Wendy Darlin'

Chapter Eighteen - The Lost Boys

I spend most of the day in bed, until the woman caring for me, called Linda, decides I am well enough to eat. I do not ask her for help as she leads the way out of her one roomed house. 

It sits among other make-shift huts, a large area in the middle of the houses cleared for a fire pit for cooking, surrounded by logs. It's evening and there is a light rain in the air. I settle down on a log next to a small boy, as it is the only space left over. Linda passes me a cracked, clay bowl full of stew. I feel out of place as they joke around with one another, I have never had such a casual meal. Everyone seemed so comfortable around everyone else, no meaningless pleasantries bothered with, and it wasn't long before I was immersed in one old mans conversation about the time he caught an alligator with only a hook and line. I was surprised he wouldn't drop down dead in the middle of his tale, his frail frame and wispy hair added years to what might be a perfectly healthy man. He has a remarkable appearance, his face weathered and old yet his eyes are young and haunted with a vicious memory you can tell he grasps on to. He has a stump for a hand and a crooked back, a long nose with a chunk missing, possible from a violent fight. 

He finishes his story and I feel the time is right to ask these people what they know about the lost boys. 

The child next to me fidgets uncomfortably at the mention of their name.  Silence hits the camp like a fist. I turn my eyes down to my stew, ashamed I have bought a shifty silence to the group. 

The young boy sitting next to me pinches my arm and scurries up, hastily leaving his unfinished bowl on the log before tripping over his own legs, gesturing for me to follow. I notice the rest of the group are still poking at their dinners, heads down, no sense of emotion except distaste in my question. 

I ignore it and follow the child into what I can only guess to be the hut he lives in. His age is around eleven. 

"We don't speak of those demons, mama calls them." He says as he sits down on the bed, patting it lightly to indicated me to join him. "She says they ain't no good for the world, bin causing havoc before they got plagued."

"Plagued?" I ask. "Do you know the effects of this plague?" I feel I must warn as many people as I can. 

"Yeah. Sure I do. I escaped before I got it. I came here, I did."

"Where were you before?"

"I was a Lost One. I got out real quick, I did. Peter never liked me much. Told me I was useless, after I shot the lady outta the sky. He got real mad, I knew my time was nearly out."

My mind is racing. I lean in closer, intrigued by his words, my hand absentmindedly reaching for my chest, a place where a necklace may lay.  "What is your name?"

"My name? Tootles. I think. I made it up after I forgot my name."

His name hits me, and I remember him. "Tootles, I'm Wendy. Do you remember me?"

His face contorts in concentration. "No. I might... No, sorry."

I sigh. "That's okay. Tootles, have you seen anyone acting... Plagued?"

His face lights up, pleased he can answer a question he seems to know the answer to. "Yes. Some of the older men send them deep into the forest, but everyone is changing."

"Do you feel funny at all?"

"No! Not at all."

He's immune, I realise. His mother or father never replaced him. 

That doesn't stop the other villagers from being infected. 

"Tootles, I'm going to help you, but we have to go, we can't stay here."

"Can I say goodbye to mama?"

I sigh yet again. I want to get this boy home, somewhere safe, at least. He isn't here, he isn't at all. "She isn't your mother, Tootles. Your mother is at home, and I'm sure she misses you dearly."

"Will she be kind to me?"

"Most certainly."

"My mama hits me."

"This one won't. I swear on my life." That's enough to swear on. Peter is depending on my living to bring him back. 

Tootles jumps up before me, holding out his hand for me to shake. "I am Tootles!" He says with childish joy, seizing the chance for a game. "And I'm going home!"

"I am Wendy!" I say, jumping up and grabbing his hand enthusiastically. "And I'm going to help you!"

***

Tootles and I set off for the Lost Boys camp an hour ago. He took some convincing, telling me he only managed to escape by the skin of his teeth, but the boy is always up for an adventure, everyone is, in the end. 

I'm not letting him into the camp. I'm not going to kill him. When we start to hear the wild cat-calls and haunting giggles of the Lost Boys, I tell Tootles he needs to wait for me here, by a large tree Peter marked on the map. He claims he shouldn't let a lady fight, that he should go instead, but once I tell him there is the possibility of death, he silences. 

I wave him good-bye as I make my way down the old, grown over path, dead leaves crunching under foot and thorns catching on my garb. The noises erupting from the camp become louder and more ferocious with every step I take. 

I hold my breath as the maddened cries come to an abrupt stop. 

"Who's there?!"

"Whoooo is it?!"

"Come out come out come out!"

These boys have the cure. 

They have what can heal Peter. 

It comes to my realisation that they are long gone. The cure won't help them anymore. 

After always putting others first, it is my turn to be selfish.

I step out from behind the tree I hide. I hold my head high and walk into the Lost Boys camp.