Chapter Seventeen: Stepping Up

Nibs

As the last of the sun's dying rays sunk below the horizon, the temperature dropping with it, we still refused to move. Our sunken forms had long since created indentations in the sand. We were still sitting in the same place on the shoreline that the pirates had deposited us on many painful hours ago. Curly was burrowed into my side, his furry head of hair resting on my lap, his cheeks thick with dried tears. Tink was nestled in the groove where my neck met my shoulder, her legs drawn up to her chest and her tiny chin resting on her knees as she stared unseeingly out at the water lapped at the sand. The rest of the Lost Boys were laid out around us, mouths shut, eyes swimming with a mixture of grief and fear.

No one spoke. No one knew what to do.

Curly's small, shaking fingers gripped the edge of my pants tautly as I ran a calloused hand through his dirty hair in what I hoped was a soothing gesture. A choked noise escaped from his throat as another sob wracked his little body. Fresh tears pooled in his bloodshot eyes as, once again, he began to cry, the heartache rolling off him in raw waves. It sounded at through hooks had been lowered down his throat, into his chest, and were forcibly tearing the sounds out of him.

I wanted to wrap him up tightly and wail along beside him, curl up in a ball on the ground and never move again. But I didn't. I couldn't. Peter was gone, and now, I was the oldest, the one left to step into his place and ensure the safety the Lost Boys. Someone had to be the strong one in this situation, and that responsibility fell heavily onto my shoulders. So, I bit back my own tears, wiped Curly's off his round cheeks, and desperately wracked my brain for a way to ease his pain.

Nothing came to mind.

Looking ahead of me towards the darkening sky that was streaked with pinks and purples, I watched Wendy. She was curled in on herself tightly, all skin and bone and baggy clothes, sitting where the ocean kissed the beach. The incoming tide swirled around her ankles, climbing higher with each passing minute, but she didn't seem to notice. Her arms, curtained off by a veil of messy brown hair, cradled her head. She hadn't spoken a single word since the pirates had roughly hauled us all into a rowboat and paddled to shore. Not even when a cruel looking man with red hair and a scarred face had gripped her upper arm hard enough to leave a bruised in the shape of five fingers on her skin fair shin. All the while, her lips had been stitched shut, refusing to utter a sound, but her eyes said every word that she was unable to utter. They spoke of inconceivable devastation, disbelief and fear.

I wondered if mine eyes mirrored hers.

My eyes were pulled from her crumpled form when a hand gripped my shoulder. I looked up and saw Slightly standing by my side, weary, saddened lines etched into his face.

"We need to move." His voice was rough and scratchy, having screamed until his throat became raw back on the pirate ship. "It's not safe if we stay out here. If the pirates decide to come back…" He trailed off, gazing out towards the ocean. I wasn't sure if he was looking for the ship or for Peter.

I nodded, and Curly shifted off of my as I forced myself to my feet, the sand shifting under my hollow legs. Tink flitted from my shoulder and hovered in the air, about a foot from my face, the light that usual hugged her missing. The rest of the Lost Boys turned their heads to look at me, their eyes heavy with expectancy, like they were waiting for me to tell them what was going to happen. Like the decision was solely up to me. Even Wendy lifted her head and cast her sad gaze over her shoulder towards me.

Was this how we used to look at Peter?

"You're right," I told Slightly quietly. "We've go to get off the beach."

"But, where are we going to go?" Marmaduke asked with fear and uncertainty seeping into his words. "Back to the hideout?"

I shook my head, and it felt like an anchor had settled in my stomach. "No. It's gone." Our home had been uprooted from the very ground it was nestled in, reduced to nothing more than rubble and fractured memories. I looked around at their broken expressions and that was when it really hit me. It sucker punched me in the gut and left me gasping for air.

Peter was gone.

Our home was gone.

Everything…was gone.

I could feel the pressure weighing down on my shoulders, threatening to bring me to my knees. Walls were closing in around me, and my heart jackhammered against my ribcage like a trapped bird. A cold sensation settled over me, and I had never felt as terrified in my entire life as I did in that moment.

Don't cry! the voice inside my head screamed when the back of my eyes prickled. Don't cry! I had to be the brave one; I had to look after them. They were my responsibility, now.

But, Peter was gone!

"We'll head into the forest." My voice wavered by thankfully held. "We'll find somewhere to sleep tonight, and, tomorrow…tomorrow, we'll head back to the hideout. See if there's anything we can salvage."

Each Lost Boy nodded and, for the first time in history, they followed my orders without question. Tootles reached out and grabbed Curly's hand, pulling him gently to his feet. Tink left my shoulder to fly over to him, as his big eyes filled with tears, running a minute hand along his cheek, like she could magically take his hurt away. There was no magic strong enough in Neverland that was capable of that.

While the rest of the boys stood, I walked over to Wendy, who looked up at me with the saddest eyes I'd ever seen. Taking the hand I offered, she let me help her stand, and, to my surprise, she wrapped her bony arms around my neck and buried her head in the front of my shirt. I stood still for a fraction of a second, momentarily caught off guard, before my arms came up and I hugged her back just as firmly.

"I'm so sorry," she howled, speaking for the first time in hours. "So sorry." Her tears dampened the material of my shirt as her body shook like she was having a seizure. My hold on her tightened until I could feel bumps in her spine travelling down her back like beads. She was skin strained over hallow bones, flesh eaten away by illness and endless fear caused by the reoccurring question: Will today be the day my heart finally dies?

"We'll be okay. We'll be okay," I repeated, not knowing whether I was trying to convince her or myself. Maybe both of us.

Wendy pulled back, cheeks red and splotchy, eyes bloodshot. "We'll be okay," she echoed, but I could tell by the tone her voice that she didn't believe a word of it.

"Come on," I said softly.

She grabbed my hand, holding on desperately, and, on wobbly legs, we walked out of the salty water and back up the sand to where the Lost Boys and Tink were waiting. We all shared one long, heartbroken look before turning and walking into the forest, none of us knowing what the hell we were going to do.

We stumbled through the dense foliage slowly, faltering over undergrowth and our own feet. Curly sobbed quietly, the twins remained mute, and Slightly chewed on his bottom lip to keep his tears at bay. After about five minutes, Wendy foot caught on a large root that was protruding out of the ground and fell, landing on her hands and knees. She yelped as uneven twigs cut at her palms, drawing thin droplets of blood. We all stopped, and I felt something inside me constrict as, instead of getting back to her feet, Wendy bent her elbows and rested her head on the ground. It was a sign of defeat. She was ready to give up. I knew this because I felt it, too.

I squatted down beside her and rested my hand between her shoulder blades, feeling her chest contract and expand as she drew in heavy breaths of air. "We can't stop now, Wendy," I said, leaning over so my mouth was close to her ear. "We have to keep going."

She shook her head, refusing to look at me.

"Yes. Come on, Wendy." My voice was firmer this time.

She didn't move, and I could feel the boys' eyes boring into my back. I knew that if Wendy didn't get back up we would all be on the ground in a matter of seconds, bawling our eyes out and never wanting to stand again. Not willing to allow that to happen, I swept an arm underneath her and tugged her to her feet. Letting out only a small whimper, she didn't fight me, but she didn't help either, instead remaining limp. I swung my other arm under her legs and lifted her off the ground, carrying her like I knew Peter would. My legs complained under the extra weight. Wendy was as skinny as a rake, but I was only thirteen years old.

Despite that, I somehow knew that I wouldn't drop her. I wouldn't because I didn't have a choice. We had to keep moving. Her head flopped onto my shoulder, defeated, as I met the other boys' gazes.

"Walk."