“PIRATES! FIRE!” There was silence inside the Table. “PIRATES! FIRE! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!” Suddenly, the Table seemed to explode with noise as everyone was pushing up and running for the door. “Grab the guns!” someone screamed. Wendy silently tucked herself back against a wall. No one noticed her. A hundred boys were pouring out of the Table now, and an alarm bell had begun ringing. “Fire!” one of the littlest boys screamed when he stepped outside, unable to keep the smile off his face. “It’s a FIRE! A REAL FIRE!”
The boys were everywhere now, each of them sprinting toward the walkway, grabbing buckets or swords or both. “Where is Peter?” someone screamed. “Has no one seen Peter?” A small boy began shooting arrows at the burning hut. Wendy watched them all silently, studying each face with careful eyes. The sounds of chaos rose up through the tree, shouts and screams. The fire had grown now to engulf her hut completely, a blazing inferno against the gray sky. Wendy looked at the clouds above. The rain had begun coming down harder now—thankfully, there was no danger of the fire spreading. She ducked inside the Table. A breath of relief pressed out of her. Michael was lying on the floor with his feet in the air, watching a bright green caterpillar crawl through his toes. Tears rolled down his cheeks onto the dirt floor.
“Michael!” she hissed.
“Wendy!” He turned over. “Where have you been? You left me alone!”
“I’m sorry, Michael. Something happened to me.”
He turned his head sideways, his blue eyes tracing her face. “Something with Peter? Something bad?”
Wendy nodded.
“You left me!” he cried, dissolving into unhappy tears. “I’m tired! I stayed up all night and still no one would play with me! Peter told them not to play with me because I’m a baby.”
He struck her in that five-year-old way, more adorable than painful. She cradled his hand. “We don’t hit people, Michael. Ever.” Or drop them. Or threaten them, she thought.
He looked down sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Wendy. I feel different here.”
Wendy lowered her face to his and looked into his eyes. “I know exactly what you mean. Michael, we don’t have a lot of time. We have to leave, and I’ll explain later, but we have to go now. Do you understand? Peter . . .” She shook her head. “Peter is not a very nice person, and we have to go. Do you understand?”
Michael’s eyes widened. “I want to go with you, Wendy.” His small hands rested on her cheeks, and he leaned against her, his sweaty forehead pressed against her own. “Don’t leave me.”
She wrapped him up in her arms. “Never. I will never leave you. But I need you to be very quiet, do you understand? I need you to be silent, to keep us safe. And for the next two hours, I need you to be very brave. Can you do that?”
Michael nodded and raised his fingers to his lips. She looked down at him. “It’s time to go.” Wendy wrapped her arms around him and hoisted him up onto her hip. Then she ran. She ran out of the Table, turning down and down again, weaving her way over walkways and under branches.
“We need to get down to where the Pips sleep,” she whispered to Michael, and soon he was pointing over her shoulder as they wove deeper and lower into the island, stepping on branches and curling under thick hedges of tropical leaves, an endless maze of curves and turns that were as natural to him as the hallways in their home. Wendy could hear the shouts of the Lost Boys far above them, their panicked cries as they tried to put the fire out. She poked her head out underneath a rubbery-tongued flower, sending a spray of water to her feet as rain poured down all around her. The sky opened up for a moment, and she could see the hut. The fire was much smaller now, a yawning black hole of smoke and smoldering flame. A shadow was circling around the roof, its movement quick and agitated. Peter.
The cold knife of fear twisted inside of her, and she turned back, running faster, Michael bouncing with each step. His tiny finger pointed again, and she turned, grateful to find a thin trail twisting underneath her feet, like a snake making its way to the beach. They ran under the perch where she had argued with John. She could feel the memory like a hot scar across her mind, at the way his face twisted in disgust at her, at his blind loyalty to Peter. She would come back for him. She would not leave Neverland without both of her brothers, but since John couldn’t be carried, he would have to wait. Peter wouldn’t hurt him—he needed John. She wiped away a tear as the sea came into view ahead of them through a thicket of vines, its waves peppered with a hard rain. The guilt at leaving John settled in the back of her brain like a cancer.
“Wendy!” Michael tugged hard on her shoulder and let out a whimper. “Stop!”