Page 69 of The Last Lost Girl

Trees with trunks the size of redwoods stretch high into the sky. Thick vines drape from branch to ground where gnarled roots buckle the earth. They curve with one another in rows like ribs, cradling bright ferns that sprout from rotting vegetation. The vibrant scent of life collides with the musk produced by death and humid heat.

Sweat beads on my upper lip, my forehead, at the small of my back. Hudson’s shirt sticks to his shoulders and when he swivels his head, I see that the roots of his long, dark hair are damp.

The world goes quiet when there is danger. I’ve heard it when Belle lost herself – like the night on the rooftop. And I heard it when Wraith hunted and found me in the tree not long after I limped from the shore the night I landed.

But the birds are loud right now. They’re not afraid. Not of us, and not of anything else. It’s what makes breathing easier, because I know that if someone was following the footprints I left, we would hear their easy banter hush.

The birdsong is bold and pure here, unencumbered by man and his machines. Every sweet trill is answered with another. Every song is meaningful, like the birds don’t just sing because they can, they sing because they must. Because a melody so powerful and insistent makes its home in their chests and their hearts can’t contain it.

I wish I knew what it felt like to be free enough to sing and never have to hide.

To really live.

Without fear.

Without anything holding me back.

We walk so far into the jungle that the already humid air becomes heavier, like sticky balm on the skin, and come to a place where the birdsong is drowned out by the sound of water surrounding us in trickles, gurgles, and roars.

Here, Hudson’s broad hand clamps over my mouth as he spins me and drags me into a crouch before him. “Quiet,” he barely whispers into my ear.

My heart hammers against my chest.

There is a small stream just ahead and at it, an enormous creature stalks the water. With the eyes of an eagle, it looks around the wood, likely searching for us, and when it thankfully doesn’t find us, it returns its attention to the water rolling around its legs. Its bill is stork-like, and it’s covered in green feathers so vibrant it almost doesn’t look real. It bends to hover above the water until it sees what it wants. The fish don’t even realize the beast is near. The creature gulps down a few and walks a few steps upstream, then a few more, until it’s out of sight.

Hook’s fingers uncurl from my mouth and we stand.

“What the hell was that thing?” I whisper.

“The Neverbird.”

The Neverbird.

“Please tell me they only eat fish.”

“Oh, they do seem to prefer them, but on Neverland, you’ll find that a meal is a meal, Precious.”

I watch for the bright green of the Neverbird’s plumage as the Neverwood thins, held at bay by a steep wall of yellow rock, seamed in gray. Water spills down the stone face, then patiently carves veins that flow into the forest.

Hudson and I cross the expanse of slick stone, heading straight for the sheer rock wall.

The soles of my shoes, still caked in mud are like ice skates. I slide, but I don’t slip. A strong arm suddenly clamps around my side as if to steady me. “Easy there,” he says, louder than he’s spoken since we left the ship. Then Hook leans down and speaks into my ear. “We are being followed.”

“Bird?”

“Boy,” he answers under his breath.

Fear crashes through me.

The cave from Hudson’s map looms just ahead, camouflaged by the vines slithering down the cliff. They hang over its mouth in a verdant curtain. He hooks some of the strands and draws them out of the way, then his hand presses the small of my back as we step inside. The vines sway shut behind us, and we are already in motion. The cavern floor is dirt and rock fissured by water that has weathered it deep into the earth.

Hudson points his hook into the darkness. “Follow that path to the lake. Dive beneath the farthest wall. You’ll find an opening into another chamber. Do you think you can reach it?”

“Yeah.” I focus on breathing as nerves flutter in my belly. When he turns to face the cave’s mouth and whoever is about to pass through it, I grab his arm. “What about you?”

His eyes gleam as he grins at me. “Are you worried about me, Precious?”

“Yes!” I hiss. I need his help. I need him alive.

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