The Shortcut

STELLA FELT BETTER AS ALICE led them through the twists and turns of the nonoperational track. Her arm still throbbed, but it didn’t burn. Her mind still retained wisps of cloud, but every movement made it feel clearer.

Although they were not exactly close friends, finding Alice in the Dreamway had made Stella feel more confident. Alice knew the Dreamway, at least this section of it. Anyway rode along in a dark silence, but Spuddle buzzed in excited circles around Alice’s head.

“I can’t believe your collection!” Spuddle gushed to Alice. “It’s wonderful! And to think that all of this came from Dross! No one ever complained that it wasn’t returned. I’ll have to alert the offi—”

“No,” Alice said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t put as much faith in bureaucracy as you do.”

Spuddle stopped up short in midair. “I . . . don’t . . .” He clanged and pinged, as if someone had wound him too tightly.

The Dead Mileage was an interesting section, in the creepy way that old abandoned warehouses can be interesting. In one part, someone had discarded a group of perhaps thirty mannequins. Several were headless, armless, or legless, and separated limbs littered the floor. The scene reminded Stella of one of her fairy tales, “The White Cat,” and sent a shiver across her scalp. At another point, there were several abandoned subway cars. One had a family of possums living inside, but they hid when they saw the group coming along.

Once, Alice stopped and seemed to reconsider. Then she turned around.

“Are we lost?” Stella asked her.

“Thought I heard something,” Alice replied. “New direction.”

It was interesting how Stella’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. Or perhaps this was just a function of the Dreamway—her senses were heightened, and she knew things were there even when she couldn’t see them. Pipes and ducts ran along the curved tunnel ceiling, but there was space here. They could walk easily, and every step created an echo.

“Do you hear that?” Stella asked, pausing a moment.

Alice stopped, too, and gestured to Spuddle to be still. The dragonfly landed on a pylon and perched quietly. Anyway snapped out of his sullen silence to peek from Stella’s pocket. The silence stretched in every direction as they strained to hear. Alice was just about to give up when they all heard it—a steady thrum, like the rhythm of a jackhammer. It reverberated for a moment and then stopped.

“What is it?” Stella asked. She did not mention that she had heard something else—Cole’s voice mixed in with the jackhammer.

“Track maintenance,” Anyway said.

“Maintenance on nonoperational track?” Alice asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s that?” Spuddle gestured toward a patch of light to the right of them. They raced down a long tunnel that ended suddenly and stepped out into gray mist. Not far away was the lacework of a suspension bridge.

“So—where, exactly, does this go?” Stella asked as the friends hurried toward the bridge. Thick mist licked at them, and Stella thought that it looked as if they were about to plunge into a cloud. She was a few steps ahead, and a fleecy vapor cast a veil over her, hiding her from view. Alice turned to answer. But she didn’t answer. Instead, when the vapor passed away, Alice had disappeared. “Alice?” Stella cried.

“Pirate!” Spuddle shouted.

Stella darted forward, missed her footing, and plunged (farther and longer than she had expected) down into the mysterious gray.