Jake POV

After about five minutes of dead silence, I finally un-gaped my jaw, shook my head to clear my thoughts, and focused back on the boy who I assumed to be my old crewmate. But how could this possibly be him? The Cubby I knew was a short, pudgy little five year old who was a huge scaredy cat. This sunburnt, scrawny, fierce twelve year old couldn't possibly be him. He wasn't even wearing Cubby's signature blue vest or bandana. But if this boy was the real Cubby and if the real Cubby was here, then surely Izzy and Skully were here too right? The mere thought of a reunion with my old crewmates filled me with excitement.

The blonde tween, standing before me. He leaned casually on his wooden staff, but his body language was full of disgust at the mere sight of me.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite ex-crewmate." he spat, his words dripping with sarcasm. It was clear that time hadn't done his bitterness towards me well.

"Cubby!" I exclaimed again, with a slight smile attempting to melt the icy scowl he wore. However, he didn't seem one bit moved by the reunion, his face remaining stern.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his brow still furrowed in suspicion.

"I live here, remember?" I replied, pointing a finger towards myself, attempting to convey a sense of belonging.

"Unfortunately, I do," my crewmate answered, his annoyance clear. I couldn't help but put my hands on my hips, as a gesture of defiances. "But why are you here?" I dropped my arms and they slapped my thighs and I then let out a scoff.

"Alright. Play dumb. I can do that too." I said. He crossed his arms and raised and eyebrow at me.

"Play? You could manage the team, Jacob."

"Hey!" I exclaimed as I pointed a finger at him. "What have I told you about using the full name? And where are Skully and Iz—-."

"SHHHHHHHHHH!" he hissed, his eyes wide as he quickly bolted over and pressed his hand over my mouth, the urgency in his actions sending shivers down my spine.

"What is up with you?" I asked, peeling his hand off my mouth. "I was just asking if Skully and Iz—."

"Shut up!" he said in a whisper, his voice full of fear. His eyes darted around nervously, as if waiting for me to drop dead after saying Izzy's name. Cubby once again placed his hand over my mouth, a desperate plea in his gaze.

"What is the matter with you!? What is the matter with the island!?" I howled, yanking his hand off my face again, unable to comprehend the sudden paranoia that had gripped him.

"You weren't here when we needed you. You weren't here when we cried for help. That's why THIS happened!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the badland. He gestured to the wasteland around us, making it painfully clear that something terrible had obviously happened. But what? "And you weren't here when it happened to her," he mumbled, his voice breaking. I knew exactly who he was talking about when he said "her". Izzy. I immediately got ten times more worried. "So what exactly makes you think you can just walk back here after six years and call it your home? Huh!?" he demanded, his anger and sorrow leaving me stunned. I sighed and looked at the ground in embarrassment, realizing that he had a point.

"I know, Cubby. And I'm sorry. You're right, I don't deserve to call this my home. But—-."

"But nothin'!" he interrupted, pointing his wooden staff at me. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he fought to keep them at bay. "Now go! I never wanna see you again!" The very sternness of his words struck me like a cannonball to the chest.

"Cubby, please tell me…..what happened here?" I said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. He quickly flinched at my touch and backed away, his glare cold.

"I'm not tellin' you squat, Jake. You could have been here to see what happened, but evidently you had more important things you cared about." he said, his voice heavy in resentment.

"There's nothing more important to me than you, Skully, and uh, you know who else. You know that," I argued, feeling my heart start to sink.

"Yeah? Well, you sure had a funny way of showing that," he uttered, his voice laced with bitterness. "Now get off my lawn!" I stomped over to him and yanked him by the white collar.

"Listen, little boy," I said through clenched teeth, my tone harsh and desperate. "I was here three years before you. I am the oldest, the strongest, and therefore, I am in charge. I always have been and I always will be! Now tell me what happened." But Cubby remained unmoved. He didn't even flinch.

"Gee, sorry, sassy," he scoffed, almost amused. "Didn't realize you were having a mid-life crisis at fifteen," he mocked, his words heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm only fourteen," I corrected, a trace of vulnerability slipping into my voice. "I think."

"Whatever," he sneered, sticking his neck out in defiance. He let out a heavy sigh before saying, "C'mon inside. You really wanna hear what happened, I'll tell you. But remember, you've been warned." I lit up when I heard those words, my eagerness to unravel the mysteries of the past overcoming my frustration. I eagerly followed behind him, hoping that his words would provide some answers. It was quite the hike back to the hideout. Cubby seemed to have already chopped his way through the wilderness of burnt bushes and palm trees, leaving a path only he could navigate. It was evident that he knew his way around, as we took several twists and turns through the desolation until we reached the grotto where we kept our ship, The Buccaneer, or Bucky, as we affectionately called him. However, the once-hidden grotto was now exposed, devoid of its former beauty. The waterfall was all dried up and Bucky was nowhere to be found. Uh oh.

"Uh, Cubby," I said to the boy walking in front of me, unable to contain my growing unease. "Where's Bucky?" I saw him grit his teeth.

"Jake, just follow me and shut-up. We'll get to that later, I promise you," he replied crypticly. "Although by then, you'll probably wish we hadn't." What exactly did he mean by that?

I followed closely behind as we ascended up a sketchy makeshift staircase that he seemed to have built with whatever pieces of wood he could find and tied them together with vines. When we reached the top of the wooden steps, there was a weak door. Cubby kicked it open with his foot and entered what used to be the kitchen, but was also now the living room, bedroom and bathroom. This was our hideout. My heart sank as I stared at the small, dark, dirty, and cramped room that Cubby now called home. Memories of our once-thriving hideout flooded my mind, contrasting sharply with the ugly bunker before me. The room was barely large enough to fit the two of us, with hardly any space to move around. It felt like the walls were closing in. The ceiling was low and appeared to be on the verge of collapse, with cobwebs hanging ominously in the corners. Dust and dirt covered every surface, giving the room an eerie and spooky atmosphere. On the old dilapidated counter, there were plates of old and even moldy food, ranging from fruit, bread and cheese. Cubby had set mouse traps around them so the rats wouldn't come and eat his so-called food. I couldn't help but notice the hammock that was strung up in the corner. That was his bed. It was made out of a sheet that had the red and white checkered design of something you'd see on a table cloth at a picnic. It was a stark contrast to the comfortable beds we had, that I can only assume were nothing but ashes now. The walls were adorned with crude drawings and markings, a testament to the long and lonely years Cubby had spent here. The room had an oppressive smell, a mix of dampness, mustiness, and something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Whatever it was, it wasn't the fresh ocean breeze that the hideout used to smell like. I stood and watched awkwardly as the blonde lad threw his staff onto his hammock and then pulled a rotting wooden chair out of nowhere and sloppily sat in it, while tapping his foot to a rhythm in his head. He reached over to the plate guarded by mousetraps and grabbed a rotting brown banana and casually started to munch on it as if it were candy.

"Make yourself at home….again," he said with a mouthful of the gross fruit. I continued to study the room, if you could even call it that. And as I did so, something caught my eye. Amidst the mess, I spotted a small faded yellow wooden box tucked away in a corner. On its lid, the unmistakable symbol of Izzy's pixie dust pouch was carved. My heart skipped a beat as I reached for it out of curiosity. But before I could open it, Cubby's eyes filled with anger. He immediately stood up from the chair and threw the banana aside. He moved faster than I expected, snatching the box from my hands with a force that startled me.

"Never touch this!" he yelled. Boy, he was furious. His knuckles whitened as he clutched the box protectively to his chest. "Don't you ever, ever, ever touch this! You got it!?"

"Ok! Ok! Calm down! I won't touch it alright?" I declared. "What's in there anyway? Why is Izzy's pixie dust carved on the front?" Cubby's expression darkened further, and he shook his head.

"It's none of your business, Jake. You lost your right to know when you left us behind," His grip on the box tightened, as if it held the most precious treasure in the world, but he eventually loosened it. He put the box in his hammock, wrapping it in a sheet to make sure it was good and hidden. He went back and sat in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh. "Alright, what do you wanna know?" he asked me.

"What's in the box Cubby?"

To Be Continued...