoot. And it won’t be the one who comes back to life.”
“Candace,” Peter pleaded. “I just want to help the boys. You know what they’re doing here is wrong.”
Candace’s hand shook as she held the pistol. Curly tried to take a step to the left, but she followed him. He moved to the right and the barrel of the gun kept pace. He frowned, thoroughly displeased at his inability to step out of the line of sight.
“No, we’re helping people,” she whispered.
“Who?” Peter tried to calm her down. “Because all I’ve seen is this company hurting people.”
After several tense moments, the gun lowered to her lap and Curly sighed. Peter moved to kneel by Candace. “Good intentions can easily be clouded. Especially by family.”
Curly’s head shot up in surprise.
Candace nodded. “How did you know?”
Peter sighed. “It was an educated guess. With how much Hook prizes soldiers, athleticism, and perfection, it seemed odd that—”
“That I would be here.” She wiped at the corner of her eyes. “Because I’m crippled.”
Peter winced. “Don’t call yourself that. You’re in a wheelchair, but you’re not . . . that.” He inhaled deeply, trying to keep from getting distracted by the tears welling in Candace’s eyes. “But yes, why else would Hook allow you to stay here with a disability if you weren’t family?” He tried to soften the words by speaking gently, but really there was no getting around the cruelty of them.
Candace’s face scrunched up in tears. “He’s never shown me any concern, never called me daughter. He’s a stranger to me. I hate him.”
“And yet, you are here working on one of his top projects. I don’t think Hook knows how to love,” Peter said thoughtfully. “But he is a greedy pirate, and he does keep things that belong to him close.”
The words had opened a floodgate of tears, and she was using her sleeve to wipe them away. But both Peter and Curly were still standing at an awkward distance, at an impasse.
“Can you help us?” Curly asked.
Candace chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’ll do what I can. But I have to warn you. Not everyone survives being unplugged. Why do you think there are so few Primes left? It wrecks their systems and sometimes there’s nothing left but husks.”
She rolled her wheelchair over to the nearest pod, which happened to contain Onyx.
She pulled a tablet out of the pouch on the side of her wheelchair and began to type in a code.
“We have to do this slowly. They’ve all been heavily medicated, and they’re going to be a bit loopy. Do you understand?”
Both of them nodded and Candace sighed. “Okay, stand back.”
She typed into her keyboard and the pod lit up. Then water began to drain from the pod onto the floor and flowed to the middle of the room and into a drain.
“I’ve stopped his medication and have begun to wake him up.”
Inside, Onyx crumpled against the glass and slowly slid to the bottom, his mask still attached to his face. Peter rushed to the pod, but Candace called him back.
“No. If you open the pod, he could hurt you. He needs a few minutes for the drugs to make their way out of his system naturally.”
Just as she had warned them, Onyx’s eyes opened and turned black, and then the pod began to vibrate, and Peter turned and looked away. Inside, Onyx was fighting the mask, writhing against the glass. Unaware of what was going on, he was attacking everything.
“Onyx,” Peter called through the glass, keeping his eyes closed. “Buddy, I’m here for you. We’re here to get you out, okay?”
Not daring to look, he heard the lost boy settle down, the thrashing coming to a halt, and then a gasping breath.
“P-e-t-e-r,” Onyx croaked out a response.
“Yes, it’s me.” He opened his eyes and was relieved that his friend was okay. “We’ll get you out.” He searched the side of the pod for the release. “How do I open the door?”
“He is still dangerous,” she warned.
“Open it!” Peter demanded, and Candace pointed to the metal panel on the side of the pod and made a gesture for him to lift it. He pried the panel open with his fingertips, revealing a hidden release switch, and then with the heel of his palm, he flipped the lever, and the pod swung open with a hiss.
Peter reached in and, grabbing Onyx under the arms, pulled him out of the pod and across the floor.
“Pe—ter.” Onyx coughed and raised his hand weakly to touch his face. “You’re late.”
Peter’s head fell back and a deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “Nah, you know I just like to make an entrance,” he teased.
Onyx was trembling as his body was fighting the drugs, and his mind tried to control his limbs to move. He stuttered, “S—such a d—diva.”
This time it was Curly who snorted from across the room, followed by a hushed giggle from Candace.
“I tried to stop them,” Onyx whispered. “I tried.”
“Shush, don’t talk. Just focus on regaining your strength. Because we’re back at Neverland, and I’m going to need you to help me tear this place apart.”
Onyx’s eyes turned dark, and Peter looked away for fear of being turned to stone, but Onyx was able to get his fear under control.
Peter held on to him, speaking quietly, comforting him until Onyx had stopped shaking and seemed to be on the mend, with his breathing even and color back in his cheeks.
Curly was looking at the vitals of the other boys, and he didn’t look hopeful. “Peter, they’re not doing well.”
Peter observed all the others and wondered if it would be like this with each of the boys? Onyx was strong and was struggling to come out from what he had undergone. There were so many young ones, weaker ones than Onyx. Could they all make it? He didn’t have a choice, though. He couldn’t leave them in the pods and under Neverland’s control one second longer. He needed to free them.
Even if freeing them meant from this life.
He could feel the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, and he knew this is what they would have wanted. They’d want to be free.
Peter turned to Candace, his eyes filled with anger. “Begin draining the other pods now. I won’t let them be in there a minute longer.”
Chapter 32
This wasn’t her idea of fun or an adventure. Wendy was running hard through the underbrush, her nerves raw as she was assaulted by a flashback of running from the Red Skulls in the middle of the night. Her breathing was coming in gasps and the stitch in her side wasn’t letting up. She really should have spent more time practicing running long distance.
Her prayers about hopefully not being spotted had gone unanswered. Because not even five minutes after spooking the morphling, more Red Skulls appeared around the dome and were hunting her down. She had only barely been able to avoid them. Once because she had fallen and slipped down an embankment, and another because she had doubled back and tried to come up behind them.
But she didn’t have any special powers or guns to fight them. The shadows had abandoned her once she stepped foot on the island. It was as if they knew what was living below the earth and how much they wanted to hunt and destroy them.
Pop! A gunshot went off, and she shrieked, ducking and staying low to the ground.
Think! Wendy, think! she kept chastising herself. What would Peter do?
Obviously, he would do something really heroic, have s
omething extremely witty to say, and then fly them over a cliff and drop them into the ocean.
Okay, she could maybe pull off one of the three, but with how much her brain was fried from running and adrenaline, she didn’t think she could come up with anything witty.
She saw a path and began to run like crazy, making sure to zig and zag.
Ping! Another shot whizzed by her ear.
“Hey, you almost shot me!” Wendy snapped, and covered her mouth.
A husky laugh resonated from the forest behind her. “That’s kind of the point.”
Okay, spouting off to the Red Skull hunting her was not a good idea. She couldn’t do any of the three things Peter would do. She’d have to rethink her strategy.
Wendy jumped over a small ditch and, misjudging the distance, missed her landing. She slipped and fell, hitting her chin on the hill. Sucking in her breath between her teeth, she grunted in pain and continued to run, but not before looking over her shoulder.
Jeremy?
How, what, and why questions plagued her. Why was he chasing her down? The last she heard, he had been . . . taken by the morphlings.
Wendy grunted and changed directions last minute when she realized she had been running in a straight line for too long. Her instinct proved correct as another bullet whizzed by. Maybe she could foresee the future without the shadows, but then she would have foreseen this.
Nope, she would not have expected her high school crush—who she had dumped after a bad date—to be shooting at her on a hidden island in the middle of the ocean. Wendy wished she had one of Tink’s censor bands, because she had some very choice words for him.
So preoccupied with her thoughts of telling off Jeremy that she almost ran right off the edge of a cliff. Wendy stopped, her arms pinwheeling to keep her balance. Looking over the edge caused the world to spin, and she fell back onto the ground. Ground was safe. She liked the ground. Funny how she had no problems flying through the air with Peter, but stepping close to an edge by herself was a different matter. She really hated heights.
“Wendy?” Jeremy spoke in surprise as he emerged from the tree line.
