And I’ve got no time to stop. So I just keep going, jump across the three feet that separate the cars, and land at the very edge of the next one. I teeter a little bit, nearly sliding off the end, but I suck my stomach in, lock my core, and fight to hold the landing even as the train gathers speed.
Once I’m sure I’m not going to fall off the end, I start running again. And find another car. And another car. And another car. How long is this train, anyway?
As soon as the thought flits through my head, I feel bad. Because it’s probably as long as it needs to be to haul all the newly departed souls into the heart of the Underworld.
Shame at my callousness burns my cheek, and I whisper a soft “I’m sorry” to whoever is on the train at this exact moment. They deserve respect.
But respecting them doesn’t mean I want to be one of those souls quite yet, so I keep moving, keep jumping. By the time I get to the end of the ninth car, I’m totally in the groove. So much so that I nearly run right off the end of it and into the abyss of darkness.
Oh my gods! This is it! What I’ve been waiting for. I have too much momentum to stop, so I accelerate instead, andwhen I get to the end, I bend my knees and jump like I’m the center at a championship basketball game.
Arms outstretched, head tilted back, knees drawn up to my chest, I flail around trying to find I don’t know what. And that’s when my hands brush against a cool, smooth cylindrical bar.
I grab on with every ounce of strength I have left, and for long seconds I dangle in the darkness as I try to figure out where I am and what I need to do. That’s when I remember the slide that took me down, down, down before dropping me in that room. And how do you get to the top of a slide?
You climb the ladder. I’m dangling from the very bottom rung of a ladder. Since getting my legs onto this thing is going to be no easy feat, it kind of makes me wonder just how high Kyrian can jump. And what would have happened if I had jumped just an inch or two less.
As if in answer to my unasked question, a long, low moan sounds from directly below me. And that’s all it takes to get me moving. I swing my legs back and forth like they taught me in gymnastics when I was little and manage to gain enough momentum to put my feet in between my hands on the bar.
My Chucks aren’t as good at gripping the bar as bare feet, but they’re all I’ve got right now, so I’m going to make it work. Especially since this time when the moan comes, it’s louder, longer, and so much closer.
Carefully, so, so carefully, I jockey my hands to the outside rails of the ladder. Once there, I slide them one slow inch at a time—first one hand, then the other—holding on for dear life the entire time. Then, when I’ve finally movedmy hands far enough up the rails, I push up until my feet are flat on the bottom rung.
Another quick shimmy of my hands onto the rung from the railing, and I’m finally standing on the ladder. Just in time, too, because another moan fills the air, and now it’s coming from directly below me.
Instead of wasting time trying to figure out something I don’t want to know anyway, I start hauling my butt up the ladder, climbing as fast as I possibly can.
I start out counting the rungs, but somewhere around two hundred, I lose track—right about the time my arms turn to the consistency of cooked spaghetti.
I pause for a few seconds, take a few breaths and let my arms rest. And then—because I’m afraid every muscle in my body will stiffen up if I don’t keep moving—I start to climb again. One-hundred-and-eighty-seven more rungs.
By the time I get to the trapdoor at the top of the ladder, my muscles are burning and my entire body is shaking so badly that I can barely hold on to the ladder. But I’m too close to fail—or fall—now, so I use the last bit of strength I have to grab the handle and push it up.
But then the sky—bright blue, with no thunderstorms in sight—appears above me. Taking a deep breath, tears of exhaustion streaming down my face, I push myself up and through the opening, landing face first in a fragrant pile of grass.
The trapdoor springs shut behind me, and as I roll over to stare at the sky, I promise myself that the next time I go to the Underworld, I absolutely, positively am going to be dead.
47.That’s What Friends and Band-Aids Are For
AFTER I COLLAPSE ON THEgrass, I don’t know how long it takes me to work up the will to move again, but it’s a long time. Long enough to realize I’m right in front of the arts building, and definitely long enough to wonder how Kyrian knew that this is where I need to be.
Every time I think about him getting up and pushing the big red button on the subway train, I know the timing wasn’t accidental. He could have pushed it near the door to the forest where we first met—I’m convinced there’s one there and that’s how he disappeared. Or we could have circled and he could have pushed it next to the trapdoor where I came in, or at what I’m guessing is any number of other doors.
So why this one? How did he know?
I should get up, should try to get to logic class and explainto Dr. Vicenzio what happened today—though I have absolutely no idea how I’m supposed to do that. What I do know is that I can’t just lie here forever, no matter how much I want to.
Especially since the doors to the arts building just burst open and I can hear a bunch of students talking as they make their way down the steps. The last thing I want to do is give them a reason to talk about me.
So, using a truly Herculean amount of effort, I sit up—just in time for Fifi to catch sight of me and scream—which is exactly what I was hoping to avoid.
“Ellie!” she shouts as she races down the stairs to me.
Arjun, in the meantime, just vaults over the edge of the banister and lands in the grass beside me.
Not going to lie—I didn’t think he had it in him. Also, it feels kind of nice knowing I’ve got a friend willing to risk limb, if not life, to get to me.
“Nice move,” I tell him as he crouches down to look me in the face.
