Chapter 92

The earth began to shake. It was a slow grumbling, like the earth growled at them.

“What’s happening?” Charley asked.

The vibrations traveled through the soles of Henry’s shoes all the way up his body. His bones shook.

The ground was getting warmer. Pockets of steam drifted upward from cracks in the surface. The swirling mist grew darker in color. The blackening air carried a choking smell. Henry coughed as smoke poured into his nose.

The realization swept over him.

“The smoke, Charley! It’s not just mist from the Wastelands, it’s smoke from the volcano! It’s getting ready to blow!”

“Oh, no!”

She let go of Henry’s hand. She snapped her hand down toward the ground and a second later she held the whip. The blue cord encircled her feet and the smoke retreated from her.

“Charley!” Henry reached to grab her arm back.

It was too late. The smoke enveloped him and shut him out.

She did the one thing she made Henry promise not to do—let go of his hand. She had the Light, but he didn’t. The smoke picked him off as soon as she let go.

The smoke swirled around him and pressed against him. It clogged his nostrils. He felt like he was spinning in circles.

Living vertigo . . .

He swam in disorienting fog and it dove under his feet. He couldn’t see the ground anymore. Every direction was cold, heavy, living fog. He wasn’t sure which way was up. He couldn’t see or hear anything.