“I guess we should—”
He was cut off by the sound of the boys screaming outside the door, their proud boasts turned to the frantic cries of children. The high-pitched whine died with a whimper, and it was only then, in the deafening silence, that Wendy heard the mechanical turning of gears and the uneasy creaking of doors long shut. There were no voices of pirates now, only the thunderous turning, its voice grinding all other sounds to dust. Wendy looked at Peter with wild eyes.
“What is it?”
Peter opened his mouth to answer but was drowned out by a growing roar, its sound so distinctive, Wendy knew what it was even though she had never before in her life heard such a terrifying sound. The boys’ screams grew, and she wondered if it would be the last sound she heard. Her feet seemed to be weights as she turned to run, Peter’s name making it to the tip of her lips before her feet were swept out from under her in a violent rush of water. She hit the ground hard, the water sweeping her back into the room as it filled rapidly, her body tumbling head over feet. Her hands clutched uselessly at the floor, its hard rock surface scraping her delicate palms raw. Then the water pushed over her like a shroud, like a blanket over a child, and she was pulled underneath the river, the water filling her mouth with the taste of salty fish. Wendy righted herself and pushed off the ground, upward to where she could see light, crawling slowly to the surface, her feet so heavy in the churning water. With a gasp, she emerged through the foamy cloud.
“Peter!” she screamed, her flailing feet finding the wall behind her as she fought against the current that was swirling her ever backward, deeper into the beautiful room of green glass. Bottles of wine were all around her, being tossed in the rising waters, like ships on an angry sea. A red bottle of wine broke open against the wall next to her, sloshing its contents all around her, blood in the water. Her mouth tasted bittersweet, the tingling zing of wine mingling with the salty water. Something darted above her in the air.
“Peter!”
“Wendy!” Peter flew down toward her and grabbed her hand. “You can fly, remember?”
Wendy almost laughed in spite of herself. In her terror she had forgotten—that’s right, she thought. I can fly. Willing herself upward, Wendy rose slowly up above the flood, water pouring from her body like raindrops. Several of the Lost Boys had been pushed back inside the room by the wave of water and began rising out of the river around her, their dirty hair parting the floating bottles like leviathans of nightmares. Their faces, however, betrayed them—they were only the faces of frightened boys. One of them was clawing the water, gurgling with a rising panic.
“Peter! I don’t know how to swim! Peter!”
Peter ignored him, his eyes on the door. Abbott rose up from the water and grabbed the boy, tossing him into the air.
“Fly! Everyone, fly! Go, get out of here! Leave everything! Go back to Pan Island!” Abbott shouted.
Peter spun around, his eyes wild with excitement, his cheeks flushed. “Lost Boys, stop! Don’t listen to him. Take your treasure—each boy with his own bag, or there will be dire consequences! Draw your weapons and head back to the top of the skull! Quickly! I’ll meet you there!”
The boys began clustering at the door, heavily laden bags flung over their shoulders or wrapped around their backs. Abbott shot Peter a cutting look. The water was halfway up the doorway now and rising; the rock shelves around them croaked their dismay. Wendy drew herself along the walls and out into the hallway, Peter at her heels, the tiny bottle of rum tucked inside her blouse. The hallway was filling with water, the doors bouncing open and shut with the waves that were running up and down the corridor. Peter crawled along the ceiling behind Wendy.
“Darby!” he barked.
The boy flew up next to him like an eager pup, his hair dripping into his eyes.
“Yes, Peter?” His voice carried a nervous edge through the hallway.
“Darby, I need you to do something special for me—something only you can do. I only trust YOU.”
Darby nodded. “Anything.”
Peter pulled Darby’s forehead against his own, Darby’s body reaching toward Peter as if he were asking for a fatherly embrace.
“My good lad. Go back in there and get Hook’s rum! You’re the only one who can unlock it!”
Darby hesitated for just a moment before sputtering, “Yes, sir!” Then he gave Peter a nervous grin. With a deep breath, Darby ducked under the water and swam back through the seventh door, his body disappearing under the violently churning water, the same water that now was brushing the top of the door frame.