by Josh Hayes
John pulled off his sweat-stained shirt, and wiped the moisture and grime from his face as the sun began to disappear behind the distant mountains. He glanced over at the shallow pool of clear water just past the skiff's tail and told himself he was due for another dip.
"You know," he said, draping the damp shirt over his shoulder. "I'm not sure what her plans are for this expedition, but I'm thinking the fewer members, the better."
"Didn't know we had that many volunteers," Michael said.
John shrugged. "Keeping the team to a minimum will cut down on weight, which means less fuel consumption, which will give us more time to search."
"It will also make us vulnerable," Michael countered. "More people means more guns."
"True, but considering the threat, the difference between two or three guns and ten is negligible. I mean, lions and tigers and bears, oh my, right?"
The five Neverlanders exchanged slightly amused looks.
John shook his head. "Forget it."
"Well, that's debatable," Michael said.
"John's right," Wendy said. "It doesn't matter if we take an army or not. If we run into trouble out there, no amount of backup is going to help us."
Michael sniffed and seemed to be on the verge of arguing his point, then thought better of it and remained silent.
Wendy continued, "Which is why I'm not going to order anyone to go, and I'm thinking no more than four. And," she looked at them all in turn, "I'm not asking any of the others, just who you see here."
Michael massaged an earlobe with thumb and forefinger. "And Marb?"
"I've already spoken with him," Wendy told him, shaking her head. "He'd be a good asset to have, but we both agreed his talents would be more useful here, protecting the rest of the group. And to be honest, with what's happened, I don't trust anyone else."
It wasn't the admission itself that surprised John, so much as the fact that she'd actually made it. Not that he'd known her long enough to write a case study, but she didn't seem like the type of person to admit weakness, least of all to a group such as this.
"You know I'm with you," Michael said.
Wendy nodded, motioning at his leg with a finger. "That going to be a problem?"
"Not for me it's not, as long as Doc doesn't have an issue with it."
Irving grunted, not looking up from a notebook he'd been writing in. "Like you people listen to a damn thing I have to say."
"I always listen to you, Doc," Wendy said with a grin. "As long as what you're saying is something I want to hear."
"Mmmhmm."
"Well, two's a good start," Michael said. "Looks like you two are nominated by default."
Tim inhaled deeply, biting his lip, eyes never leaving the ground. "I can't. As much as I want to go, I can't." He looked up at Wendy, eyes almost pleading. "I have to know what happened to Bella and Tim. I have to. Until I know for sure, either way, there isn't any way I can be totally focused, and that could put every one of you at risk. I can't do that. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for," Wendy told him. "If I was in your shoes, I can't say I wouldn't say the same. They're lucky to have you as a brother."
"Well, shit," Michael said. "I guess that leaves it up to me to fly this pile of metal, then." He rapped a knuckle on the engine casing. A hollow gong reverberated from inside.
Tim scoffed, and mined tossing something into the skiff. "You might as well just stay here and drop a grenade on the whole thing now and save everyone a whole bunch of time."
"Your words cut deep," Michael said, covering his heart with both hands. "I'm a pretty fair pilot, maybe not as good as you, but I'm heads and tails above her." He pointed to Wendy.
Tim laughed, throwing his head back. "Not even close, my friend. You two aren't even in the same league, and even then, you're both playing a completely different sport than I am. When was the last time you even flew a combat mission?"
"Hell yeah, different sports. I've logged more hours in a rig than anyone else in this outfit by almost double."
"Which isn't anywhere near the same thing as piloting one of those." Tim nodded to the skiff behind Michael.
"That's saying a whole lot. Even Marb can fly them."
Tim threw his head back again, this time in obvious frustration. "Oh, come on, I know you just didn't mention Marb and skiff piloting in the same sentence. Even you wouldn't stoop that low. I must have been hearing things."
John raised his hand just as Michael was about to respond. "I can fly."
Michael's mouth hung open for a brief moment, then closed. An abrupt silence fell over the group as all five Neverlanders considered John. Immediately, he felt like he'd said something wrong in class and his flight instructor was preparing to lecture him at length.
"John, I—" Wendy started.
John cut her off with a hand wave.
"Look, I know I'm still more or less a visitor here and I'm still figuring out my way through this place, but it doesn't look like I'll be getting any opportunities to go home any time soon. I may not understand everything at stake here, but if I'm going to be stuck here, I want to contribute. You need a pilot. I'm a pilot."
"And a very good one," Tim added.
John gave him a nod.
Wendy stared at him for a long moment, considering, then said, "All right, then, we have a pilot."
The last of the gear was loaded in just before daybreak the next morning. With only three of them heading into the unknown, they'd removed the additional seating from the passenger cabin, shedding even more weight. Now the cabin continued two seats, both on either side of the hatchway to the cockpit, and the rest of the space was taken up by containers secured to the bulkheads.
As they'd pumped the final bit of fuel from Skiff Two into the secondary tank, Tim had slapped the pump's nozzle and said, "You know, with all this extra fuel and reduced weight, I'd say it gives us a range of just about five thousand miles. Give or take."
John wasn't too thrilled about the 'give or take' amendment to his calculations, especially when so much of surviving the trip depended on how much fuel they had. It just wouldn't do to suddenly plummet to the ground because someone's take was a little off. Even after seven positive tests of the tank sensors, John wasn't completely convinced they were one hundred percent accurate.
The newly christened Neverland's Redemption sat under blinding floodlights in the middle of the makeshift landing field, surrounded by empty supply crates, metal scraps and tools. Michael and John were in the middle of the final inspection when Tim walked up, holding a small grey case. John turned away from the starboard engine chassis, leaving a hand on the fan blade he'd just checked, and nodded. "Come to send us off, huh?"
"Something like that," Tim said. He held out the case. "Here, I want you to have this."
It only took John a second to realize what it was.
Michael held up a hand. "Tim, no, I can't."
"No, I'm serious. It's not doing anyone any good sitting around here, and I'm sure as hell not going to put it on. Besides, she'd want you to have it."
Michael signed and reluctantly accepted the case. "I'll try not to fry this one."
Tim laughed. "Hell, I'd almost say do it anyway, just to get under her skin."
"Yeah, no thanks. I like to live dangerously and all that, but that's just plain asking for trouble. Trouble I don't want, not from your sister. There's no telling what she'd do to me if I brought her another busted harness."
"Oh, I know exactly what she'd do, and it's not something that I'd ever want to experience."
Michael chuckled. "My thoughts exactly."
Tim nodded to the Redemption. "How's she looking?"
"Good so far," John said.
"You ready for your first solo flight?"
"Oh, I think I should be able to handle it," John told him with a grin.
"You think?" Michael asked, eyes wide in mock shock.
John shrugged. "Yeah, I mean as long as we don't have to do any intense dog f
ighting or complex aerial maneuvers or, you know, get lost looking for the next rest stop, we'll be just fine. You have the map, right?"
Michael looked at Tim and gave John a sideways nod. "This is what you're sticking me with?"
Tim grinned. "Hey, it could be worse."
"How?"
"I could have stuck you with Marb."
Michael opened his mouth to retort, then stopped and closed it, saying nothing. He sniffed. "Good point."
"Seriously, though," Tim said. "Be careful out there. I know it's important, but…" he trailed off, looking over his shoulder. "Don't stake your lives on the Redleen. I hope for Graft's sake they're out there, but if they're not, don't kill yourselves trying to find them. With or without them, you guys are no good to us dead. Remember that."
Michael nodded, shifted the case under his arm, and extended his hand. "You got it."
Tim pumped the offered hand. "And don't fry the rig."
Michael laughed. "I'll do my best."
Turning to John, Tim extended his hand. John took it.
"I'm not sure if you believe in fate or divine intervention or what," Tim said. "But you coming here was more than just a small miracle. I truly believe that you were sent here for a reason, and you're going to be the turning point in this whole thing. Thank you for helping us."
John flushed, slightly embarrassed. "I, uh…you're welcome. But I'm not any kind of miracle."
"Well, we'll agree to disagree. Either way, be careful out there and try not to ding her up too badly."
John patted the hull. "As long as she does what I want her to, we shouldn't have any problems," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.
In truth, he was more apprehensive about the whole plan than he'd let on. All other factors aside, he'd only ever flown the aircraft once, and the thought of taking the thing on a cross-country journey seemed a daunting proposition. It wasn't his first long distance trip, however, and during his time refitting and preparing the aircraft, he'd learned much about its capabilities and limitations. Physically, he knew he could fly the thing; it was the mental hurdle of not entirely trusting the aircraft that taxed him now.
Half an hour later, the trio of searchers had said their farewells, and were loaded up, ready to set off. Wendy took the co-pilot seat next to John, leaving Michael alone in the back cabin, just behind her.
After finishing his preflight systems check, John started up the engines and, with Tim's help, ensured they were aligned. The two pilots exchanged one last wave and John pushed the throttle forward. The skiff's engines whined and the craft lifted off the ground. John worked the controls, maneuvering the skiff in various directions, getting a feel for how the additional weight would affect it, then lifted above the trees and into the air.
He saw the enormous wall that surrounded the city, hazy in the distance, and wondered if they truly would be coming back. Even after such a short time, John trusted these people, but that didn't shake the feeling that they were heading off into the unknown with no real destination. The endgame, as far as he knew it, wasn't clear, and that bothered him.
"So," he said as they soared out over the sapphire ocean. "Where we headed?"
Wendy adjusted one of the straps on her harness. "South."
"You know," John said, adjusting their heading, "I get the whole 'playing your hand close to the vest' technique works well in most situations, but eventually you may want to consider sharing more than just the minimum. Like exactly where we're going and how long it's going to take to get there. Always be prepared and what not."
She sighed. "I…"
"She doesn't know," Michael said.
John turned to her, both eyebrows arched. "What the hell do you mean you don't know?"
Wendy shot Michael an irritated look, then said, "I know where to start, okay?"
"Know where to start? What does that even mean? Please, tell me this isn't just a dog and pony show for the rest of them back there. I'm all well and good with putting my life on the line for an actual cause, but if we're just going out there to fly around just to say we looked and didn't find anything, I'm not okay with that."
"No," Wendy said. "The First Ones are out there, I know they are."
"Wendy," Michael said, concerned. "You know I'll follow you to the end of the world and back if it means freedom for Neverland, and I've kept quiet through this whole thing out of respect for you, but I've got to ask: how do you know? What did Lily tell you that she didn't tell the rest of us? Did she tell you how to find them?"
Wendy sat silent for a moment, then shook her head. "No, she didn't tell me anything."
"Then how do you know?"
"Because of something she said at the funeral."
"The funeral? Ace's?"
Wendy nodded.
When Michael didn't answer right away, John turned and caught him frowning out of the corner of his eye, obviously trying to remember.
Michael shook his head. "What?"
"She said she couldn't wait to return to her white caps, that she missed watching the dawn over the mountains, and she wasn't talking about the Northern Range."
"Wendy…" Michael trailed off.
"Like I said, it's a start."
On the navigation panel in front of him, John watched as the S moved around to the top of the display, then brought the skiff level. He pushed the throttle forward until they reached maximum cruise speed, then settled back for the ride.
"Can't help but feel like a kid in the back seat asking Dad if we're there yet."
Wendy raised an eyebrow at him.
John scoffed. "Well, obviously you guys know something I don't. I mean, I know I'm the new guy around here and everything, but I don't think keeping me in the loop is that much to ask."
"It's a long story," Wendy said.
John motioned to the endless waters, stretching all the way out to the horizon. "We appear to have some time."
Wendy turned, considering John for a time, then began her story.
Chapter Four
Then
Tears blurred her vision. Wendy cried out for her mother and heard nothing but the screaming of engines. The cabin bucked around her, throwing her hard against the wide straps of her harness. Across the small cabin, Maggie held tight to her own harness, mouth open in a scream that Wendy could barely hear. Next to her sister, her mother's limp body bounced around with the movement of the cabin.
Sparks shot out of a vent in the ceiling with a loud pop, and a small panel bounced against the floor with a loud clang. Wendy shielded her eyes as more sparks continued to spray from the damaged vent. Some landed on her hair, filling the cabin with an awful smell as he batted them away, terrified her thick black hair would burst into flames.
Outside, the engines changed pitch and she felt herself lift slightly in her seat, despite the harness. Her sister's scream died away as she ran out of breath, and Wendy heard her father shout. She couldn't see him, only the gun he held to the pilot's head. Both men sat in a small cockpit in the front, just behind Maggie and her mother.
"Put us on the ground now, or I swear to God, I will kill you."
She'd never heard her father speak like that to anyone. His menacing tone didn't scare her, however, it strangely encouraged her. She knew that with her father fighting for them, they would be all right. She relaxed slightly, knowing there was nothing to worry about. Father would save them.
"Listen, you maniac," the pilot screamed, "they've blown out one of our stabilizing engines, it's hard enough just keeping us from crashing. Keep that damn gun out of my face so I can concentrate."
The little craft shook again, and a series of loud twangs reverberated through the cabin. Another panel burst from the ceiling, spraying sparks, and a thick black smoke began to fill the cabin.
"Daddy!" Wendy screamed.
"Get us down!"
Wendy felt her body fall forward and press against her seat's harness. They were going down, fast. Maggie screamed, her little hands cove
ring her face. At sixteen, Wendy understood what was going on, but she doubted whether or not a six-year-old could, and despite her own terror, Wendy wished desperately that she could wrap her arms around her little sister and comfort her.
Wendy felt her lungs constrict, and she coughed violently as the smoke began to fill the cabin. Across from her, Maggie's cries were choked off in a similar fit. She squeezed her eyes closed, though they were already burning from the contact. Some part of her knew to get as low as she could, but the harness straps held her in place.
For the first time in her life, the thought of dying, seriously dying, entered her mind and at that moment, Wendy Darling decided that she was not going to die today. Not like this. Not with her father fighting to save them. She had to help him. But how?
I have to get rid of this smoke, she thought, mind racing. She didn't have any idea where it was pouring in from, and even had she known, she didn't have the first clue about how to fix it. But how to get rid of it?
Then it occurred to her: the door. She struck out blindly, slamming her fist against the glass panels. She fought through the pain, striking the glass over and over. It didn't break, didn't even crack. She wasn't strong enough, and the only thing she'd succeeded in doing was causing a throbbing pain in her hand.
"Da—" Smoke filled her mouth, choking her. It burned her throat. She coughed violently, chest on fire.
She reached out to brace herself against the throbbing in her lungs, fingers brushing against something sticking out from the door. She stretched and felt the curved surface. A handle! she thought, it's a door handle. She couldn't break the window, but she could open the door. She tightened her grip, but just as she was about to pull, another violent coughing fit came over her and she pulled both hands back reflexively to her chest.
Her chest on fire, the fit passed, and Wendy held her breath against further inhalation. She reached out, searching, eyes shut tight against the smoke. The engines screamed outside the cabin. She felt around where she thought the handle had been, but found nothing. Gritting her teeth, she strained, stretching her arm as far as she could.