Present: The River, London
“G uns!” a Mushroomer wheezes.
We are ducking and crouching low to avoid the shower of bullets from the shore’s side. One of the sides is too distant for bullets to reach us, so we all scoop over toward it.
“Get down.” I hiss at the shouting Mushroomer, standing tall and pointing upward.
“Don’t stand up,” Constance says.
I turn and look at her, “I am confused. Sometimes you want to save everyone. And sometimes you are cruel.”
“It’s tactics, Alice,” Constance says. “This could be a trick, or a weak spot. You stand up and help the Mushroomer and someone shoots you.”
I nod. “Listen, here is what’s going to happen,” I tell her. “I am going to swim over to other side of the shores, the one less populated and dark. I will find help — or guns.”
“Then?”
“Then I will come back for you and the Mushroomers. I just need you to keep everyone down on the boat’s floors.”
Constance sighs.
“What’s wrong?”
“I am afraid you won’t come for us, Alice.”
“Don’t worry. I am not going to get killed.”
“It’s not that. I think you have a bigger mission to do, and saving us will seem trivial then. I mean, look at us, none of us is as important as you and the March now.”
“Do you mean I should take the March with me?”
“I don’t know what I mean,” she lowers her gaze. “Honestly, I am so psyched up and powerful when you’re around. I am not that strong. I just know you got my back.”
“Don’t say that,” I hold her face in my hands. “In fact, if I don’t come back, consider yourself the Real Alice.”
She laughs, bitterly.
“What now?”
“You’re the Real Alice, whether you like it or know it or not. You are going to save the most precious thing.”
“Stop it,” I pull my hands off. “What is this precious thing everyone talks about?”
“I have no idea. But I heard everyone talk about it. The Pillar. The Cheshire. And even Lewis in my visions. This is all to save the most precious thing in the world. Whether we like or not, this is your mission.”
My head can’t fathom what it could be. I mean, calling something the most precious thing in the world is a stretch. What is so obviously more precious than anything in this life?
“Did you hear any hints?” I ask her.
“No.”
“So the March knows the Six Keys that will lead to the most precious thing?”
“I think so,” she grips my arms as I have to duck closer to the floor. Bullets are still showering. The Mushroomer is again saying, ‘guns!’ I realize the bullet have caused a few holes in the boat. Soon we’ll be sinking.
Then suddenly, something surreal happens. A machine gun falls on us from the sky. The Mushroomer is somehow right.