by Wesley King
“Over a hundred years,” he finally replied.
Eric shook his head in amazement. “But . . . where did you come from?”
Carlos glanced back at him. “The first Midnight King came from the surface. Juarez the First. He came to escape the people there. Your people . . . I suppose.”
A tiny bit of venom had crept into his voice.
Eric frowned. “My people? It was over a hundred years ago.”
“We are our father’s blood, are we not?”
Eric snorted. “I hope we’re more than that.”
Carlos looked at Eric as if he had said something particularly odd, but he didn’t respond. He pushed ahead faster, stepping over a small running stream that was bristling with tiny reeds. Eric fell back a little, trying to keep up with one hand on his side, squeezing the aching cramp.
Finally, the shrunken old trees thinned and began to fall away. Carlos stepped onto open ground, and Eric came out after him, bending over to catch his breath. His eyes stung with sweat.
“We will take a break,” Carlos said, eyeing him.
“Cool,” Eric managed.
He plunked onto the ground and took a deep drink of his water. Carlos snapped off one of the bioluminescent fungi at its base and dropped it in front of them, forming a bizarre blue campfire. Then he broke a branch off one of the gnarled old trees, sat down crossed-legged directly across from Eric, and began to chew on it. Eric watched him in fascination.
“What is that?”
Carlos looked up, then snapped off the bottom and threw it to him. “Barbar tree.”
Eric caught the branch and began to gnaw on it. It was bitter, but it had a rich, earthy taste as well, like when his dad had once let him try a piece of truffle. As he bit deeper into the branch, the taste grew a little sweeter, and he smiled at Carlos.
“It’s good,” he said.
Carlos looked surprised. “Not many people like it.”
“I like this kind of stuff,” Eric said. “I’m used to eating things out in the wild.”
He dug into his backpack. Carlos tensed, his hand dropping down to his knife, but Eric quickly pulled out a granola bar and showed it to him.
Too bad it’s raisin, he thought.
He slowly unwrapped it, aware that Carlos was still sitting very upright, and then broke a piece off for himself, taking a bite. He handed the granola bar to Carlos, who accepted it warily.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Try it.”
Carlos sniffed it, and then took a bite. His face immediately lit up. “Delicious.”
Eric laughed and waved for him to take it. “We’ll trade then. It’s not my favorite.”
Suddenly all his concerns about food and water were gone. If Carlos and his people had lived down here for a hundred years, there was obviously plenty of both.
“Tell me more about these Worms,” Eric said.
Carlos’s smile slipped away. “They are led by an evil woman named Jana. No . . . a girl, I suppose. She is sixteen. Her mother died when she was young from a sickness, her father was executed for treason, and her brother for poaching on the King’s Land.”
“She doesn’t sound evil to me,” Eric said.
Carlos took another bite of the granola bar, chewing it slowly with his eyes closed.
“She wasn’t at first, perhaps. When her father was executed, his family was exiled to the Worm Lands: Jana, her brother, and her aunt and cousins. My great-grandfather said if there is treason in the blood, it must be quelled. All the Worms are outcasts from my people—if one goes, they bring their family with them. The Worms live in the outreaches of the Realm, scavenging rats and insects and whatever else they can find. But they were never violent before.”
He put the granola bar down, his eyes now on the glowing mushroom.
“When Jana got to the Worm Lands, she changed things. They had always stayed in their own lands, but Jana took over and declared war. Her father was killed in a most . . . unpleasant way, and she wanted vengeance. They became like shadows, and we could not find them. She murdered one of my soldiers and took another hostage, eventually returning him just so he could deliver a message: that she intended to kill the King and end the line. Jana started calling herself the Shadow Queen. The war escalated, and more have died.”
Eric looked around nervously. The mushroom cast only a ten-foot radius of light at best. Anyone could be out there.
Carlos sighed. “I did not wish for this war. There was a century of peace before this.”
“And they would harm my friends?” Eric asked nervously.
“I believe so,” Carlos said. “They are as vicious and deceitful as rats.”
Eric sat back, taking another sip of water and staring at the glowing forest.
“I was just about to tell you how much I like it down here,” he said ruefully.
“You do?”
Eric nodded. “It’s quiet. You can live off the land and without anyone’s help.”
“You should see my village on Descent Day. There is song and dance and food.”
“That’s not what I want,” Eric replied, shaking his head. “I want to be alone.”
Carlos stared at him for a moment, chewing on the last of the granola bar. “You do not like your people?”
“They don’t like me,” Eric said quietly.
Carlos frowned and climbed back to his feet, scooping up the mushroom and throwing it back in the woods, where it crashed into the undergrowth. “Come. We must get moving again.”
“One second,” Eric said.
He flicked on his light and pulled out his notepad, finishing the circle of the forest now that he was out of it and marking the pool where he had met Carlos. He wrote a small note as well, and Carlos walked over to look.
“What do you think?” Eric said.
Carlos looked it over carefully, slowly tracing his hand along the river.
“So that is how you came. I have not been to what you call the Big Room, or the Mystery Room. I do not know these ‘elevators’ or this escape you speak of with the funny picture. But that river you drew is the very lifeblood of my people. It is not a bad map. But you have turned, and you are heading back along the river now—farther from the escape. This class . . . that is the others you were with?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Good. We will follow the river. And we will fix your map later.”
Carlos extended a hand and helped Eric to his feet.
“A Super Rat?” Carlos said, smiling. “I like that. My sister would like your pictures.”
Eric put his notebook away. “What do the Ms mean?”
Carlos started walking. “It means you are within the Midnight Realm . . . the land of the King. Those Ms were put there as a reminder of our boundaries. The Worms are banned there.”
Eric hurried after him anxiously. “Is he . . . a nice King?”
Carlos laughed. “You will have to decide that for yourself.”
Thirteen Hours After
* * *
SILVIA SPILLED BACKWARD, HITTING HER tailbone hard on the ground as a wave of screeching shapes erupted from the trees. She gasped and rolled onto her side, covering her head as the tide of black swept overhead.
Bats, she thought. They’re just bats.
She looked up and saw Ashley screaming and running—but not before flinging her flashlight away and letting it smash onto the ground. She fell into darkness and screamed louder.
Silvia climbed to her feet and pointed her light at the plume of bats spiraling toward the cavern ceiling. It was strangely beautiful, like a shoal of tiny fish twisting into a massive bait ball.
Around her, the rest of the class was either running or flattening themselves against the floor, crying out. The cavern echoed with so much noise it was as if they were caught in a thunderstorm: flapping and sobbing and worst of all, the occasional sound of a smashing light.
“It’s just bats!” she called, but she doubted anyone could hear her.
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Finally, the last of the bats swept upward toward the cavern ceiling, disappearing into the blackness and leaving only their shrill, echoing cries. Silvia walked over and helped Ashley up. “Sorry,” Ashley murmured, looking sheepishly at her shattered flashlight.
Silvia just shook her head, took out the batteries, and stuffed them into her pocket.
“Everyone all right?” Silvia asked, shining the cell light on each of them in turn.
Joanne, Tom, and Jordan nodded, though Tom was as white as the mushrooms.
“Just bats,” Silvia said. “We’re in a cave, right? Makes sense. Let’s get back to work.”
Using their remaining lights, they managed to collect a large bushel of branches and fungi, spreading them out into three piles on the cavern floors. Leonard and Derek—who had both seemed a little embarrassed after screaming and running away from the bats—had taken the lead in designing the small rafts. Silvia had wanted one large one, but they thought it was impractical.
“It’s really a matter of structural integrity,” Leonard was saying, examining one pile. “The larger the raft, the sturdier it has to be.”
“Can’t we just throw this all in the lake and swim with it?” Ashley asked dryly.
Derek looked shocked. “Without creating dry spots for our bags? No measurements?”
“Just do your thing,” Silvia said, running her fingers along one of the trees curiously.
“I’m thinking three large mushroom stalks with smaller branches running perpendicular across. We then wrap each junction with the vines,” Leonard said. “Simple physics, baby.”
“We could do that . . . if we wanted to sink,” Derek retorted.
Silvia ignored the ensuing argument, stepping into the woods. She knelt and examined some of the holes on the ground, and grinned as a small yellow lizard scurried past.
“Hey, little guy,” she said.
She spotted two more lizards, a large black beetle, and a scurrying rodent that was likely blind, until she heard Derek shout that they were finished.
Silvia emerged from the woods again to see that the class had created three rafts, each about the size of a computer desk. The tree branches had been lashed tightly together with vines.
“I give you the Santa Maria, Pinta, and Nina,” Leonard said.
Silvia laughed. “Beautiful. Do they float?”
Leonard and Derek exchanged a look. “Well . . . we haven’t tested that yet.”
“I see,” Silvia said dryly. “Well, maybe we should do that.”
They dragged the small rafts to the water and pushed them in. They floated easily.
“Yeah, boyyy!” Leonard said, and he and Derek exchanged a high five.
“Ridgewood mathletes whaaaaaat?” Tom whooped. His voice echoed through the chamber.
“Yes, yes, very impressive,” Silvia said, trying to hold back a laugh. She turned to the group. “Everyone put your flashlights up on the rafts. We’re down to five, so we have to be careful.”
“Really careful,” Jordan muttered.
Nobody moved, so Silvia stepped into the water first. The lake was frigid, and she felt the chill seep into her bones. She grabbed the smallest raft, putting her bag on top of it.
“Pleasant,” she said, her teeth chattering.
Ashley stepped in after her, and then Tom grabbed the far end, both piling their bags next to hers.
“Here goes nothing,” he said.
The three of them pushed the raft into deeper water. Silvia gasped as the air rushed out of her and the lake crept under her clothes. She shivered violently as she started to kick underwater.
“What happened to . . . to . . . volcanic springs?” Ashley managed.
“Come on!” Silvia called behind her, and she heard the others pushing into the water.
“What is this, the Arctic Circle?” Naj cried out.
“I can’t feel my feet,” Leonard moaned.
“I told you we should have designed seats and paddles!” Derek added.
As the shore dwindled behind them, so did the light. Silvia had positioned hers to point straight ahead, but it bobbled a little until it was pointing sideways at a bag. The darkness rushed back in, and the groups behind her seemed to be having the same problem. Her hearing and smell seemed to sharpen in the darkness, until she could pick out the sounds of each kicking leg, the bizarre, earthy smell of their mushroom raft, and a hint of sulfur, like rotting eggs.
“I th-th-think I’m good with caves for a while,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” Ashley said, sounding relieved someone had spoken. “I’m good w-with Albuquerque. A hotel and a play or t-two sound half decent right now. Or home, maybe.”
Silvia forced a laugh. “What’s the f-first thing you want to do when you get out?”
“Eat p-p-pizza and watch some N-Netflix,” Tom said through the chattering.
“Same,” Silvia said longingly.
She thought of watching TV with her parents, and how that seemed lame just a few days ago. They had movie nights on Sundays, and her mom would make popcorn in the pot so that it came out fresh and steaming and drizzled with butter. She could almost taste the rich saltiness.
They had done Sunday movie nights since she was a kid. Only once was it cancelled.
She had been midway through the movie when she choked on a piece of a popcorn. No . . . not choked. It was just a little kernel really . . . more of a tickle than anything else. But she started to panic, and her skin flushed, and before she knew it she was sweating and even a drink didn’t make her feel better. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, and she excused herself to the bathroom.
That was when a panic attack struck. Soon she was huddled on the floor, crying and gasping and grabbing her chest until her mom was holding her. They went to the doctor for the first time the next day, and he said it was just a freak occurrence. Her dad liked that explanation.
But there were more attacks, and she didn’t eat popcorn anymore.
Silvia thought about that as she pushed through the still water. It seemed so long ago.
“So,” Tom said, “h-how do you feel about s-s-swimming?”
Silvia laughed, letting the ridiculousness of the moment sink in. Ashley joined in.
“Love it,” Silvia said. “I just w-won’t ever do it again. Maybe boating—”
“Wait,” Tom said quietly. “Did you f-feel that?”
Silvia fell quiet. And then she felt it. It wasn’t much, just a gentle current against her leg. A subtle change in the water. And then another current swept past, pulling at her legs.
“What is that?” Ashley whispered.
“I d-don’t know,” Silvia said. “But I d-d-doubt it’s something good. Swim faster!”
“Agreed!” Tom said.
“Pick up the pace!” Silvia called back. “Let’s g-go!”
The words were barely out of her mouth when the water moved again, stronger this time. Silvia looked down just as a massive, translucent white head swam below her dangling feet.
Thirteen and a Half Hours After
* * *
CARLOS KEPT THEM MOVING QUICKLY, though he knew Eric was struggling to keep up. He felt guilty for pushing him so hard, but every moment that passed was another that the Worms could find the other surface humans. Eric seemed to understand that, and despite his obvious discomfort, he did not complain.
Carlos glanced back at Eric, conflicted. He didn’t want to admit it, but he almost liked him. He was soft-spoken and determined and seemed to respect the Midnight Realm. None of it matched the stories, but he was still nervous. His father would never approve.
Carlos dodged around a rocky outcropping—just a darker shade of black.
“A foot to your right,” he said quietly.
His warnings were the only direction Eric had. Carlos knew he would have liked to use his white light, but it would have been much too visible in the darkness. If the Worms spotted them, they would become the hunted very quickly. He liked Eric, but he didn�
�t look like much of a fighter, unless he did have weapons. Eric followed, avoiding the rock. He was breathing heavily.
Carlos tried to slow down just a little, leading them around a corner.
“Turn right slowly,” he said.
“This is crazy,” Eric muttered. “I’m walking blind.”
“You’re doing well.”
Carlos had his eyes trained ahead, but his mind was preoccupied. He tried to think of where the other surface humans would go. Santiago had spotted them by the Black Lake, and he said they were on the move. Most of the tunnels in the area funneled into two large chambers. The Room of Light was possible, but the biggest chamber contained the Forbidden Lake. Carlos’s people had avoided those freezing cold waters since the first days of the Realm. He hoped the surface humans wouldn’t be foolish enough to cross there.
Still, it was a good starting place. He took a left at the next opening, leading them to the lake. Suddenly Eric cried out, shattering the watchful silence of the tunnel and spilling to the ground.
Carlos turned back and knelt beside him. “What’s wrong?”
“My ankle,” he managed, grabbing it. “I think I twisted it.”
Carlos looked back and saw a crevice in the ground. He had walked over it without thinking. “Haga,” he swore. “I am sorry. Can you sit up again?”
He helped Eric up, and then gingerly pressed his ankle.
“Not broken,” Carlos said, relieved. “Sprained, maybe. Hold still.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out folded yew leaves and slender, strong jori vines. He hoped they would be long enough to wrap the ankle securely.
“What are you doing?” Eric said, clearly in pain. “I can’t see, remember?”
Carlos stayed still for a moment, listening for movement. “You can put your light on.”
Eric pulled out what he called a cell phone and turned the light on, facing himself.
“I’m going to wrap the ankle,” Carlos said. “Okay?”
Eric nodded, and Carlos slipped off his shoe and pulled the leaves tightly around his ankle, securing them with the vines. Eric grimaced, but he did not cry out.
