It’s like being born, Colleen thought, inching through the tight passage, her bare hands scraping on the rough, cold stone. But then, that had been largely true of this whole experience, from when she had first met Cal by the bank of recalcitrant elevators she was repairing in the lobby of the Stark Building, back before the Change, when even then he had risen to her defense against some asshole mouthing off to her.
And what had she-ever the lady of grace and etiquette-said to this knight in shining armor, who was merely trying to aid her?
Hey, hotshot, I need a personal savior, I’ll ask for one, okay?
Perfect.
But then, he’d gone and done it anyway.
So she’d gotten to see the U.S., made real friends for the first time in her friggin’ unfunny joke of a life, been more or less courted by two remarkably decent men and ultimately chosen one of them.
And not three-quarters of an hour ago, she’d gotten to see that man’s late lamented wife and daughter-or a reasonable facsimile thereof-and wonder of wonders, the miracle she hadn’t even dared to ask in her secret heart had happened….
He’d chosen her.
In all this melee, she and Viktor hadn’t even had a chance to talk about it yet.
She felt clammy wet, and her chest ached whenever she thought of Goldman, goddamn his brave, impetuous hide.
Why’d he have to go and pull a crazy stunt like that?
She’d never even told him that underneath the vast sea of irritability he continually seemed to rouse in her, she really liked him.
Too late now, Tough Lady…
She remembered a line from a book she’d read, or maybe she’d heard it as a question on Jeopardy-
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….
Now wasn’t that the truth?
Ahead of them, Inigo raised a warning hand. They all stopped. Cal motioned for Christina to hang back along the passageway. She retreated, her glow about them diminishing as she withdrew.
Colleen could see Cal and Inigo had reached a wider section of the passage that seemed to terminate in an overlook. She shimmied forward, the others-save Christina-joining them.
Colleen peered at the open area below and, from the feel of the air breezing up at them, she could sense that it was immense. At first, she couldn’t make anything out, but in a few moments her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She and the others lay on their bellies staring at a huge tunnel, steel tracks set out along the length of it.
Sitting on the tracks, black as a starless, abandoned sky-but somehow also throwing off a dim glow that allowed her to see along the tunnel-was a long train with featureless cars and an ominous, vast locomotive, huffing steam like a dragon waiting.
And on either side of it, scurrying about and crawling over each other, shouting and shoving and hissing in all their foul glory, were thousands and thousands of grunters, like a Shriners convention of gargoyles.
It’s not a great bet, Inigo had said.
You got that right, Blue Boy.
Making not the slightest noise (Enid holding tight to the bells worked into his dreadlocks, to make sure even they would not betray their presence), the eight of them hurriedly edged back the way they came.
“Now what?” Shango asked once they’d gotten clear of the passage.
“Maybe it’s time we got clear on exactly where we are,” Cal offered. “I mean, past all the illusions and false starts. Something more specific than that we’re in South Dakota.” He turned to look questioningly at Inigo.
“We’re…kinda inside a mountain,” Inigo responded hesitantly.
“Great,” said Colleen.
“Beyond that tunnel,” Cal asked, “what are the ways out?”
“Um, well, a lot of them are knocked out,” the boy answered, “since the, y’know, thing or Storm or whatever. The only way I ever got out was that tunnel. But I’ve heard there’s another place, only I couldn’t tell you where exactly…. It’s called the Hall of Records.”
“What’s it look like?” said Cal.
Inigo shrugged. “It’s sorta long and squarish…and it’s got these things in the walls with words on them, like you make plates out of.”
Colleen was dumbstruck. “I’ve seen it.”
“Honey,” Mama Diamond said, smiling, “you surely do get around.”
We have been buried alive, Doc Lysenko thought as they hurried along the stone passageway, and now at last we are clawing our way to the surface.
In the far distance, he could see a bright rectangle of light and knew it for what it was-the doorway out to the open air.
In the glow cast from Christina’s nimbus, he glanced over at Colleen and gave her the faintest smile. She returned it, uneasily.
Almost there…
Abruptly, the walls and ceiling and floor beneath their feet trembled and rocked, and he could hear a rumbling, an enraged roar that grew quickly and filled every corner of his mind.
NO!
It was Sanrio, he had detected them. Doc could see his own look of fear and alarm mirrored on the faces of the others.
Cal picked up his pace, broke into a full-out run, motioning for the others to follow him. But as they sped toward the light at the end of the tunnel, Doc could see an illumination rising up from behind them, reflected on the backs and shoulders of the others.
He looked back and saw a roiling, riotous mass of shifting color filling the chamber and rushing at them, felt its obscene heat speeding toward them.
Fire, fire made up of flares.
“Tina! Enid!” Cal shouted, not slowing.
Christina concentrated, and her aura intensified, spread out to enclose them. Enid grabbed up his guitar from around his back and began playing for all he was worth, incredible, gorgeous riffs of power.
The hungering wall of flame rebounded as if striking a barrier, then came on again, slower but not stopped. It was clear to Doc that, fast as they might run, they could not possibly reach the doorway before the fire engulfed them.
The reactor would have them….
Silently, he said a prayer as he felt the ferocious heat pursuing him, his ears full of the echoing percussion of their footfalls, the triumphant roar of the flame, the wild beauty of Enid’s guitar.
And then, something else…
Faint, at first, barely perceived, but then louder, more assured, weaving around Enid’s magnificent, fierce chords.
An accompaniment.
Low and throaty, and every bit as intricate and skilled. The two formed elaborate harmonies and counterpoint, danced and built upon each other, driving the flame back.
He could feel its hellish warmth retreating. He dared to glance behind him, saw the churning wall of rainbow fire folding back.
And impossibly, emerging out of it and walking toward them, a man…
Playing a saxophone.
They had reached the portal now and plunged through, into daylight and fresh air. Doc saw that they stood on a broad landing set high in the rock face, a twisted stairway descending from it.
They were all out on the landing now, the sax man included, a cool wind blowing their hair. From within the corridor, the flame still swirled and pursued them.
The sax man stopped his playing. “Close that door, sweet girl,” he said to Christina.
She glanced up at a boulder above the doorway, and with her mind brought it down. It landed with a resounding impact, squarely sealing the door.
The old bluesman smiled then, turned white, cataract eyes toward Enid Blindman. “Am I glad to see you, son.” His voice shook, and held such a depth of emotion that Doc realized there was something profound and unspoken, a mystery there.