“Say we do make it,” Sofia asked, sitting on the corner of the bed, addressing Sally. “What are we supposed to do once we get there?”
Sally nodded, pausing a long time before he answered. “Dat there’s a dang ol’ good question, miss. I reckon George is tryin’ to figger dat one out as we sit here talkin’.”
“What are you going to do?” Paul asked.
“I’ll be gettin’ on back to the homestead,” Sally said, rubbing his hands together. “Ya’ll keep mosin’ along on dis here joyride, and I’ll come find ya when we’s got further word.”
“How are you going to find us? How did you find us?” Tick asked.
“I’d reckoned you woulda done asked me dat. Took me forever to find ya the first time ’cuz the signal was weak. But don’t you remember me shovin’ my finger in ya ear?”
Tick couldn’t have forgotten. “Yeah, what was that for?”
“I put one of dem fancy Earwig Transponder thingamajigs in there. Now George can track ya better and stifle some of dem spyin’ devices inside ya.”
Tick reached up and rubbed his ear, then poked his index finger in as deep as it would go. “You put what in my ear?”
“Doncha fret, now,” Sally said. “Ain’t like it’s gonna eat your dang ol’ brain or nuttin’.”
Tick was about to protest further when someone rapped on the door with a hard and urgent knock. Sofia and Paul jumped to their feet; Sally moved faster than Tick would have believed—running to the door and yanking it open in a matter of two seconds.
No one stood there, but a note had been stuck to the door with a piece of clear tape. Sally ripped it off, read through the words, then walked over and handed it to Tick.
“Read it,” Sally said. “I’m goin’ to look for the rat who left it.” He left the room, marching like he was going off to war.
Tick shot a glance at Paul and Sofia, then read the note to them. “‘You people must think I’m an idiot. But I know everything. Everything. The sooner you accept that, the better. The game is on. Win or die.’” Tick paused, swallowed. “‘Sincerely, Reginald Chu.’”
No one said a word for the longest time. Finally, Sofia spoke: “Looks like you were right, Paul.”
Win or die, Tick thought. Win or die.
~
The sounds grew louder—and more haunting—as Sato made his way down the long tunnel. A man screaming as if going through a horrible surgery without anesthetic. People arguing, their words impossible to make out. Someone crying. Lots of people crying. Mumbling, moaning, retching. Sato couldn’t imagine anything worse than being in this place.
The roughly carved walls of the tunnel were dark and shiny, wet with rivulets and flat streams of water sluicing down its sides, disappearing into cracks on the floor. Odd lamps were set into the stone about every thirty feet, filthy glass surrounding a milky light that seemed a mix of old-fashioned wicks and electric sparks. Sato fully expected to see rats scurrying about, but thus far had seen no sign of life.
Just the sounds. The terrible, terrible sounds.
Up ahead, the tunnel made a turn to the right, a somewhat brighter light glowing from that direction. Huddled on the floor was a woman, her face draped in shadow, clutching her legs to her chest, shivering and mumbling the same phrase over and over. Sato couldn’t quite make out the words.
His heart pounded as he walked toward the woman, sweat making the syringe clasped in his right hand slippery; he hid it behind his back. Was she infected? Could it be this easy? He stopped a few feet in front of her, thinking about each breath, trying to slow his heart down.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice breaking on the second word. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I’m looking for someone.”
The woman looked up; Sato took a step backward. He didn’t know what he’d expected to see—someone hideous, scarred, a wart-infested witch, maybe—but the lady sitting in front of him was very pretty. She had perfect skin, and blue eyes that shone like crystals in the pale light. Her dark hair sprawled across her shoulders. White teeth flashed behind her still-moving lips, uttering the indecipherable words repeatedly.
Despite her pleasant looks, she looked sad, tear streaks lining both cheeks.
“Can you help me?” Sato said, fingering the syringe hidden from her sight. He took a step closer.
The woman finally fell silent, pressing her lips together. Then she spoke, her voice soft but firm. “We’re only crazy when he’s not in our heads.”
Sato reached for words to reply. The lady’s eyes showed no lunacy, no fear, no confusion. She seemed perfectly sane.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“My name is Renee,” she replied, ignoring his question. “But right now he is in my head, and I will do whatever he says.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sato said, taking a step back.
Renee stood up. Her beauty shined despite tattered, dirty garments. She was short and thin, but held herself with confidence—back straight, shoulders square, chin up.