Taken (On Hold)

Chapter 9

We are standing in front of a tall, iron fence. It encircles a huge stretch of land. I can't see the end of it from where I stand. Sharp spikes line the top of the fence. They only add to my sense of impending doom. The heavy iron gate is ajar.

The bars of the fence through which I stare at the graves give me the image of a prison. That's not helping the ominous mood at all. Rows and rows of tombstones weave back and forth inside the gate. They all seem to be large slabs of gray rock, with illegible writing scratched into it. No fancy crosses or what not. It's nice to know that if we die here, we'll all get such a nice, honorable burial. Not.

Oh, gosh. Remember the extreme feeling of fear, dread, and anticipation (the bad kind) that I had when I first found out I was Taken? Imagine that - multiplied by about a thousand. That's how I feel right now. I can feel my pulse quickening, my heart racing, my breathing growing uneven.

No, Megan, don't jump to any conclusions. The last thing you need to do right now is freak out. I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for the graveyard that doesn't involve the Taken dying. Like . . .

"Maybe this was already here, before people started being Taken," I suggest hopefully. "It could be a family graveyard or something, for the people who live . . . on this deserted island . . . in the middle of nowhere . . . " I trail off, realizing instantly how farfetched my idea was.

Amy Rose laughs humorlessly. "I wish," she says. "But do you really think a family of thousands of people lived here with their own personal graveyard?" So much for logical.

"It could be a cemetery for many generations of a family," I argue, though I know my argument is weak. "Say this cemetery is hundreds, even thousands of years old?"

"So you think that one family has been using the same graveyard for several hundred generations? The Smith family: using the Smith graveyard since 1250," she says sarcastically.

I open my mouth to protest, but Amy Rose cuts in. "Besides, the graves are dated," she says with a note of finality in her voice. "The earliest are from one hundred and seven years ago." She stops and waits for that to sink in.

I've heard that number before, but where? "That sounds really familiar," I say, racking my brains, "but I can't place it."

"That would be the year 2103?" she prompts further.

I've heard this somewhere. I know I have, but . . . "It's no use," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not gonna be able to remember it."

"That was the year the Great War occurred," Amy Rose explains quietly, referring to the war for Hawaiian independence. "I thought you were the one who paid attention in Nuwe Hawaiian history, not me."

"I did," I defend myself. "I just didn't think I would need to know it anymore. So I let myself forget it."

"Sure," Amy Rose says, nodding. "If believing that makes you feel better about forgetting such a basic date, then by all means, go ahead. But anyways, that wasn't the important part of the date."

I frown. "Then what is?"

"That was the year the first people were Taken."

Jen. Before I can stop myself, I am tearing towards the open gate, even though I dread what I might find.

"Megan, calm down!" Amy Rose grabs me, holding me fast before I have a chance to enter the cemetery. "This is a bit of a shock for you. You need to take this slowly. Trust me."

I look at her. "I need to know if Jen - "

"Slowly," she repeats firmly. I don't freak out about things much, but Amy Rose know me well enough to know that when I do, it can get pretty bad.