Molly could barely breathe at all. She felt her stomach turn to acid. She looked longingly through the windshield at the gate. The gate stood tantalizingly ajar. Just wide enough to get the truck through . . . maybe . . . at the right angle . . .
But there was no chance of that now. The driver was opening the cab door. The young sentry was already moving toward the back of the truck. It would take only a second: they’d open the truck gate and look inside and spot Victor One and it would be over. Mars would have them completely trapped inside the compound.
Molly glanced at her father. Professor Jameson watched helplessly as the guard began to climb down out of the cab.
Frantically, Molly’s eyes moved . . . to the dashboard . . . to the steering wheel . . . to the side mirror where she saw the young sentry waiting beside the rear of the truck . . .
The truck’s motor was still grumbling in idle . . .
The driver stepped out of the cab. When she heard his feet hit the frozen ground, Molly slid quickly over the seat and got behind the wheel. She reached out of the cab and seized hold of the door handle. She pulled the door shut.
Startled, the driver swung around at the noise. “Hey!” he said.
Molly put the truck in reverse. Quickly, she checked the side mirror. She could see the young sentry still standing beside the truck, not directly behind it. She wouldn’t hit him if she backed up.
That was all she needed to know. She drove her sneaker down hard on the gas.
Molly had to back up if she was going to get the right angle on the half-open gate, if she was to have any chance at all of driving the truck through it, out of the compound. The truck roared and went rattling backward. It shot past the young sentry. He just stood there, gaping at it as it went by.
That was far enough. Molly hit the brake. The truck jolted to a stop. She grabbed the gear shift.
Professor Jameson looked at her in horror. He was only just now beginning to realize what his daughter was planning to do.
“Molly!” he shouted.
“We’ve got to!” Molly shouted back.
“Stop!” the young guard shouted outside.
But Molly didn’t stop. She threw the truck into gear. She stomped on the gas again. The truck shot forward. Molly saw the half-open gate speeding at the windshield.
The gate came closer and closer, fast. The way out was narrow. The gate’s edge looked like it was going to clip the fender, stop the truck.
Molly wrenched the wheel. The truck bounced right. There was just enough room to squeeze through the gate if she hit it just so. At least she hoped there was. It wasn’t going to be easy at this speed, and her speed was increasing every second.
The gate came rushing at her. Closer.
And then the second sentry stepped in the way.
He held up his hand. “Stop!” he shouted boldly.
Molly kept her foot jammed down on the gas pedal. The truck rumbled over the frozen earth toward the sentry. He had to move.
“Molly!” her father shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”
He was right. Molly watched as the sentry grew larger in the windshield. Another second, she’d run him over. She had to stop.
But the sentry broke first. As the truck raced toward him, the bold expression on his face melted into a wide-eyed look of surprise and fear. Suddenly, he was moving, rushing to the side, racing to get out of the way.
The gate was clear. Molly gave the truck full gas. It charged like a wild bull at the opening.
But she didn’t clear it.
The next moment—a jolt—a teeth-rattling squeak—the metal of the gate scratched the side of the truck—a jarring crash—the edge of the gate hit the side mirror and ripped it right off.
Molly let out a cry. But she kept her foot down.
And the truck bounced forward and flew through the gate at high speed.
They were out. They were out! Molly saw the forest and the forest road spreading before her. She felt her heart expand as a blast of joy went through her. She laughed out loud.
“We’re going to make it!” she shouted to her dad over the engine noise.
And then the creatures attacked.
19. INVASION
MOLLY HAD NO time to react. She couldn’t react. She couldn’t even believe what she was seeing. Out of nowhere, out of nothing, a hideous creature materialized in the air. It was a gray, winged, woman-like thing, its shrieking face half flesh, half skull. It swept down on the truck with its spindly arms outstretched, its hands outreaching, its long talons slicing, and its teeth bared.
Molly screamed.
The Harpy smashed into the windshield full force. The truck stuttered. A web of cracks shot out across the glass. The beast’s hideous face was pressed against the cracks, inches from Molly.
Molly convulsively wrenched the wheel. The truck careened leftward, out of control. It sped off the road. It bounced over the ground. And then, still traveling fast, it smashed into a tree.
Metal crunched. Glass broke. The truck’s engine died. Molly’s body was thrown forward. Her forehead smacked the steering wheel—not hard, but hard enough to hurt. The Harpy, meanwhile, lost its grip in the crash and was hurled off the windshield, still shrieking.
Molly sat straight, dazed, and saw the winged creature pinwheel away to her left. It landed hard on the forest floor. A fizzle of purple static lanced through its form like bolts of lightning. Then, the next second, the Harpy flashed and vanished and was gone.
Molly blinked. Her head aching, her mind clouded.
Did that just happen?
She turned dully to her father.
“Dad? Are you all right?”
The professor in the passenger seat raised a hand to reassure her, but his lip was bleeding. He was breathing hard. He couldn’t speak at first.
“What . . .?” said Molly, swallowing. “Did you see that? What was that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said.
“But you saw it.”
“I saw it.”
She turned to look out the driver’s window again. There was no sign of the Harpy. Just the forest floor, just the trees.
And then a giant rotting Cobra rose up beside the window.
Molly was not given to panic. She was tough-minded—and seasoned now, too, because she’d been through a lot. But the sight of this uncanny thing seemed to set her mind on fire. She screamed again and threw herself back toward her dad, trying to get away from it.
The gigantic Cobra skull with its dagger-like teeth jabbed at her, smashing into the window glass.
“Daddy, Daddy, what is it?” Molly screamed—she was babbling—she was that afraid.
But now the snake drew back and struck again and the window seemed to give and rattle in its frame. Another blow or two like that and the window might shatter or come loose and then the thing would be in the cab with her.
The fire of panic that had flashed in Molly’s brain swept through and was gone. She was beginning to think again. A Harpy out of the sky. A giant rotting Cobra. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. And she had to do something about it.
The Cobra drew back for another strike, rising up on its slithery coil of a body to get more leverage. Molly felt a wad of terror stuck in her throat. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. But she had to. She swallowed her fear. And she did it.
She grabbed the door handle. Cracked the door open. Waited.
“Molly, what are you doing?” her father said.
The Cobra struck.
Molly timed it perfectly. She threw the door open and smacked the snake hard in the face just as it darted at the window. Its head—which was mostly bone—went flying off, the top of the snake’s spine exploding in a white blast. The rest of the Cobra’s immense body spasmed and uncoiled and jerked on the ground. Purple lightning flashed through it. It sizzled. And in a purple
blast, it was gone.
“Molly!” It was her father. “The compound!”
Still half crazed with fear and disbelief, Molly glanced at him. Her father had turned in his seat, was looking out his window at the side mirror there. Molly’s mirror was gone, ripped off by the gate, and she couldn’t get a good view of what was happening behind the truck.
But she could hear it. Shouting. The crackling of gunfire.
Without thinking, Molly threw the door open and jumped out of the truck to see what was going on. The glass of a broken headlight crunched under her sneakers.
“Molly!” her father shouted. “Get back in the truck!”
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything but stand there, staring at what she saw.
An uncanny battle was going on at the compound gate. The soldiers there were battling a small army of impossible monsters. Giant Boar-like creatures wearing armor and wielding swords were hurling themselves against the soldiers’ rifles. More Harpies were descending from the sky. More Cobras were slithering across the ground. All of the beasts were half rotten, their tattered flesh flying from exposed muscle and bone.
The soldiers loosed bullets at the attackers when they could. When the bullets struck home, the creatures reeled backward, shrieking. They fizzled and flashed with purple lightning and then pixilated into nothingness. But when the swords of the Boars or the talons of the Harpies or the fangs of the Cobras struck home, there was blood—a lot of it—and the soldiers let out wild cries of agony, horrifying for Molly to hear.
It was a moment before Molly could believe what she was seeing. It was another moment before she could figure out what to do. But she knew: She had to get out of here. She had to get Victor One to someplace where he could make contact with his friends. She had to bring help to the compound . . .
She heard her father call her name again from the truck’s cab.
“We have to go!” he shouted at her.
She nodded. She turned to step back into the truck.
And as she did, there was a high, squealing shriek behind her.
She turned and saw a great Boar rushing at her on two legs. He had his sword raised in the air and was about to bring it down as hard as he could. Another second and it would cleave Molly’s head in two.
20. BREAKOUT
RICK WAS IN the hospital when he heard the battle begin. He was locked in one of the secure rooms, a windowless cell. He was sitting on the edge of his cot, his hands held out in front of him as if he were begging. His eyes were lifted. He was gazing up into the rafters. He felt a new power pulsing through him . . .
They had locked him up in here after he’d come back from his near disaster in the Realm’s seemingly eternal night—after Mars and the guards had arrested his father. Rick had been furious when they’d marched his dad away. He had threatened to rip Mars’s head off. He had tried to do it too. It had taken the enormous Juliet Seven plus another guard to hold him back, to haul him out of the Portal Room, muscle him down the hall, and shove him through the door into here. He fought them every step of the way, shouting at Mars, calling Mars names, demanding Mars release his father, demanding he be allowed to see where his father was, to make sure he was safe . . .
Juliet Seven forced Rick through the secure room door and shut it in his face. Rick heard the electronic bolt buzz into place, locking him in. He pounded on the door with his fists and went on shouting. He tried to kick the door open. He tried to pry it open with his fingernails. He shouted some more.
After a long while, the bolt was thrown back. The door opened. Miss Ferris walked in. She was carrying a stun gun, holding it up beside her head—in the safe position but ready to fire. The walking cement block that was Juliet Seven was right behind her.
“If you attack me, I’m going to have to knock you out,” Miss Ferris said, her voice so flat she could have been reciting her grocery list.
Rick stood in the center of the room and glared at her. He wasn’t going to attack her. She was half his size and a woman. But he wasn’t afraid of her stun gun or Juliet Seven either. He felt angry enough to walk right through them both.
“Where’s my dad?” he said.
“He’s in another secure room. He’s handcuffed to the bed, but he’s not hurt. Mars is holding him on suspicion of treason.”
“Mars is crazy. That’s garbage. You know it’s garbage. Mars has lost it.”
Miss Ferris didn’t answer. Rick couldn’t be sure, but he suspected the strange little robotic woman agreed with him. Something in her eyes gave it away. It was nearly impossible to know, but it did seem there was something a bit more gentle and sympathetic in her voice when she spoke next.
“Right now,” she said, “what we need is more information. We need to do some more tests on your brain.”
“Forget it,” said Rick.
“We need to know what just happened in there.”
“It was dark. Black. There was nothing.”
“Then where’s Kurodar?” said Miss Ferris. “What’s he planning? How did he get into Mars’ computer?”
Rick was beginning to suspect the truth, but he wasn’t going to tell it to Miss Ferris or to anyone until he’d had a chance to discuss it with his father. He just shook his head. “How should I know?”
“What did you see when you went into the Realm?” she asked him.
“I told you: Nothing. There’s nothing in there anymore. It’s just that blackness, that weird empty space that feels alive . . .”
Miss Ferris nodded once. “Then how did you get out?” she said. “If there was nothing—no portal—no passageway—how did you get back to RL?”
Rick didn’t answer. The memory was only just beginning to return to him.
“Kurodar hasn’t disappeared,” Miss Ferris went on. “In fact, he seems to be reaching out somehow into RL. Someone killed the guard in the watchtower. Someone overrode the lock on Mars’ computer. Something is wrong here, Rick; something is going on that we don’t understand . . .”
“Well, it’s not my father’s fault,” Rick said. “And Mars knows it too. He just doesn’t like him, that’s all. He’s just looking for an excuse to get at him.”
Miss Ferris blinked—which maybe indicated she was feeling some emotion or other. How could you tell? She lowered the stun gun to her side. Rick was glad. He didn’t like being threatened, especially by the people on his own team.
All the while, Juliet Seven stood behind her, smiling. Rick thought he looked like he was hoping for a chance to tear him apart.
“Rick, you need to tell me something,” Miss Ferris said. “Do you think it’s possible that Kurodar is somehow . . . using your mind . . . that somehow while you were in the Realm, a connection was formed between the two of you?”
Again, Rick remained silent. That was exactly what he was afraid of.
Miss Ferris said, “Well . . . we can’t let you out of here until we know more.”
With that, she turned and left the room. Juliet Seven lingered just long enough to give Rick another of his smiles. Then he left too. When they were gone, Rick sat down on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands.
He thought about the blackness. Falling through the blackness. How had he gotten out? There was nothing to take hold of in there. No weapon. No portal point. Just that living blackness of Kurodar’s imagination. How had he broken back into RL?
You won’t go into your dreams alone . . .
He remembered his mother’s words—and then he remembered everything.
It wasn’t buried all that deep, not really. He remembered it all now: his terror . . . his spirit reaching out beyond the nothingness . . . his spirit calling across the darkness in a wordless prayer . . .
Rick lifted his head from his hands. He held his hands where they were, cupped in front of him as if he were begging. He lifted his eyes to the rafters.
That was the moment when Ri
ck’s faith finally came back to him, came back fully, came back strong. He had lost that faith when he lost faith in his father, when he lost faith in himself because the legs that had always carried him to victory on the football field were crushed and useless. But now he knew the truth. His father had never deserted him. The Traveler had had to make an impossible choice, an awful sacrifice, but it was a sacrifice made in love. Love was what the Traveler was all about. Because love was what his God was all about. And his God . . .
God had never abandoned Rick either.
Rick knew that now, knew it certainly, knew it in that way you know things when you don’t need words for them anymore. He had never been abandoned. He had never been alone. And as for his legs . . .
His legs were not what they once were. They would never be what they were, never that reliable, never that strong, never again. He would never be the football player he’d wanted to be, the athlete he had dreamed of being. Never—and it hurt him in a way he could not have explained to anyone. To have his dream destroyed, to have his body compromised, it was a raging pain in his heart, even now, even still.
But now that he had seen the darkness of the Realm, the living emptiness of Kurodar’s heart, now that he had been plunged into that blackness and come back alive, he knew the truth.
It was not his legs—it was never his legs—that had carried him to victory on the football field. Everything he needed for victory was still there, unbroken, untouched.
For the first time since that truck had hit him, Rick felt himself let go of his anger and his grief. For the first time in his whole hotheaded life, he was flooded with stillness and calm. He felt it flow up out of the core of him and through his limbs and into his mind like a golden liquid carrying a mighty power. For the first time in his life, he understood the source of his father’s serenity. That Spirit that had answered his spirit in the darkness . . . That light of love no darkness could comprehend. That God of victory. His God.
Rick would never be the mighty Number 12 again. And it hurt. It would go on hurting for a long time. But the hurt didn’t matter to him anymore. He could shake it off like a hard tackle. He was strong again, strong as the boy he once had been. Stronger. Strong as the man he needed to be.