Wendy Darling

by Colleen Oakes

  “But Peter—”

  “They stole these from other people, you know. It’s not really stealing if they stole it first.” He shoved the bottle toward her, clear glass with a gold foil cap and a rose-colored liquid inside. “You can’t steal from pirates.”

  Reluctantly, she took it. It wasn’t just the liquor, it was all of it—the pirate outside, that John and Michael were away from her doing God knew what, how her body betrayed her misgivings by pulsing with excitement at the thrill of it all. Peter grinned at her.

  “You have such a pure heart. I admire you for it. I—”

  He fell silent, his head turning toward the door ever so slightly.

  “Quiet!” Peter held up a finger. No one moved. Wendy’s heart thundered inside of her chest so loud that she feared the other boys could hear it, her own red bird, furious inside of her lungs. Silently, Peter floated up into the air and peeked his head out the top of the doorway. His hand rested on his sword hilt, tracing the lines of the gold handle. Wendy heard nothing at first, but after a few seconds, she heard the faintest sound of a single pair of footsteps echoing down the Vault. Someone was running—and yelling. She heard the shhhhinnnnng of a drawn sword, the splashing of boots in the water, frantic cries, and the clanking of metal against wall—the sounds of men, men coming for them. The pirates had awoken, and they were coming for all of them.

  A twisted jolt of fear mixed with delight shot through her fingertips as she reached for Peter.

  “Leave them! Let’s go!” Wendy urged.

  He looked down at her as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. “Leave the liquor? Are you serious? This is what we came for.” He laughed. “C’mon boys, pack it up!”

  One by one, the boys plunged past Peter, each carrying their heavy bag full of bottles. Once they reached the doorway, they took off into the air, hovering just below the dripping peaked roof of the winding cavern. Peter was still flitting around the room, grabbing bottle after bottle and stuffing them into his pack.

  “Peter! Let’s go! Peter!” Wendy hissed, no longer amused. He made a silly face at Wendy in return. She used the stern voice that normally worked with the boys. “Peter Pan!”

  He started laughing at her. She looked nervously back toward the door, where most of the Lost Boys were waiting for Peter, floating silently near the ceiling, the bottles in their bags clinking harmlessly together. The voices of the pirates grew louder, climbing ever upward, vibrating off the walls and into the room, into her brain.

  “PETER!”

  He had just turned to her when a deafening screech silenced them both. As they turned their heads toward the horrible noise, the piercing whine shook the walls, and the bottles began vibrating toward the edge of their shelves before plunging down, one after another. One smashed against Peter’s face, and he tumbled downward to the floor before stopping himself. With an annoyed scowl, he wiped the blood off his face and turned to Wendy.

  “I guess we should—”

  He was cut off by the sound of the boys screaming outside the door, their proud boasts turned to the frantic cries of children. The high-pitched whine died with a whimper, and it was only then, in the deafening silence, that Wendy heard the mechanical turning of gears and the uneasy creaking of doors long shut. There were no voices of pirates now, only the thunderous turning, its voice grinding all other sounds to dust. Wendy looked at Peter with wild eyes.

  “What is it?”

  Peter opened his mouth to answer but was drowned out by a growing roar, its sound so distinctive, Wendy knew what it was even though she had never before in her life heard such a terrifying sound. The boys’ screams grew, and she wondered if it would be the last sound she heard. Her feet seemed to be weights as she turned to run, Peter’s name making it to the tip of her lips before her feet were swept out from under her in a violent rush of water. She hit the ground hard, the water sweeping her back into the room as it filled rapidly, her body tumbling head over feet. Her hands clutched uselessly at the floor, its hard rock surface scraping her delicate palms raw. Then the water pushed over her like a shroud, like a blanket over a child, and she was pulled underneath the river, the water filling her mouth with the taste of salty fish. Wendy righted herself and pushed off the ground, upward to where she could see light, crawling slowly to the surface, her feet so heavy in the churning water. With a gasp, she emerged through the foamy cloud.

  “Peter!” she screamed, her flailing feet finding the wall behind her as she fought against the current that was swirling her ever backward, deeper into the beautiful room of green glass. Bottles of wine were all around her, being tossed in the rising waters, like ships on an angry sea. A red bottle of wine broke open against the wall next to her, sloshing its contents all around her, blood in the water. Her mouth tasted bittersweet, the tingling zing of wine mingling with the salty water. Something darted above her in the air.

  “Peter!”

  “Wendy!” Peter flew down toward her and grabbed her hand. “You can fly, remember?”

  Wendy almost laughed in spite of herself. In her terror she had forgotten—that’s right, she thought. I can fly. Willing herself upward, Wendy rose slowly up above the flood, water pouring from her body like raindrops. Several of the Lost Boys had been pushed back inside the room by the wave of water and began rising out of the river around her, their dirty hair parting the floating bottles like leviathans of nightmares. Their faces, however, betrayed them—they were only the faces of frightened boys. One of them was clawing the water, gurgling with a rising panic.

  “Peter! I don’t know how to swim! Peter!”

  Peter ignored him, his eyes on the door. Abbott rose up from the water and grabbed the boy, tossing him into the air.

  “Fly! Everyone, fly! Go, get out of here! Leave everything! Go back to Pan Island!” Abbott shouted.

  Peter spun around, his eyes wild with excitement, his cheeks flushed. “Lost Boys, stop! Don’t listen to him. Take your treasure—each boy with his own bag, or there will be dire consequences! Draw your weapons and head back to the top of the skull! Quickly! I’ll meet you there!”

  The boys began clustering at the door, heavily laden bags flung over their shoulders or wrapped around their backs. Abbott shot Peter a cutting look. The water was halfway up the doorway now and rising; the rock shelves around them croaked their dismay. Wendy drew herself along the walls and out into the hallway, Peter at her heels, the tiny bottle of rum tucked inside her blouse. The hallway was filling with water, the doors bouncing open and shut with the waves that were running up and down the corridor. Peter crawled along the ceiling behind Wendy.

  “Darby!” he barked.

  The boy flew up next to him like an eager pup, his hair dripping into his eyes.

  “Yes, Peter?” His voice carried a nervous edge through the hallway.

  “Darby, I need you to do something special for me—something only you can do. I only trust YOU.”

  Darby nodded. “Anything.”

  Peter pulled Darby’s forehead against his own, Darby’s body reaching toward Peter as if he were asking for a fatherly embrace.

  “My good lad. Go back in there and get Hook’s rum! You’re the only one who can unlock it!”

  Darby hesitated for just a moment before sputtering, “Yes, sir!” Then he gave Peter a nervous grin. With a deep breath, Darby ducked under the water and swam back through the seventh door, his body disappearing under the violently churning water, the same water that now was brushing the top of the door frame.

  “Peter! He’ll never make it!” Wendy yelled, but her words were drowned out with another mighty wave of water. She pressed herself against the ceiling, desperate to stay out of the water that threatened to swallow them all.

  “Follow me!” Peter leapt ahead of her, his body curving quickly toward the mouth of the cave. Wendy looked back for Darby, but the doorway to the room was completely covered over with water, and she wasn’t exactly sure anymore quite where the door was. Darby
would make it, wouldn’t he? From under the water, a hand reached out for her. Abbott rose up behind her, gesturing wildly to the boys flying past him, following Peter through the exit. The water was rising, more quickly than it had before. The tip of her pant leg brushed its hungry waves. Abbott screamed frantic directions to the other boys before turning on her.

  “What are you still doing here? I’ll get Darby. GO! NOW!”

  Wendy nodded, and Abbott turned back toward the seventh door. He had gotten only a few feet from her when there was a screeching sound, as a pitched, mechanical whine filled the hallway. It was so loud that Wendy clamped her hands over her ears, desperate to stop the sound that she was sure would split her in half. She watched in silent horror as a trapdoor, hidden in the arch of the doorway, slammed down, cutting them off from the room—and Darby

  “That bottle was booby-trapped! Dammit, Peter!” Abbott yelled. He ducked under the water again, banging fruitlessly against the door. Wendy took a deep breath and followed behind Abbott, alternating between breathing and yanking desperately at the door handle. Darby’s panicked cries reached her ears underwater, a muffled yell marked by desperate pounding on the doors. This time, when Wendy rose to take a breath, there was only a foot of space between her head and the roof of the cavern.

  “Darby!” she yelled. “We have to get him out!”

  Abbott looked at her, and then at the door, and back at her again. With heavy resignation, he turned away. “There’s nothing we can do. Gods damn it, Peter!”

  On the other side of the door, Darby’s screams went silent, and Wendy’s mind was assaulted with images of Darby drowning.

  “Can’t we . . .”

  Abbott took her arm firmly, sputtering over the water. “The only person who could get into that room is inside of it. He belongs to Hook now. We have to go.” Abbott shook his head. “Damn it! We’ll be next if we don’t hurry. Come on!”

  Quickly they made their way toward the mouth of the cave, their bodies scraping the ceiling, scurrying like frantic spiders to safety as the water continued to rise. Eventually there was nothing to do but take a breath, latch arms, and let the current push them out toward the mouth of the skull. Wendy felt her feet twirling underneath the water, Abbott’s hand jerking from her own, and her body sluicing through the narrow cavern as if she were inside of a pipe. She heard a strange pouring sound under the water just before her body slammed vertically against the teeth that marked the mouth of the Vault. She gave a muffled cry as she was caught between water pouring out over her and the wooden stakes that were gouging into her thighs and chest. With great difficulty, Wendy pulled her legs up to her chest before pushing herself out between the hanging sticks, water pouring out around her as she gasped for breath and struggled to free herself. Her elbow roughly dragged along the surface of a razor-sharp tooth as she kicked desperately forward. The river water was consuming her, streaming like a waterfall over her body, over her mouth, over her eyes. She twisted her torso and kicked, striving forward. Finally, her body pushed free of the teeth and she reached out into nothing as she fell forward. There was sky! And jungle! She let out an unladylike scream and pushed past the entrance to the Vault, her body spilling out into the foaming river below. Free! Free! Wendy hungrily gulped in the air, so clean and warm, filing her lungs greedily, all else forgotten for a few divine seconds.

  Abbott landed with a splash behind her. She had barely caught her breath before he was yelling, “Fly! Up!”

  Wendy leapt into the air, with Abbott following closely behind her. There were noises and shouts coming from the roof of the skull, and she briefly heard Abbott mutter curses under his breath before he was flying past her, his sword drawn menacingly. Wendy slowly rose up over the Vault, her heart dreading what she would—and did—find. In the middle of the horrific skull, tethered by the two laundry lines of skeletons, a dozen Lost Boys fought viciously against seven grown pirates. Seeing it from above gave the strangest perspective—like John’s tiny toy soldiers, moving, somehow alive. Wendy drew closer, unsure of what to do. The fighting was quick and furious, swords and axes meeting and ricocheting off each other in the afternoon light, filling the air with the grating of metal and the sweat-drenched cries of young boys. There were three bodies on the ground, surrounded by blood, the bodies of pirates. Relief flooded her as Peter emerged from behind a pirate, a golden sword poking out from his chest and then disappearing. The pirate fell to the ground at Peter’s feet. Lost Boys were launching off the skull into the air all around her, bags over their shoulders, tied around their waists. Peter was fighting four of the pirates as the Lost Boys around him struggled to contribute. On the corner of the rock, Kitoko was engaged in a fistfight that had come to desperate blows. Wendy reached for her dagger, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to draw it. What exactly was she planning to do with it when she got there?

  “Hallo, Wendy!” Peter gave a loud laugh as he leapt off the shoulders of one pirate, spinning in the air and planting his feet squarely into the face of another. The man flew backward, his sword landing beside him. Peter grabbed him and launched into the air, pulling the man up by his ankle. The man screamed as Peter rose higher and higher into the air before changing direction and flying back toward the crowning head of the Vault. He spun his body so that the man whipped toward the rocks, crushing two other pirates on his way down. They all rolled to a crumpled halt, their bodies entwined, one man’s neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Peter picked up the man’s sword and thrust it backward into the eye of a pirate who was choking a young Lost Boy. The boy sputtered before falling to the ground, his legs pumping uselessly. Peter patted him on the back, but not before grabbing a bottle from the boy’s bag and breaking it open on the ground.

  “Go!”

  He launched himself off the ground and came back down hard again, driving the broken bottle onto the top of the pirate’s head like a bloody crown. The man collapsed at Peter’s feet. Another pirate snarled and threw himself at Peter, but unfortunately caught the edge of Peter’s sword when he vaulted himself straight upward into the sky. The sword shoved up into the man through his ribs, impaling him. The pirate’s body lifted off the ground a few feet along with Peter before he pushed him off his blade with a look of disgust. There was only one pirate left now, and he raced toward the cannon that faced the sea.

  “Peter!” Wendy pointed, but it was too late. She was too high to do anything, but without thinking, she plunged down toward the fight. The pirate gave her a toothless grin and pulled a carved bone lever at the back of the cannon before aiming it right at her. As he gazed at her, a spear pushed out of the front of his neck, thrown by Abbott, who stood unsteadily behind him. There was a second of silence as she weighed her fate, but the cannon gave a roar that shook her bones before launching a yawning fountain of fire into the sky. The dozen red flares lit up against the misty clouds like the spark of a massive flame, a castle burning. A hundred shades of fire exploded in her vision, flares whirling like burning windmills, cartwheeling toward her, rendering her unable to move, to breathe. Finally, as she watched a tail of fire whip her way, she dove downward, narrowly avoiding the flames that licked her outstretched arm. Once the flares hit their peak, they burst into a brilliant explosion of gold and red light.

  Wendy jerked her head toward the sea, where the two ships rested on bucking waves. They did not move, hopefully because John had done his job and they were full of vomiting pirates, slow on the uptake. A breeze ruffled her hair, and a line of mist ran between her and the ships, concealing them from view. Wendy heard a scream below. Most of the Lost Boys had fled. The only ones left on the head of the Vault were Abbott, Kitoko, and Peter. Two new pirates were climbing up the Vault.

  “Go!” she yelled, not understanding why the boys were not moving. Peter held his ground and watched the two pirates reach the top of the skull. What could she do? Without thinking, Wendy propelled herself down to the rock, landing hard, the tiny bottle falling out of her blouse and roll
ing down the side of the skull. Peter was staring at one of the pirates with a palpable hunger as he pointed his sword in his direction.

  “Smith!” he hissed. “So good to see you. I hope you can give Hook my regards, perhaps in the form of a disembodied head?”

  The man he had spoken to let out a gruff laugh. He was twice the size of Peter, with curly black hair slick with oil and thick eyebrows, his forearms as large as grapefruits and covered with tattoos of angels and demons. A banshee leered at her from just behind his elbow. Suddenly, all of the boys seemed very much like children. This man was most certainly not a child, and Wendy felt the toxic chill of fear fill her bloodstream.

  “The Captain wouldn’t have your regards, not even in that form, you blistering pustule!”

  “Stay back, girl!” the other pirate hissed at her, a bloody knife in his hands. “Don’t move.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Peter snapped. “Do it, and I’ll kill you twice.”

  The man named Smith raised his eyebrows. “Peter Pan has a little girlfriend, does he? I know someone who might be very interested in this revelation. What is this, the second one you’ve ever had? Do you even know what to do with this pretty girl, Peter? If you don’t, I’ll show yah.”

  “Don’t talk about her,” Peter growled. “You stupid oaf.”

  The man shrugged. Wendy could see a fierce intelligence dancing behind the man’s eyes as he looked at Peter and then back at Abbott and Kitoko. Smith’s fingers were twitching.

  “So, who feels like dying in this tired dance today?”

  Peter’s gaze was steady. “Abbott, you can take him.”

  The second pirate was creeping closer to Wendy. Peter leapt into the air, flinging himself between them. Abbott looked over at Peter with dead eyes, before turning back and lunging at Smith. He was too late. The pirate leapt back before pulling a hidden pistol out of his coat, shooting it not toward Abbott, but right into the middle of their group. They scattered, and the man ran hard toward Kitoko, who was on the edge of the skull. Abbott knelt to the ground before throwing his spear toward the pirate’s back. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder armor before he grabbed Kitoko roughly, bringing a serrated knife up to his throat. He turned to Peter.