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“Fuck, if you’re going, I’m going too.” Kirk wrapped his arm around Suri’s slim shoulders.
“You don’t even know if there’s land close by.” Peter winced, doing his best to stay standing. Any sign of his drug-addled state was gone. “Please, guys. Don’t do this. I know you’ve all been hurt. I know you’re at your wits end. I know death seems like a vacation at this point but…just trust me. We need to stick together. If we do, we can—”
“I’m sorry.” Kirk shrugged. “This might be the only time we’re allowed out without our collars electrifying us into soup. If we don’t try now…we might never get another chance.” Stepping forward, bringing Suri with him, Kirk clutched Peter around the nape and squeezed. “Be safe, brother.”
Letting Peter go, Kirk glanced at the jewels who’d stepped forward to join him and nodded. “Let’s go.”
They left before any of us could stop them.
The emptiness of their sudden departure made the Temple of Facets all the more oppressive, as if the cave sucked their souls into its ghostly collection.
With a guttural groan, Peter buckled to the ground.
Rachel and I dashed toward him just as another group of jewels banded together and headed toward a black crack to the right. Shooting Peter a look, a brown-haired girl who I thought was called Harper said softly, “We don’t want to swim, but I agree with Kirk. This is our one shot to find a way off this island.”
“There is no way!” Peter shouted. “Not unless we stick together and take them down.”
Harper gave him a sad smile. “You’re talking about war. But all I’m hearing is suicide.”
“Harper’s right,” a curvy Asian girl muttered. “It’s too risky to stick together, and it’s far too risky to think we can fight back. We’ll spread out in the caves. We’ll stand a better chance at hiding in small groups. When it’s dark, we’ll make a raft or something and get the hell away from this place.”
Peter shook his head with a cold laugh. “A raft? Now who’s deluded?”
Harper and her friend didn’t reply.
They just waved and stepped into the crack.
Peter blanched. “No, wait!”
Too late.
More jewels vanished after them, slipping through the stone and swallowed by cave-black darkness.
“Shit!” Peter pushed me away, trying to stand just as a third group of jewels headed toward the left and another crevice partially hidden by a stalagmite and dancing with fake firelight from the torches.
“Don’t even think about it,” he snarled. “There’s no way out that way.” He held up a bleeding, charred hand. “There’s a blowhole that erupts at high tide. You’ll drown—”
“You might’ve been in here before, Peter.” A dark-skinned girl sniffed. “But you can’t know every crag.”
“We’ll go find our Masters,” the strawberry-blonde girl who’d asked if Victor would forgive them before we’d been told to run, said softly. “If we willingly go to them, then they’ll be lenient, and we can forget about this.” Glancing at the small group, she braced her shoulders. “Ready?”
“Ready.” The dark-skinned girl nodded.
I stepped toward them. “Please, don’t. Listen to Peter—”
They vanished too.
And just like that…our thirty somehow became nine.
My knees locked as I smiled at a few familiar faces.
Peter, Rachel, Citra, Mollie, Sonya, myself, a Chinese guy missing two fingers, and two other girls who avoided eye contact.
“Help me up, Rach.” Peter did his best to clamber to his oozing, charcoal feet.
With a heavy sigh, she did as he requested, wincing with her own pain.
I went to them and took my share of Peter’s weight.
