Summer Island - A Prince in Peril

15 - The Trek

Six children huddled together against the cold stone of the cave. Some were still damp from swimming. Two were wearing jeans soaked nearly to the waist. One was drenched completely. Most of them had scrapes and bruises from where they had fallen or grazed the rock surrounding them. One was still crying. All of them were scared.

Although they hadn't heard the voices for over an hour, they didn't dare go outside to see whether or not it was safe. They had decided together, in hushed and urgent discussion, it was better to stay put and leave when it was light. The bluff was flat and they would be able to see if anyone was around.

"Unless they're in the woods." Zoë was shivering more than the others. Her teeth chattered as she spoke. "It's so dense-we wouldn't be able to see four meters in."

"Here." Seymour passed her his sleeping bag. "This one isn't as damp."

Greta was sure Zoë would refuse. She seemed too proud to admit her thin frame was taking this the hardest. But she accepted the gift gratefully and handed hers back to her cousin.

"Thanks." Zoë curled up even tighter and Greta scooted closer to her.

She thought she couldn't possibly admire Zoë any more than she already had. The girl was just three years older but nothing seemed to scare her. Greta could still see her jumping back into the water, her mind and will set. Come to think of it, the behavior of her friends during tonight's terrifying escapade had heightened her respect for each of them. Despite the fact that she had seen her brother nearly bashed unconscious against the deadly rocks, Dinora had still managed to draw on some reserve fortitude. She may be crying, Greta thought, but she did what we needed her to do. We wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for her. Sure, we are cold and tired and scared. But we're alive, and for the moment at least, safe. Each of them had given all of themselves. Together they had survived an ordeal where survival wasn't a guarantee-not by a long shot. She was proud of them, proud of herself.

Mario could not have felt more different. How could I be so stupid? Desperately, he tried to think of the clues he'd missed. He blamed himself. I'm the oldest, he chastised. I should have been more alert, more careful. He tried not to let his mind admit his real feelings but he was drawn there nonetheless. He was angry with himself, certainly. He was disappointed in how careless he'd been. Mostly though, he was scared-terrified actually. I could have gotten them killed.

It was with this thought in his mind that he drifted off to sleep.

When Mario next opened his eyes, the cave was still pitch-black. He listened intently and was able to distinguish five separate patterns of slumbered breathing. As depleted as he was, he still wasn't able to do more than rest his eyes. This was due in part to his incredible discomfort-wet jeans and beaten body against ice cold rock. Mostly, however, it was his conscience which kept him awake. He knew they were probably safe, and logic dictated he would be of more use to the group tomorrow if he were rested. Still, he stayed awake, guarding the people he'd endangered, the people who were dearest in the world to him.

When he judged it to be close to sunrise, Mario rose-still soaked and sore but now stiff as well. He took the torch and crept into the tunnel. A few minutes later he saw the soft light of dawn peeking through the entrance. He turned off his light and trod slowly out into the open. The sky and sea couldn't have been more peaceful. It was a mockery of the night before and struck a bitter chord in Mario's heart. He turned and hoisted himself up just enough to peer over the edge. Nothing. It was as tranquil as the view behind him. Whoever had been there the night before, they were gone. Now there wasn't a soul in sight. Not even their horses.

* * *

"For the millionth time, I know I tied them correctly." Seymour's voice was hoarse from screaming in the salt air of the night before. His was not the only one. They were all still wet and many had begun sneezing. Mario's wounds, now that there was enough light to see, were even worse than he had let on. Zoë had a fever. They might have been a formidable team any day of the week, but now they were a dismal bunch, bedraggled and in need of more than a little tender, loving care.