chapter 2

Chapter Two

The island Dumberkew was large, the whole island itself just about the size of a small state and full of rugged, rural land of forests, jungles, mountains, gorges and lush valleys, surrounded by waves of salt water. But only a section of Dumberkew was actually settled, inhabited, cultured, and advanced. Beyond that strip of land lay miles and miles of rugged, rural, wild and dangerous land. Only Reagan Dumberkew himself was brave enough to venture out into the unknown, and he didn’t come back without horror stories that kept many of the island’s inhabitants awake at night.

He died on the day he was supposed to go on another expedition, one he claimed “important” but never actually said anything more about it. His son insisted that he was murdered, for Reagan showed no signs of sickness and he was only fifty years old at the time. So he packed up and moved out to find the supposed killer…and never returned.

It was soon after this incident that the Border of Inhabitable and Uninhabitable Land was formed between civilization and the rest of Dumberkew, and it was proclaimed that only fools would cross it.

However, the Dumberkew Inhabitable Zone (as the civilization was named) was a dead-end place, surrounded in the back and sides by deep trenches of ocean and the borderline. And over the years, it grew. It grew in population. The villages became cities. The cities were widened, lengthened. More villages were made. More cities (these cities were more like expanded villages with smaller, less fancy, villa’s like Margaret Dumberkew’s) were built.

Anyone with a vigilant eye could see that if population kept growing like so, people would be forced to start moving past the borderline. And the person with a such vigilant eye was fifteen-year-old Sally Dumberkew.

It was three months after Margaret Dumberkew and Christopher Sr. married when Sally was overcome with that realization. She was sitting on her front porch and watching the people passing by the villa, squinting against the glare of the sun. It was early October and people were in a mad scramble to get pumpkins, for it was a new tradition to carve pumpkins and light them up from the inside.

She had been musing over an idea, rolling it over in her head, for about a couple days now, but now she knew. It had to be done. Standing up with a clatter from her anklets, she briskly set off down the worn path to the valley.

She knew the path by heart now from her daily visits with Chris. Sally did most of the talking because Chris wasn't really much of a talker, but Sally was just fine with carrying the conversations and knowing she wouldn't often get a response. Chris reminded her of her brother, who had crossed the borderline and never returned. That was when Sally was only ten and he was thirteen. Now she was fifteen and his eighteenth birthday had already passed a month ago. She missed her brother, but Chris filled the hole-and, in a way, he created another one.

Chris didn't remind her of her brother in attitude, because while Chris was quiet in crisis or enthusiasm, Sally's brother often said anything that popped into his head, at any time, anywhere.

Sally bit her lip. It's no use thinking about him anymore, she thought, he's not even here.

And yet, a little part of her still told her that he was.

Sally crested the hill and looked about herself, at the rolling valleys of golden grass that stretched before here, dipping into a bowl-shape. The faded skirts of her dress flapped about her shins and her hair, a golden blond like the knee-high grass in the valley, whipped unmanageably in her face. Green eyes sparkled, traced the valley. On the left side of the valley was Chris's willow tree, stooped, gnarled, and lidded by rustling boughs. To the right of the willow tree was Chris's garden, dying and unruly with weeds.

Sally smiled. There was Chris, underneath the weeping willow, reading his book in the shade. Even from a distance she could see his ruffled black hair knotted with dirt, leaves, and burrs, not brushed and landing at the tips of his ears. She could see his pale skin, a dusting of pink on his cheeks from the sun. He was shirtless and wore dirty blue jeans, like he had the day his father and Sally’s mother had announced the marriage. Sally sighed wistfully, and started her long descent down the hill and through the winding, snakelike path to Chris’s willow tree.

Chris looked up when Sally pushed back the willow boughs and stepped underneath them and let them fall back in place behind her, closing in the shade once more. Chris smiled. “Hello Sally.”

“Hello, Chris.” Sally didn’t smile back.

Chris patted the worn spot in the grass beside him and picked up his book again, eyes flickering across the page as he read. Sally hesitated then sat down wordlessly, feeling the rough bark of the old willow tree against her back. They sat in silence for a moment, Chris reading, Sally listening to chickadees and the rustle of the dancing golden grass. It curled and hushed in the gentle breeze and seemed to be prodding her on, urging her on, telling her to tell Chris. Sally looked at him. Chris was even more unkempt up close, his hair knotted with burrs and his skin dirty. He was barefoot-not unlike Sally- and his feet were filthy and calloused from many long days in the valley. Sally took in a deep breath.

"Chris," she started.

Chris said nothing, but looked at her with his large, clear eyes. He set his book down, pages open, in his lap, waiting for her to continue.

"Chris, I've been thinking. I've been thinking...about Dumberkew. And...the future." She faltered. She didn't know how to tell Chris, exactly. She didn't want him to be mad, sad, or whatever it was he would be, underneath his thick blanket of silence. "Well, you see, Chris, Dumberkew is growing."

She watched him expectantly until he grunted, "yeah." then Sally continued.

"Well, I fear it's going to get...too big. too fast. With nowhere to go. In the back there's ocean. In the front they're the borderline and...who knows what's past it."

"Your father did," Chris said quietly.

"Yes." Sally smiled wanly. "He did." The smile faded. "But Chris, I think it's time somebody else went out and knew....you know?"

Chris paused, then nodded and closed his book, making sure to mark the page with his bookmark.

"As you know, they have the hot air balloon and the pump in storage, on this very island."

Chris nodded again. He knew that when Reagan died, they had taken his hot air balloon and everything that went with it and stuffed it into a warehouse downtown for safekeeping, to get dusty. to get forgotten. It wasn't, in Chris's eyes, right.

Sally wetted her dry lips. Chris wasn't seeing what she was talking about...his brain was slower than hers and obviously hadn't put it together. But secretly, Chris was. And he wasn't happy with what he guessed Sally was going to say next.

"Chris, I think I'm the next explorer."

There it was. Exactly what he thought she would say, exactly how Chris had though she would say it. He stared blankly at her for a long, tedious minute, and Sally stared back while chewing on her lip. Finally, Chris spoke.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"No," Chris repeated, furrowing his brow but keeping his voice level and cool. As always. But for once, Sally couldn't stand the levelness. It made her want to scream. She just wanted emotions.

Inside, Chris was emotional. Too emotional. It was confusing to him. He was mad, scared, worried, like an older brother. He was an older brother now, actually. He was sixteen now, a year older than Sally. And he didn't care that he was really a step-brother. It was a brother enough.

"No, Sally, it's too dangerous for you."

Sally sucked in a loud, long breath and let it out slow. She would not get mad. She would not get mad. She would not. "Chris, it is not," she said. "You're just worried."

"I am," said Chris simply. "I've always been. You are my little sister."

Sally felt her throat tighten. Memories of her real older brother flooded her mind, almost too overwhelming to bear. She nearly cried, but she remembered Chris's words one time in mid-summer: 'when you start feeling mad or sad, just take a deep breath and count to ten."

One...two...three...four...five...

"Sally, I don't want you to get hurt."

Six...seven...eight...

"I won't get hurt, Chris. Just listen to me. Sooner or later, they will start building even more towns...on this valley."

Chris's fists clenched.

"They wouldn't dare."

"They would."

Nine...

"Sally, I realize-"

"Somebody needs to do this."

"Yeah, but not-"

Ten.

"Chris, I want you to come with me."

Chris faltered. "What?"

Sally gazed back into his eyes with a half-smile. "I want you to come with me. I can't do it on my own."

"But-"

"Chris," she said. "I'll be leaving in the hot air balloon tomorrow, from the warehouse parking lot. If you want to come...." She stood up and dusted off her dress. "You'll be there."

And then she left.