The Dark Water (16 page)

THE LAST THING I SEE BEFORE ENTERING THE LONG
tunnel is a glimpse of Jo and Rob sprinting out of an alley. It's like I'm on a moving train, watching out a window and then everything goes black.

We hurry along the tunnel, which has no lamps or glowflowers. The light recedes behind us, slimming to a pinprick. I run with my right hand along the aqueduct, tracing the wet rock, grateful for its reassuring presence. But after a fifty feet or so, I feel the aqueduct angle upward and lift into the air, where it merges with the ceiling. No more water at our fingertips.

It's getting cold in here, like a real cave should be. The walls are rough, unpolished. And it's almost totally dark. I'm beginning to lose my sense of direction and balance. My sense of reality. I wonder how much more the Keepers can see with their owl eyes. I hope that they feel as lost as I am.

“What if there won't be any light at all?” I ask.

“Why would that be? There's light everywhere else.” His voice is soft, reassuring.

“They have huge eyes. They can see in the dark like we can't. They're
supposed
to see in the dark.”

“Mia,” he says. “We'll find it.” A pause, a squeeze of my hand. “We don't have much choice, do we?”

I don't respond. It's clear I don't have to.

Darkness is a funny thing. It's terrifying until it isn't. Ever since I fell down the well as a child, I've been more than afraid of the dark; darkness feels like a physical being. A presence that could chase me anywhere. I used to carry night-lights to sleepovers, to swim meets. But here I am, running through the darkness, breathing it in, feeling it press against my eyeballs, and I'm somehow okay. There's a mountain over us, and I sense its weight, but there's no claustrophobia. Instead, I think I'm just numb. Dad's dead, and there are only two potential futures here: either the source helps, or it doesn't. The darkness is just an obstacle now, something to push through until I get to one of those futures.

If the source can't bring him back, I don't know how I'll get Dad back through the well, back to Fenton, where I can bury him next to my mom.

For a moment, I feel overcome. I want to go to my knees. And I would, but for the hand. If Brayden let me go, even for a moment, I'm not sure what I'd do. I'm not sure I'd keep on existing. I wiggle my finger experimentally to see how hard it would be to slip from his grasp, but he holds on tight. I wonder if he's thinking about his parents, tied and gagged and held in the basement of Furbish Manor? If they don't have the virus yet, if Sutton lied to him, they'll have it soon enough. Is he holding on to me for reassurance too?

I don't know how long we run. Time and darkness play games with each other. But even though I've been trying to set a pace for us, I'm already feeling winded.

“Do you hear that?” Brayden asks, his voice a shock in the darkness. I do. I've been hearing it at the edge of my consciousness for a while now. A constant buzz in the background, pushing against my thoughts, slowly waking me up.

“What is it?” I ask, willing myself to filter the noise better. To understand its meaning.

“The source?” Brayden asks, a measure of excitement creeping in.

I wish we had Rob and his iPhone. “Dad said there's a waterfall somewhere . . .” And as soon as I say it, it makes sense: this is the noise of a waterfall.

“A waterfall,” Brayden echoes. He pulls my hand forward, picking up the pace. “We're almost there.”

“But Dad said there was something else before the waterfall.” Just thinking about him makes me ache.

Brayden's not stupid; he hears the caution in my voice and already we slow. “What was it?”

“I don't remember,” I say, the images flitting through my mind.

“Mia,” Brayden says, coming to a stop, maybe hearing the strain in my voice. “I know I shouldn't say this. I know you don't believe me and don't trust me. And I know I haven't earned this, but I'm sorry about your father. I'm sorry about everything.” I lock up, unable to move. I don't want to hear this, not now. I don't realize I'm crying until the tears drip from my face.

I look at Brayden and see the outline of his body, can see that he's nervous, that he's clenching his jaw.

“Wait,” I say. “I can see you.”

Up ahead there's a tiny pinprick of light and the tunnel takes shape before us. It feels like we're about to get launched out of a torpedo tube.

I wipe my face, and move past him, not ready to forgive. He says my name but I keep going. After a few hundred yards it's clear that the light is coming from an opening in the tunnel up ahead. The sound of the waterfall grows and it's hard not to get excited, which shames me some. I imagine my dad here in my place, thirty-four years after discovering the well, finally on the cusp of the source. If it couldn't be him, I know he'd be glad it's me.

The light begins to shift and reflect off of the tunnel's smooth surface and it's clear that it's a lot schwankier than I imagined. The rock doesn't look like it does back in Capian, where there's granite and marble and onyx carved and crafted, but here veins of what have to be precious gems and minerals spiral like comets together along the wall. Flashes of greens and blues, sparkles of gold and silver. They are so brilliant that they seem to move, as if the rock itself were liquid flowing all around us.

The tunnel ends abruptly, twenty feet off the ground of an enormous cavern, with stairs leading down to take us the rest of the way. Fires burn in tall cauldrons, and in hundreds of torches lining the walls. More eye-catching, way more breathtaking, way more magnificent than anything we've seen so far, is the waterfall.

It falls from a hundred feet up, just as wide, a huge sheet of water pouring angrily into a pool below. A mist sprays out, shimmering. The room smells wet. I can almost feel the spray from here. In some ways I'm disappointed. A waterfall is so beautiful, but also familiar. The end goal of a hike or a weekend drive, not of a trip to another world. Where does it come from? Why don't Keepers come here all the time? I guess it doesn't matter, as long as I can use it to save my dad.

“We didn't bring anything to carry the source water out with,” Brayden moans.

For a second I panic, but then remember the pockets. One of mine has a hole in it from the knife. The other is probably coated with poisonous berry juice. Not a risk I'm willing to take. “You have waterproof pockets,” I say, pointing them out. “Mine are torn, so you get to carry it.”

“You broke your pockets?” His eyes twinkle, the scar on his chin flashes white.

I smile and it feels good.

Brayden bounds down the steps and it's a strange sight to see. Just hours ago he was cut open and left for dead. Now he's running.

I'm kinda surprised there isn't an altar or something like that. This is where the Three go, right? This is the Holy of Holies for the Keepers. What do Randt and Arcos
do
here? Do they burn incense and chant? Do they make offerings? Or do they just sit by the edge of the pool and drink water and hang out?

I walk the steps slowly, taking it all in. The waterfall gets louder with each step, the white churning water mesmerizing. What was it that Dad said was painted on the map before the waterfall?

Brayden's almost to the waterfall when it hits me.

There's nothing living here.

Everywhere we've seen this water there's been some sort of surrounding ecosystem. As if the water can't not create life. Back at the well Topside, as soon as the water began to flow again, there were trees and plants sprouting right up. Here, though, everything is lit by gas lamps. Why aren't there any trees, any glowflowers? Why is there no life? Why did the mini-aqueduct disappear into the ceiling of the tunnel back there and not just take its water straight from here?

“Brayden, stop!” I shout, but it's too loud. It's too late.

He dips his hand in the water and raises his cupped palm, water dripping between his fingers, in what feels like slow motion. He glances my way and sees me screaming. Startled, he drops the water. Wipes his hand on his pants.

“What?” he says, standing up and looking around, wondering where the threat is.

I hurry down the steps, fighting the urge to close my eyes against the mist in the air. I hold my breath, cover my mouth and grab him away.

“Mia, stop! What is it?”

“That's not the source!” I say, pointing accusatorily at the water.

“What do you mean? How can it not be? Look around, this place is amazing, that waterfall is from the map, everything fits.”

“Almost everything,” I say, waving my hand around. “But where's the plant life? Where's the magic green thumb? Why is there a waterfall but they are using torches and not glowflowers to light the place?”

Brayden's skeptical. “Mia. We don't have time for this. Where else can it be?” He turns back to the water, but I grab his hand. He looks at me, annoyed. “Just let me try it, Mia. Worst-case scenario, you're right and this is just regular water and whatever, nothing happens.”

“Something's not right,” I say, still holding tight to his hand. He tries to break my grip, but when he pulls, his hand is weak. We both look down, and somehow, I already know what I'll see.

His hand, the one he dipped into the water: it's old. As in, it's thin and lined with wrinkles and wormy veins and covered with splotches of red and purple, bruises already forming under the skin. His fingernails are longer, curled and yellowed. They remind me of Jo's dad, lying dead in the hallway.

My mind flashes red, and for a second I'm so helpless and pitiful my legs wobble. Now's not the time for that. I pull up Brayden's sleeve. The aging only pushes up to his wrist; above, the rest of his arm looks sturdy and normal. But even as we watch, the healthy skin slowly dries and goes pasty, a millimeter at a time.

Brayden stares at his arm in horror. “I'm aging! It's like the virus! What's going on?”

I look at the water, so crystalline and perfect. Beneath its surface you can see straight to the rock, to the dazzling colors swirling there, a Venus flytrap.

“It's a trick to protect the source.”

“But where's the source?” he says, dazed. “I need some water. I need some help!”

“I don't know,” I reply, trying to sound calm. There's nothing here other than the death water, waterfall, torches, cauldrons. The mini-aqueduct is way back at the beginning of the tunnel. “But dad's right—the virus
is
related to the water.” Another thought occurs to me, this one even worse. “Maybe the source is for the virus, not the water.”

“Why would you even say that? I need help!” Brayden says, his voice shrill. He's holding his wrist, as if he could physically keep back the aging process, and he's sweating, his face flecked with fear.

I turn toward the steps and start back up. “You're right—we can get to the water. Come on.”

He doesn't move. It's like he
can't,
like he's worried if he takes a step he'll accelerate the aging. “Mia, this
is
the entrance to the source. It's here somewhere. We can't risk going back; the Keepers might just be standing there waiting to take us prisoner. We need to find the source.”

He's right, I know it, but if we went back I'd know where to find water. Here, I know nothing.

“Well, where is it?” I ask, exasperated.

“What about the map?” he says. “You remember the waterfall. Do you remember anything else?”

“I don't,” I say, cursing myself for not having memorized it all. And for not bringing Rob and his OtterBox with me.

“Well, the good water comes from somewhere, right?” he asks, walking around the edge of the pool, peering at the waterfall. I don't see any steps, any way to get up there. What, am I supposed to climb slippery rocks covered in virus water?

I try to remember the map, but the shape of my dad lying dead, a spear sticking out of his eye, keeps popping into my mind.
Stop it, Mia. He'd want you to be here. He'd want you to figure it out. You can't let him down, you can't let Brayden die. If only we were back at the Cave, where they have the images magnified, zoomed in and we could figure . . .

“Wait,” I say, the thought flitting in and out of my mind. The zoom back at the Cave . . . “Brayden, wasn't there something crazy about the last image?”

“Yeah,” he replies, remembering immediately, his face flashing hope for the first time since he touched the water. “It was a miniature replica of the entire map, a map within a map. They said there were, like, seventeen versions or something. Except that each map was a
little
different. The moon was shaped different. Remember?”

I'm starting to get excited, to feel the adrenaline pump through my body. “How'd we get here, huh? We went through the well into a new world. And here we are, at the waterfall. Something that takes away life. So how do we get to the source?”

“Through the killer waterfall?” Brayden says, clearly dubious.

“That's right,” I reply, hurrying to the pool's edge. “Or at least, through something here.” I look at the waterfall where it pours right into the pool. It's so strong and flowing so fast, you can't see behind it. I can't make out a well, either.

I take a step toward the water.

“Mia, what're you doing?” Brayden shouts. I can see from here that the aging is up to his elbow.

“It makes sense,” I reply, trying to psych myself up enough to do this.

“No it doesn't,” he says, with more conviction than I've mustered. But he's wrong.

“If you want the source,” I say “you have to take it.”

“Look what it's done to me,” he cries, taking a step my way. “You'll age up immediately. You'll die.”