The Grown Ups' Crusade

by Audrey Greathouse

  “You don't need to worry about that,” he answered. “Losing isn't something that happens to people, it's something that's inside of people. And there isn't any losing inside of us, so no matter what happens, we'll be okay.”

  She had to admit, she couldn't envision Peter losing. She could imagine no circumstance where he wouldn't just fly off, laughing all the way. Maybe she had something like that living inside of her too, just more cautious and a little quieter.

  “What if they catch us though?” Gwen asked, her doubt persistent. “What if they take us away and we go back to reality?”

  Peter gave her a thoughtful look before he announced, “Supposing they did, that would certainly be the most-disastrous-and-horrible case scenario, but if you and I had to go through it, we'd still be us, so I don't think even that would be so bad. As long as you're around to tell me stories, I don't see how anything can go too wrong.”

  All at once, Gwen's misgivings calmed. Peter's confidence did not exist in the shallows of his demeanor—it went all the way down to his blood and his bones. He didn't just feel he could manipulate everything to his liking, he fundamentally believed he could survive anything. That, Gwen realized, was something they shared. She could be happy in Neverland, she could be happy in reality—all her confliction and challenges sprung from trying to decide between many desirable options. Old Willow had thrown her bones once and told her what her fate held: no matter what happened, no matter what she did, Gwen would be happy. And so would Peter. They would always be happy, because they had no losing inside of them.

  Peter's cheerful expression muddied into something questioning and disquieted. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Looking at you like what?” Gwen asked.

  “I have seen that look before,” Peter proclaimed. “Tiger Lily used to give me that look all the time. She still does—but it's a sad look now, even though it's the same. I don't know how. I don't understand it, and now you're doing it!”

  A single laugh escaped Gwen, sounding more like a cough than laugh. She shook her head and looked in the opposite direction. “I'm not doing anything. I'm not even looking at you.”

  “You were, though!” Peter told her.

  “No I wasn't,” Gwen insisted, refusing to look at him. “I've never looked at you, I've never even seen you. I don't even know what you look like.”

  “You have,” Peter argued, leaning over and trying to force his way into Gwen's vision without falling off the tree branch. “You've looked at me tons, and I know you know what I look like.”

  Gwen scrunched up her face, still not looking at him as she teased, “You have long dark hair and bright blue eyes, right?”

  “Gwenny, look at me!” Peter howled. He grabbed her arm with such desperation Gwen immediately perceived what his frightened expression confirmed: her taunting had actually panicked him.

  She looked at Peter, amazed at how her ludicrous joke had disturbed him. “What's the matter, Peter?”

  His tense shoulders lowered and he blinked back his panic as he held her eyes. “Don't ever do that again,” he told her.

  Still baffled by how wounded he looked, Gwen nonetheless promised, “I won't.”

  “It's the moments that you look away that you grow up,” Peter said. “As soon as you look away, you start to forget, and growing-up is forgetting. Don't ever look away from me, Gwenny. Don't ever forget me.” He still gripped her arm, as if he thought she might disappear into the night if he didn't hold onto her. Gwen couldn't imagine why this struck such an ugly chord with him, until she thought about who he was.

  Peter did not believe in the past. The present and future all bled together for him, but the past was less than fiction to him. He didn't want to be forgotten for the same reason he didn't care about the secret sketchbook Gwen had spent their late-night conversation clutching. The past didn't exist. It was wholly irrelevant.

  Gwen took his hand, and held it in hers, reassuring him, “I won't, Peter. Even if they took me away tomorrow and I grew up and lived to be a ninety-year-old lady, I'd still remember you. I'll never forget you.”

  Peter nodded, once, as he recovered from the fright she had given him. “Good,” he said.

  The moon bubbled into the night sky, slowly slipping into its natural silver hue. Peter squeezed her hand, but made no promises of his own. Peter did not offer to remember Gwen, he did not promise to never forget her, and Gwen didn't ask him to. She knew that for Peter Pan, there would never be a past. If anything ever separated them, she would dissolve into the no-man's land of his unused memory, never to be summoned again.

  Yet they would be happy, even alone—Gwen content with her memories, and Peter untroubled by his loss.

  Chapter 17

  When Gwen woke the next morning, she knew everything before she even opened her eyes. She knew where she was, she knew what day it was, and she knew it was minutes until dawn. All this came with the piercing consciousness of the morning. The grown-ups, just off shore, would arrive today with an arsenal of magic-derived technology and the sole purpose of destroying Neverland. Even with the help of the pirates, the lost children stood little chance of completely preventing the adults from landing ashore. The war that had quietly and secretly raged in the background of reality for so long became an assault on the homeland of magic today.

  The children tittered with an almost pleasant permutation of excitement and fear. They reached no consensus on how to dress for war. The girls mostly donned practical jumpers or overalls and tied their hair back, but others resolved to meet the challenges of the day dressed like ladies. Some boys wore dark clothes like ninjas, others covered their faces like train bandits, and still others scrounged up camouflaged garments and tiny army helmets. A few children took their cues from Peter and did not dress up at all, for today was just another adventure in Neverland.

  Rosemary wrapped herself in the most tattered clothes she could find so she “wouldn't have to worry about getting them dirty or torn,” and Gwen decided to pull on her favorite blue dress with some leggings. She'd had many adventures in the calico-printed play dress, and she had heard once that when taking a test, it helped to wear the same clothes worn while studying. They claimed familiar clothes helped people remember the material and stay calm. Today would be like a test, forcing her to recall and employ all that she'd learned in Neverland, back when the stakes were so much lower.

  Gwen approached Rosemary as she attempted to restrain her hair with a simple headband. “Hey Rose,” she told her sister. “I have something I want you to have for today.” Gwen pulled out the skeleton key and gave it to her sister, explaining the skeleton key's ability to open any lock. Rosemary, delighted by this, promised to keep it safe, and did not have the empathy to register the deep concern that Gwen offered it with.

  Everyone gathered the fanny packs, utility belts, backpacks, and satchels they'd filled with supplies. Dillweed and Hawkbit fluttered around, checking under furniture and bed sheets for anything the children might forget. The children carried their daggers, slingshots, and blowguns through the underground home's tunnels, marching in a uniform line behind Newt and Sal, the proud architects of the finished tunnel system. The boys sang to a military cadence, and the children behind fell into the call-and-repeat song. The tunnels echoed with their voices:

  I don't know but I've been told

  It's no fun getting old.

  I don't know but it's been said

  We're better off here instead.

  * * *

  I don't know but must be true:

  Neverland needs me and you.

  I don't know but I believe

  All grown-ups do is grieve.

  They soon arrived at the edge of the island, and climbed to the surface through a trapdoor buried under a thin layer of sand. The passageway wasn't big enough for grown-ups—Gwen barely fit through it—and since it needed the magic word applesauce to open, the children felt confident the adults wouldn't compromise their tunnel system
.

  One at a time, they exited and flew into the castle, taking their preliminary defensive positions in the pre-dawn dark. Oat carried Gwen's radio inceptor up, and he and Goose—now communication experts—turned it on and began hunting for the adults' frequency. The island's fairy population stashed itself away deep in the jungle. Too fragile for warfare, the fairies knew their energy was best spent nearer the Never Tree where they could collectively help hide it. Dillweed and Hawkbit, bolder and braver for their previous encounters with adults, elected to stay with the children and Hollyhock, as always, stayed glued to Peter's side. They set to work dusting all the children with a final protective powdering of fairy dust.

  The sun crept up from the horizon, its pink claws stretching up to catch the day. Smaller children distributed blowgun and slingshot ammo while older children with better aim got comfortable in their turrets. As they prepared, Gwen tried to reassure herself. The sand castle stretched like the Great Wall of China around Cannibal's Cove. It would be impenetrable as long as it stood. If only it weren't made of sand, Gwen thought, worried for the structural integrity of their principle defense. Dillweed zoomed over and circled close overhead, covering her a little too fast and a little too much in his glittering green magic. Her skin tingled, and Gwen sneezed. “Thanks, Dillweed,” she told him, rubbing her nose.

  The adults' monolithic, metal juggernaut and the two naval ships flanking it looked “not an hour away,” according to Peter, so nervous chatter and more work songs passed among the children.

  Rosemary, while playing lookout and patrolling the roof of the castle, called out, “Peter, it's the redskins!”

  The Hoffman girls had already informed Peter of the rebuilt redskin tribe, but he had not yet seen them. Gwen had suggested they collude with the redskins in order to better coordinate Neverland's defenses, but Peter had refused. He claimed the redskins' manner of warfare was too foreign and complex to integrate into their own plans. Left to their own devices, however, some of the redskins sought out the lost children on the beach.

  Lookouts and snipers stayed in position, but Peter and curious Hollyhock led a small greeting party down to meet Chief Dark Sun and the six redskins in his company.

  “Greetings, Chief Dark Sun!” Peter called. “What say you—is today a good day to die?”

  The Chief looked at the sky, and the reluctant purple colors beginning to populated it. “Yes, yes I think so,” he answered, “but it is also a good day to live. We have come to wish you luck. Should any of the white man slip past your castle and come into the forest, we will be waiting for them.”

  Peter nodded. “Good.”

  “This is Great Waters.” Chief Dark Sun introduced the firm-faced man, covered in a cascading series of bone necklaces. “He will assist you on the shore and be our look-out, if that agrees with you.

  “Certainly.”

  A distant scream came: “PETER!”

  Gwen had almost gotten used to hearing children scream for Peter. Almost, but not quite—especially when it was Rosemary screaming.

  They turned and saw her on the sand castle's roof, but a startling, inhuman cry forced their eyes onto what she saw.

  It flew like a bird and cawed like an eagle, but its giant wingspan belonged to no earthly creature. A faint and translucent blue, the massive animal appeared like an apparition. The woman riding it, however, looked as alive as day.

  The hawk spirit landed on the beach beside the lost children and redskins, its feathers swirling like smoke. Blood-red beads dangled on the leather tassels of her dress as Tiger Lily dismounted the bird, setting foot on Neverland for the first time in the many long years since she had been a child.

  “Tiger Lily!” Peter cried, too happy to muster any other greeting.

  “Peter!” she called.

  They ran to each other, and Tiger Lily bent down and pulled him tight against her as they hugged.

  “You've returned!” Peter announced. “How?”

  “I have Flying Hawk to thank for that,” Tiger Lily told him. Her translucent bird cawed again at the sound of its name. Running Fox approached the spirit bird and reached out to touch its beak. The smoke curled away and his hand passed through it, but the bird cooed and flapped its wispy wings in recognition.

  Peter and Tiger Lily hurried through a conversation they had little time for. Gwen watched, standing beside Chief Dark Sun. “I thought you said Tiger Lily could never return,” she said. “Didn't you tell me that she had spent too long in reality to live as a redskin again?”

  His face stayed even, but his eyes looked heavy with joyful tears he would not cry. “Things are rarely as they seem to us,” he nebulously answered.

  Tiger Lily caught Dark Sun's eye, and let go of Peter to embrace her father. She ran to him on fast feet and hugged him with all the energy of the child she had been when she last saw him.

  “You have grown so well,” he told her.

  “And you have not changed,” she told him. Looking up at her father's face, she said, “You are still so tall to me!”

  He gave a gentle laugh, and patted his daughter's hair. Tiger Lily had grown up, but her black braids shone in the early light and the war paint covering her face was as bright as her smile.

  “Why did you come back?” Jam asked.

  “To fight for Neverland!” she announced. The children cheered. “And to save Peter's skin, of course.”

  Peter turned prickly. “I don't need saving.”

  “You need more saving than any boy I've ever met,” Tiger Lily told him, crossing her arms. “You'd be dead seven times over if it weren't for me.

  “I've saved your life more times than you saved mine,” Peter defended. “I've saved your life forty-two times.”

  “Peter, you're making up numbers again.”

  “No I'm not!” he insisted. “Forty-two is a real number!”

  His loyal lost children babbled in agreement. Tiger Lily only laughed.

  Suddenly, the ground shook. The spasm of an earthquake was not destructive, only disorienting. “What was that?” Gwen yelled.

  “They've broken Neverland's barrier,” Peter announced. “Everyone, positions!”

  The lost children needed no encouragement, and flew to the sand castle to see the ships now that they were past the first peripheral defense the Never Tree projected around the island.

  The redskins stole into the dark of the forest and prepared their ambushes. Peter and Tiger Lily shared a look of distress. The boundless childhood they had shared on this island had vanished many years ago. If they did not act swiftly and smartly today, the island and all the boundless childhoods it still contained would vanish, too. She grabbed him and kissed his forehead. “Stay safe, Peter.”

  “And miss all the fun?” he asked.

  She gave him the sad smile her life had taught her to perfect, and then ran after the rest of her tribe.

  Gwen made sure Rosemary got off the sand castle's roof and safely behind its walls. As they entered the beach fortress with Peter, they heard Goose relaying information from the radio inceptor. “They're deploying the landing troops! They're deploying the landing troops!”

  Chapter 18

  A team of children lowered a rope ladder so that Great Waters, the redskin lookout, could climb into their castle. Gwen watched one of the battleship's flanking ships deploy six smaller boats. The dark rubber rafts looked like navy-issue crafts as their engines propelled them toward the cove. Blink had the spyglass, and Gwen listened as she described the zodiac boats in better detail.

  “There's six grown-ups aboard each,” Blink announced. “The one in the back middle seems to do the steering. I think they have a formation, but the waters are too choppy.”

  “How will we know when they're in range?” one of the little snipers called from her turret. Great Waters, poised with his bow beside Sal, tapped his head.

  “You'll know,” Peter told her.

  Gwen paid more attention to Goose, who regurgitated everything she hear
d from the radio, never slowing down even as she tripped over unrecognized words.

  “The landers are to fire as soon as they are in range with orders to oblit-er-ate the sand castle! The soldiers are ordered to capture anything magical that they can. They want to preserve the island's re-sour-ces.”

  Blink yelled, “They have some pretty big guns on the boats. I think we need to sink them fast.”

  Before anyone could respond to this information, the morning dissolved into a fury of machine gun fire. Butted up against the ocean, the castle's wall had stood quiet and serene as shallow waves lapped at it. Now, the three boats with a clear shot of the target had their gunmen fire mercilessly at the castle's defensive wall. The black coats couldn't see the trench resting behind the wall, but if they'd ever built a sand castle, they probably knew to expect one.

  The children screamed and began returning fire with their blowguns. They had tipped their little darts with the poison of the somnia lily nectar from deep in the jungles of Neverland. As all the lost children knew, the chemicals caused people to faint on contact. They had no shortage of darts, and fired them off one after another. They managed to strike several of the black coats.

  While poison darts rained down on the adults, the invaders also had to worry about Great Waters and his arrows. The redskin fired shot after shot, systematically piercing their inflatable boats with his keen aim and sharp arrowheads.

  The gunmen continued to direct the crafts' artillery toward penetrating the sand castle's first defensive wall. The children focused their darts on the gunmen and craft pilots, forcing other soldiers to take over these roles as their companions became casualties, decommissioned by an immediate and deep sleep.

  “I'LL GIVE YOU A BED TIME!” Jam screeched, blowing another vengeful dart at the attacking forces. She incapacitated another pilot who slumped into slumber against his steering rod and subsequently took the boat far off course before another solider could wrestle away control of the craft.