Island

  “Is it? Is it what you really want?”

  Is it?

  The question stabbed me.

  I tried to say yes.

  But I couldn’t.

  Wes looked at me for a long moment. Then he stepped aside.

  He was letting me go.

  I was free.

  Before me lay a path into the woods.

  Go.

  I wanted to. My heart was racing, my legs ready to spring.

  But I just stood there.

  “Well?” Wes asked.

  “I — I — ”

  GO!

  “What is it, Rachel?” Wes said. “The idea of growing old and sick? The fact that you’re on the fast track to the Big Time — adulthood, here we come! What fun that’ll be. Or maybe you’re imagining the priceless expressions on your parents’ faces when they see you again.”

  I pictured Dad (How could you scare us like that? How could you ruin this cruise?), Mom (Who was that boy, Rachel? I want his name right now — I will bring a lawsuit against his parents), Seth (I told everybody in school that you eloped with a busboy), and I tried to imagine what I’d tell Grandpa Childers (They’re all alive, like Colin was) and I saw the expression on his face, and it wasn’t happy, he was crying and looking out to sea with a longing that broke my heart —

  I can’t.

  Everything’s different now.

  I can’t go back.

  “Clemson would want you to stay,” Wes said softly. “You know it. I know it.”

  Yes. He would. He would say that.

  “But — but he wouldn’t mean it,” I said. “Not really. He loves me — ”

  “And he wants you to live forever. If he could be here with you, you know he would. But he’s there, Rachel. And he’ll be gone soon. They all will, sooner or later. In the end, all you have is Rachel. And who is that? A girl you don’t know yet. A girl you can’t know. Because her soul is being trampled into the dust.”

  I felt as if Wes were pulling me open like a book and reading the table of contents.

  I looked beyond him. Into the dark woods.

  I heard a splashing sound in the distance, the beach beckoning.

  The beach and the cloud wall.

  Which almost killed me.

  Which will surely kill me in the dark.

  So what is it, Rachel?

  Death there?

  Or life here?

  “If you’re going to try it, you might as well wait and do it by daylight,” Wes said.

  “But the cloud wall will be gone by tomorrow.”

  Wes nodded. “Yes. But there will always be another one.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “How soon?”

  Wes took my arm. “The last one seemed like yesterday.”

  We were walking back now. Passing the still-flaming bonfire.

  “Have there been many since your accident?” I asked.

  Wes didn’t answer.

  A small crowd had gathered in front of the cabins, and it was heading toward us.

  I could see Mary Elizabeth. Carbo. Barbara.

  “Have there been any in sixty years?” I pressed on. “Any at all?”

  Wes suddenly tightened his grip.

  “GET HER!” Mary Elizabeth shouted.

  The crowd was advancing on me.

  Fast.

  13

  I KICKED HIM.

  Hard.

  “YEEEOW!”

  He jumped back, leaving a path between him and the cabin.

  I ran for it.

  Wes darted after me.

  The crowd was closer now. Twenty yards behind me, tops.

  As I glanced over my shoulder, I stumbled against something.

  A shovel. Someone had left it leaning against the wall.

  I fell to the ground.

  Take it.

  My fingers clasped the shovel handle.

  I stood.

  No time to think.

  I ran to the fire. Pushed the shovel underneath.

  I lifted a mass of pulsating orange. As I tossed it into the woods, it spat sparks like a comet.

  The grass caught first, the flames immediately spreading to the brush and beyond, a rolling carpet of fire.

  “RACHEL!” Wes yelled.

  “What are you doing?” Mary Elizabeth pleaded.

  I scooped a mass of burning ash and spun around toward Wes.

  He backed away. “Rachel, we aren’t the enemy. Don’t do this.”

  “You look afraid,” I said. “Why? You live forever, don’t you?” I turned toward the crowd now. “DON’T YOU?”

  They were already dispersing. Running for water.

  I saw flames licking the bark of the trees. Climbing upward. I could feel the heat of the gathering fire.

  And beyond the flames, I saw a figure in the woods. A shadow of a man. Bent, bearded, dressed in a long slicker.

  Facing me.

  I stood, mesmerized. Wanting for him to come into the light.

  But he didn’t move an inch.

  “Have you lost your mind?” someone yelled out.

  Maybe.

  I flung the shovel aside and ran away from the fire. Into the darkness behind the cabins.

  Into the trees.

  I kept my arms out in front of me, fending away branches and trees. My feet sank into the sandy soil. Scrubby bushes scratched at my ankles. I pumped harder, until my thighs shrieked in protest.

  Follow the breeze.

  The sound of the ocean.

  Where was it?

  Lost.

  I was lost.

  Running blindly.

  Suddenly the ground rose in front of me and I was pulling myself upward on vines and grasses, stumbling, gasping —

  And then I fell.

  Head over heels in the sand. Sand in my hair and eyes and mouth.

  It stung. It scraped my dry throat. I stood up, coughing. As I tried to get my bearings, I staggered toward the silhouette of an old hulking

  What?

  Boat.

  It was a boat and I was on a beach.

  Alone.

  I could hear the crowd. Somewhere. Far.

  I felt the boat. It was solid metal. It had curved sides with an enormous, jagged gash. Flat top.

  A submarine.

  Great. Now what? I pilot it out of here with a yo ho ho and full steam ahead?

  The voices were coming nearer.

  I glanced toward the water.

  In the moonlight, the cloud wall appeared thick and muddy. Where it ended, a path of amber-white led to the shore, illuminating a short, rickety dock.

  Tethered to the dock were two rowboats.

  Footsteps.

  Closer now.

  GO.

  I ran onto the dock, untied one of the boats’ lanyards, and jumped in.

  I pushed off hard. As the boat lazily floated away, I sat down and attached the oars to the oarlocks.

  I was facing the cloud wall now.

  Heading into its belly.

  I could hear its roar. Waiting. Hungry.

  Go.

  I pulled hard on the right oar and the boat began to spin. I dug again. And again.

  But it wasn’t turning right. It was fighting me.

  I pulled harder on the oars, but I was moving the wrong way now, moving backward.

  Backward?

  I looked over my shoulder and saw a silhouette in the water. Wes.

  Pulling the lanyard.

  Pulling me back in. Climbing onto the dock.

  I set down the oar.

  And I jumped.

  She’s leaving.

  She doesn’t know what this means.

  She’s human. Like you.

  14

  “RACHEL!”

  Swim.

  Swim hard.

  My arms ached, but I plunged them into the water again and again, pushing closer to the cloud wall.

  The hiss was loud now. Growing to a deep, dull roar.


  I fought the memories. Of Colin, sinking back into the mist, sinking to his death —

  Don’t think.

  Swim.

  Suddenly I felt something grab my leg.

  I was underwater. Flailing.

  I fought my way back to the surface.

  Wes had my arm now. He was pulling me toward the dock, gasping for breath. “You … can’t … do this!”

  “I want my life back,” I shouted. “My world!”

  “IF YOU LEAVE, YOU’LL KILL US!”

  “What?”

  He grabbed on to one of the pylons of the dock, still holding my arm. His face was twisted, pained. “It’s the Law of Onieron. Anyone can enter — but if we lose one soul, the island is destroyed.”

  “But Colin already left, and you’re still here!”

  “Until the cloud wall rises!”

  “And then you all die?”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t believe you! Colin is not a murderer. He wouldn’t do that!”

  “He hated the island. Like you. He wanted to go back. To grow old.”

  “And for that he would kill you? And bring me here, too — to kill me?”

  “NO — ”

  “So if you’re all doomed, LEAVE! Leave with me!”

  “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! Colin brought you here to save us, Rachel! As long as you’re here, we live.”

  “But you just said that if someone leaves, Onieron is destroyed.”

  “I said if we lose a soul. But we haven’t. We have you now. You’ve taken Colin’s place.”

  We were both paddling water now. Eye to eye.

  Wes’s intensity cut through the darkness.

  The Big Rock Candy Mountain.

  “Where no one ever grows older.”

  That’s what Colin had sung.

  But that’s not the lyric. He’d made that up.

  To see how I would react.

  To see how deeply I hated my own life.

  To see if I was fit.

  For immortality.

  And I had given him permission.

  “So I’m … ”

  “An exchange.”

  No.

  Not an exchange.

  In an exchange, you get something.

  “I’m a sacrifice, Wes.”

  “It’s not a sacrifice if no one dies,” Wes said. “And you’ll never die here. You’ll be like us.”

  “Trapped!”

  “No worries. No pressure — ”

  “No growth!”

  “Who needs growth?”

  “Things that live! You guys aren’t alive, you’re … you’re …”

  Dead.

  Say it, Rachel.

  That which doesn’t grow is dead.

  They’re not real.

  They’re ghosts. Zombies.

  I swallowed my words.

  I was hearing voices. Approaching from the woods.

  Wes turned. “OVER HERE!” he called out.

  GO!

  You’re not killing them, Rachel.

  You can’t kill something that’s already dead.

  I pushed away. Hard.

  Wes slipped off the pylon. His hand slipped off my arm.

  I dived back into the water.

  I swam, ignoring the pain in my arms. The water in my lungs.

  To the noise.

  To the mist.

  The sea was black and freezing, but I knew exactly where I was going.

  Wes was following. I could hear his voice. His arms chopping the water.

  The sound was quickly swallowed up. Muffled by the hiss.

  I veered left, angling closer, knowing he wouldn’t see me and hoping he wouldn’t hear.

  The edge of the cloud wall drew closer. Its gassy tendrils wound around me.

  I snuck a quick look back.

  Wes was gone.

  I was home free.

  Or dead.

  Either way was better than Onieron.

  I could taste the mist now.

  As the water swelled beneath me, I rose and fell.

  And soon I was no longer in control.

  My head submerged without warning. Then I was tossed above the waves. All I could do was hang on.

  Breathe.

  Stay alive.

  And try to see the waves in the meager moonlight that pierced the murk.

  A boat.

  It flashed dully across my field of vision. A gray outline. A shadow within a shadow, riding the waves. In it was a ghostly figure wearing a hooded, tattered coat and rowing with eerie calmness.

  Death.

  That’s what he was.

  A specter.

  A guide into the next world. Into

  The hereafter.

  And then, in the next moment, he was gone and I was underwater (can’t breathe) and my strength was fading (cold I am so cold) and suddenly my arms felt heavy and my body was sinking sinking (sleep Rachel sleep) and I saw my mom and dad and they were crying (and Grandpa Childers where is Grandpa Childers?) and then I saw the beach on Onieron, filling with the survivors (crying too because I did it I destroyed them) and everything turned to black.

  We’ve lost her.

  We’ve lost him.

  Who?

  15

  IN MY DREAM I’M floating and happy and the fish slither around my body and I dive through coral portals of purple and white

  “Rachel … ”

  And someone is calling my name, it’s the sweetest sound in the world, somehow strong and soothing at the same time, and the only person I know who talks that way is

  “Rachel!”

  Is Grandpa Childers, but Grandpa Childers is not in my dream (where is he?) because Mom and Dad and Seth are crying alone and I suddenly realize it’s not only about me, they’re crying about him, too, which is the worst, absolutely the worst thing I could think of because

  “Ugggh … ”

  Me, that’s me, something’s wrapped around my stomach (leave me alone), and I feel myself being torn away from my vision, and I want to get it back, the part about Grandpa Childers, somewhere else, somewhere happy —

  “Rachel, you’re going to be okay.”

  The dream blew away like ashes.

  I was alive.

  Sitting on something solid.

  A seat.

  A strong arm cradled me, wrapping a rubber rain slicker around my upper body.

  I tried to look at my rescuer, but the wind blew water into my face.

  I knew him, though.

  The beard, scrubby and white.

  The craggy skin.

  The slate gray-blue eyes.

  “Grandpa Childers?”

  “Hold still, little one.”

  Yes.

  No.

  It wasn’t.

  It looked like him. Sounded like him.

  But it was someone else.

  “Thank you,” I said, shivering.

  “What’s your name?” the old man asked.

  “Rachel Childers. Yours?”

  He smiled. “People call me the Skipper.”

  I pulled away. “You’re the Skipper?”

  No.

  Please no.

  I considered jumping.

  Trying again to reach the cloud wall.

  But I no longer had the heart. Or the will.

  I couldn’t hold back my tears. They blended with the cold rain on my cheeks.

  He had me.

  They had me.

  I was one of them.

  For a lifetime.

  The Skipper reached down between his boots and picked up a wet burlap bag. “Do me a favor. Return this to its owner. He would want it, I think.”

  He held out the bag and I took it. “Who — where — ?”

  “Ssssh.” The old man gently placed a finger on my mouth. “Just go. The boat will get you through to the other side.”

  “But — the island — all the people — ”

  “Let me worry about that.” The old man smiled. “And you
tell everyone Clemson Childers is doing just fine.”

  Clemson Childers?

  Without another word, the Skipper suddenly pitched himself overboard.

  “WAIT!” I called out. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

  “Just angle it to the left!” the Skipper yelled back. “You’ll get through!”

  He turned away and began to swim back toward Onieron with strong, even strokes.

  In a moment he was swallowed up by the fog.

  I was alone.

  Saved by

  Clemson Childers.

  The first.

  My great-great-grandfather.

  The captain of Grandpa Childers’s birthday cruise.

  The Skipper.

  I opened the bag.

  Inside, soggy and limp, was the stuffed white bunny rabbit.

  Fluffy.

  I put her back into the bag and wedged it carefully beneath the seat.

  Then I lifted the oars and began to row.

  Angling left.

  He’s barely alive, but he made it. Swimming.

  Who?

  Childers. He’s not as frail as he looks.

  But the girl is still missing.

  No.

  Yes.

  No! I mean, I see her! She’s in a boat!

  16

  I TRIED TO ROW to shore.

  I couldn’t.

  My arms had given up.

  In the predawn light, Nesconset was like an old black-and-white photo, silvery and serene. My boat floated forward on momentum, its prow breaking the glassy stillness of the water. Behind me, the turbulence of the cloud wall was like a waning tailwind.

  Home.

  The sound of the word comforted me but it had no real meaning. Like a beautiful song in a language I didn’t know.

  A moment ago, home was all I’d wanted.

  A moment ago, I was pure gut and nerve. Pure survival instinct.

  Now I was safe.

  And now I could think.

  They’re dead. All dead.

  Wes. Mary Elizabeth. Carbo.

  My own ancestor.

  I murdered them.

  A distant motorboat began to whine. The whine quickly grew to a roar. I watched as two harbor-police craft and a Coast Guard boat sped toward me, their headlights steady and bright.

  I felt no relief, no happiness.

  Only numbness.

  In a moment, it will end.

  How? How does the end of a world feel?

  Loud and violent, like an atom bomb? Or quiet and painless, like a dewdrop in the morning sun?