A plane sounded overhead. Waves below us splashed against our three little boats. Oars hit and rose from the water, each rotation taking us farther and farther from the life we had to leave behind. Jacob looked up, and I could only wonder what he was thinking. I needed to give him more credit - he may have decided not to go to college, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He was smarter than me, probably, and his thought process was a lot more profound than mine - if that made sense. I could see him being an author, like his father. Maybe, if we survived the journey, he could write down our story one day.
Time went by slowly - after just half an hour I felt like we should have arrived at our destination. Of course, we wouldn't reach mainland Wales for another few hours, and I was beginning to grow bored. That boredom was temporarily put to rest when Horace tapped my shoulder, letting me know silently that it was my turn to row. As soon as he sat down where I had been, he asked loudly how far we had left to go. I looked at Emma, who had a simple map of Wales and its islands. After a contemplative moment, she replied.
"Seven kilometers?" she shouted back, sounding quite unsure. Millard, who was in my boat and examining the Map of Days, looked up at that, a frown on his face.
"Make that eight and a half," he corrected, and the rest of us let out a collective groan. Once Horace and I switched back, I would request to stay that way - I hated boats, and after just a few moments of rowing, I was already feeling queasy. Now, with eight and a half kilometers between us and our destination, I felt even sicker. If we were back in 2013, a ferry could have made the distance in about an hour. I dreaded few things more than the idea of the harrowing boat ride ahead. One of these things, of course, were the monsters that were set on our deaths - hollowgasts, and to a lesser extent, wights.
Those goddamn creatures - I couldn't bring myself to consider wights humans, despite their likenesses to us - were somewhere below us in a German submarine, a thought that only made me feel worse. I wondered if they already knew we'd fled the island - if they didn't, they would soon find out. Another plane flew overhead, causing me to flinch and nearly drop the oars in my hands. I just hoped we'd reach the mainland before night fell.
---
By noon I was sure we all regretted not bringing fresh water with us. I was glad Horace was alright with not switching anymore, so only Fiona and Millard switched from time to time - even then, Millard would ask for a little extra time to study the Map. The only two downsides I saw to not rowing were that I was constantly bored, and I felt bad for not doing my share of the work. I knew I would have to make up for it later on.
While I sat, waiting in the center of the boat, my mind had time to wander. What could my parents possibly think about my call? It had been long enough now that they'd be awake - what would they make of it now that their thoughts were no longer covered by a blanket of sleep? How would Kev react to seeing the twin room keys back on the counter without so much as a goodbye note? I was only overthinking, but the burning sun and monotonous rhythm of oars hitting the waves were slowly driving me crazy - not to mention my lack of sleep.
Somewhere in my growing delirious state, I began wishing for Bronwyn's strength - she was rowing a whole boat by herself. She made it look easy; there was hardly a bead of sweat on her forehead and her boat had more cargo than the other two, that cargo being Claire, Olive, and several heavy trunks. In these trucks were several practical things, like clothes and food and books the children couldn't bear to leave behind. However, as one may expect from peculiar children, there were some more peculiar items as well - for instance, Enoch had packed a few jars of disembodied animal hearts, and Hugh was sure to store the house's front doorknob in a pocket in his bag. He'd found it in the grass on our way from the house and refused to leave without it - none of us could object, nor could we object Horace's request to bring along his lucky pillow, which he said helped keep his worst nightmares at bay.
There were some items, however, that were just too precious to even let go of. Myself, for instance, and a portrait I'd painted of Millard. Even for the short time I had been rowing, I had held it between my knees, just as Fiona was doing with a pot of worm infested dirt from the garden she used to tend. Millard - the invisible boy and, admittedly, the object of my affection - had streaked ash across his face as a sort of mourning ritual. I hadn't the heart to tell him he looked sort of ridiculous doing it.
I was surprised when he flipped the Map of Days closed and switched spots with Fiona, allowing her time to rest after nearly an hour and a half of rowing. Not twelve hours ago he'd been shot near his collar bone, though I supposed if he thought he could manage rowing, I wouldn't object. I, too, had been shot, though the bullet merely grazed my arm. It wasn't nearly as bad as Millard's injury. I felt bad that I couldn't help with rowing, but my fear of boats was nearly crippling - I almost didn't get in.
Three harrowing hours passed, and the only telltale sign that we had been going anywhere was the very island we were leaving behind, fading into the distance the more we rowed. It looked tiny now, almost as if I could hold it in my hand. It seemed I wasn't the only one who noticed the island's gradual disappearance, for Enoch rose quickly, causing his boat to wobble a bit.
"Look! It's disappearing!" he shouted, pointing a finger in the direction of the island. Those who were rowing stopped, and we all focused on the home we were leaving behind as tendrils of fog hid it from view.
"It's time to say goodbye," Emma said, a frown on her face as she said what we were all probably thinking. She stood as well and removed her sunhat as a sign of respect. "This may be that last time we see it."
"Farewell, island. You were very good to us," Hugh began, a couple bees flying out of his mouth as if they too were saying goodbye.
Horace began waving goodbye, and I couldn't help but notice a tear streak down Millard's cheek, breaking up some of the ash. It was then that I remembered his book, and how it would forever and always be unfinished. All those years of close documentations had gone to waste along with his home. "Goodbye, house," Horace said, invading my thoughts. "I will miss all your rooms and gardens, but most of all, I will miss my bed." I wanted to laugh at that, but I knew I couldn't.
"Goodbye, loop," Olive spoke next, wiping at her own tears. "Thank you for keeping us safe after all these years."
"Good years," Bronwyn added. I swear I could feel my heart break and drop. "The best years I've known."
I felt that I would be intruding if I voiced my own goodbye, so instead, I kept it internal. I would forever be tied to this island, just as each of the others would be. I may not have had the memories of many years spent there, but I knew that this place had changed me nonetheless. This place, this island, would forever be in my memories and the memories of all the children it was home to over the years. I began to wonder: if I were to die tomorrow, what would I be remembered for? It saddened me to think about, really, but I wanted to be known for something I did, not the person I was. I was more than just the girl who could see ghosts. I don't think people realized that.
As I watched the island fade from view and the others kept rowing, I wondered how long I had left before I too disappeared. Nothing could last forever, not even memories. One day, the house would be long forgotten, along with all the children who once called it home. I, too, would be forgotten. A tear slipped down my cheek, but someone wiped it away. I looked away from the house - or where it had been, at least - to see Millard, who had switched with Fiona once more. His eyes were worried, his smile was sad. I took his hand and squeezed it, silently letting him know that I would be okay. We would all be okay.
I looked back toward the island, and just for a second, I saw the tips of its tallest trees peek out from behind the fog. I knew then that we would never be forgotten. I couldn't let it happen. The island disappeared from view for the very last time, hidden at last by the growing fog. I wondered for a moment if it had ever been there at all.
---
It wasn't long after we'd lost sight of the island that the fog caught up with us, surrounding us in a shroud of white. Though it was just noon, the sun was a blurred white splotch that was merely brighter than everything else. My stomach turned - we couldn't see where we were going and I could have sworn I heard thunder in the distance. Everyone who was rowing stopped, but without the gentle splash of oars hitting the water, things felt off. I suddenly realized how silent the world had become. There, surrounded by fog with no signs of where we were coming from or where we were going, I felt like we were trapped in a never-ending abyss of suffocating white. The silence was becoming nearly stifling and the air was beginning to grow thick until Bronwyn spoke up.
"I don't like this at all. If we stay still for too long it'll be night and bad weather'll be the least of our problems," she said.
As if the world decided it would be funny to screw us over, the wind picked up and it didn't matter that we couldn't see where we were going anymore because all we needed to see was below us. The waves grew dangerously choppy and capped with white foam, washing over the sides of our boats and tossing us around. There was a louder clap of thunder and rain began to fall, abnormally large drops of water slapping against our skin and chilling us to the bone in seconds. I couldn't help but think back to what one of the men on the ferry Jacob and I took to the island said: this stretch of sea had taken many lives over the years. My stomach dropped again - we were probably next.
"Turn into the waves! They'll flip us if they can hit the sides!" Bronwyn shouted, her voice rising above the loud crashing of waves as she cut through the water with her oars. Fiona and Horace, who were rowing our boat, tried to abide but failed - after hours upon hours of rowing, they were just too tired. I could tell Jacob and Hugh were probably just as worn out. But I wasn't. I turned towards Horace and held out my hands, silently asking for the oars, dismissing how much having to deal with redirecting a boat in stormy waters scared me. He smiled graciously and handed me the oars before clutching his hat and switching spots with me.
Upon sitting back down, I invested all my might in steering the boat around, but Fiona seemed to think I had enough strength to do it on my own, for she dropped her own set of oars and clutched the gunwales for dear life. It seemed that the others had the same idea - me and Bronwyn were the only two still making an effort to not capsize. Without Fiona's assistance, the weight I had to carry was twice as much, but so was my determination. Unfortunately, every ounce of resolution in me disappeared at the sight of a wall of water rushing towards us, gaining height to the point that it could wash over all three boats at once.
It didn't though, but rather our boats began to climb the wave. I dropped the oars as soon as I began to feel the boat lift and clutched to the sides of the boat instead, hoping that it would be enough to keep me alive. I quickly dropped back into the middle of the boat, and Millard pushed past Horace to grab ahold of me, paying no attention to his injury as he did. I thought I was cold, but Millard would probably have hypothermia if the weather carried on like it was. While I was dressed in a sensible pair of capris, a tank top - one that wasn't covered in the blood of myself and Millard - and a hoodie, Millard was in just a pair of pants - for my sake - and the bandage binding his bullet wound.
I was compelled to hug him, as it was the only thing I could think of to keep us both warm-ish, so I did, pressing the Map of Days between our chests so that he didn't have to worry about holding onto three things at once. We each had one arm around each other and the other clutching the side of the boat, and as the boat tipped over the top of the wave, everything we weren't holding onto came flying out: my bag of clothes and snack food that I'd been carrying along with me since Florida, a couple other bags - I couldn't tell whose were whose anymore - and my painting of Millard, streaked with ash and rain which caused the paint to run. It didn't even matter that I lost it - it was ruined. That thought didn't seem to register in my head until after I had let go of Millard and reached for it a little too late, tumbling over the side along with it, hitting the back of my head against the side of another boat as I went. I felt the wind and water strike my skin and tear tendrils of my hair from its ponytail before I hit the water.
The impact was more painful than a bullet, and I would know. Dark water surged around me and pulled at my hair. I could have sworn I saw a fish swim by my sneaker-clad foot. Everything was blurry, then I realized that I could see three large greenish-bluish-brownish blobs just above me - the boats! I willed myself to swim towards them but I couldn't bring myself to do it. The water stopped moving so wildly up above but my vision was blurred by the red intruding my sight. I finally recognized the pain at the back of my head that was different than the stinging of hitting the water at such a breakneck speed. Instead, it was the stinging of salt touching a wound, and I remembered that I'd hit my head. My hand grazed something - whether it was a bag or a shark I couldn't tell. The blobs above me seemed to be growing smaller, but I didn't remember them being so dark. Everything was just too blurry...
---
A bought of coughs shook my body and mind awake and seconds later I was being jerked up and pressed against something - a body? The ground beneath me was solid but rocking back and forth, so I was able to piece together that we were still in the boats. My eyes finally focused on something not too far away - Jacob's face, scared and worried, and Emma right next to him. Just beyond her, perched on the very tip of the bow, sat Miss Peregrine, her feathers still sopping wet. I refocused on the person who was hugging me - Millard, of course - and hugged him back tightly, or at least I tried, what with my weakened arms. He released me almost immediately and looked me in the eyes, keeping one hand on the arm that hadn't been shot and the other cradling my cheek.
"You scared us all half to death," he said softly, though a small smile was on his face. "Jacob performed-" he stopped and looked up at Jake. "What was it, again?"
"CPR," he replied, then chuckled at the blush rising on my cheeks. "Just chest compressions, though," he elaborated, setting my mind at ease. I finally took a look around, noticing how much our surroundings had changed. Now there were only two boats between the twelve of us, and Bronwyn sat rowing in the second one next to a rope that extended into the clouds. Hugh, Fiona, Horace, and Claire were with her in her boat and kept glancing up, leading me to believe that Olive was up in the clouds and Enoch was somewhere behind me. But what were Bronwyn and Olive doing?
Noticing my confused look, Millard spoke. "We lost the map, so Olive is leading us to shore. We found her dangling at the end of that rope just after Bronwyn pulled you up about forty-five minutes ago. We've been moving for nearly half an hour, now. We were about to give up on resuscitating you, but you pulled through."
I smiled at him but had to stop when a sharp pain began throbbing at the back of my head. I reached up and touched the spot where it hurt before pulling my hand back to see blood. I looked down where my head had been laying on the floor of the boat to see blood seeping through what was left of the water settled on the bottom.
"God," Jacob said, sighing as he did. "You two are the most injury-prone people I know." I couldn't help but laugh at that as I pulled off my maroon hoodie and held it to my wound. At least the bloodstains wouldn't show up on it, unlike the white tank-top I had to throw out just that morning.
After another moment of filling me in on all that had happened while I was out - not much, to say the least - we got Enoch to give up his seat so I could lean against it and rest. Slowly but surely we made our way to the shore, the only indication of time passing being the slowly setting sun. The fog swirled around us, reminding me only slightly of ghosts - if ghosts could fly and melt together to create a big gray mass. In the last couple moments before sleep overtook me, I rested my head - the side that wasn't bleeding - on Millard's shoulder and let myself think. Then thinking became wondering, and wondering became fantasizing, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and fantasizing finally became dreaming.