The memories washed over me in a flood of images and sounds, all out of sequence and painful. I stared at him with all the fire of hating someone who wouldn’t know you if they saw you. In my finer moments, my unrequited hate sat like lead beneath my heart.
He walked down the topmast past the sail foot over foot as though he were balancing on a narrow beam.
“Wow, a pirate ship,” Pan said. I could repeat Peter’s greeting without missing a single beat. What fun it would be to play pirates! I want to be Captain!
“You would get a much better look at it if you come down,” I called out, smiling as best I could.
“No way!” Peter said. “You’re shooting at me.”
“We’ve stopped,” I told him, motioning with my arms to show Peter that I was telling the truth. I glanced at Noodler, who shook his head, signaling that he didn’t yet have a clear shot. I widened my eyes and smiled more broadly. “Now, why not come down and play pirates?”
Pan lowered a few feet, then stopped. A puzzled look grew on his face. A moment later, his head perked up and he smiled. “You’re trying to trick me.”
“Oh, you are much too clever for that.”
“I am,” said Peter. He puffed his chest and put his hands on his hips.
“It is great fun on a pirate ship,” I coaxed. “We have swords and cannons.” I motioned with my hand and five men wheeled a 600 pound cannon to my side. “Look for yourself.”
Peter Pan’s eyes grew wide with excitement. He looped twice in the air and floated closer to the deck. I looked over to Noodler, who again shook his head.
“How do you use it?” Pan asked.
“I could show you,” I said. I lifted a 10-pound ball high enough for Peter to see it. “You just take one of these and load it into the cannon.”
“And that’s all?” Peter asked. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he still drew nearer.
“There is more to it, gunpowder and all. It gets complicated,” I said with a frown and sighed loudly. “It is hard to explain.” I then brightened my face and said, “I could show you if you come down and help me.”
I passed a quick glance over at Noodler, but this time Pan followed my eyes and saw the marksman. Peter gasped and a white light burst from underneath his shirt and zipped around him in tight circles.
“Do it!” I yelled.
Noodler’s shot rang out and I watched the fairy gather sparks of light about it and blast the bullet into nothing. Not dust. Not shards. Nothing.
Pan twisted backwards and laughed. With a wave, he dove between Cecco and Phillip Gulley and sent the two men sprawling onto the quarter deck. He then gripped the main boom and swung himself high into the air. The two men fired their pistols and I watched the gunshots tear holes into the sail. At this, every pirate began shooting into the sky again. Some men aimed. Others shot wildly. Everyone missed.
Peter Pan flew over the forecastle deck. He swooped between the stays and coiled once around the bowsprit before darting out over the water.
I cursed and stormed over to Long Tom. The constant staccato of gunfire rang in my ears as I aimed the cannon after Peter Pan, just below the clouds.
Then everything stopped. All thought, all action, even my breath. There was nothing save for what I saw growing on the horizon, as green and bright as any emerald. A slate-gray mountain jutted from its center and, from it, a sapphire waterfall played gently down its side. Golden beaches rang the perimeter and dense forests huddled together beneath a sheet of mist.
Sounds faded in, but I couldn’t make them out. There was a beat and a measure to them that made me believe it was speech, so I forced myself to listen. Smee’s words shaped themselves into meaning. “We can’t try that too many times. We’re running low on gunpowder.”
“Quiet, Smee,” I said.
“Captain?”
“Quiet! Look.”
As the dark cloud of gun smoke cleared in front of us, I heard my boatswain’s gasp. One by one, the crew was stricken with their first sight of Neverland Island. Most men said nothing. Others cursed or called to their gods for strength.
“Is that?” Billy Jukes asked from across the ship.
“It is,” I answered. My chest swelled with something that would be called joy if it wasn’t rotted through with murderous intent. I looked over to my first officer and gave the order. “Mr. Jukes, set sail for Neverland.”
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About the Authors
Jeremiah Kleckner is a Language Arts teacher in a New Jersey public school. When not grading papers or coaching wrestling, he enjoys singing, reading, writing, drawing, and spending time with his family. @J_Kleckner JeremiahKleckner.com CynicalSciFi.com
Jeremy Marshall works at a private special needs school in New Jersey. Jeremy has always had a love of writing. In his spare time you can find him creating another story idea, riding his motorcycle, or spending time with his wife, Lori Marshall.
Acknowledgments
There were several people who helped make this book a possibility. We would like to thank our editors (in alphabetical order) Roy Marshall, Laurence Sanders, and Robert Shearer.
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