Well . . . maybe. There was Simon, but that might be only a pipe dream. How would you check up on something like that anyway?
“One way or the other,” Peter said, “the Changed are doomed. Either you kill them, their children kill them, or they kill their unaffected children to save themselves. Without children, they’re done for as a species. So, what I’m saying is, yeah, worry about getting eaten, but don’t base your whole future around it.” Peter’s grip on his shoulder tightened. “Chris. You should go to Copper Island with them. Hannah won’t be there. This is your time. Forget the farmland and how hard surviving the first few years will be for a second. Think about the university, the library, the books. Tenured professors hang around until they drop. If some survived, they can help you. You need this just as much as the kids, and maybe more, because you and Tom and Alex and Kincaid and Pru, everyone who’s older . . . you guys are the teachers now. Not just practical stuff like farming and building a house . . .”
“All of which I don’t know how to do.” He slid a bit of baguette onto his tongue and let it dissolve. “Or how to bake bread.”
“But you can learn. I’m totally serious about this. The Dark Ages were dark for a lot of reasons, but mainly because the Church controlled everything and burnt books. People stopped learning and forgot how to dream. Yes, Chris, you might Change. But you also know how to dream in a very particular way.”
“That’s from the drug.” And how should he understand all that: coming back from the dead twice over, what he was able to do now in his dreams—crossing into this place, finding Peter? Were these visions? Hallucinations? Was this really heaven, or only one island in the Land of the Dead?
“No, this is all you now, Chris,” Peter said. “Yes, the drug triggered your ability, but you’re in control.”
“Of what? Do you know what this is, Peter? Do you understand why I was”—he almost said chosen—“. . . how I’m doing this? What it means?”
“No, but that’s what the future’s about, Chris: for you to become and discover who you are. What’s important is that you found me. You brought yourself here, and no one but you can do this. You are truly unique. Now, become more. Dare more. Dream differently, and then teach the kids. Give them the gift of knowledge. Help them learn how to try, because from that springs hope. You may not do it, Chris, but one of these children or their kids will figure out how to turn on the lights again.” Peter’s hand suddenly slid away. “Oh hell. Sorry, but . . .”
“It’s time? Already?” Sudden tears pooled. It didn’t seem right that all this—the mountain and that valley, this lake—could be so perfect when he could feel this sad. “What if I can’t find you again?”
“You will.” Peter’s voice was even and very calm, as if their roles had reversed. “You can come back anytime you want. All you have to do, Chris, is remember how to dream.”
“But I’m afraid.” He closed his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake again, a big one, like I did with Lena. And what about Simon?”
“Simon will be what he will be. You will make mistakes. Count on it. You’re only human. But you’ve found your people, Chris. Go back now. Help them, and let them heal you.” Peter’s hand cupped his neck. “Finish the wine. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
He tipped the last sweet swallow over his tongue. Apples, he decided. Apples and honey.
Then Chris turned to face his friend. “Peter, I—” But he lost what he wanted to say, his voice suddenly stoppering in his throat as Chris finally saw Peter as he was now.
Peter was in the sun. All Chris’s dazzled eyes made out was a stark silhouette: the form of a head and those broad shoulders and strong chest, and that glistening fall of golden hair. The glow around Peter was so very bright, Chris had to close his eyes.
“Shh. I know. I love you, too. It’ll be all right, I promise.” Peter placed a cool hand over Chris’s eyes. “Wake up now, Chris, and give them back the light.”
Peter’s touch bled away. When Chris woke, it was to Ellie, staring down.
“Hi. Sorry, but Tom said we better go while we still have daylight.” She cradled a cloth sack about the size of a softball in both hands. Ghost was behind her. When the dog saw Chris’s eyes open, his right ear perked while the nubbin of his left only twitched.
“Okay.” He lay swaddled in a sleeping bag on fragrant hemlock. He didn’t want to move, not just yet, afraid he would tear the frail web of that vision. Worried he might never get it back.
“Chris.” The girl’s eyes studied his face, her brows puckering in a frown. “Are you going to be okay? Did you have a bad dream again?”
“No,” Chris said, sitting up and swiping away wet from his cheeks. To the west, the sun was just beginning to melt into the lake. The wind had kicked up and now cut a chill down his spine. Clouds were gathering, too, their underbellies glowing a lush peach with the sunset. From high in the trees came the staccato rata-toc-toc-toc-toc of a woodpecker. A scent of wood smoke hung in the air. He looked to the crackling fire, where Alex and Tom perched on low stones. They weren’t speaking, but Chris saw Tom take her hand and their fingers lace. It didn’t hurt, maybe because he was used to it now and this really wasn’t one of those books. It was late April, almost May, and spring was coming, and these were his people.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ellie asked.
“Yes. I’ll be fine.” He reached to cup her cheek. “For once, sweetie, it was a really good dream.”
Space. That was all Tom said when she asked. Give her some time, honey.
Time, space: Ellie just didn’t get that. She had this terrible feeling about Alex that she couldn’t put into words because they were so tangled up in memories of her dad and how weird he was whenever he came back from Iraq. Sleeping on the floor instead of a bed. Just . . . not all there. Like Alex.
And time was almost up. Cupping her cloth bag in both hands, Ellie walked between Chris and Tom as Ghost, Jet, and Buck followed. Tomorrow, they’d leave Mirror Point to make their way from the Waucamaw to Houghton and then across the bridge onto Copper Island. She worried about that, too. Houghton had been this major town. Big towns were trouble, even if they were going to cross the bridge and, maybe, blow it if they had to.
Chris and Tom said they couldn’t hide in the woods forever. All the books and equipment and, maybe, professors as old as Isaac and Kincaid were too valuable to just let die. Tom said someone had to be the first to come out of hiding—leave the wire was what he called it—and make a stand. So, might as well be them.
Yeah, just so I don’t get eaten. She arrowed a quick glance toward Alex, but she was on Tom’s right. All Ellie really got was a glimpse of her hair. Just so Alex comes back all the way. If she could. No . . . that was wrong: if Alex would let herself.
We have to help her stay. Ellie wasn’t sure if she knew how. They had walked for such a long time already. Maybe this was as far as Alex wanted to go. She hadn’t said anything . . . but Ellie just had this feeling.
She even kind of got why. The first night they made camp in the Waucamaw, she’d screwed up her courage and asked Tom about hiking back up to Moss Knob: It’s where me and Alex left Grandpa Jack. It was a long shot; she wasn’t dumb. October happened six months ago and it was the end of April now. Almost spring, which also meant that Ellie wouldn’t have to wear a parka, like, every single second. Although Alex said spring always came late to the Upper Peninsula—it was why all the trees were still bare and it got cold at night—and they still might get snow. Heck, Alex once saw snow in June when she and her folks went to Marquette and Alex’s dad dared her to jump off Blackrocks because, sometimes, you just feel like a nut.
Mostly, what Ellie liked? That Alex told a story about her parents. It made for a really good time, even if Alex went off to her own tent and away from them after that. Ellie didn’t know why Alex giving them that story was important, but she had a feeling that stories were a kind of remembering. (Like reading to them around the fire at night, another good thing Alex was doing: A Wrinkle in Time, one of Peter’s books. A pretty terrific story Alex said her mom read to her.) And look, Alex gave her the whistle back, said Ellie should keep it safe. Alex still wore Mickey. So if Alex trusted them with all these memories—books and stories and a whistle—that was good, right? You didn’t give memories to just anybody, right?
Anyway, Tom had listened about Moss Knob and then said, “Ellie, if that’s what you want, of course, I’ll help you. But honey, I honestly don’t think he’ll be there. It’s been a long time.”
She wasn’t a stupid little kid anymore. Tom didn’t have to say the rest. Dumb idea. So they didn’t go. But that didn’t mean Grandpa Jack’s ghost wasn’t still hanging around on Moss Knob. That made her sad and a little guilty, too. Like when they walked out of here, his ghost would be lonely. If she could just figure a way to fix that . . .
“Oh, guys,” Alex suddenly said, and Ellie heard the wonder in her voice. “Look.”
Ellie looked up. Just a few feet away, the trail petered out. What she first spied were the gold underbellies of clouds above and a huge expanse of blue-black water below, spread as far as the eye could see: away into forever. The trees simply ended. In four more steps, Ellie found herself on the narrow crescent of a towering sandstone bluff heavy with moss. To her right, a waterfall cascaded over red and brown and yellow rocks in a silver-white ribbon. She could hear the tick of the dogs’ nails over stone, and hoped like crazy they didn’t slip, because it was a long way down. This being Mirror Point, she wondered if you really could see yourself from way up here. From the clouds in the water, she thought you just might. (The clouds, which had been with them ever since they’d come to the Waucamaw, totally blew. Because Ellie had kept an eye on that moon. Hadn’t said anything to anyone. But she kept turning it over: what if.)
