“It does look like crosshairs,” Rives commented, studying the paper.
“But I don’t think they are,” I said quickly. “Thad told me once he thinks the carvings mean we’re rats in a maze. And I think he’s partly right.”
“We’re rats?” Jason asked curiously.
“No.” I shook my head. “Not rats. But I think the maze represents the island. Only I think on Bull’s-eye, the lines relate to the island, not the man. Like the island is broken into four parts.” I paused. “And I think there’s a fourth carving, I just don’t know where, exactly.”
“Why?” Thad asked.
“Because the Man in the Maze sits west, its sister drawing sits east, and Bull’s-eye sits south. So it follows that there’s a drawing in the north. We just have to find it.”
“Again, why?”
Before I could answer Thad, Ahmad’s voiced boomed behind me. “Thereisa fourth carving. I camped near it for a week. It was almost totally buried by a rockslide when I found it.”
“What does it look like?” I asked.
“Like Bull’s-eye.” Ahmad pointed. “Only it has numbers at the bottom and top, and the man is outside the maze, not in the center.”
“Do you remember the numbers? And can you sketch it?”
“I can try.”
I offered Ahmad my last sheet of blank paper and a piece of charcoal. He drew a circle, two bisecting lines, and a stick figure near the bottom right, outside the lines. At the top of the maze, just outside the circle, he added the number twelve, then he turned the tip of the vertical line into a double arrow, which pointed at the twelve. Underneath the drawing, in deliberate strokes, he wrote “3-2-1-4.”
“Three, two, one, four,” Thad read aloud. “Like a countdown? Three, two, one, boom? Three, two, one, dead? Why four?”
“Four quadrants, four seasons,” Rives offered. “Maybe the countdown is to the one-year mark. You’ve got four seasons to leave, or your number is up.”
“And the arrow points to twelve,” I said. “Noon, I’m guessing. The most important time on the island.”
“What are y’all looking at?” Macy asked. She’d appeared beside Ahmad, along with Dex.
“Island mazes,” Thad said.
Macy peered over my shoulder. “Those aren’t mazes. Those are labyrinths.”
“Maze, labyrinth. Same difference,” Thad said.
“Oh, no.” Macy shook her head emphatically. “They’re very different. Mazes have twists and turns, and dead ends. Labyrinths follow a path. There’s only one way in and one way out.”
“Like Nil,” I said. Rives was nodding.
“But there’s more to a labyrinth than that,” Macy said. “My uncle walked one last year, out in Texas. There’re famous ones, like the one with the Minotaur, but there’re tons in churches, too, because walking a labyrinth is a spiritual journey. Both the walk in and the walkout. Some believe it’s to get closer to God; some say it’s a journey of self-discovery. Either way, it’s personal.”
“So being here is a spiritual journey?” Thad quirked one eyebrow. “We’re here to find ourselves?” His voice was mocking.
Macy took Thad’s negativity in stride. “I can’t answer that; no one can.” Her tone was kind. “The way I see it, you’ve got to connect the dots for yourself.” As Thad snorted, Macy pointed to the rubbings. “Where’d these come from?”
I explained quickly. “Macy, once you told me you believe we’re all here for a reason. Do you think the reason is related to these labyrinths?” I realized it was kind of Thad’s question, kind of not.
Macy answered slowly. “Maybe. I do believe I’m here for a reason, that we’reallhere for a reason. But”—she looked up—“I’m not sure we’re all here for the same reason. Does that make sense?”
“Totally,” I said, feeling the tendril of understanding blossom in my brain, too ethereal to grasp.
“Nope.” Thad cut in, his voice sharp. “We’re here because a gate dumped us here, plain and simple. And we already know there’s only one way in and one way out: a gate. Grab one at noon and you’re gone. That’s what these tell us, nothing more.” He jabbed his finger at the drawings.
“Maybe,” Macy said agreeably. “But maybe not.”
