Free False Sight by Dan Krokos Page A

door. Across the room, an unnecessary fire roars in the hearth. A knotty wood tablesits in themiddlewithtwocups onit.Icanseefromhere the cups are filled with cocoa and mini marshmallows. Noah sits at the table, smiling. I sit down across from him, smiling back. I warm my hands on my mug, and he takes a sip.
    “Let me out,” he says. “Let me help you. I promise I can.” I want him to help. “Okay,” I say.
“It might hurt. There isn’t much room in here.” “I’m ready,” I say.
He licks his lips and takes another sip. I raise my own
    mug and tilt some of the cocoa into my mouth. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted. Then it’s not—it’s a thousand degrees and my insides bake and turn to ash and I open my mouth to scream—
    I wake up to Peter’s lips against my ear.
No, it’s Rhys.
“Wake up, we’re slowing.”
I move to the front of the cart as the dream disperses. I
    try to catch it, but it’d be easier to catch smoke. The cart is no longer moving under its own power; it coasts. The tunnel is lit more frequently now, equal pools of black and light.
    “How long was I out?”
“I don’t know,” Rhys says. “I lost track of time.” The pitch of the screeching wheels drops as we slow, as
does the wind in my ears. Peter is awake, in the same position I last saw him.
    “Really, how long?” I say.
Rhys shrugs. “No idea. Definitely hours.”
I can’t believe it; the news stuns me enough that I have
    to just sit here and think about the magnitude of the tunnel. Where are we? We could be anywhere. The amount of work to build this place...It had to take forever to hew the tunnel from rock, to install the lights and beams. All so something could travel underground—but for what purpose, I have no idea. Nina might not have come this way at all, but the length of the trip makes me feel confident we’re on the right path. After all, the magical cart just waiting for us couldn’t be a coincidence. The amount of unknowns makes me want to turn around, but it’s obviously too late for that. My skin prickles with the feel- ing that whatever lies ahead is big. If only because the tunnel should be impossible. And all the while my heart rate climbs as I anticipate/dread what comes next. Nina might be right around the corner.
    It takes another full minute to slow enough for the wheels to quiet. A bright light shines down the tunnel, the size of a penny held at arm’s length. Peter tenses beside me. I fight the same reaction and try to stay loose.
    The cart rolls to a final stop.
I jump off the front of the cart, pull Beacon off my back, and use my left hand to snatch the revolver off my thigh. I hear the boys hop down, several muted metallic scrapes as they pull their weapons too.
Behind me, the wheels groan against the track.
I spin around to see the cart reversing. Like it was pro- grammed to return the second it delivered us.
Rhys takes a few running steps after it, then skids to a stop, shaking his head.
“That’s not good,” he says.
They look at me like I knew it was going to happen.
“Not my fault,” I say, though it kind of is, since I got into the cart first.
“We keep moving,” Peter says.
“Well we can’t exactly go back,” Rhys replies. “I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” Peter says.
I let my weapons dangle at my sides. “We’re close. Rhys is right, there’s nowhere else to go.”
We stand there for a moment, in the near-dark and silence. I think we’re waiting for one of us to come up with a better idea. Finally I turn away and walk deeper into the tunnel, toward the bright light.
“Technically, we could go back,” Rhys calls after me. Then he mutters, “There’s nothing good about this place.” Almost like a plea. Rhys is unnerved, which unnerves me. If Noah were here, he’d call Rhys something derogatory, even though he’d be feeling the same sense of wrongness we all do. Call it our training keeping us on edge, but I know it’s just regular old human