Scar Island(50)

“Who cares?”

“Well, that means—”

“Look, just get to work, okay? I’ll help.”

Jonathan and Gregory started shoveling coal into the wheelbarrow while Roger fed Patrick bites of roll.

“Ye boys are crazy,” Patrick said when they stood gasping for breath after dumping the first load into the fiery furnace. “Ye can’t keep going like this. Ye need to get outta here.”

“Quiet,” Roger said. “We’re fine.”

“What happened to yer nose?” he asked, looking at Jonathan. Jonathan sniffed and touched it gingerly with sooty fingers. It was still sore.

“Nothing. Just an accident.”

“Aye,” Patrick said quietly. “I bet plenty of accidents happen around that boy with the sword.”

“Come on. Keep shoveling. I wanna go to bed.”

They were just about to open the furnace doors for the second load of coal when they heard the crash from above them.

More than a crash. A shattering, shuddering explosion that echoed down the stairs. They froze in mid-motion, then turned to look at the staircase.

There was a moment of near-stillness. Then the water trickling down the sides of the stairs increased to a steady stream an inch deep from wall to wall, waterfalling into the coal room in dirty little cascades.

“What the hell?” Patrick breathed.

From upstairs came the sound of screaming.

Jonathan and Gregory dropped their shovels and all three boys tore up the stairs at a run.

“Wait!” Patrick called. “Don’t leave me down here!”

But they were already gone, up the stairs and through the kitchen and into the dining room.

The room was in chaos. The storm, which had already seemed impossibly fierce, was doubled in strength and fury. All the windows had blown out, every single one, and the door was ripped off its hinges, leaving one whole wall open to the raging wind and rain. All the candles were out, leaving the room in darkness except when it was lit by flashes of lightning. The boys were all huddled behind tables.

Jonathan, Roger, and Gregory stopped in their tracks. The water in the room was no longer an inch deep—it was over their ankles, and rising.

“Look at that!” Miguel shouted over the thundering storm. “In the courtyard!”

Ducking heads peeked from behind the tables. Jonathan’s eyes peered through the pelting rain into the darkness beyond the glassless windows. For a moment, there was only wet, howling blackness.

Then a bright white strobe of lightning lit the scene, and he saw it.

A boat, drifting in the courtyard. Sailing and bobbing right in the middle of the school.

Jonathan and Sebastian and a few others ran to the windows, standing a couple of cautious steps back and squinting into the darkness outside.

Lightning flashed again.

“It’s empty!”

“That’s the mail boat. The one the guy came in.”

“The gate must have blown open!”

Jonathan looked down the row of terrified faces.

“It’s floating out there,” he said. “There’s enough water inside for it to float.”

They looked out at the boat, rocking its way through the storm toward them, rising and falling with the waves.

“It ain’t just puddles out there,” Walter said.

“It’s flooded. The island’s underwater.”

They looked down at the water, now above their ankles.

From behind them came a wrenching, shrieking sound, followed by a thunderous bang. It rang out from the doorway that led into Slabhenge and for a moment overpowered even the sound of the storm raging around them.

Jonathan splashed through the water to the doorway. He took one step into the lightless corridor and listened. He heard echoes of banging, and rushing, and a wet slurping roar.

“It’s the Hatch!” he screamed, the wind whipping the words out of his mouth. “It opened!”





The boys came out from behind and under the tables. They gathered in the middle of the room, feeling for each other in the darkness. A few were crying. Questions were shouted by shaking voices.

“Everyone settle down!” Sebastian’s harsh command silenced the rising voices. “Just shut up, everyone! Let me think! We’re all fine!”

His words shook Jonathan with a realization.

“All!? What about Colin! He’s lower down than we are! We have to go save him!”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No way! We’re not going past that Hatch if it’s open!”

“We have to! He’ll drown!”

“So will we if we go after him. We’re staying right here until the storm stops. We can sit up on the tables.”

“No, Sebastian, we have to—”

“No, Johnny. We can’t save him.” Sebastian’s voice was as hard as the sword glinting in his hand. “We’re not gonna die trying.”

Jonathan swallowed. His whole body was trembling. With cold. With anger. With fear. He rubbed his arms with shivering hands, feeling the burns and scars through his wet sleeves. He imagined he could hear Colin crying for help. In his mind he saw soggy, water-ruined paper birds. Rain-soaked flowers.

“I’m going,” he said, and his voice was soft but at least as hard as Sebastian’s.