He opened his eyes, as best he could. His left eye didn’t seem to want to open. It was shut fast by something sticky—something leaking from his forehead. It was hot. His head felt like it was about to rip open; his pulse hammered at his temples.

“He lies.”

Robin’s fingers sang with pins and needles. His hands were tied behind him with something. He was resting against the back of the shelter, which was illuminated by some kind of battery-powered light in the center of the place.

There was a man standing at the door.

He swam in and out of Robin’s vision. Like he was on a partially tuned old television set.

The man was scruffy. A dirty white T-shirt and soiled gray track pants. Long hair matted with sweat and rainwater, sticking up. A tangled, unruly beard. He was standing there. Looking at him with impossibly wide eyes.

“Who...?” Robin spluttered—his mouth as dry as sandpaper.

“I saw them. The other day. This isn’t what you think.” His voice was high-pitched. It almost sounded like a child’s. “I know what people say about me. Me.”

His forehead pulsed and unconsciousness became the easy option. But he battled against it. “Who are...?”

The man stepped forward, twisted his head around. “He lies. I saw him do it. I saw him.”

“Who are you?” Robin said.

And the force it took for him to utter those three words was just too much. And the pulsing and the pain and the stench were just too much.

He watched the man watch him and disappear into darkness.

And then it was all gone again.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Robin. Oh God, Robin.”

He opened his good eye. The world seemed a little more real this time. He was still in the shelter, the light was gone—and so was the man. The pain in his forehead had dulled. Sally was standing over him.

“Where is he?” Robin said, trying to get up. His hands were untied—had they ever actually been bound? He used the rock face to inch himself up and staggered forward. He started to dip down but Sally caught him. “Where the hell is he?”

“Who?” Sally said. “God, Robin, your head. I think it needs stitches.”

“Did you see him?”

“No,” Sally said.

Robin shrugged her off and barreled through the two metal sheets into the tunnel. Darkness flooded him. “Robin.” Sally came up behind him, tried to grab him by the arm, but Robin evaded her—he almost slipped on a rock but managed to keep upright. He got to the train track—the sleepers—and knew that following them would take him back to the hole.

The man was going there. He was going there to get away. He just knew.

He started staggering at a fair pace, ignoring the throbbing above his left eye.

Sally was behind him. “That place... Was he living there...? Was that...the Standedge Monster?”