by Josh Hayes
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Also by
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Author's Note
Shadows of Neverland
Book Three of the Second Star Series
© Copyright 2017 by Josh Hayes
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Editing by Scarlett Algee
For more information on the author visit: http://www.joshhayeswriter.com/
First Edition
For those fighting their past to save their future.
Also By Josh Hayes
SECOND STAR SERIES
Breaking Through
The Forgotten Prince
Shadows of Neverland
SHORT STORIES
The Watch
The Lost Colony (Explorations: Through the Wormhole)
Harbinger (Explorations: First Contact)
The Path to War (Explorations: War)
The Long Haul (Mostly Murder: Till Death)
Hero Worship (It's A Bird! It's a Plane)
Leverage (For a Few Credits More)
Chapter One
Now
"That's eleven," Bella said, as the Regency patrol passed overhead for the eleventh time since Tom had been taken. Without her watch, she couldn't be sure that her method of tracking time was accurate, but it was the only thing she had, and it was better than nothing. She watched the two assault skiffs arc around and disappear behind the warship's tall bridge section.
They'd kept him longer than usual this time.
Lighting flashed in the clouds around them and Bella shivered as a deep rumbling rolled around them. It had been raining for three days straight, the drenching sheets pounding incessantly on the roof of her cage. The wind wasn't blowing today, and for the time being, at least, the rain wasn't blowing in horizontally at her. They'd taken most of her things when they'd brought her aboard, and during the last three days she'd begun to realize just how much she missed her coat.
Bella rubbed her hands together, blowing on them for the hundredth time. Not that it made any difference. The air up here was always cool, especially with no sun to warm it.
She walked back and forth along the grey metal bars. She'd been sitting for too long today, and her legs were starting to get stiff again.
She'd spent much of the first day testing the bars for weaknesses, but finding none. She'd worked through several hypothetically escape plans with Tom before he'd had enough.
"Look," he'd said. "I think it's great that you're keeping your mind occupied, but there isn't any way off this damn ship, B. And even if there was, where would we go?"
Bella had straightened, surprised by her brother's defeated tone. He wasn't the most endearing person in the best of circumstances, but it hadn't even been a full day and it had seemed like he'd already given up. "So, you're done already? Just like that?"
Tom had rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned back against the bars. He seemed to forget exactly where they were, though, and cracked his head on one. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his skull. "For Graft's sake."
Bella bit her lip, holding back a laugh.
Her brother glared at her. "No, not just like that. But face it, there isn't a whole lot we can do here." He motioned to the bars around them. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kind of in a big inescapable cage."
"Nothing is inescapable."
"B…"
"No, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to give up. Neither should you. We're going to get out of this, we just have to put our heads together and figure out how."
"Okay, sis, you figure out how and I'll back you up. But until then, my head is killing me, so could you keep it down just a little bi—ow!" He shifted his weight and grabbed his bandaged leg. "Sure am glad they took the time to fix me up before locking us up on death row."
"At least they could fix you up."
Carter hadn't been so lucky, and Bella had to fight back the tears at the thought of her friend lying dead in that damned plaza. If they'd just listened to Wendy in the first place…
No, she couldn't think like that. They had freed some Dusters in that attack, after all, and killed a handful of Regency soldiers. But even when she tallied the score like that, it didn't seem to be worth the loss of her friend. The troops hadn't even bothered to bring his body with them. They just left him lying there. The first thing she was going to do, when they got free of this place, was find Carter and give him a decent burial. Like the one they'd had for Ace.
Lightning flashed again, bringing her back to the bars. What she wouldn't give for her tribarrel right about now. These bars would be nothing but slag, and so would everyone else on board this damn ship. The Revenge, such an apt name, she thought. When she and her brother finally got theirs, then the name would mean something.
She'd only seen the warship a handful of times since it had emerged from the Graft Fortress so long ago. Although now, looking at it, it didn't seem as menacing as it had all those years ago. Maybe that was because from her holding area on the open main deck, she couldn't see the massive twin-barreled cannons positioned around the vessel's hull. The large sun-sails, on either side of the ship, had been retracted due to the storm. The golden steel pillars stuck straight up almost a hundred feet, just aft of her cage.
Of course, the Battle for the Revenge had been a tragedy for both sides, and the Lost Boys, and for the clan that would become the Regency. Bella couldn't help but wonder how the war would have progressed had the warship remained hidden. Not a day passed that she didn't wish they could go back to a time when none of them even had a clue this thing existed.
Well, some had, but Bella didn't think the Redleen counted; even now they were more myth than anything else. And besides, what had they done since? Absolutely nothing. Gone, like Ace and so many others. If she hadn't met them for herself, she wouldn't have believed the stories either.
"If you ever were going to come back, though," Bella said aloud to no one, fingers twisting around the wet bars, "this would be a damn good time."
No one came.
A close on the quarterdeck slammed shut and a crewman bounded down the short set of stairs to the main deck, his black raincoat billowing out behind him.
"Hey!" Bella called out as he jogged past. "Hey, asshole, you got any more of those things lying around? It's the least you could do if you're going to keep us pinned up like this for the duration of this thing."
The crewmen eyed her briefly as he past, but otherwise ignored her, just as they always did. He disappeared through an access hatch just before he reached the elevated bow, and pulled the hatch lid closed behind him.
"You know what, never mind, it's really not that bad out here now that I think about it. Maybe a nice pale
and some bacon? No? Hello? I won't be recommending this place to my friends!"
Bella slapped the bars and grunted. "Bastard."
She looked up at the sound of skiff engines flaring. She couldn't see it yet, but she knew it was there. Twelve. Almost twice as long as usual. For the first time since they'd taken him away the first time, she began to truly worry.
Tom had always been the strongest of the three siblings, but not by much, and Bella would never have told him so. He'd returned from his first session slightly bruised, and despite the trickle of blood coming from his right eye and the bandaged leg, he'd looked as defiant as ever. From there on, however, the interrogations had grown increasingly worse.
He never let them take him without a fight, although when they'd taken him this morning, he'd attacked with a mild tongue lashing. His sessions over the last couple of days had begun to take their toll on him.
They hadn't asked him anything during the first few sessions; however, as time passed, they began to ask him questions about the resistance. Questions he'd avoided answering, at least so far. Bella wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out.
On the aft bulkhead, just beside the stairway to the mid-deck, another hatch opened and a crewman emerged, giving the rain a frown. He flipped a hood up over his head and pulled his captive out behind him.
"Come on," he said. "Let's try not to get soaked this time."
Bella moved down along the bars, moving closer to the door. She gasped as Tom stumbled out of the hatchway, tripping and almost falling. The lead crewman caught him however, and held him up.
"On your feet, damn it!" the crewman said, jerking Tom along. "Let's go, move it. Get the door, Morris."
A second crewman emerged behind Tom and rushed around the two, flipping through a set of keys, trying to find the correct one. As he neared the cage, he noticed Bella and immediately reached for his gun. "Get back from the bars, you know the rules."
The rules, Bella thought, removing her hand from the wet bars and taking a step back. I'll show you rules.
For a brief instant, she imagined herself darting through the unlocked cage door, snatching the man's pistol and killing them both, before helping Tom and escaping. But the idea faded quickly. Tom was right; even if she made it that far, where else would she be able to go?
The second crewman moved to the door, weary eyes never leaving Bella's. He looked briefly at the lock, finding and inserting the key, then he was back to her as he turned the key. Her body tensed as the he pulled the door open, but she held steady. The first crewman hauled Tom to the threshold, then tossed him inside as the second closed and locked the door again.
"I'm going to kill both of you," Bella told them, fist clenched. "Just so you know."
The second crewman, the one called Morris, laughed and slapped one of the metal bars between them. "You can tell we're extremely worried about that. I hope talking isn't the only thing you can do with those lips, sweetie. 'Cause we're going to have a good time later."
"Come on," the first one said, turning away. "This rain is killing me."
Morris stood, grinning, hair slicked against his head and water streaming down his face. He blew her a kiss and curled his lip, his cold eyes giving Bella an unconscious chill.
"Come on!"
Morris gave his companion a look of disgust, then took a step toward the bars and whispered, "You and I are going to get to know each other very soon."
Bella held her ground. "Can't wait."
"Morris!"
He gave her a wink, then dashed after the first, disappearing through the hatch before it slammed shut with a resounding clang.
As soon as the hatch was shut, Bella moved to her brother. "Tom," she said, touching him gently. The bandages around his wounded leg were starting to turn red. "Tom, are you okay?"
He coughed, then let out a weak groan.
"What happened?"
"Graft-damned bastards got me good this time," Tom grunted. He grimaced, attempting to sit up.
Bella helped him. "Here, I got you. Easy. Oh my God. Tom…"
"I'm sure I feel worse than it looks."
"I doubt that," Bella said, shaking her head.
Both of his eyes were practically swollen shut. What had once been a trickle from his right eye was now bleeding profusely. She reached up and tried to wipe some of the blood away, and noticed more seeping from his ear. His lip was split and after coughing, he spit a glop of blood onto the cage floor.
"Bastards," Bella said. Tears welled as her brother sobbed. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight. "It's going to be okay, Tom. I promise."
He sobbed harder and she felt him pull away. She released him and frowned when she saw his face. He wasn't crying at all. He was laughing.
She stared at him dumbstruck for a moment. "Tom, what?"
His shoulders shook, but he grimaced as his laughter turned into coughing. He sniffed and looked up at her, a grin spread across his battered and bruised face.
"They don't know where Wendy is, and they're pissed about it."
Chapter Two
Now
"Okay," Tim said after checking the edges of the patch. "Hold it there."
"Got it," John McNeal said, pushing hard against the steel plate. Sweat stung his eyes, and he wiped them for the hundredth time. He'd spent his entire life flying fighter planes, but had never actually worked on them. He'd been a First Lieutenant in the North American Union—until finding himself in this strange world, that is— and the enlisted maintenance crews of the NAU had been more than capable of accomplishing those tasks. If he ever made it back there, he intended on putting them all in for a raise.
He looked away as Tim brushed his mess of blond hair aside and pulled a pair of blackout goggles down over his eyes. The heat of the torch made John wince as the flame popped to life. He couldn't keep images of charred steak and rotisserie chicken out of his mind.
A shower of sparks pelted his arm as Tim worked the torch around the patch. John was sure that by the end of their repairs he'd be completely hairless. It only took a minute for Tim to complete the weld, then the shorter of the two men stepped back, admiring his work.
"You're good," Tim said. There was another pop as he extinguished the torch.
John pulled his arm back, absently running a hand over the singed hairs. "How many did you say we have left?"
Tim lifted the goggles to his forehead, one eyebrow raised. "Hey, you're the one that got her all shot up, remember? You're lucky I'm not making you patch all those holes yourself."
John covered his heart with both hands, eyes wide. "Me? I'm pretty sure if it hadn't been for me, this baby would've had more than just a few holes. You should be thanking me." He patted the skiff's gunmetal-grey fuselage.
"Thanking you?" Tim motioned to the remaining holes, still waiting to be patched. "We're lucky she didn't fall right out of the sky getting us here."
"Ah." John raised a finger. "But she did get us here."
"Unbelievable," Tim said, shaking his head.
Michael ducked underneath the skiff's tail and came up behind John. "You guys are still patching?"
John turned to Tim, eyebrows raised. "See?"
Tim tossed the torch into the bin at his feet and threw his arms up in surrender. "There's no talking to this guy at all."
Michael grinned. "I say something?"
"Oh, Tim is just a little upset about the condition of his precious aircraft. Which, I might add, I kept from being turned into a pile of slag."
Tim laughed. "Yeah, because this is much better."
"Well, he's got a point, Tim," Michael said. "He did manage to get it here in one piece."
"That is not one piece," Tim said, pointing to a row of holes in the fuselage still waiting to be patched over. He bent down to go through one of the crates just outside the skiff's cabin and began flipping through its contents. Without looking up, he said, "I can tell it's not in one piece, because I specifically remember packing enough repair crat
es for three skiffs, but we're down to our last box and we're only on the first skiff."
Skiffs Two and Three were parked along the same piece of land separating the lagoon to the west and the open sea to the east, their silhouettes just visible in the orange glow of the setting sun. Both were in better condition than the one they'd spent the better half of the afternoon repairing, and about halfway through John couldn't help but wonder if the repairs might not have been a waste of time. He kept silent, however, knowing it was far better to have Tim finally up and working than the alternative.
Fortunately, finding something for Tim to focus on other than his missing siblings had been the right move. But it had taken John six days to convince Tim that he needed serious help with the repairs and even after that, the pilot had remained silent. Tim had finally started talking two days ago, but his speech had been short and clipped. Over the last several days, however, the work had breathed new life back into the man and he seemed, to John at least, to be slowly returning to his normal self.
Skiff Two had been the last to arrive, bringing the last group of survivors, and with them news of Carter's death. The core group had taken the news hard, but the fact that no one had found any trace of Bella and Tom had given Tim some hope. That meant that they might still be alive, and if they were alive, that meant there was still a chance the Lost Boys could save them.
John looked up at the brilliant orange moon through the wide leaves of the jungle canopy above. The face of Neverland's smaller moon, Picinne, bore no scars or craters like that of the Earth's moon. Its smooth face reflected Nevaris's sunlight like a mirror, almost becoming a smaller, dimmer sun itself. Had circumstances been different, this would have been a beautiful little vacation spot. Of course, the whole "fighting for your life" bit hampered those daydreams.
They'd set up camp inside a large cavern, cut out of the rock face on the back side of the lagoon. It wasn't quite large enough to sleep all thirty of the survivors comfortably, but it had kept them all dry during the week of rain that had followed their escape from the city. Actually, the whole experience brought him back to his childhood and camping with his family. His parents had taken him and his sister camping, something the children had been bugging mom and dad all summer about, and the first night there it rained. And if wasn't just a little bit of rain, it was a lot of rain. In fact, that year set a record for rainfall in the county. They'd had to strike their tents and pack their gear in the middle of the night, all while battling torrential rains. John's father's decision to "wait out the storm" in the car, while the rest of the family packed, was still a hot topic to this day.