He doesn’t answer me, but his almost black eyes have opened up enough to show me he’s listening.
“I’ll blast us out of here. If they’ve stopped and they’re gone, I’ll get us out of here. I think it’s what the rabbit wants me to do. He’s got a collar on; diamonds, I think.”
Oh, for the love of—I don’t think you have the energy for that, Caleb argues, exasperated, but I dismiss this. I’m going to try, no matter what. I have to. I have to get Kellan out of here.
Where is the rabbit? It should come with us, too.
Wait then, Caleb urges. Because what if they’re just resting? Regrouping? Then it’d be an ambush.
I reluctantly concede, and Caleb nervously ticks off the time in the back of my mind: One minute, two . . . Five . . . Ten . . . Twenty minutes . . . a half hour . . .
Without warning, the ground under us rolls and jolts, much more violently than any of the attempts by the Elders. Hope springs forth. Hope that smells like leftover rainbows and fresh earthquakes.
Earthquakes make me think of Karl. Karl makes me think of Jonah. Jonah, Jonah, bo-bonuh, banana-nana-mana-fanuh, tra-la-lanuh. I really like Jonah’s name. Joooo-nuh.
You made it so nothing can break through the walls or the roof! Why is Caleb screaming so much? You must fix it! If it’s Karl, he won’t get through otherwise!
But, you said to do nothing! That I have nothing in me! But then I spot the rabbit, back on the bolder, nodding its little head. So I focus as intently as I can on the wall in front of me and will it to weaken.
And then I’m adrift, caught in a torrent of water I can’t see that floods the cave and lifts me and Kellan up.
Rock-a-bye, lullaby,
sing yourself to sleep,
row the boat
down the moat
and find yourself something to eat.
Boat. It’d be nice to have a boat. We could just shrink and float through the tubes, down, down, into the middle of the Earth. No, not Earth. Where am I? The Elvin plane? Wonderland.
The rabbit skips across the water—I can almost see it, it’s sparkling like moonlight on the ocean—and comes to float near where Kellan and I are bobbing. No, not bobbing . . . we’re still sitting on something, but . . . not? It reminds me of a game Cora and Lizzie and Meg and I used to play. Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Rumble, shake, lighting strike
float away, in a cave
The rabbit thumps its front paws to the tune in my head. We bop together, my fingers skipping across Kellan’s chest. A girl and rabbit band with skills to pay the bills.
Row, row, row yourselves
Light as a feather, stiff as a—
Lightning streaks before my eyes. So, so bright. So . . . pretty? The water beneath us churns, lifting us up, then down, in a circle, all around. The rabbit grins, and it makes me laugh. We like the waves, me and him. I ought to tell Kellan about them, but he’s still so sleepy.
Rabbits and waves and earthquakes, oh my,
Explosions of light flicker on by.
The waves around us shatter, and instead of raining down water—oh, I should have drank it when I had the chance! Why didn’t I think of that?—there are bits of flying rocks everywhere. The rabbit skips around us, trails of fluorescent light shimmering under each strike of its paws.
I could really use that metal umbrella right about now. Why did I let Kellan talk me out of it?
My name is called, so is Kellan’s, and I laugh, just outright giggle in delight, because Jonah and his voice are a ray of sunshine filtering through the raining rubble. The rocks aren’t even touching him.
The rabbit darts in between his running feet. There are rocks in my hair.
I need a hairbrush.
“Don’t disappear again,” I warn Jonah the moment he drops to where his brother and I are stranded. “Don’t go. Please?”
“I’m here,” he says. I have never, in my entire life, been so happy to see someone as I am at this moment.
“I loooove yoooooou,” I can’t help but sing-song, and every single atom in my body agrees with this. Love for him fills me up and radiates out around me, like the rainbows did in the cave. Love is pink, and pretty, and glittery, and all things good.
Jonah’s hands connect with my body and, with one final glance at the rabbit—wide-eyed pink orbs utterly unblinking as they tell me: Be a good girl; it’s okay to let yourself sleep—my eyelids finally drift shut.
My eyes are itchy and dry; I practically have to peel them open. The room I’m in is mostly dark, but there’s a warm yet dim light spilling across the far side of the room.
I’m in a room! Not a cave!
“Hey, you.” My eyes slide towards Jonah’s voice, eager to see his face. And he’s here, sitting next to me on a bed I’m lying in, disheveled, relieved and worried at the same time.
I’m in a bed. In . . . a hospital! With Jonah!
I try to tell him, “I am so glad to see you,” but it comes out funny, all scratchy and soft. He doesn’t laugh or smile. He folds me into his arms instead and lets me soak up everything that is Jonah and wonderful.