So many twists, too many turns. I try to keep track, but after a while, I give up and just enjoy the experience. The hot air whistles through our hair, and our stomach dips and floats with the path. I haven’t had this much fun since Lalana taped a full place setting, complete with a paper plate and plasticware, to my bedroom ceiling, just for the hell of it. I’d break out into a huge grin if my host body would let me. As it is: not even a twitch.

Still, a thought niggles in the corner of my consciousness. I don’t get this place. We’re ten years in the future. Why are we underground? Shouldn’t I be dazzled by technology I can’t begin to fathom?

And I am. Kind of. I mean, this hoverboard is awesome, but the rest of the surroundings feel sort of primitive. It’s like modern society was lifted up and plopped inside these caves in a hurry, so people didn’t have time to bring their gadgets and toys.

Eventually, we touch down in a dimly lit clearing. A couple of people wearing gray jumpsuits greet us as they pass through the open space. The ceilings are still low, just a couple of feet above our head, but the extra width suggests this room is a transfer station of sorts. We nimbly descend from the board, stowing it in another compartment set into the wall.

“The boards are solar powered,” the older Alice whispers reluctantly, as though every piece of information has to be pried from our throat. “The boxes take the boards to the surface to recharge, without exposing us to the solar rays.”

“Why would the sun be dangerous?” I ask.

“Because of the virus,” she responds. “It was manufactured to be highly contagious, and it renders the infected allergic to sunlight.”

If I had command over my mouth, it would be hanging open. Seriously? Somebody made a virus that makes people allergic to the sun? This is worse than life versus death. This is life versus being buried alive.

Suddenly, a hand lands on our shoulder, and our entire spine stiffens.

“Not. Now.” My older self’s voice is low and controlled, each word a precise and deliberate bite. She turns away, tucking our chin into our chest and closing our eyes, as though she doesn’t want the intruder to see her face.

No, I realize with a flash of clarity. As though she doesn’t want me to see the interloper’s face.

My thoughts jam into one another like bumper cars. This person must be important. They must reveal answers to questions I don’t even know to ask. I strain our eyelids, struggling to crack them apart.

Lift, lift, open. Just a slit, just a centimeter. Come on, eyelid! You can do it! But it’s like trying to move my neighbor’s limbs with the force of my mind alone.