by Kate Brian
I scrambled to my knees and checked the pocket of my rain jacket to make sure my flashlight hadn’t tumbled out. Shakily, I pushed myself to my feet and took baby steps all the way to the bottom of the hill. When I could finally see the sand, I unclenched my jaw and jumped the last few feet. The ground squished beneath the soles of my sneakers, bubbling up around the rubber treads with the consistency of oatmeal.
I could just make out the shadowy humps of the tents in the distance. Not surprisingly, they were dark and still. I flicked on my flashlight and ran it along the rock wall to my left, inching forward until I finally found the opening of the cave. It looked smaller somehow, as I stood there in front of it alone. Threatening. For one brief moment I thought I saw something flicker deep inside, and I almost turned around and ran.
No one’s here, I told myself, listening to the rain as it thwapped against the vinyl cover of my hood. They’d have to be crazy to come out in this.
Of course, I was crazy just for being here. And after seeing the Lifers storm-surfing last week and the cliff-diving the other night, I already knew that some of the others weren’t exactly on the right side of sane. But this place was mine now, as much as it was theirs. If someone was inside, they were just going to have to deal.
I took a deep breath and slipped into the cave. The narrow opening was clogged with smoke, the heady, ashy kind that billows up after dousing a fire. As I came around the corner, I covered my mouth with my sleeve and ran the flashlight’s beam along the floor. Sure enough, the fire pit was smoldering. A few small embers still glowed bright orange in the darkness, and thick gray smoke snaked up from the center of the charred logs, disappearing near the high ceiling of the cave.
“Anyone here?” I called.
No response. Somewhere in the deepest depths of the cavern, water dripped at a steady rhythm.
This made no sense. If someone had been in here just before me, I would have bumped into them coming out, either on the beach or on the rocks. Unless there was a back entrance to the cave, or some other way out to the cove that they hadn’t shown me.
Forget it, I told myself. You came here for a reason.
I tried to ignore my trembling hands as I aimed the flashlight beam at the wall to my right. I found Krista’s name again, the bubbly flowery lettering proclaiming her arrival. A few feet away, Nadia had written her name in slanted, sophisticated script: NADIA LINKOVA (NASH) 1982. Right under hers, Cori had added her name: CORI HERTZ (MORRISON) 1982. No wonder they were so close. They’d shown up here around the same time. Another reason why Krista probably expected the two of us to become BFFs. I moved on, illuminating unfamiliar names like Corina Briggance (Horrance) from 1993 and Wallace Brooks (Garretson) from 1979. I paused when I found Kevin’s name, huge and jagged, near the top of the wall, an intricate fire-breathing dragon painted above it, the tail curling around his year, which was 1965. Kevin had come here the year my father was born.
Slowly, I made my way along the wall, reading name after name after name. Toward the back of the cave the years got older and older. 1921, 1915, 1906, 1899. Some looked hastily painted, in thick white paint. Others seemed to be written in chalk, probably the only instrument they could find in those days. I couldn’t imagine that some of the people I’d seen on the street had been here for almost two hundred years. How was that even possible? How was that survivable?
I squinted in the darkness, trying to make out the words that had faded with time, holding my breath as I waited for my light to find the name I was looking for. When it finally did, I was at the innermost point of the cave. And there, etched into the stone at eye-level, was Tristan’s name.
TRISTAN SEVARDES (PARRISH) 1766.
I inhaled sharply. He’d been alive before the U.S. was even a country. Had, in fact, died before the Revolutionary War. He was over two hundred years old.
There was a noise, like a scraping, near the mouth of the cave, and I dropped my flashlight. When I grabbed for it, it slipped through my fingers and hit my toe. Cursing under my breath, I picked it up again and shone the light near the opening. The fire still smoldered.
“Hello?” I said, my voice sounding weak and scared. My toe throbbed angrily. I cleared my throat, tried to sound more authoritative. “Who’s there?”
No reply. I took two tentative steps forward.
“Come on, you guys. This isn’t funny,” I said.
I listened hard for the sound to come again, but it didn’t. All I could hear was the deafening rasp of my own breathing, and the faint echo of the surf crashing outside.
I looked at Tristan’s name again. 1766.
Suddenly, my whole body started to shake. The manic scribble on the walls closed in. I tried to take a breath, but my throat squeezed shut. I had to get out. I had to breathe. I pressed one hand against the cold wall and lurched for the exit. That was when a crackling sound stopped me cold.
“Hello?” I called again.
I took a tentative step forward. Another crackle. Something in the corner of my vision flashed. There was a piece of white paper stuck to the bottom of my sneaker.
Nice. Way to be paranoid, Rory. I reached down and plucked the page from my sole, then kept moving.
Outside, the rain had reduced to a light drizzle. I took a deep breath of the cool night air and tipped my face toward the sky, letting the rain soothe my face. After a while, the rhythm of my breath returned to normal. I leaned back against the rock wall and trained my light on the paper. It was a small, rectangular sheet torn from a standard notepad, the kind reporters scrawled on in old movies. Someone had drawn a line down the center and made hash marks on either side, each set of four slashed through with a long mark—the old method of counting by fives. In one column there were thirteen slashes. In the other, only nine.
Someone was keeping score, but of what?
“What’ve you got there?”
I was so startled by the voice, I staggered backward and tripped, slamming my head into the sharp rock wall. Suddenly three flashlights flicked on, and Nadia, Pete, and Cori appeared as if from nowhere, dark hoods pulled over their hair. Before I had time to move, Pete stepped forward and snatched the page from my fingers.
“Wait!” I yelled.
Nadia shone her light on the paper. Her black eyes widened. “Holy crap. Is that what I think it is?” She turned the light on my face, effectively blinding me. I threw up my arms and squinted, but all I could see were a dozen purple dots and three looming shadows. “Are you actually keeping a log of all the people you damn to hell?”
“What? No! I just found that in the cave!” I protested. “It got stuck to my sneaker. Look, you can see the tread marks.”
I lunged forward to grab it back, but Pete pulled it up and out of my reach.
“Nice try,” he said with a sneer. “You think I’m gonna let you destroy the evidence?”
The three of them stared me down. Even Cori’s normally friendly face had gone taut and tense. I glanced back at the solid wall behind me. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
“We know it’s you,” Nadia sneered. “It all started when you got here.”
“It’s the only explanation,” Cori said coldly, crossing her arms over her chest as Pete stared down his nose at me.
“It’s not,” I told them, trying to keep my voice from quavering. The skies opened up again, heavy raindrops pelting me. “I swear to you. It’s not me.”
“Yeah? Well, we’ll see what the mayor has to say about that,” Nadia spat, grasping my wrist, pinching the skin between her thumb and fingers.
Suddenly someone jumped down from the slope and squatted right next to me. I dropped my flashlight. Cori screamed, but Nadia’s grip only tightened.
“Get off her,” Joaquin growled, pushing his black hood off his face. Nadia instantly dropped my hand and backed up three feet, stepping right into the beam of my fallen flashlight. I stopped breathing.
Black Converse. Nadia had been in the mayor’s office this afternoon. My worst
fear was confirmed; the girl who thought I was responsible for everything wrong on the island officially had the mayor’s ear. Maybe that was why the mayor’s attitude toward me had shifted so abruptly.
I was screwed. I was so very, very screwed.
“She’s guilty, Joaquin,” Pete said, shoving the tally into his pocket. “You and Tristan have to stop protecting her.”
“Dude, she just got here,” Joaquin pointed out. “Do you really think she could be responsible for everything that’s been going on?”
“It’s because she just got here that we know she’s responsible,” Nadia shot back, shooting me a slit-eyed look. “It can’t be one of us.”
“I say we take this to the mayor right now,” Pete said, advancing on me.
Joaquin moved sideways to stand squarely between us. “Back off her, Pete. I’m not kidding.”
Nadia laughed, shaking her head at the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “You’re so predictable, J. Do we really have to remind you what happened the last time you and Tristan got into a pissing match over a girl?” Her gaze flicked to me. “Anyone tell her about it yet?”
My heart squeezed. Lightning flashed, and I caught a glimpse of Joaquin’s profile. His jaw was working hard, and his hands clenched at his sides.
“This is nothing like that,” Joaquin said through his teeth. “And you weren’t even here yet, Nadia.” He spat her name like a curse word. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
“Well, I do understand one thing,” Nadia said, stepping forward and tipping her head back to square off with Joaquin. “You might not want to get too close with her. You never know where you might end up.”
Lightning flashed again, a deafening thunderclap hot on its heels. I was so startled I reached for Joaquin’s hand. He froze. Nadia’s eyes darted to our fingers, and for a split second I was sure he’d pull away. But instead, he lifted his chin and curled his fingers through mine. His skin was warm and rough.
“I’m not worried,” Joaquin said clearly.
“Yeah, well. You should be,” Pete said, lifting his chin. “Come on. We’ve got something to show the mayor.”
The three of them turned and strode away. I sucked in a few broken breaths, the rain battering my face, trying to ignore the searing sting of tears behind my eyes. Joaquin just stood there, half a foot in front of me, still holding my hand. When he finally turned, he stared down at our clasped fingers before looking up at me. His dark eyes penetrated my fear.
“What did he mean, they’ve got something to show the mayor?” he asked.
“I found something,” I said. “In the cave. Some kind of tally. I have no idea what it even is, but they think it’s mine and they think it means something.” My stomach clenched. If the mayor suspected me, I was as good as dead.
Joaquin stared at the ground, fixated on the few mushy, wet inches of sand between the toes of our shoes. I started to shiver, and the longer he was silent, the more violent the shaking became. Did he think I was guilty, too? He was the only person who believed in me, who wanted to help save Aaron. I couldn’t handle this, any of this, if Joaquin wasn’t on my side.
“Here.” He released my hand and unzipped his heavy jacket, flinging it over my shoulders in one, smooth motion. The inside had been warmed by his body, and its comforting, musky-tart scent enveloped me. My shivering instantly stopped.
“Come on,” he said as I pushed my arms into the sleeves. “We should get you home.”
“But what about—?”
“Don’t worry,” Joaquin told me, looking darkly in the direction the others had gone. “I’ll take care of them.”
Tally
Nine down, eleven to go. And pinning it all on perfect, saintly Rory? Gravy.
Due north
I didn’t sleep all night. I just sat up listening. Waiting for Dorn to come banging on my door. Waiting for an angry mob of Lifers to drag me off to the mayor’s for my sentencing.
But nothing had happened. All night long I’d stared at the ceiling, clutching my pillow, and nothing. So by the time Joaquin held open the door of the general store for me on Thursday morning, I was like a wired zombie. My eyes were at half-mast and I dragged my feet, but I was still hyperaware of every curious gaze, every movement around me. I was awaiting the ambush.
The door chimes tinkled over our heads. Outside, the sun was shining again, and the shop was bustling with people, sipping their coffee at the counter, leafing through old magazines, and chatting about the storm.
“Did you see all the flotsam washed up on the beach?”
“A huge tree came down on Hermit Crab Lane.”
“They’re having a big I-Survived-the-Storm Party at the Thirsty Swan tonight.”
Joaquin sighed. “Guess I’m getting called in to work later.”
All the tables were taken, and it looked like we weren’t going to find a seat. Then I spotted Krista and Fisher in the booth farthest from the door. I was surprised Fisher was up so early, considering I’d heard him sneak Darcy back into the house after 3 a.m. As he lifted a hand to flag us down, Krista turned around in her seat like an excited kindergartner.
“What’re they doing here?” I asked Joaquin, stifling a yawn.
“They wanted to come,” he replied.
“Hi, Rory!” Krista patted the blue vinyl seat next to her, and I slid into it, while Joaquin squeezed in next to Fisher, the two of them taking up the entire bench. There was a half-full glass of orange smoothie in front of Fisher, but Krista had only water.
“What’s up?” Fisher asked, his light green eyes almost startling so close up.
“No one else has been ushered since yesterday morning,” Joaquin reported.
“And I got to sleep in my bed last night,” Krista assured me, touching my leg, as if her and Tristan’s getting back into their house had been weighing on me all night long.
“Um, good,” I said. I reached for the saltshaker, just to have something to do with my trembling hands. “That’s good.”
“Fisher brought someone over two days ago, and they ended up in the Shadowlands, too,” Joaquin explained.
“No way Alec should’ve gone there,” Fisher said, taking a long pull on his straw. “No way. Dude was a priest.”
“Really?” I asked, passing the glass saltshaker back and forth on the table’s surface.
Fisher squirmed and cleared his throat. “No, I mean, not literally, but in his life he sure as hell acted like one.”
Krista giggled, and everyone stared at her. “Sorry.”
“What’ll you kids have?” Ursula asked, appearing at the end of our table. She looked at Joaquin as if the rest of us weren’t even there.
“Good morning, Ursula,” Joaquin said with a smile. “You’re looking rather fetching today.”
Ursula sniffed. “Don’t even try it. You left the seat up again this morning.”
Fisher chuckled and shook his head.
“Did I? I’m sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” Joaquin teased.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.” She sniffed again. This time her gaze flicked around the table. “So what’ll you have?”
“Um, coffee?” Krista said.
“Coffee’s fine,” I added. Ursula glared down at the still-moving saltshaker, and I stopped, blushing. “Sorry.”
She cleared her throat and looked at Joaquin.
“I’ll have the Spanish omelet with extra peppers, a side of fries, and a short stack of pancakes,” Joaquin said. “Oh, and chocolate milk.”
“It’s your intestines.” She shoved her pen behind her ear and started to turn. “And don’t forget to pick up some tea bags on your way home.”
“What’s your obsession with tea lately?” Joaquin asked. “I’ve never seen you drink tea before this week.”
Ursula scowled. “Just get the tea.”
“Slave driver,” Joaquin said with a grin. For a split second, I thought she was going to smile, but then she was gone.
>
“She’s in a mood,” Fisher commented.
“Right? She’s been like that for a few days,” Joaquin replied, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Like instant personality shift.”
“I noticed it, too,” Krista said. “Yesterday when we were working together, she kept zoning out.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?” I asked, glancing over at the counter, where Ursula was pouring coffee for a couple of guys. The yoga woman from the park was sitting on the stool at the very end, glaring at me. I turned around again, my heart in my throat.
“What could possibly be wrong? She lives with me,” Joaquin said, lifting his chest.
I stared him down, trying to ignore the feeling of the yoga woman’s eyes boring into the back of my skull.
“Can we get back to the reason we’re here?” I asked. “So no one got ushered yesterday. What about today? I didn’t have a coin this morning. Did any of you?”
“Nope,” Joaquin said.
“I did,” Krista said, raising her hand slightly.
“Me, too.” Fisher placed his coin on the table. Joaquin picked it up and studied it.
“Do you think they could be tampered with somehow?” I asked, thinking of Nadia’s theory—that I was purposely ushering people to hell. If someone wanted to do that, wouldn’t they have to somehow “fix” the coins?
“It looks normal to me,” Joaquin said, placing it in front of me and Krista, sun-side up, so we could see it. “They’re all the same. When the person who’s moving on touches their coin, it basically turns depending on whether the person is good or evil. Until that moment, the coin is nothing but a hunk of gold.”
The door chimes tinkled, and I looked over my shoulder. Yoga Woman had just exited the building. I sighed with relief.
“Okay, so maybe I was right,” Krista said as Ursula delivered our coffees. She pushed the coin back across the table to Fisher and waited for the waitress to walk away before continuing. “Maybe it’s the weather vane that’s gone all freaky.”
“I guess it could be,” Joaquin said.
