He looks at the hole. He shrugs again. He doesn’t think he’ll fit.
“Then we keep looking for another way in,” I say. “There has to be another gate farther up.”
Bishop shakes his head. “We don’t know that. Even if there is one, it could be closed, locked. You have to get back to the shuttle. Our people need you.”
The tunnel makes Coyotl’s voice sound strange: “Nothing on this side. Come on through.”
Spingate crawls in, not waiting for permission.
“Bishop, you have to try,” I say. “We can’t be separated, remember?”
“Farrar, go,” is his only response.
Farrar throws his bag and shovel into the tunnel. He isn’t quite as big as Bishop, but he’s thicker than Coyotl—he crawls in carefully, pushing the shovel before him. His grime-coated skin scrapes against the craggy surface, leaving little dirt smudges behind. If it’s hard for Farrar, it’s going to be very difficult for Bishop.
Bishop points to the hole. “Your turn, Em.”
“And you’ll follow me?”
His nostrils widen. He blinks rapidly. “Yes, I’ll follow you in.”
He’s lying. This is the first time he’s done that to me. He’s terrible at it.
“You first,” I say.
Bishop looks out to the jungle, scanning for threats. “Don’t play games. Get back to the shuttle.”
Out in the solid darkness of trees, I hear something rustle. Something big.
Bishop grabs my shoulder. “Em, get into that tunnel, now.”
I stand firm. “You first.”
A loud crack, the whoosh of leaves and branches. I see a young tree fall, moonlight playing off spinning leaves. Before it even hits the ground, a shadowy something scrambles over it.
The spider, coming fast—it will reach us in a minute, maybe less.
Bishop shakes me so hard my head rattles. “Get into the godsdamned tunnel!”
He’s hurting me again. He doesn’t know his own strength, but I know mine.
I slap him so hard my palm stings.
Bishop stares at me, shocked.
“I am the leader,” I say. “I’m ordering you into that tunnel!”
He blinks, glances to the jungle. The spider is closing in, a moving shadow-blur scuttling over rubble and fallen walls, down the far side of craters and up the near, knocking over any thin trees in its way.
Bishop throws his axe into the tunnel so hard I bet it sails all the way through. He dives for the hole and gets stuck almost immediately, thick shoulders wedging against the rough surface.
I look back at the rushing monster. It’s too dark to see much, but Spingate was right—five spindly legs. A Matilda memory pops into my head: five legs, like a starfish.
My body goes cold. Fear vanishes. If I’m going to die, that is the way of things, but with my last breath I will make sure Bishop survives.
I kneel.
“Bishop, slow down. Breathe. Put your right arm in first, stretch as far as you can.”
He’s still thrashing. His big frame holds so much power, but right now his size hurts him.
I place a hand on the small of his back. At my touch, his body stills.
“Listen to me,” I say. “Right arm first.”
His left shoulder scoots back toward me as he reaches his right hand far in front. I feel his muscles flex, see his knees bend, his toes dig: his shoulders slide through.
“That’s it. Keep your shoulders angled, use your toes to push.”
He goes in farther. Now only his feet and ankles are visible.
I look up, and that icy feeling explodes into hot fear—the spider is only ten steps away, a crawling nightmare barely visible in the darkness, coming to rip me apart.
Quickly but carefully, I slide my spear past Bishop, then dive in after him so fast I bang my head on the tunnel’s edge. Brain ringing, I wriggle forward until my face presses against Bishop’s filthy feet.
He’s blocking the way—my legs are still exposed.
My chest is on the damp ground, and through it I feel the vibrations of the spider’s pounding feet. It should be on me already…
“Bishop, move move move!”
Pain explodes through my calf.
My body acts on its own, curling me into a ball, pulling my feet and legs away from the opening. I grab my spear—it’s too long to turn around and use point-first, so I jam the butt backward, feel it smash into something solid.
Bishop crawls forward, slow but steady.
My leg is on fire.
What if the spider comes in after me?
I turn slightly, just enough to look back down the tunnel. A patch of blackness blocks the opening—the creature is too big to fit inside.
My leg screams. Is the spider’s poison already spreading through me?
A strange thought: Why didn’t I hear that whine?
I face forward and crawl. Someone pulls my spear out first, then strong hands grab my wrists and drag me free.
The others pack in around me. Bishop’s face is a mask of fear and concern.
“Are you hurt?”
I look at my leg. The moonlight plays off the glistening wetness coursing down my calf.
“It bit me,” I say. “Why are things always biting me?”
My calf seems to blur. The moonlight fades.
Blackness drags me down.