HUMBABA HAD GUTS. SLIMY PINK INTESTINES COILED over his wide face and draped around his neck; sagging sacks of stomachs and bloated bags of bowels dangled from his torso. As he walked, they sloshed and swayed and dripped, leaving a shiny trail of greenish digestive fluids in his wake. His eyes sat deep within puckered flesh, and he blinked slowly. “Shhtrangersh.”

“Got any weapons, Yakhi?” Mo whispered. “Ishtar must have left something.”

“What difference would they make? He’s got those seven awesome auras to protect him.”

“Gilgamesh beat him,” said Mo. “He tricked him into removing them.”

“Think he’ll fall for the same trick twice?” I patted Mo on the shoulder. “If not, now would be the perfect time to impress me with all the fighting skills you’ve learned since being here.”

“I’m sorry, but Muhammad Ali isn’t in Kurnugi,” Mo replied. “He got an express pass straight to Jannah.”

Humbaba pulled a tree out of the ground as easily as I would have plucked a daisy. He began chewing it, branches, leaves, and all. “Tresshpasshers.”

As I looked around for something, anything, we could use against him, I spotted a long, moss-covered object half-hidden in the foliage. I nudged Mo. “What do you think?”

“Looks like a boat to me.”

I waved my hands at Humbaba. “Hey, salaam! Sorry about intruding in your lovely forest, but I was wondering if we might borrow that canoe?” I strolled over to it, keeping my eyes on the gut monster. “Just for a short while. I promise we’ll bring it right back.”

Humbaba’s eyes narrowed. “Gilgamessh’s boat.”

“It is? Fancy that.”

“I hate Gilgamessh.” Humbaba towered over us now, and the stench coming off him was poisonous. “Boyssh. I like boyssh.”

Now that was good news.

“Shoft and not too crunchy.”

Aaand that wasn’t.

Now that he was up close, I could appreciate his full disgustingness. How many miles of guts were wrapped around him? They dangled from every limb and trailed on the ground. Many were infected; ugly sores dotted the lining, and the stomachs had lacerations and bleeding patches. Florid scarlet ulcers everywhere. He groaned and belched—at both ends, if you know what I mean. If I hadn’t been immortal, the stench would have killed me then and there. Even Mo, who was dead, turned green. “That’s some serious IBS,” my brother said.

Yep. Humbaba had the worst case of irritable bowel syndrome known to medical science. “Remember Mr. Erwin?” I asked Mo.

He nodded, though he kept his eyes on the monster. “Extra yogurt on everything?”

Mr. Erwin, a sweet old guy, came in most Mondays. He’d lived in the neighborhood since forever and remembered our place from back when it was a Jewish deli. He had a delicate stomach, so he needed to eat yogurt with whatever we served to prevent it from blowing up in his belly. One time I accident-ally dropped a spoonful of our mid-grade Cairo sauce in his breakfast pita, and…I glanced over at Mo. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

He smirked and took out his flask. “Yeah, I think I am.”

I looked up at the monster as it licked its lips. “So you’re gonna eat us?”

Humbaba slurped.

I sighed. “I guess this is it, Mo.”

“I guess it is, Sik.” Mo held up the flask. “One final toast to our gruesome and imminent deaths?”

I nodded. “At least we’ll die happy, eh?”

Humbaba jerked forward. “What’sh that? Shhow me!”

I clutched the flask close. “Hey! Eat us if you want, but this is ours! The finest drink in all Manhattan and thus the whole world. Me and my brother deserve this at least.”

“Give it!” roared Humbaba. He leaned over me, and I got a good look at his boulder-size teeth and, unfortunately, a powerful whiff of his breath. He really needed to diversify his diet.

“Don’t give it to him!” yelled Mo. “It’s too delicious!”

Humbaba roared. The hurricane that blasted from his mouth knocked us off our feet and obliterated the leaves from the trees.

Mo lay on the dirt, sobbing. “No, Sik. Don’t give it to him.…”

I held out the flask to the giant, my hand trembling. “You win. Best swallow it in one big gulp so it doesn’t touch the sides.”

I was lucky he didn’t tear off my arm in his eagerness. A tongue the length of a stair carpet encircled the flask as he popped off the lid and tossed the whole contents down.

I took a step back. “This could get messy.”

We watched it dribble down his digestive tract. The deep-red sauce coated the rough patches, the worst ulcers. Humbaba winced. “Hot. It’sh hot.”

“Shock and awe, Humbaba,” I said, taking another step back. “Pure shock and awe.”

A few drops splashed into the first stomach. The reaction was instant. Every ulcer blossomed like a firework, deep red, yellow, green, and blue hues pulsing with Humbaba’s cries. He clutched one stomach, then another. He even tried to tie a knot in one coil to stop the sauce from spreading further, but it was to no avail. The Baghdad was unstoppable.

Humbaba crumpled to his knees and clawed the earth in agony, tearing great ragged trenches with his claws. His eyes rained rivers, and long ribbons of snot dangled from his wheezing nostrils. “Water…water…”

I pointed into the distance. “I think we passed a river a ways back there.”

Still on his knees, weeping, Humbaba trembled as another series of explosions rocked his innermost world. “I hate boyssh.” Then, holding his biggest coil of guts, he scurried off into the forest, knocking down trees in his path as he wailed, “I hate boyssh!”

Mo dropped his arm over my shoulders. “Now, that was pretty good.”

“Pretty…awesome?”

He grinned and gave me a squeeze.

With Mo at my side, I could take on anyone and anything. Next we just had to make a short paddle across the Sea of Tiamat, and the flower was as good as plucked.

We both walked over to Gilgamesh’s boat. I tried to lift one end. It didn’t budge. I wiped off some of the moss so I could look at it more closely.

The boat was made out of stone. Even the two paddles lying within it were marble. Just great. How was a thing this heavy supposed to float? We couldn’t even move it. I pushed while Mo pulled. I pulled while he pushed. We both pulled and then we both pushed.

Not. One. Inch.

I sank down beside it. “This must weigh a couple of tons. It’s not going anywhere.”

“Does it need to? Erishkigal said something about the sea coming to us, remember?”

Hands on hips, sweating, I scanned the forest in all directions. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s no shore anywhere near here.”

Mo took a seat on the bench in the boat. “You’ve just got to have faith.”

“This is stupid,” I declared. It felt like we’d been sitting in the boat for hours. “Nothing’s happening.”

Mo picked up one of the paddles. “Sea of Tiamat, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“The primordial ocean from which all existence arose. Bottomless trenches, gigantic whirlpools, tempests ravaging the surface, and who-knows-what kind of leviathans patrolling its depths. Waves so high they could drown continents. This is going to be an adventure.”

“If you say so,” I replied glumly.

He cast his gaze at my bag. “Got any more of those cookies?”

I handed one over and took another for myself. Each bite sent a sugary tingle along my tongue. Gilgamesh really knew how to bake.

He laughed. “Do you remember that time we went rowboating in Central Park?”

“Right after you made me watch Jaws?”

Mo nodded. “Baba had to wade in to carry you out on his back. Made it halfway before he slipped, and then those screams!”

“Something did bite me!”

Mo wiped the tears from his eyes. “Have you ever taken a bath since? Filled the tub deeper than your ankles?”

“Showers save water. I’m doing it for the environment.”

“Riiiight, Sik. Of course you are.”

I couldn’t believe I had missed this guy.

We waited some more. The moss was staining my pants. “This is stupid,” I said again.

Mo nudged me with his big toe. “Weren’t you given a magical incantation or something?”

I sighed. “No, I forgot to go see Professor Dumbledore.”

“You know what the most amazing part of all this is?” Mo idly tapped the bottom of the canoe with his paddle. “You actually got out of Manhattan.”

I lifted the other paddle and added a little beat of my own. “‘When a man is tired of Manhattan, he is tired of life.’ I read that somewhere.” I looked out at the still-waterless surroundings. “Why did you always want to leave?”

“All those stories Mama and Baba used to tell, about their old home, the world they used to live in…Didn’t you ever want to see it for yourself?”

“Nope.”

“What about your heritage?” asked Mo. “Isn’t it important to know where you come from?”

“I’m more worried about where I’m headed.” The canoe rocked from a slight tremor under us. The branches of the trees swayed in a rising breeze. A stronger gust blew, carrying with it a faint roar.

Mo gripped his paddle. “Is Humbaba coming back?”

The wind picked up and the ground trembled as the horizon began to rise above the treetops.

And that roar…“It’s a tidal wave, Mo.”

I stared as water rushed toward us, growing higher and higher, closer and closer.

The Sea of Tiamat was coming to us. The trees were torn from their roots as it crashed through the forest. How high was it now? Hundreds of feet for sure, and still rising, until it blocked out the sky.

“Hang on!” yelled Mo.

I grabbed the sides of the boat and bent over, wedging the paddle across my lap and chest. I took a deep breath—

And the wave struck.