Страница 25 из 40
“Crenshaw’s kind of people would be the right hands, I guess.”
“Why did you ask me what it really is? What did Crenshaw say it was? Narnia?”
I grin, happy I get the reference. “Elysium.”
Trent nods, the wind whipping his hair across his eyes. He squints against it and leans casually on the rudder. He looks every bit the sailor then. I think I should tell him that, that it might make him happy to know he’s living his dream, but then I sees several flashes of light behind him and my heart begins to race.
“Hey, guys,” I whisper. “I think I saw something.”
Ryan turns to see what I’m looking at. Trent keeps his eyes forward.
“What was it?” Ryan asks, his voice also hushed.
“There was light on the bank. Right there.”
I point to the shore a little bit south of the stadiums.
“What kind of light? Like a fire?”
“More like a signal.” I look at Trent, catching his eye. “Organized. Like they knew what they were doing.”
Not like they were desperate, grasping at straws in a last ditch attempt not to die on a roof surrounded by Risen.
“It’s probably the Colonies,” he tells me calmly. “They run constant patrols around the perimeter of the stadiums. Someone may have been signaling the all clear.”
“Or they could have been telling someone there’s a boat cruising through the Sound.”
He shrugs. “And?”
“And they could come after us,” I snap, my voice rising.
“Gasoline is gone. They’ll have to row or sail like we are. They won’t catch up to us. You worry too much.”
“Is that a joke?”
He smiles, but I don’t know if that means yes, that’s a joke or that he’s happy he pushed my buttons. Either way, he’s a
“We’ll be alright, Joss,” Ryan tells me. “If they come after us, we’ll go ashore and hide.”
“We’ll lose Marlow’s boat.”
Ryan snorts. “I’m pla
Chapter Thirteen
“Why do you hate Pretty in Pink?” Ryan asks me out of nowhere, his quiet voice breaking the silence we’ve been sailing in.
I grin, my eyes staying lazily fixed on the rippling surface of the water in the moonlight. It’s hypnotic, like fire.
“Because the girl is an idiot.”
“We’re all idiots when it comes to love,” Trent says philosophically.
I glance back at him, surprised. He smiles at me with is creepy, real boy smile on his Pinocchio face.
“Why was she an idiot?” Ryan asks, ignoring Trent.
“Because she chose the wrong guy to love. It makes me angry.”
“We don’t choose who we love, love chooses us,” Trent tells me.
I turn fully around to face him. “What is with you?”
“Nothing. Are we not discussing this?”
“Discussing what?”
“Love.”
“No,” I reply quickly, not sure why I feel embarrassed by the word.
“We’re talking about the movie,” Ryan tells Trent pointedly.
“That’s what I was talking about,” Trent insists.
“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You were talking about real life and I’m begi
“You mean lady porn?”
“No!”
“That’s what you were describing,” Ryan says.
“No, it’s not.”
“Do you read lady porn?” Trent asks calmly.
I pause to cool down, to collect myself and not give anything away. To get angrier is to be too adamant in my denials and they’ll never believe me. And they’ll know that, yes, I do have lady porn. Sue me!
“Anyway,” I say tightly, “I get a
Ryan frowns. “That’s the whole movie? Sixteen Candles was way better.”
“Of course it was, but that’s not the end of the movie. The guy comes groveling back, apologizing for sucking and her best friend forgives her even though he still loves her and everyone lives happily ever after. Everyone but the friend. It’s stupid. She chose the wrong guy.”
Ryan nods thoughtfully. “Can I just hate it with you instead of committing two hours of my life to watching it?”
“No, it’s all or nothing. You have to feel the anger, Ryan. You have to live it with me to really appreciate the hate. You have to yell at the screen and tell her she’s dumb.”
“You can’t hate by proxy,” Trent agrees. “That’s lazy.”
“Can’t we watch Sixteen Candles again?” Ryan pleads.
I shake my head. “Not until you live the hate.”
“Lame.”
“No, you know what’s lame? Watching you cage fight three Risen blindfolded.”
That right there, that’s a mic drop. That’s an end of discussion because there’s no coming back from that and smart guy that he is, Ryan knows it.
After almost an hour of sailing, we see light in the distance. Nothing direct, just the yellow haze of civilization spread out and thriving. It’s the burn of electric life humming in the perfect darkness of a world gone dead. It’s strange. Eerie. And we’re headed right for it. I feel anxious. Like we’re headed somewhere I used to know but forgot about. Somewhere I’m not so sure I want to go again.
I glance at the Lost Boy ahead of me, then at the one behind me as the tall white sail snaps in the cold air above us. I want to tell them to turn the ship around, to take me back to Neverland.
I want to tell them I’m not ready for this.
“This is weird,” Ryan whispers.
“I don’t like it,” I agree.
Something floating in the water smacks the hull of the boat, startling us all. We fly past it, fast on the wind, but I look back to see a large, round object floating in the water. It’s painted hot pink.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Buoy,” Trent answers, his eyes fixed steadily forward. “Fair warning, there are more coming.”
He’s not kidding. We pass by another not long after. This one is bright green. Then a yellow. A blue. A white.
“What are they marking?”
“Water depth?” Ryan suggests.
“Maybe,” Trent says, not sounding convinced.
If he plans on telling us what he thinks they are marking, he never gets the chance. We’re nearing the shore. I can see it building in front of us, a black mass against the dark sky. The lights glow from far inside the island, but out here there’s nothing. Nothing but the strange buoys, the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the group of men standing submerged up to their knees in it with weapons in hand.
They appear out of nowhere. Shadows in black stepping out of the night, waiting patiently with clubs, spears and machetes held confidently. These weapons haven’t seen the constant use ours do in the city, but it doesn’t mean they don’t know how to use them. You can see it in the way they hold them. These are still hunters. Killers, as we all now have to be because we no longer have the luxury of someone else doing the dirty work for us. Military, police, hunters, farmers. Everyone who took lives for our safety and comfort are dead and gone. Or they’re us now. I wonder what I’d classify as, other than scared.
This is a huge unknown, sitting in this Hive boat in front of a group of mysterious men on an island I’ve never heard of. One that Marlow was way too interested in yet unwilling to approach himself. One that Crenshaw helped build once upon a time. One that he calls Elysium, Heaven, but that right now feels more like something sinister and better left forgotten.
Trent drops our sails. I’m surprised how quickly we lose momentum. I’m thrown forward, right into Ryan’s back. He doesn’t look back but he reaches for me subtly, keeping his movements hidden in the hull of the boat. I weave my fingers through his until our hands are loosely tangled together. I’m shocked by how much that small contact actually helps. How steadier I feel.