She was inching closer with every word, and Jim noticed each step. He felt behind him with his left foot, managing to get it onto the first rickety slat of the bridge.
“Next time, maybe,” he said, maintaining a neutral evenness to his tone that might have won him a small fortune in a poker match. “I have a knack for finding myself in crap situations. I’m bound to turn up again.”
He shifted his full weight onto the bridge. It swayed beneath him, but he kept his eyes locked on Mary. She’d noticed the movement, and for a moment they locked gazes, each waiting for the other to make a move. Every muscle in Jim’s body tensed, and she looked like a coiled cat about to spring at the moment the mouse twitched a whisker.
But it was Jay who made the first move, taking them both by surprise. “Get him!” he yelled.
Jim spun, nearly losing his hold on Sophie, and awkwardly crow-hopped over the bridge, his feet moving faster than his mind, dancing over gaps where the slats had rotted away, his free hand clutching the rope rail while the other kept a desperate grip on his limp burden. The bridge shook and swayed like a dinghy at sea during a storm, and his stomach lurched with it.
They were coming after him, he knew. He could tell it from the way the bridge began to spasm beneath him. He heard a shocked cry and a snap of wood; one of the slats must have given way under them. With a vicious surge of satisfaction, he continued doggedly on. Had the bridge only been thirty yards across? It seemed to expand threefold, stretching an infinite length ahead. Sweat poured down his neck and trickled over his shoulder blades, as much from nerves as from the heat and exertion. He was surprised, from his dehydrated state, that he had anything left to sweat out.
At last, he reached the end of the bridge, but a long gap of open space was between him and solid ground. He glanced back; the trio were careening across the slats with wild looks in their eyes, but they were progressing no faster than he had. He turned back around, sucked in a deep swallow of salty air, and leaped.
He landed awkwardly, losing his grip on Sophie. She flew out of his arms and rolled across the ground to rest in a thicket of ferns.
There wasn’t time to see if she was okay. He turned back to the bridge and began wrestling with the knots that held the rope in place around metal poles staked into the rock. The knots were practically congealed with time and wear, impossible to undo. So instead, he lifted a rock the size of his head and, with a grunt of effort, heaved it at the last few slats of wood. It crashed through them, widening the gap to an insurmountable distance, even if they took a running start. Any attempt to leap it, and they would drop into the ravine.
Mary froze, as did Jay and Wyatt behind her. Jim gripped the tops of the metal poles in either hand and flashed them a weary grin. “Oh, did I do that? Gosh, sorry. My dad always did say I had a knack for wrecking things.” Like his marriage.
Mary glared at him, her curls snapping like vipers, her grip on the ropes so tight her knuckles were the color of paper. “There are other ways around, you know. We know every inch of this island. You can run, but we’ll still catch you.”
He tossed her a sarcastic salute. “Challenge accepted, sweetheart. I’m a pretty slippery guy.”
Without waiting to hear her response, he gathered Sophie into his arms and charged off into the trees, moving with reckless abandon, not even bothering to steer himself. If he came across a bush, he bowled right through it. It was more from luck than skill that he avoided running headfirst into any trees.
At last, impossibly it seemed, he broke of the tangle of palms and pines and shrubs and onto the shore. He could even see his plane, bobbing faithfully across the channel, waiting for him. His feet turned to lead; he churned a short distance down the beach, then fell to his knees. He crawled a few feet before his strength left him completely, and then he only barely managed to set Sophie down before he faceplanted into the sand.
After a moment, when he finally couldn’t hold his breath any longer, he rolled over and panted for air. His eyes were shut against the sun, and for a moment, he simply reveled in the fact that he was alive. And lying down. His body felt as though the bones had been sucked out of him, leaving him in a viscous state, like a puddle of jelly.
It seemed an eternity later, though in fact it was just a minute, that he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Sophie.
Her eyes were open, and she was staring directly back at him.
ELEVEN LUX
Suddenly, she was.
Wasn’t.
Was.
Just like that.
First there was light blinding burning stinging. Then there was noise: static in her ears in her brain fuzzy
and deafening.
hurts hurts hurts hurts hurts.
When she looked up, numbers ran across her vision, a dizzying stream of ones and zeroes, when she blinked, they scurried away and were replaced by colors.
Her brain jolted; words came.
Blue and sky and sun and light.
There was a word for everything, too many of them andthey rushed through her.
Sand and tree and stop and hurts.
And what what what what what over and over, loudest word of all.
Back, she thought, want go back darkness hurts!
Then came fear and panic.
She wanted—she wanted—the word burst to the top of her mind—stop! She wanted it to stop all of it Hurts! Stop!
She became aware of a new sensation and with it came a flood of new words—hands and sand and skin and arms. Tingles in her fingers, the sense of weight.
What what what what?
Chaos and noise too much she was a void and the words and the sensations rioted within her she could not control them.
She didn’t remember sitting up but suddenly she was she looked down and words bombarded her legs and feet and knees beyond them sea and water and ocean.
This was the world: sand and ocean legs and light.
She moved her eyes and every direction held new sights and words she couldn’t stop them from coming palm tree and rock and waves and clouds and—
The words stopped.
The noise stopped.
The static in her brain stopped.
The numbers stopped.
Boy.
Her thoughts shivered scattered emptied and at last all was still and silent behind her eyes as she stared at him the world drew back waited.
Boy.
Then slowly the words crept in again they stacked and shuffled and rearranged.
Boy and eyes and nose and mouth and hair and face.
Her mind drew him in hid his image at its center folded over him the world slid into place the chaos ceased.
The words fell into line. She could think now. She could breathe. He gave shape to her thoughts and structure to her mind. She stared at him without blinking, memorizing the lines of his face and the colors in his hair. Her body relaxed.
She was at peace.
The boy was there, and the boy was everything.
“Sophie,” he said. “Hey, you okay?”
His voice electrified her. Her brain rushed to process his words, to make sense of them. Sophie. A name, a girl’s name. Her name?
Hey, you okay?
Before she could understand them, he spoke again. More words, more sounds. All in a rush. She struggled to keep up— had to understand him—but it was too much. She watched his lips. His teeth. The muscles in his throat.
“Say something,” he said.
Say something say something say something.
“Mmm.” A sound! From her own lips! She watched him anxiously, to see if he would approve. She ached for him to approve.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
This was a word she knew. Hurt. Her tongue jerked into action, her lips parted—“Hurt.”