Three days.
To recap, we’ve: not eaten, drank what I estimate to be two full cups of water each, slept fitfully due to the constant screaming outside, and not touched each other again since the hug. On his end, Kellan has lost his ability to communicate with Jonah entirely, although he claims his brother probably can still sense his feelings and hear his thoughts. On my end, I have descended into what I (well, Caleb) can only term sheer despair.
“You should sleep,” Kellan tells me. He should talk. The dark circles under his eyes would make a boxer proud.
I’m lying on the blanket, staring at him. It’s what I do nowadays. I stare at him. I’m too tired to do anything else. “You should.”
He sits down next to me, which spurs me struggling into my own sitting position. Three days, and he’s kept his distance. Well, other than when he hugged me, but I think he’s the smarter of the two of us and decided that once was more than enough. But now . . . now he’s right here by me. Within touching distance, if I was to only stretch out—
“I’m sorry,” he says as quietly as one can when there’s shrieking going on around you. When I scrunch my nose in confusion, he adds, “For calling you a bitch the other day.”
A giggle bubbles out of my chest due to the absurdity of this. And he smiles, too, even if it’s sad. “I deserved it. I called you an asshat.”
“I knew you didn’t mean it.” He grins at my laughter. “Or, at least, you only did in the heat of the moment.”
“Did you?” I ask, and he knows what I mean.
His lips curve even higher. “Only in the heat of the moment.”
“Well, I’m sorry, too. For picking that fight.” And I can’t help it. I really can’t. My breathing goes shallow and the butterflies that have always loved him take flight in my stomach. Even here, even now—he affects me like no one else but his brother can.
“Does it help?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything else. “The distance?”
What I mean is: the distance you’ve put between us?
His eyes leave mine and settle on his cuff, once more in heavy rotation around his wrist. “Sometimes. Not always.” There’s a small breath of a laugh before he looks back up at me. “You?”
Three days with no hope of an exit. I tell him the truth: “The same.”
He nods, his smile more rueful than before. I adore his smiles, all of them—even this bittersweet one. Kellan Whitecomb has some of the best smiles ever created. And maybe it’s because I’m hungry and tired and totally weak, but I find one of my fingers tracing the lips that make those smiles.
My name is soft and hot against my finger, making me shake my head. Because if I let him say anything further, he’s just going to spout off some kind of rationalization why I shouldn’t be touching him. Why he shouldn’t touch me.
I drop my hand so it can join my other to rest against his chest. His heart sprints in time with mine. And then, because . . . because . . .
I have no real reasons other than I want to and think I might die if I don’t.
I press my lips against his.
We are full-on, insane, frenzied lips-crashing-against-one-another making out. My hands don’t quite know what to do; his are the same, and it’s like we’re grappling with one another with energy that comes from nowhere, trying to memorize each other’s bodies with the skin on our fingertips. He pushes me down against the blanket, and my senses flood in pleasure. He is above me, over me, and his lips are against mine and it’s so heady, so deliriously overwhelming that I can, for the first time in days, block out the screaming surrounding us.
I moan against his mouth, and he groans against mine, and our tongues go to war against one another. But then Caleb goes and says something I can’t ignore. He’ll know, he shouts, an elephant’s weight of force behind his words. You think Jonah isn’t keeping close tabs on his brother right now?
It’s enough for me to jerk away. And for Kellan to leap away from me, like he can feel the fire under my skin, putting twice the distance between us than usual. There’s a wild look in his eyes, desire mixed with agony, and then dipped in heartbreak.
What have we done?
We do not discuss what happened. Hours go by, sleep goes by, and I think about it, obsess over it, and yet . . . I can’t say anything. Because, what would I say? What would even be good enough?
I watch Kellan squat in front of one of the small tubes leading out of the end of the tunnel he’d found on day one. There are three in total, but they’re all so small it’s impossible for either of us to fit through. Even still, he has the lantern at the entrance and is peering within, constantly trying to figure out how to make the impossible work.
I’m sitting to the side of the tube, observing thoughts flicker across his face. When he’s tired like he is now, he isn’t able to easily control his feelings. He’s anxious. Stressed and tired and frustrated and feeling more than a little helpless, which drives up my guilt, since I unfairly accused him of doing nothing during that awful fight. But he still studies the opening, tries to see into the tube to calculate what things would be like if one of us could get through, where it leads to, and what obstacles might lay ahead. If the risk is worth it.
When he rubs tiredly at his eyes, a small white head peeks out of the tube. Pink eyes and whiskers stare back at me. My first thought: I’m Alice, and this is the rabbit hole. My second: rabbits can be eaten.
“Kellan!” I whisper, not moving. “Grab the rabbit! I’ll make a fire.”
His eyes blink open, his head swivels around, searching. “Rabbit?”
The pink orbs stare balefully at me. Eat me? it seems to accuse. You want to eat me?
I try not to even move my lips as I hiss, “In. The. Tube.” I mean, honestly. He’s about a foot and a half away from the little bugger.
Kellan looks down at the rabbit; the rabbit looks up at him. There is a small standoff that elicits a fairly good-sized gurgle from my stomach. “Get it before it hops away!”
But Kellan does nothing except turn back toward me and frown.
The rabbit smiles—smiles!—at me. Your loss, it seems to say before disappearing into the black.
“Why didn’t you catch it?” Another rumble, one that would normally cause extreme embarrassment, rips through my stomach.
“I didn’t see a rabbit, C.”
He’s more tired than I realized. I say gently, “It was right there.”
He slowly shakes his head. An uncomfortable lack of words opens up between us. Finally, when I can’t take it, I say, “I think it’s time to admit that these tubes aren’t viable options.”
We’ve both tried getting into them; I have my doubts that even a four-year-old could slip through. A rabbit, yes—but not a kid.
He fingers the edges. “Maybe we can—”
“No. We can’t, and you know it. Unless you let me blast it.”
“No.” He sits down next to me, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.” And I know he means business, because he used my full name.
I wish I could hold his hands right now. “Two apologies in as many days,” I tease, because it’s better than crying. “What are you sorry for now?”
“I can’t get you out of here.”
“No one could get us out of here.” I ache to kiss the knuckles on his right hand. They’re rough; a few have scabbed over from his efforts with the tubes. “So you have no reason to be sorry.”
His head slants back against the wall. I shove our shared cup toward him, insisting he drink the bit we’ve collected over the last few hours, but he’s so stubborn. He only takes a small sip before handing it back. Arguing does no good, so instead, I ask him if he’s heard anything from Jonah, even though I know he hasn’t. He confirms this but adds, “He’ll find you, C. I know there’s nothing in all the worlds that could stop him from coming for you once he’s capable.”
“Us,” I stress. “He’ll come for us both.”
When nighttime hits, Caleb announces it mournfully.
Kellan is asleep, his head in my lap. My choice, not his—when he’d last fallen asleep, I wanted the contact. I’m raking my fingers through his hair, every so often prodding him so he’s forced to shift just enough to show me he’s still here. I can’t rely on his breathing, because I don’t trust my hand or eyes to verify its existence, it’s so shallow.
Four days. Four days of no food and precious little water. And he’d spent the better part of two days continuously working on me, so it makes him all the weaker, which is hard to even comprehend, because I’m ready to turn myself over to sleep without a fight and I’ve hardly used my powers.
I toy momentarily with the idea of blasting open the wall in front of us, just to finally end the maddening sounds and unbearable waiting. Because that’s what we’re doing now. Waiting. Waiting for water to drip down and collect, waiting to sip the teeny bit we do, waiting for sleep, waiting, waiting for something, anything. Waiting most likely for death, because I can’t help but rationalize that if someone knew where we were, we’d have been rescued.
This line of thinking only exacerbates my panic over Jonah. When Kellan is asleep, I allow myself to worry about my fiancé. Because I know Jonah, and if he were free of that dungeon, he would move heaven and earth to get to me and his brother. But he’s not here, he hasn’t found us, so . . .
No. I can’t let myself think anything further, not if I want to stay sane and here for Kellan.
When Caleb announces morning, Kellan is still sleeping. I shake him awake, desperate with fear he’s slipping away from me. He’s dazed, confused for far too long, murmuring something about how great the waves are today thanks to storms before he’s able to focus on my face. And then, he’s gone, lost to dreams once more.
Out of the corner of my eye, bright lights flash. My head whips around and I see Jonah. Clear as day. He’s standing there, staring at me, but he’s not saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? The rabbit’s at his feet—small, white face; pink eyes; whiskers—and it’s just so bizarre, so . . . just . . . I don’t even know what to say. I call his name, beg him to help us, but he disappears. I scream for him but he’s gone, gone, gone. The rabbit remains, watching me, unblinking, smiling. I toss a rock at it, but it skips to the side. And then it’s gone, too, into the dark.
My skull feels too small for my brain. Or maybe my brain is too big for my skull. Or maybe my eyes . . .? They’re so dry, and I’m hungry, and I’m . . .
Gods, I’m thirsty. The cup is filled with one, maybe two good swallows. I allow myself one, and then promptly wish I could spit it back up just so I can give it to Kellan when he wakes up.
When Caleb announces noon of the fifth day, I fight to keep my eyes open. I’ve resorted to pinching myself and pleading with Caleb to yell as loud as he can in my mind, sing annoying songs—anything that will keep me awake.
But the truth is, I think I’ve lost hope.
I’ve just counted to nine hundred when I realize that the only sound in the cave is my voice.
I hold my breath so I can hear better. There is no screaming. No pounding. I stare at the wall I’d reinforced days before, and there, sitting on a large boulder, is the rabbit. It’s wearing a collar, something sparkly. Diamonds, maybe? One of its hind paws comes up and scratches at the gemstones; rays of rainbowed light spread out in massive arcs from where it sits.
I am dazzled.
Chloe!
The room explodes in color. It’s so, so beautiful that I want to cry. Am I crying? I should be crying. Gods, it’s so gorgeous—
CHLOE! FOCUS!
Do you see this? I ask Caleb. It’s like a fairy tale, or . . . I don’t know. Somewhere enchanted and beautiful and I think I could look at it—
THE ELDERS ARE NOT ATTACKING THE CAVE ANYMORE.
The rabbit stops kicking at its collar. Rainbows stretch out toward me and dissipate in a shower of Fourth of July sparklers. I used to love tracing my name with those—
YOU NEED TO FOCUS RIGHT NOW! THE ELDERS MIGHT BE GONE!
Gone, gone? Gone like dust in . . . with? the storms—
FOCUS!
The rabbit’s head cocks towards the wall, one ear twitching violently.
Wake Kellan up, Caleb urges.
The rabbit’s ears stand at attention. And then it nods at me. Shoves its nose in my direction, and it’s so weird, but I feel that wet smudge against the back of my hand. Laughter, scratchy and foreign feeling, scrapes up my throat. ‘Cause, if a rabbit tells me to do it, I’m gonna do it. “Kellan?” I croak. His head is still in my lap, and I shake him lightly. When that doesn’t work, I give him a huge nudge, but he still doesn’t move. I legitimately begin to freak the hell out, but I can’t scream. I’m whisper-babbling, chanting his name like the prayer it is, shaking him like a madwoman and wondering, can nineteen-year-olds be victims of shaken baby syndrome? My eyes flick over to where the rabbit is, but—it’s gone. Again! I get to one hundred and fifteen in Chloe-ese before his eyelids flutter softly.
If I had any tears, I’d cry, my relief is so intense. I stroke his face gently. “It’s quiet. They’ve stopped attacking the cave. There were rainbows everywhere.”
He doesn’t answer me, but his almost black eyes have opened up enough to show me he’s listening.
“I’ll blast us out of here. If they’ve stopped and they’re gone, I’ll get us out of here. I think it’s what the rabbit wants me to do. He’s got a collar on; diamonds, I think.”
Oh, for the love of—I don’t think you have the energy for that, Caleb argues, exasperated, but I dismiss this. I’m going to try, no matter what. I have to. I have to get Kellan out of here.
Where is the rabbit? It should come with us, too.
Wait then, Caleb urges. Because what if they’re just resting? Regrouping? Then it’d be an ambush.
I reluctantly concede, and Caleb nervously ticks off the time in the back of my mind: One minute, two . . . Five . . . Ten . . . Twenty minutes . . . a half hour . . .
Without warning, the ground under us rolls and jolts, much more violently than any of the attempts by the Elders. Hope springs forth. Hope that smells like leftover rainbows and fresh earthquakes.
Earthquakes make me think of Karl. Karl makes me think of Jonah. Jonah, Jonah, bo-bonuh, banana-nana-mana-fanuh, tra-la-lanuh. I really like Jonah’s name. Joooo-nuh.
You made it so nothing can break through the walls or the roof! Why is Caleb screaming so much? You must fix it! If it’s Karl, he won’t get through otherwise!
But, you said to do nothing! That I have nothing in me! But then I spot the rabbit, back on the bolder, nodding its little head. So I focus as intently as I can on the wall in front of me and will it to weaken.
And then I’m adrift, caught in a torrent of water I can’t see that floods the cave and lifts me and Kellan up.
Rock-a-bye, lullaby,
sing yourself to sleep,
row the boat
down the moat
and find yourself something to eat.
Boat. It’d be nice to have a boat. We could just shrink and float through the tubes, down, down, into the middle of the Earth. No, not Earth. Where am I? The Elvin plane? Wonderland.
The rabbit skips across the water—I can almost see it, it’s sparkling like moonlight on the ocean—and comes to float near where Kellan and I are bobbing. No, not bobbing . . . we’re still sitting on something, but . . . not? It reminds me of a game Cora and Lizzie and Meg and I used to play. Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Rumble, shake, lighting strike
float away, in a cave
The rabbit thumps its front paws to the tune in my head. We bop together, my fingers skipping across Kellan’s chest. A girl and rabbit band with skills to pay the bills.
Row, row, row yourselves
Light as a feather, stiff as a—
Lightning streaks before my eyes. So, so bright. So . . . pretty? The water beneath us churns, lifting us up, then down, in a circle, all around. The rabbit grins, and it makes me laugh. We like the waves, me and him. I ought to tell Kellan about them, but he’s still so sleepy.
Rabbits and waves and earthquakes, oh my,
Explosions of light flicker on by.
The waves around us shatter, and instead of raining down water—oh, I should have drank it when I had the chance! Why didn’t I think of that?—there are bits of flying rocks everywhere. The rabbit skips around us, trails of fluorescent light shimmering under each strike of its paws.
I could really use that metal umbrella right about now. Why did I let Kellan talk me out of it?
My name is called, so is Kellan’s, and I laugh, just outright giggle in delight, because Jonah and his voice are a ray of sunshine filtering through the raining rubble. The rocks aren’t even touching him.
The rabbit darts in between his running feet. There are rocks in my hair.
I need a hairbrush.
“Don’t disappear again,” I warn Jonah the moment he drops to where his brother and I are stranded. “Don’t go. Please?”
“I’m here,” he says. I have never, in my entire life, been so happy to see someone as I am at this moment.
“I loooove yoooooou,” I can’t help but sing-song, and every single atom in my body agrees with this. Love for him fills me up and radiates out around me, like the rainbows did in the cave. Love is pink, and pretty, and glittery, and all things good.
Jonah’s hands connect with my body and, with one final glance at the rabbit—wide-eyed pink orbs utterly unblinking as they tell me: Be a good girl; it’s okay to let yourself sleep—my eyelids finally drift shut.