“I can’t stand the darkness or the bugs,” Victoria said. “Please, Nick, light another match!”

“No,” Shad said. “Everyone take out your TravelGuide.”

We all fumbled around and found them.

“Now, open them.”

Everyone opened the book at the same time and suffused light filled the tunnel.

“Look, here on the wall,” Gordy said. He pointed to scratchings and held up his book to them. Pictographs. A horizontal line cutting through a vertical. One looked like a child’s drawing of a fish.

“Are those words next to the pictures, Gordy?” Malaiki asked.

“Yes. Three lines,” he whispered. “I … I saw these once before, long ago.”

“What do they say?” I asked. “Read them.”

FORWARD
RED ROAD HOME
BE CAREFUL WHO YOU TRUST

I crowded close and looked up above these words. I saw writing in the elegant otherworldly language. I stooped down. Yes—there below were words in the foul tongue. I trembled, then felt Victoria next to me, studying the markings. I saw the look of recognition on her face.

“Why us?” I asked. “Why were we chosen? Why were we brought to Skiathuros?”

No one said anything. I wanted them to tell me their stories from the other world. Yet I did not offer them mine. I wasn’t ready for them to know what I’d done, what I’d been.

We crawled a few more hours. My back swayed, then convulsed with muscle spasms. My wrists were sprained, my shins tortured. I’d lost feeling in my knees, my thighs were stiff, and I could feel blood inside my socks. I kept trying to stretch out my cramped legs, but in trying to relieve existing injuries I kept incurring new ones. The claustrophobia plagued me worse than anything. I stopped and picked stony grit out of my raw elbows, trying to control my breathing.

“You okay, Nick?” Gordy asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Why was I so concerned about maintaining my Gary Cooper–High-Noon image? Nick the loner, brave, self-reliant, powerful, incredibly competent. Who was I kidding?

The cool damp had gradually disappeared, replaced by a sticky humid heat. Sweat poured from me, and my clothes smelled. My shoulders burned. I felt I could go no farther. But my companions were still moving. If they could, I could. I pushed on, like a good marine, thinking of what was behind me—the chasm-crossing—and the hope of what lay ahead—Charis.

“Ow!” Two of my fingers were smashed beneath the toe of Gordy’s boot, or was it the edge of one of his stone sacks? I swore and yelled, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m really sorry, Nick,” Gordy said.

“Just be more careful!”

“Maybe you should be more careful.” I heard Malaiki’s muffled voice in front of Gordy. “It’s your fault if you don’t stay back far enough not to get your fingers smashed. Don’t blame Gordy.”