Kellan is asleep, his head in my lap. My choice, not his—when he’d last fallen asleep, I wanted the contact. I’m raking my fingers through his hair, every so often prodding him so he’s forced to shift just enough to show me he’s still here. I can’t rely on his breathing, because I don’t trust my hand or eyes to verify its existence, it’s so shallow.
Four days. Four days of no food and precious little water. And he’d spent the better part of two days continuously working on me, so it makes him all the weaker, which is hard to even comprehend, because I’m ready to turn myself over to sleep without a fight and I’ve hardly used my powers.
I toy momentarily with the idea of blasting open the wall in front of us, just to finally end the maddening sounds and unbearable waiting. Because that’s what we’re doing now. Waiting. Waiting for water to drip down and collect, waiting to sip the teeny bit we do, waiting for sleep, waiting, waiting for something, anything. Waiting most likely for death, because I can’t help but rationalize that if someone knew where we were, we’d have been rescued.
This line of thinking only exacerbates my panic over Jonah. When Kellan is asleep, I allow myself to worry about my fiancé. Because I know Jonah, and if he were free of that dungeon, he would move heaven and earth to get to me and his brother. But he’s not here, he hasn’t found us, so . . .
No. I can’t let myself think anything further, not if I want to stay sane and here for Kellan.
When Caleb announces morning, Kellan is still sleeping. I shake him awake, desperate with fear he’s slipping away from me. He’s dazed, confused for far too long, murmuring something about how great the waves are today thanks to storms before he’s able to focus on my face. And then, he’s gone, lost to dreams once more.
Out of the corner of my eye, bright lights flash. My head whips around and I see Jonah. Clear as day. He’s standing there, staring at me, but he’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? The rabbit’s at his feet—small, white face; pink eyes; whiskers—and it’s just so bizarre, so . . . just . . . I don’t even know what to say. I call his name, beg him to help us, but he disappears. I scream for him but he’s gone, gone, gone. The rabbit remains, watching me, unblinking, smiling. I toss a rock at it, but it skips to the side. And then it’s gone, too, into the dark.
My skull feels too small for my brain. Or maybe my brain is too big for my skull. Or maybe my eyes . . .? They’re so dry, and I’m hungry, and I’m . . .
Gods, I’m thirsty. The cup is filled with one, maybe two good swallows. I allow myself one, and then promptly wish I could spit it back up just so I can give it to Kellan when he wakes up.
When Caleb announces noon of the fifth day, I fight to keep my eyes open. I’ve resorted to pinching myself and pleading with Caleb to yell as loud as he can in my mind, sing annoying songs—anything that will keep me awake.
But the truth is, I think I’ve lost hope.
I’ve just counted to nine hundred when I realize that the only sound in the cave is my voice.
I hold my breath so I can hear better. There is no screaming. No pounding. I stare at the wall I’d reinforced days before, and there, sitting on a large boulder, is the rabbit. It’s wearing a collar, something sparkly. Diamonds, maybe? One of its hind paws comes up and scratches at the gemstones; rays of rainbowed light spread out in massive arcs from where it sits.
I am dazzled.
Chloe!
The room explodes in color. It’s so, so beautiful that I want to cry. Am I crying? I should be crying. Gods, it’s so gorgeous—
CHLOE! FOCUS!
Do you see this? I ask Caleb. It’s like a fairy tale, or . . . I don’t know. Somewhere enchanted and beautiful and I think I could look at it—
THE ELDERS ARE NOT ATTACKING THE CAVE ANYMORE.
The rabbit stops kicking at its collar. Rainbows stretch out toward me and dissipate in a shower of Fourth of July sparklers. I used to love tracing my name with those—
YOU NEED TO FOCUS RIGHT NOW! THE ELDERS MIGHT BE GONE!
Gone, gone? Gone like dust in . . . with? the storms—
FOCUS!
The rabbit’s head cocks towards the wall, one ear twitching violently.
Wake Kellan up, Caleb urges.
The rabbit’s ears stand at attention. And then it nods at me. Shoves its nose in my direction, and it’s so weird, but I feel that wet smudge against the back of my hand. Laughter, scratchy and foreign feeling, scrapes up my throat. ‘Cause, if a rabbit tells me to do it, I’m gonna do it. “Kellan?” I croak. His head is still in my lap, and I shake him lightly. When that doesn’t work, I give him a huge nudge, but he still doesn’t move. I legitimately begin to freak the hell out, but I can’t scream. I’m whisper-babbling, chanting his name like the prayer it is, shaking him like a madwoman and wondering, can nineteen-year-olds be victims of shaken baby syndrome? My eyes flick over to where the rabbit is, but—it’s gone. Again! I get to one hundred and fifteen in Chloe-ese before his eyelids flutter softly.
If I had any tears, I’d cry, my relief is so intense. I stroke his face gently. “It’s quiet. They’ve stopped attacking the cave. There were rainbows everywhere.”