HE TRAVELED QUICKLY, practically running over the red terrain. Having his legs feel so strong and healthy again was such a pure pleasure that it sent fresh energy surging through him, and made him forget any misgivings he’d had about leaving the portal point behind or about the motives of the beckoning man. A sort of red fur or grass carpeted the reddish-brown earth underneath; it felt spongy and supportive beneath his feet like some of the Astroturf fields he’d played on. It was absolutely great to go jogging over it without the help of crutches.
He looked ahead. The beckoning man was still there, standing at the edge of the deep-blue tree line, waving his arms. As Rick drew closer, he laughed out loud to see the scarlet plain become orange and golden nearer the woods, dotted with bushes and flowers in an amazing array of pastels. It was so beautiful!
He could see the man more clearly now, too—and for the first time, he could see that there was something strange about him. He did not look quite solid somehow. In fact, his form seemed to shift and sparkle, as if he were a ghost made out of particles of light. Weird.
But before Rick could think about it too much, something else caught his eye. Out to the right of the forest, beyond the vast splashes of vivid color, he could just make out a structure of some sort.
He slowed to a walk, then stopped, squinting for a clearer view. Far in the distance, there was a tower or fort, or a castle maybe, standing black and imposing against the yellow sky.
The outpost! That had to be it! And there was something—some things—moving over it. Black forms circling lazily in the air above the structure’s central spire. Were they birds? Maybe. But for him to see them at this distance, they must be awfully huge birds!
What should I do now? he wondered. He’d spotted the outpost—so was his mission complete? Should he turn back? Go back up the hill to the portal point and report his findings to Miss Ferris? Or should he continue down to the woods and talk to the beckoning man, find out what he knew?
He hesitated another moment, trying to come to a decision . . .
And as he stood there thinking, he felt something shift beneath his feet. He nearly stumbled. He straightened, alert.
What was that?
Even as he wondered, it happened again. A faint wave went through the ground beneath him. He heard a soft rumble that quickly rose and faded away, as if something had passed by directly underneath him.
It was over in a moment. Rick waited, but whatever it was, it seemed to be gone. He looked to the beckoning man—the sparkling man—and saw he was waving his arm even faster, harder than before. What was he trying to say?
Without warning, another quake struck the earth beneath him. Stronger this time. The scarlet ground surged, hoisted him up so fast and hard he almost fell right over. The rumble rose to a growl, then faded to a scrabbling noise as the earth subsided and steadied and flattened out.
And then Rick understood. The sparkling man wasn’t beckoning him—he was trying to warn him! Trying to get him to hurry up, to come in out of the open into the trees because . . .
Well, because why? Rick didn’t know, but he thought he’d better hurry and get out of there before he found out.
His decision was made. He started running toward the blue trees, toward the sparkling figure standing in front of them. He got about three steps—and then he heard the rumble, coming from a distance this time. He looked over his shoulder. He saw the ground hoisting up, saw the rise of it rushing toward him like a solid wave. Before he could react, before he could take another step, the rumble grew louder and the surge came up directly underneath him. The shock was sharp, fast. He was thrown two steps to his right—then he tripped and toppled over onto the spongy ground.
He started to push back up to his feet, but even as his hand pressed into the red-gold turf, there was a loud shuddering, ripping noise. Frozen where he was, Rick stared as a black chasm began to open up in the ground in front of him.
It was an astonishing sight. It was as if the surface of this strange new world were being torn apart. As Rick watched, openmouthed, the crack in the earth spread toward him quickly, the noise growing louder, the black rift shooting at him across the open space, threatening to swallow him if he didn’t get out of the way—if he didn’t start moving, right now.
Rick rolled, trying to dodge the oncoming crevice. He felt the whole world shuddering around him, heard the scrabbling rumble filling the air. With an agonized rending noise, the earth broke apart right beneath him. He just managed to roll to the edge of it, keeping out of the way of the widening black chasm.
And then the world shook roughly and he was thrown backward. He spilled over the rim of the break and plunged into the blackness.
His arms flailed desperately. He caught hold of the broken edge of the earth with one hand. He clung to it. Hung from it, his feet dangling in the air. He had no idea how far down the chasm went below him—it was too dark to see. If he lost his hold, he might fall and fall forever.
He hung there, his hand grasping the quivering ground, his legs swinging free in the pit. He could feel his fingers slipping off the surface. He had to bring his other hand around, get a better grip . . .
No. There was no chance. The earth shook again. He lost his hold and fell.
Rick had a moment of sickening helplessness and confusion as he tumbled down. He didn’t know where the bottom was or when or what or how he’d hit when he got there. Then, with a jolt, his feet touched ground. A dull pain shot through his ankle. His knees buckled. He fell and rolled across what felt like dirt.
Almost at once, he hit hard against the wall of the crevasse. The blow jarred him to his bones. For a second or two, he lay still, stunned. Then, with a groan, he pushed off the ground, climbed to his feet. Looked around.
He was standing at the bottom of the long chasm. The fissure traveled off into distant darkness on either side of him, he couldn’t tell how far. He looked up. At least it wasn’t very deep. With a little effort, he thought he ought to be able to climb the wall and get a grip on the surface, pull himself back up.
He was about to try it, when the earth began shaking again, quivering and bouncing beneath him even more violently than it had before. Pebbles and dust started falling from the surface of the earth above him, pattering down on his head. The air began to fill with noise again, that slithering, scrabbling, rushing noise. What in the world . . . ?
Rick turned toward the sound. He froze, openmouthed. His stomach went sour and his eyes went wide. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t even move. He was rooted to the spot.
He could not believe—no one could have believed—the horror that was rushing toward him.