“Sylvia, look,” I whisper, and when she comes closer, her mouth drops even farther open. Displayed on the screen are dozens of red dots, dozens of heat spots surrounding the ship, dozens of people—living things. I stagger away from the control panel, as if it holds just as much horror as whatever is out there.
I race out of the cockpit and into the hallway, Sylvia on my heels.
“Where are you going?” she calls, but her question is answered as I barge into the hallway lined with crew’s quarters.
“Everybody out here, now!” I call, and I can hear the scrambling from bunks before they burst out into the corridor. Everyone is eyeing me strangely, and I can’t help but notice Holden and Jackson’s worried stares. “There are things out there,” I tell them bluntly, spitting the words, my composure regained. “The monitor is picking them up now and it shows dozens of them. Under no circumstances is anyone to leave this ship, do you understand?” I snap at them. Dazed nods follow my question. “Holden, Angelica, I want you in the engine room now. We need to get off this planet as soon as possible.” Upon my request, they scurry away. I turn to the remaining guys. “I know you don’t know much about engines, but I need you down there too. Our complete focus is on getting this ship running so we can leave. It’s the only thing that matters now.” They nod, their eyes wide with fear before hurrying after Holden and Angelica, down the hallway.
Sylvia and I are left alone again and I practically slump against the wall.
“You need to sleep.”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff at her. I’m shaking my head. “No. No way.” I head in the direction everyone else had vanished only seconds earlier. I need to get this ship working again, and that means getting to the engine room.
It’s hours later and I’m still on the lower level, staring the engine down and wondering why it isn’t working. Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out what’s wrong. And neither can anyone else.
Sylvia kept periodically bringing us food, but eventually I let the others go to get some sleep, while I stayed behind and let my brain have a panic attack. Nothing is working and my head hurts. Sylvia stayed down here with me for a while, but now she’s asleep in the chair and I’m left yawning and wondering if I should just go to sleep, too.
I sigh, gritting my teeth. How am I supposed to sleep, knowing we’re trapped here? Especially after...everything. My mind is still whirring. Aching after everything it’s absorbed, remembered, relearned.
I get up from the ground, deciding I’ll let Sylvia sleep and begin my way up the ladder and through the hatch. As I step upward onto the cool, metal floor, the air around me seems colder than normal—frigid. I frown, looking around and pulling my sweater tighter around my body. But then something down the hallway catches my eye and my heart seems to freeze and crack in my chest. I can barely breathe as I stumble down the corridor and once I get there, I nearly hyperventilate. The button by the wall, the draft through the ship. The ramp.
It’s open.
I stare out into the night. Or, more accurately, it stares back in at me. I race to the button, slamming my fist against it until the ramp inches closed, my mind screaming the whole time. How did it open? How did this ramp open?
“Everyone, wake up!” I shout as I head back towards the rest of the group. People stumble from their rooms and Sylvia peeks up through the hatch, looking very alert for how sound asleep she was only minutes earlier. I scan the faces, looking for everyone. My heart drops.
“Where’s Gregory?”
Everyone looks around, but I’m already pushing past them to Gregory’s quarters. I throw the door open, hoping against hope that he’ll be lying there on his bed, squinting awake. But he’s not. The room is empty.
“What’s wrong?” someone calls. “What’s going on?”
I head back out into the hallway, running a hand through my hair and trying hard to remain breathing. “The ramp was open,” I utter. “When I came up here, the ramp was open.”
I can almost feel the fear emanating from everyone, sparking to life and infecting everyone one by one.
“You’re saying he’s out there?” Angelica squeaks.
“Well he’s not here.”
“But why would he go out there?” Holden interjects. “You told him not to, he knows how much danger we’re all in.”
I’m silent for a long moment because I’m almost sure that it wasn’t Gregory who opened the ramp. It wasn’t Gregory who walked outside into the darkness and willingly put himself at risk. It wasn’t Gregory at all.
“They took him.” Everyone swivels to look at me like I’m crazy. Although with each passing second, they seem to realize how true my conclusion might be. And how horribly awful it would be if I’m right. “They took Gregory.” I’m running my fingers through my hair, wondering why I didn’t hear the ramp open, hear the footsteps above me, the sound of Gregory being taken.
“Why would they take him?” Jackson says quietly, only it’s the frightened kind, the kind of quiet that fear forces on you.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” But deep down, I have a good idea. My throat is starting to constrict and my mind is filling with questions. Not the “whys”, but “hows”. How did they get in here, and how will we get him back? Because I’m not leaving this planet without him.
And they probably know that.
Then, all of a sudden, my heart drops to the pit of my stomach as everyone slowly turns to look at me, their eyes wide with fear, waiting for my reaction.
The tapping has started up again. Fear courses through my body for a few precious seconds, but suddenly, I shove it away. I’m angry this time. Angry because it’s the middle of the night, because I can’t get off this planet, and because they took Gregory. I spin around and slam my prosthetic fist against the metal wall as hard as I can, causing a loud reverberation to cry throughout the entire ship. And the tapping stops momentarily. I look around. Are they done? Are they leaving? But then I hear it again. Only this time it’s one tap. A slam, a pounding. One person. I frown and turn in the direction of the sound. Only then do I realize it’s different than the ones before, it isn’t rhythmic, it’s frantic. I run, the sounds leading me to the cockpit, and when I enter the room, I skid to a stop. I see a figure through the glass and in the darkness beyond. A figure climbing up the wall and pounding his fist and waving his arms at me. A burst of adrenaline shoots through my veins like a gunshot.
Gregory.
I turn and race back down the hallway, barely thinking before I punch the button on the wall, the ramp sliding open. “Jude,” Sylvia yanks my hand away, but it’s too late. The ship is open, the darkness already thick and potent around us. I grab a gun from the closet, just in case, and the others follow my lead.
“Gregory!” I shout, taking a step out onto the ramp, but not enough to put me in the forest. “Gregory?”
Just then I see a dark figure flash through the trees and my heart rate quickens. I remind myself it would take him a few moments to get from the cockpit to the ramp, but as the seconds tick by, I’m beginning to wonder.
“There he is!” Jackson suddenly shouts, stepping out beside me. He’s pointing, but as I follow his finger, I see nothing but blinding black. Jackson takes another step and I’m just about to reach out and yank him back, when he calls out “Gregory!” and jogs down the ramp.
“Jackson,” I hiss, but he’s not listening. He’s walking farther and farther into the woods and I find myself following, horror clenching around my heart. “Jackson!” I yell. “Get back here.” I notice Holden has crept up beside me and upon seeing him, I incline my head toward Jackson’s figure and we both advance on him. Holden reaches him first, but Jackson merely frowns and points before sprinting into the distance, muttering something about Gregory. To my horror, Holden calls after him, reaching and barely missing his sleeve, before following his footsteps into the trees.
“Holden!” I shout, but my voice sounds too quiet, frantic. The darkness just swallows
it up. My feet feel soil beneath my boots and I realize I’ve wandered completely out of the ship. I glance frantically around, trying to hear the sounds of Holden and Jackson’s footsteps crashing through the underbrush. I see a shape out of the corner of my eye and spin, realizing I’d forgotten a flashlight. I see eyes through the darkness and suddenly they meet mine.
“Gregory?” I whisper. He’s standing about fifteen feet away, shrouded by darkness but barely visible in the light from the ship. I take a step forward. And another. I realize the ship is farther and farther away now, that trees and bushes separate me from its light and safety. “Gregory, come here,” I hiss, but he doesn’t respond.
And suddenly, before I have time to wonder what he’s doing, or why he’s doing it, or what I’m going to do about it, I feel a hand clasp over my mouth, an arm wrap around my waist, and I’m lifted from the ground. I scream, but the noise is muffled, I kick, but whoever has me is stronger than I am, and larger.
I’m carried what seems to be quite a ways, struggling and writhing and trying to keep calm. I finally get my prosthetic hand free from underneath this person’s arm, and then grip their wrist against my waist. I squeeze tighter and tighter, knowing full well how strong this black metal hand is, and finally I hear a cry of pain and surprise as I’m dumped unceremoniously on the ground. I’m about to scramble up, but something pins me back to the dirt.
“Get off me,” I spit, and although I still can’t make out who it is, I can tell it’s a boy, or a man, or somewhere in between. All I know is that it isn’t him. He loosens his grip and I sit up. But his hand still rests on my wrist, holding me here. I jump to my feet, but he pulls me back down again. “I need to get back there. Gregory, and the others—” I’m rambling now, terrified, shocked.
“That’s not Gregory,” the boy says, and now that I can match a voice to a figure, I can guess that he’s about the same age as I am.
I’m too surprised that he even knows who Gregory is, who I am, but all I want to ask is, “What do you mean, that’s not Gregory?”
There’s a pause and I can tell the boy’s frowning. “Prince. It’s Prince.”
I open my mouth, but I’m not sure what to say. I don’t understand. I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me, or why he still has his hand wrapped around my arm, or why he brought me here in the first place.
“He was trying to get you.” There’s a pause. “Jude, don’t you remember?”
I do remember, after going out into the dark and then being dragged back to the ship. Memories are slowly surfacing, memories I’d rather not remember. This planet, those children, and him. It’s like a nightmare you’ve realized is true, and it’s making you sick. But I startle at the mention of my name on his lips. Does he know me? Do I know him? “I...” I trail off. And then suddenly it hits me. That name. The name to a face, an idea, a dream I’ve had for years. Prince. The boy who took my hand. “Who are you?” I ask.
He shifts in the darkness and I’m still unnerved and frankly terrified by how much I can’t see here. If I had one wish in the world, one wish for the rest of my life, and I could make it now...I’d wish for a moon.
“Andrew,” he says, although the name doesn’t bring anything back. Neither does his voice, though I was hoping it would. No inflection, no hint or hurt, or worry, or relief. Monotone, relaxed, nonchalant. There’s nothing to tell me who he is. Because a name is never enough.
“Why did you grab me?” I ask, suddenly accusatory. “I need to get back, I need to find the others.”
“They’ve been taken,” he tells me frankly and I feel my heart skip a beat.
“Taken?” I echo.
“He was after you. The rest of them were just supposed to lure you. That’s all that Gregory was.”
I’m still confused, my mind whirring a hundred miles an hour, like a train on a track that’s lost its brakes. “I saw him,” I state. “Outside the window, and then again in the woods.”
I can detect a shaking of a head through the darkness. “That wasn’t Gregory,” he says, sounding somewhat irritated because he’s already told me this. “That was him.” Prince.
“But...why?” I whisper.
“You couldn’t have forgotten,” Andrew says, somewhat dumbfounded. “Jude.” He leans forward and I can’t help but lean back a little, feeling uncomfortable. He’s acting like he knows me. Knows me well. When I’ve never seen him before in my life. “What you did was...unfeasible.”
I’m wracking my brain for any sign of what he means. It already hurts, and the memories are foggy and come in flashes. A planet, running through the woods, the loss of my hand...and then Dad.
Andrew seems to realize I’m at a loss, that I’m either purposely clamming up, or I’ve seriously lost my mind. “The children on this planet never leave,” he says through gritted teeth. “And you did.” He blurts out the words almost like I’ve committed a crime, like he’s angry, jealous, hates me. Just then he reaches out to grab my prosthetic hand between his fingers and I instinctively clench my fist. He stares at it for a long, long moment. “And Prince is going to do a whole lot more than just cut off your hand,” he breathes. “Because you left, you made a life, you grew up.”
I swallow, trying to pull my hand from his grasp, trying to inch away from him. Every nerve in my body is on fire, his words throwing paper to the flames.
“Because you were never meant to leave this planet.”
* * * *
I’m not sure why his words scare me to my core; freeze my heart and my brain and my soul. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m scrambling to remember and pieces are slowly falling into place, or if it’s because I don’t remember, and for some reason I feel like that’s going to cost me.
I’m staring into the darkness, squinting because I can’t quite make out this person in front of me, or who or what he is, while every part of my body screams to run. I inch upwards, but his hand tightens around my wrist.
“You can’t go back to the ship.”
I swallow. “Why?”
“That’s exactly where Prince will expect you to be. If you want any chance in getting your friends back, don’t go there.”
“Then where should I go?”
“I know where,” is all Andrew says before getting to his feet and pulling me up with him.
“I can’t see,” I protest and I can feel my hands shaking, my whole body shaking. I’m slowing down so Andrew spins around to face me.
“What’s wrong?” he demands, and I can tell he’s noticed the tremors wracking my body.
“I...I’m...” I trail off and I can practically feel Andrew’s impatience. “I’m afraid of the dark,” I admit and then regret it like a smack in the head. Why would I tell someone that?
Andrew pauses for a second before simply saying, “That’s a silly thing to be afraid of,” before tugging me along.
And for one full moment, I hate him.
I’m about to open my mouth and ask him exactly what he’s talking about, but he hisses at me to be quiet, and I’m too scared of this Prince, the darkness surrounding us and whatever else hides in the shadows, to protest. We creep through the underbrush, through the pitch black, and through the trees to wherever Andrew is taking us, and it’s a good thing he has a grip on my arm or I would’ve been lost from the start. We’re so far from the ship now—the only light available, other than a few lazily blinking stars—that I can’t make out a thing, and I wonder how Andrew sees anything at all. What seems like agonizing hours later, but I know is only a few minutes, Andrew stops and I nearly topple into him. He bends over and I follow his lead, feeling exposed, even in the darkness. He moves away and a few seconds later, reaches for my hand again and pulls me down inside what feels like a hole in the ground. I hold in the shriek of surprise gurgling up my throat and try not to panic, realizing I really don’t have any idea who this person is. Something shuts behind me and before I have time to open my mouth and demand where we are, a light flickers on and I squint, momentar
ily blinded.
I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the space around me and to my awe, I realize we’re standing in some sort of underground room. I look around. Although the floor and walls are completely dirt, the space is moderately large, about the size of the cockpit on Hourglass. Makeshift furniture litters the area, as well as random things I can only guess Andrew has collected over the years—pieces of paper bound together to create journals, trinkets of different sorts, boxes and shelves. And I notice that the light is coming from a fire-lit lamp sitting on the table.
Then my gaze wanders upward to the other person in the room—Andrew. He’s standing across the area, fiddling with something, his back partially turned to me. And now that there’s actual lighting and he’s more than just a shadowy figure, I can make out so much more. He’s definitely older. At least my age. And although I don’t know who he is and I can almost swear I’ve never seen him before, there’s something familiar about him. The way he walks, talks, and moves.
But then he turns back to me and my eyes widen. I take a small, involuntary step back, instantly regretting it when I see him flinch, the look in his eyes. His completely black eyes. I can’t see the line between the iris and the pupil, no separation, no difference. There are markings covering his skin. I see them peeking out from underneath his shirt, climbing up his neck and spreading out across his face in sporadic lines that remind me vaguely of vines you might find in a jungle. I see them on his hands too, sliding up his arms.
I look away quickly like I’ve seen something I wasn’t supposed to. Like I’ve already said and done too many things with just one glance—like I’ve insulted him, hurt him, and shamed him in too many ways to count.
Andrew looks away the same moment I do, but there’s nothing to look at so we both just stand still in awkward silence.
Hourglass Page 7
