Where is he? Why isn’t he answering me?
“Josh!” I scream.
Silence. Total and utter silence.
The world around me is beginning to come into focus. Above me is a desolate, empty sky, void of moon or stars, but thankfully with a hint of light—enough for me to make out the shadows of ravaged, scorched trees that are scattered throughout the barren landscape around me. There is very little color here: wherever here is. The cracked soil beneath my feet is like dried brown clay, and the hill I just fell down appears to be made of ashes and coal. I crane my neck, searching the inkblotched horizon for Josh.
I fight back the panic building in my chest. If he’s not here, then where is he? Did he hurt himself trying to force our way out of the tunnel? Is it possible he didn’t make it?
I see the charred remnants of the tunnel at the top of the hill. There are still flames in the doorway, billowing outward like a five-alarm fire in a Florapetro refinery. I have to get back up there, back to the tunnel. I have to find Josh.
I start to walk, but my limp slows me down. My leg is almost numb, so I don’t have any clue how I’m supposed to hustle up the steep incline. I’m screaming Josh’s name so loud and hard my throat feels as though it’s being sawed into pieces. With every wobbly step I take up the hill, the enormous planks of blue flames ahead begin to burst and spark, casting fist-size balls of blistering hot embers out into the ebony night. I put my hands over my head to protect myself from the falling, fiery debris and retreat a little from the tunnel’s exit, which is completely engulfed by the incandescent blaze.
Then I push forward, again and again. I’m almost there when the tunnel shudders, collapsing on itself as it sinks down into the earth, disintegrating into a pile of black litter. I try to catch my breath. I can still feel the heat blistering my skin, even from a few hundred feet away, but nothing can compare to what’s tearing through my heart.
I collapse to my knees, my body shaking and wracked with sobs.
“Josh, where are you?” I scream. “Josh, can you hear me? Josh!”
No answer. Nothing.
We made it all this way, and for what?
Josh is gone. The last person I can count on. The one person I trust.
I bend over, placing my hands on the moistureless terrain beneath me, my eyes stinging with tears. And then I hear a voice in the distance. It’s not Josh, but it’s still familiar. I lift my weary head, slowly pulling myself up to sit down with my legs outstretched, wiping at my eyes as I listen for Josh’s voice, or any sign that he’s okay.
But there’s nothing but a cold, hollow silence.
I tuck my hair behind my ears, waiting, counting in my head—a measly attempt to measure the time here—but the higher the numbers climb, the worse I feel. All I can do is think about Josh and blame myself for whatever happened to him. Why didn’t I help him with that door?
I can’t remember. It’s a blur of pain.
“Regan?” a voice whispers.
The voice is so familiar, female. Mom?
A soft, delicate laughing soon becomes amplified, like an echo deep inside a cavern.
“Where are you, sweetie?”
“Mom?” I say. “Mom, is that you?”
A faint murmur trickles down from above, slowly transforming into a booming voice that practically shakes the sky.
“I’m going to find you!” she says, with a sweet and tender laugh.
My stomach knots as I realize what I’m hearing. My mother’s voice is not in the here and now, but coming from a happy memory that I have held on to for a very long time. I’m no more than four years old, and we’re playing hide-and-seek. I remember the sheer delight I felt as I heard her footsteps pad across my bedroom floor. How I squealed when she whisked me up in her arms, her eyes beaming as she kissed the top of my forehead.
“I found you, Regan.”
I found you.
Other voices begin to rock the darkness, pelting me back in time, like bits of hail, overlapping one another in a fever pitch.
“I’m sorry, Regan. I think you were missing the point on that essay. Maybe if you would just pay attention in class for once . . .”
Mrs. Thackeroy. My English teacher.
“Did you hear? Someone might be in a coma because of that stupid contraption.”
The man at the eCafé.
“I have been rooting for you two since you were kids. You are the perfect couple!” says Estelle, Patrick’s receptionist.
“I’m not going to stand in your way, Regan,” hisses Patrick.
The voices of the past merge into a piercing, high-pitched hum, powerful and merciless. I cover my ears and close my eyes, my thoughts turning to Josh and our trek through the tunnel.
But he’s gone.
And now I’m trapped here alone, wondering if this barrage of voices is evidence that my brain is deteriorating, one neuron at a time. Or maybe my brain has already ceased to function. Maybe Josh and I never made it to the tunnel; maybe . . . maybe I’m imagining this whole thing.
The ground rumbles and the earth begins to rupture into gigantic circles, caving in and leaving enormous black holes all around me. An aching, hungry groan rises from below, followed by another and another. I’m seized with a paralyzing panic, but I force myself up. Regardless of what Elusion is doing to my real consciousness, I intend to fight to my last breath.
I hear a hissing sound and pivot on my good leg, turning around to see something ungodly slithering out of the orifice. At least four stories long, it’s a fat, slithering monster with no eyes, just a wide chomping mouth full of teeth with two tiny holes above it, which I assume function as its nose. It raises its head and stops, as if smelling me. I slink back against a tree, like that will somehow provide me with protection. And then I feel something cold grab my ankle, jutting out of the wet, brown earth like a corpse rising from the dead. I try to kick it off, but it’s got me in a strong grip.
I scream and then the pressure is gone from my ankle, replaced with a dirty hand over my mouth, quieting me.
“Regan,” I hear a familiar voice whisper in my ear, as warm human breath touches my skin.
Josh.
EIGHTEEN
I DON’T HAVE TIME TO BE RELIEVED OR happy or grateful that Josh is safe. As soon as he removes his fingers from around my cheeks, a gurgling sound rises up from inside the hideous beast that’s looming in front of us.
“Hold on!” he pleads, taking my hand.
There’s a split second when I notice the color of his eyes has changed completely—from that beautiful, glassy amber that’s always mesmerized me to hollow gray. Then he yanks me by the arm across the vast stretch of decrepit wasteland, which spontaneously breaks apart with each of our steps, like we’re setting off hundreds of fireworks from underneath the crumbling soil.