The Bridge to Never Land

by Dave Barry

“I blame video games,” said Tom.

  “Right,” said Aidan. “Video games.”

  CHAPTER 11

  A COIL OF BLACK

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED on the fourth floor. An older couple joined the Coopers as a waiter pushed a linen-covered room-service cart past in the corridor. As the doors shut, the old man looked down at his arm and scratched off a large scab, which drifted to the elevator floor.

  “Did you see that?” Aidan asked Sarah.

  “Aidan!” said Natalie, horrified, looking between Aidan and the man.

  “Not that, Mom!” said Aidan. He cupped his hand and whispered in Sarah’s ear, “That room-service waiter who just went by—he wasn’t wearing a coat.”

  “So?” said Sarah.

  “The guy carrying the tray on our floor had a big coat on. He was a doorman, not a waiter!”

  Sarah frowned.

  “He was heading toward our room,” said Aidan.

  The old man reached toward another scab; his wife slapped his wrist.

  “Mom,” said Sarah, pretending to search through her backpack, “do you have a hairbrush?”

  “No,” said Natalie. “You know I never carry one.”

  “Can I go back to the room and get one, please?”

  “You can make it through breakfast without worrying about your hair,” Tom said testily.

  “Please, Mom?” Woman to woman. It usually worked.

  “I don’t see any harm,” Natalie said. “Just hurry up, please.”

  The elevator doors opened; they had reached the lobby.

  “I’ll go with her and make sure she doesn’t drag it out,” Aidan said.

  “Keep her moving,” Tom said, as he and Natalie followed the old couple out of the elevator. “I’m starving.”

  Aidan punched the button for the fifth floor. As the doors closed, he said, “What do we do if he’s in our room?”

  “We make him leave,” said Sarah. “We can’t let him get the box.” She drummed her fingers on the elevator door. “Come on,” she muttered.

  The elevator reached the fifth floor. They ran down the hall. There was a room-service tray on the carpet outside their room. The door was shut.

  Aidan snatched a butter knife off the tray.

  “As if you’re going to use that,” said Sarah.

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  Sarah removed the room card from her backpack, slipped it quietly into the slot, took a deep breath, and withdrew it. The door light turned green. She pulled down the handle and pushed the door open.

  The doorman was bent over, searching a lower drawer in a dresser. He stood and turned toward them. His face was expressionless; his eyes were vacant, dominated by huge black pupils.

  “What are you doing?” said Sarah. Aidan moved next to her.

  The doorman said nothing.

  The door closed behind them.

  “This is our room,” said Sarah. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

  The doorman took a step toward them.

  Aidan gripped the butter knife. Sarah took a step back and opened the door. “Please leave right now,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway.

  Another step. The doorman was a yard away from them, next to the desk lamp. Aidan looked down and gasped.

  “Sarah,” he hissed. “He doesn’t have a shadow.”

  Sarah would have screamed, but she never had a chance. The doorman, moving with impossible quickness, leaped forward and shoved her out into the hall. He then seized Aidan before he had time to react and shoved him out after her.

  Aidan stabbed the butter knife into the closing crack and blocked the door from shutting completely. He leaned against the door, trying to force it open, but the doorman had his full weight against it.

  “Help me!” Aidan shouted.

  “We need to get somebody up here fast,” said Sarah. She looked around frantically, then spotted a fire alarm a few yards away. She ran to it, opened the cover plate, and yanked the lever down. Instantly, a blinding white light flashed overhead and a very loud, very annoying alarm began sounding.

  Downstairs, Tom was just raising his steaming coffee cup to his lips, anticipating the first sip, when he heard the alarm. All around the dining room, guests looked up from their breakfasts. A hotel employee trotted past the entrance, then another. A voice coming from the direction of the reception desk called out, “Fifth floor.”

  Tom and Natalie exchanged looks.

  Oh, no…

  “S…a…r…a…h!” Aidan shouted.

  She ran for the door, leaped in the air, and kicked it hard with her karate-trained right foot. The doorman was thrown back onto the floor, banging his head hard on the corner of the desk as he went down. He lay on the floor, apparently stunned, moaning.

  Aidan ran past him to the bed. “Grab it!” he shouted to Sarah, at the same time yanking the bedspread off the bed and onto the fallen doorman. The doorman, recovering, kicked at it to get it off, but was tangled just long enough for Sarah to reach for the box behind the television and make for the door, Aidan a step behind her. Sarah shoved the box into her backpack.

  A few yards down the hallway they nearly ran into two men in gray suits, one with a walkie-talkie—hotel security.

  “Excuse me!” Aidan said. “One of your doormen pulled the fire alarm and then barged into our room!”

  At that moment, the doorman appeared at the doorway. His dead, coal-black eyes met Sarah’s for a moment, then aimed at her backpack.

  “There he is!” Sarah shouted, pointing. The doorman turned away and began walking quickly toward the stairs at the far end of the corridor.

  “Hey, you! Stop!” shouted the man with the walkietalkie.

  The doorman, not looking back, started running. The two security men started after him, but the doorman had a big lead and his pursuers were slowed by hotel guests responding to the alarm, pouring from their rooms into the corridor.

  “They’re not gonna catch him,” said Aidan.

  “Come on,” said Sarah. “We’ll take the elevator.”

  They reached the elevators and joined a crowd of people pushing their way on. Although hotel guests were not supposed to use the elevators in case of a fire, no one was obeying the rule.

  “What are we doing?” whispered Aidan.

  “Following him,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “To see where he goes. I want to know who’s after us.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” said Aidan. The doors opened in the lobby; Sarah pushed her way out, with Aidan behind.

  “There!” she said.

  The doorman, in a crowd, was walking briskly, purposefully, not looking back. Most of the hotel guests were outside now in a milling throng of hundreds on the sidewalk, with more streaming across the lobby and out the front entrance. But the doorman veered right, toward a side entrance. Sarah followed about twenty feet behind him with Aidan, reluctantly, on her heels.

  The doorman started across a street, walking directly into the path of a taxi, which swerved to avoid him, its driver yelling something unpleasant. The doorman paid no attention, continuing across the street and into the park above which Sarah and Aidan had flown the night before. Sarah stopped on the sidewalk, watching.

  “Where’s he going?” said Aidan.

  “I don’t know,” said Sarah. “It’s like he didn’t even hear that taxi…”

  The doorman walked toward a huge oak, its branches lush with leaves. When he reached it, he stopped. For thirty seconds he stood motionless.

  Then a raven landed in the tree.

  Then another.

  Then a dozen more.

  And still more, and more, and more. Hundreds more. The tree was black now, its branches bending under the weight of the huge black birds.

  Aidan put his hand on Sarah’s arm.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Sarah stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on the scene.

  Suddenly, the tree came
alive as the birds, moving as one fluid mass, rose from the upper canopy of the tree in a coil of black, like an enormous snake. With a roar of beating wings, the coil arched upward and then swiftly curved down, engulfing the doorman in a tornado of black feathers. The only sound was of beating wings. Then, as swiftly as they had descended, the mass of birds began to rise; the top of the mass again began to form a snakelike shape even as the bottom still covered the doorman.

  The top arched and began to swivel, as if looking for something. And then it stopped.

  It was pointing toward Sarah.

  “Uh-oh,” said Aidan.

  “Run!” shouted Sarah.

  Dodging traffic, she and Aidan sprinted back across the street toward the hotel. Behind them they heard the all-too-familiar roar of beating wings. Sarah glanced back and saw the dark mass swooping toward them. Behind the mass she caught a glimpse of a figure crumpled on the ground—the doorman, or what was left of him.

  “Hurry!” she shouted to Aidan, who needed no encouragement. Moments later they reached the hotel, where the crowd was flowing back into the lobby; the alarm had apparently been declared false.

  Sarah and Aidan plunged into the mob, then looked anxiously back; to their relief, they saw that the black mass of birds had veered away and was breaking apart, the ravens now flying separately, like ordinary birds. They flew off in all directions; in seconds they were gone. A few members of the crowd had noticed their odd behavior and were pointing upward, but most people were focused on getting back into the hotel. In the distance, Sarah and Aidan saw figures in the park gathered around the fallen form of the doorman.

  They entered the lobby and spotted their parents on the far side, anxiously scanning the crowd. A moment later their parents saw them and started working their way toward them, their expressions a mixture of relief and anger.

  “Sarah,” said Aidan urgently, “we can’t keep the box.

  You saw what happened to the doorman.”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “Ombra shadowized him. And then he…I don’t know what he did to him in the park. I guess he was angry at him because he failed.”

  “Yes, but now he’ll just shadowize somebody else. He’s going to keep coming, Sarah. As long as we have the box, he’s going to keep coming. Do you see that? Do you see that?”

  Their parents had almost reached them. Sarah shifted the backpack, acutely aware of the heavy weight of the box. “Yes,” she said. “I see.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ONLY BIRDS

  THEY WERE SURROUNDED BY CROWDS all that day as their parents took them out on one last round of sightseeing before their return to the United States. Sarah kept a tight grip on the backpack, and they both spent more time nervously scanning the sky than looking at whatever sight they were supposed to be seeing. But there was no sign of the ravens.

  They took turns sleeping that night; Aidan stayed up until two a.m., then woke up Sarah, who kept watch until dawn. Both of them glanced a hundred times at the window; both of them tensed each time they heard footsteps in the hall. But as far as they could tell, the birds had not returned, and nobody came to their door.

  They argued, sometimes heatedly, about what to do with the box. Aidan insisted that they had to get rid of it, either by turning it over to the police or simply leaving it behind. Sarah didn’t trust the police and was utterly opposed to abandoning the box.

  The argument resumed after breakfast as they packed for the trip home.

  “If we keep it,” said Aidan, jamming a pair of jeans into his suitcase, “he’ll come after us again.”

  “If we leave it,” she answered, “he’ll get it.”

  “Sarah, you saw what happened to the doorman. Do you want that to happen to us?”

  “No,” Sarah answered, grunting as she zipped her bulging suitcase closed. “But it won’t happen to us, because we’re leaving England.”

  “What if he comes after us?”

  “Aidan, we’ll be an ocean away.”

  “How do you know he won’t come?”

  “It’s too far, Aidan. He lives here. The birds live here.”

  Aidan was silent for a minute. Then he said, “You don’t really know. You’re just guessing. I’m going to tell Dad and Mom.”

  Sarah stared at him. “You wouldn’t,” she said softly.

  Tears welled in Aidan’s eyes. “I would,” he said. “I’m not going to die for that stupid box. I hate that we ever found it. Leave it here, or I’m telling them. Do you understand me?”

  Sarah held his gaze for a moment, then turned away.

  “Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

  Heathrow Airport was, as always, insane—its endless, dingy corridors a chaotic swarm of travelers arriving from and departing for points all over the world. It took the Coopers an hour to get boarding passes, check their luggage, and make their way to the security checkpoint. They shuffled along in line, finally reaching the screening area, where they placed their carry-on bags onto the belt for the X-ray machine—Tom first, followed by Natalie, Aidan, and Sarah.

  “Whose bag is this?” said a security screener, pointing to Sarah’s backpack as it emerged from the machine.

  “Mine,” said Sarah.

  “I’m just going to have a look,” said the screener. Sarah nodded. Aidan looked back at her; she avoided his gaze.

  Ahead of them, their parents were gathering their carryons; Natalie was talking about doing some duty-free shopping.

  “Sarah,” said Aidan.

  She shook her head.

  The screener had opened the backpack and was poking around inside. He pointed to something and said, “What’s this?”

  “A jewelry box,” said Sarah. Aidan started to say something; she held up a hand to stop him.

  “Is this gold?” asked the screener.

  “Yes,” said Sarah. The screener studied it for a moment, then pushed the backpack across the table to Sarah with a look that said, Unbelievable, these rich Americans.

  “Thank you,” said Sarah, trying not to betray her relief as she picked up the backpack. She brushed past Aidan, not meeting his furious gaze, and started toward where their parents stood waiting in the huge, bustling lounge area.

  Aidan grabbed her arm, stopping her. “You lied to me, Sarah,” he hissed.

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did. You said you’d leave it.”

  “I didn’t say that, Aidan. I said I understood you. And I do. You don’t want to be part of this. Okay, I understand. You don’t have to be part of it.”

  “But how can I—”

  “Will you kids hurry it up?” called Tom, striding toward them, irritated.

  Aidan looked toward their father.

  “Aidan,” Sarah whispered urgently. “Please don’t tell him. Please.”

  For a few seconds they stared into each other’s eyes. Then Aidan jerked his arm loose and began walking. When he reached Tom, he stopped and looked back.

  Please, Sarah mouthed.

  Without speaking to his father, Aidan turned and started walking again.

  Outside on the airport ramp, about a hundred yards from the lounge, a baggage handler stood next to a jet being readied for departure to the United States. He was awaiting a baggage tug.

  Had he turned around, he would have seen a large raven landing twenty feet from where he stood.

  And then another, and another…

  Had the baggage handler looked up, he would have seen many more of the birds, some on the edge of the terminal roof, others perched along the windows.

  The ravens had started gathering two hours earlier, when the Coopers had emerged from the hotel. As they climbed into their taxi, a bird perched on the hotel roof had emitted a cry and taken wing. It was quickly joined by others from nearby trees and rooftops. By the time the taxi was passing Hyde Park, there were a dozen black birds flying above it through the light fog. As the taxi pulled onto the M5 motorway, the dozen had become fifty. Soon there were more than a hun
dred. Flights of birds were no strange sight in London. Geese and ducks sometimes flew in gigantic Vs, slicing across the London sky like arrows. The few people who saw the ravens thought nothing of it. It was only birds.

  When the taxi reached Heathrow Airport and the Coopers went inside, the ravens had dispersed—some going to the roof, some perching near windows. As the Coopers made their way through the terminal, passing windows along the way, the birds shifted, getting ever closer to the U.S.-bound jet, where a growing mass of them now gathered behind the baggage handler.

  Sensing their motion, the handler turned and almost jumped at the sight of so many birds. He thought they must have been feeding on something, as they were so concentrated. Birds posed a danger to jet engines, so he stepped closer to shoo them away. He expected them to flee at his approach.

  They didn’t flee. Instead they condensed into a tightly packed mass and, moving as one, rose into a shape that looked remarkably like a human silhouette. The baggage handler, more astonished than scared—they were only birds, after all—wished he had a camera. He was about to call out for his coworkers to come have a look.

  That was when his shadow touched the edge of the mass of birds.

  And that was the last thing he remembered.

  Moments later, his eyes now pitch-black and expressionless, he opened one of the plane’s rear cargo doors. Instantly, the mass of birds changed shape. Looking now like a snake, it streamed swiftly across the tarmac and into the cargo hold, where the birds dispersed and disappeared into the dark recesses. More swooped down from the terminal building and darted inside—a hundred.

  Two hundred. Three hundred or more, vanishing in the gloom.

  The baggage handler stood next to the baggage conveyor belt, his expression unchanging, his eyes staring at nothing. The tug arrived, pulling a train of carts full of luggage of every shape and size.

  “Tim?” said the tug driver. “You okay, mate?” He waited, but got no response. “Up late, were you?”

  Tim remained mute.

  “You want inside or out?” the driver asked. One man would feed bags onto the conveyor belt from the bottom; the other would pull them into the hold and pack them tightly in netted bays inside.