CHAPTER 18: THE FIRST ESCAPE
Dawn arrived without fanfare—just a gradual lightening of the darkness, gray seeping into the cave's depths through cracks I couldn't see.
Jack was already awake, which meant he'd never slept. Neither had I, really. Too much planning. Too much fear.
"Ready?" he whispered.
"No."
"Perfect. The best escapes happen when nobody's ready."
The guards changed shifts at first light—I'd counted the timing, memorized the pattern. Two men left, two men arrived. During the transition, there was a gap of perhaps thirty seconds where neither pair was fully alert.
That was our window.
"You know what to do?" Jack asked.
"Pretend you're dying. Get the guard to open the cell. Take him down while I watch for threats."
"Simple plans are the best plans." Jack positioned himself near the cell door, then began to cough—deep, wracking coughs that sounded genuinely horrible. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, making sounds like a man in his death throes.
He's good, I thought. Frighteningly good.
The approaching guards heard the noise. One of them—still human enough in the torchlight to pass for alive—peered through the bars.
"What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know!" I injected panic into my voice. "He started coughing blood! I think he's dying!"
The guard hesitated. Jack's coughs intensified, becoming wet and horrible.
"Please! If he dies, Barbossa will blame you! He wanted us alive!"
That did it. The guard cursed, fumbled with keys, and yanked the cell door open.
The moment he stepped inside, Jack's dying act transformed into explosive violence. He came up from his crouch with something in his hand—a rock, broken from the cell floor during the night—and drove it into the guard's temple.
The guard dropped.
I was already moving. The second guard raised his weapon, but my precognition screamed left and I was already there, inside his guard, driving my elbow into his throat. He choked, staggered. Jack finished him with another rock to the skull.
Two guards down. Thirty seconds used.
"Keys." Jack stripped them from the fallen man. "Let's move."
We ran.
The cave passages were a maze—branching tunnels, dead ends, sudden drops into black water. But Jack moved with the confidence of a man who'd been here before. Maybe he had, ten years ago, before Barbossa's mutiny.
And I had my precognition.
Danger left. I grabbed Jack's arm, pulled him right.
Danger ahead. We doubled back, took a different passage.
Clear, clear, clear—
"How are you doing that?" Jack hissed as we ducked into an alcove.
"Told you. I sense threats."
"That's more than sensing. That's—"
Footsteps. We pressed ourselves against the stone, barely breathing.
A patrol passed—three skeletal pirates, moonlight not needed to reveal their curse now that my Sight flickered constantly. Their chains pulsed with that same hungry rhythm, pulling toward the treasure chamber.
They passed without looking into our alcove.
We waited. Counted heartbeats.
"Now," Jack whispered.
We moved again.
The cave exit was close—I could smell fresh air, salt water, the Caribbean night giving way to Caribbean dawn. Hope surged in my chest.
Then we reached the final passage, and hope died.
A dozen cursed pirates guarded the small boats. Full skeletal forms in the dim light, cutlasses drawn, arranged in a semicircle around the only escape route.
"Ah." Jack stopped short. "That's unfortunate."
"We can't fight them all."
"We can't fight any of them. They can't die."
"Then we—"
"I do admire initiative."
Barbossa's voice echoed from behind us. We spun to find him emerging from a side passage, flanked by more crew. His skeletal face somehow conveyed amusement.
"Most prisoners give up after the first night. Few attempt escape. Fewer still get this far." He clapped his bone-hands together in mockery of applause. "Impressive, truly."
Jack's mask slid back into place. "Captain Barbossa! I was just showing my friend here the, ah, scenic route—"
"Spare me." Barbossa gestured to his crew. "Take them. Separate cells this time. And remove that man's boots—" he pointed at Jack "—he clearly hides things in them."
Rough hands grabbed us. I fought on instinct, but there were too many of them. A guard shoved me hard; I bit my tongue and tasted blood.
Small pain, I told myself. Focus.
They dragged us back through the caves, back toward the brig. This time, they threw us into different cells—Jack one direction, me another.
As the distance between us grew, I watched that golden thread in my Sight. It stretched thin, pulled taut like a rope about to snap.
But it didn't break.
Whatever connected me to Jack Sparrow—it was stronger than distance. Stronger than stone walls. Stronger than I'd imagined.
Barbossa paused at my cell before leaving.
"You have interesting reflexes," he said. "The way you move before attacks land. The way you knew where my men would be before they were there."
I met his hollow gaze and said nothing.
"I've lived a long time, boy. Seen things that would drive most men mad. I recognize supernatural gifts when I see them." He leaned closer to the bars, bones creaking. "When this is over—when I'm flesh again—you and I are going to have a conversation about exactly what you are."
He walked away, leaving me in the darkness.
Through the walls, I could feel Jack's presence—that golden thread pulsing gently, confirming that distance wouldn't sever whatever bound us.
The escape had failed.
But we'd proven something important: we worked well together. Jack's cunning and my precognition made us formidable.
Next time, we'd need more than formidable.
Next time, we'd need a miracle.
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