John collapsed.
There was a moment of stillness as the echoes of the shot faded.
“John?” Michael stepped toward where John’s body lay in a heap.
Nana whined at Wendy’s side.
“Wait—” Wendy said, but before she could finish, another bang rang out.
Michael dropped to the ground.
Twelve-year-old Wendy didn’t move. Her chest heaved, her breath ragged. Nana whined more urgently, on the verge of a yelp.
Wendy stared at her brothers. “John?” She stepped closer. “Michael?” Neither boy moved or spoke.
John lay on his back, his legs bent at odd angles. Michael was curled up on his side.
Their eyes stared, open but unseeing.
“Stop playing, you guys. This isn’t funny,” Wendy said as she crept closer to them.
Crouched low, Nana inched ahead, snuffling at the ground. Her paws crunched in the snow. She nosed Michael’s limp arm.
Red blossomed on the chest of his shirt.
It spilled from John’s neck, pooling and melting through the snow.
A sob caught in Wendy’s throat.
Nana crooned, nudging and butting John and Michael, circling and crying. Red caught in her creamy fur.
Wendy stood there, frozen on the spot. Standing in the snow, staring at her fallen brothers, her entire body began to quake.
The sound of feet stomping through the woods made Wendy jump, shaking her from her trance. She looked around frantically before running behind a set of trees standing closely together. She crawled under the large shrubs at their base.
Nana ran frantically back and forth between John and Michael, her tail tucked between her legs.
A man in a bright red plaid flannel jacket stumbled into the clearing. He wore a fur-lined hunter’s hat. A rifle was slung over his back. His back was to Wendy, but she could see a beer bottle gripped in his hand.
Nana placed herself square between the man and John and Michael. Sweet Nana, usually so gentle and doting, bared her teeth and growled.
“Nana?” the man asked. His voice was familiar, confused. “’ Ey, get outta here,” he slurred, kicking up snow at Nana. Nana flinched but refused to move. With snapping jaws, she began to bark fiercely.
“HEY!” the man shouted this time. He stuck his beer bottle in the snow and removed the rifle from his shoulder.
Terror locked up every muscle in Wendy’s body.
But he aimed it into the sky and shot off another round. The shell spun through the air and fell to the snow.
Nana recoiled and bolted out of the clearing.
“Dumb dog,” the man grumbled, hitching the gun back onto his shoulder as Nana ran away. “Gonna get yourself shot runnin’ ’round like that.” With a large hand, he swiped the hat off his head.
Cold shock crashed over Wendy, robbing her of breath.
Mr. Davies wiped the sweat from his brow on the sleeve of his red plaid flannel. “What’ve we got,” he mumbled to himself as he walked up to the old tree.
He stopped suddenly. John’s and Michael’s bodies lay slumped on the ground before him.
Mr. Davies fell to his knees. “No! No, no, no!” His voice was much clearer now, pitched with horror. He shook John and Michael, but they didn’t stir. He muttered to himself as he looked around wildly.
Wendy hunkered lower in her hiding spot, stuffing her hands against her mouth to stifle herself.
Mr. Davies struggled to his feet and, tripping over himself, ran back in the direction he had come from.
When the footsteps faded, Wendy crawled out from her hiding spot and rushed to her brothers. “John, Michael!” She collapsed beside them and shook them as hard as she could. “Wake up!” she pleaded. “Please, wake up!” Wendy doubled over. Her body shook with violent sobs. The cold, hard ground pressed painfully into her knees.
Wendy had never felt so powerless. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she thought she might vomit from the sheer horror of reliving her younger self weeping over the bodies of her dead brothers. She felt the urge to run away, to pull back and refuse to let herself see the rest, but there was more noise in the underbrush.
Peter descended through the trees, swiftly flying down to land a few feet from where Wendy cowered. It was the same version of Peter that she’d seen in her memories of Neverland. A young boy with wild auburn hair, dressed in clothes made of thick leaves.
He saw Wendy crying over the bodies of her brothers and froze. “Wendy?” he said.
Wendy looked up, tears streaming down her face. Recognition struck her in her heart, desperation quick on its heels. “Peter, help, please help!” she begged through sobs.