A whirlpool formed beneath Amanda, following her as she moved along the bridge; the swirling lava glowed hotter until it hissed silver vapor and blazed a blue-white too painful to look at.
Eliot had to play her something, a song to cool her spirit.
How had she managed to keep all that heat inside for an entire year? She should’ve told them.
Or had been his fault? Eliot had been so wrapped up in his own problems, that he’d never really been a friend for her.
He focused, thought about her, and started to strum his guitar.
“No way, man.” Robert grabbed him and pulled him back.
“Don’t,” Eliot growled. “I can do this.”
Fiona shook her head. “Not this time,” she told him. “Go! Before you get us all killed, you idiot.”
So he ran, half pushed along by Robert and Fiona, and he didn’t look back until he got to the other side of the bridge.
When he finally turned, he saw the damned running along the bridge toward Amanda.
They couldn’t get close. The ones in front screamed and burst into flame, floundered, and blasted back into dust. The ones in back kept pushing forward, though. . dooming those ahead of them.
Amanda blazed like a sun fallen to the earth.
The bridge melted and fell apart. She hovered in midair.
The lava under her erupted-plumes and gouts of molten rock and metal exploded. A tidal wave of lava surged in all directions, consuming the mesas and plateaus in its path.
Eliot turned and ran.
He no longer wondered how, or if, there was a way to save Amanda. He just ran. The encyclopedia part of his mind had nothing to say. Faced with a towering wall of pure fire, the only thing left was animal instinct.
They ran over the broken land, scrambled up dunes of ash, and crunched over a dry lakebed. . until he and the others were out of breath and his legs felt like lead. (Even dead Mr. Welmann was panting and exhausted.)
They stopped and looked.
A volcano pushed upward where Amanda had made her stand. It spewed fire and rock upon the land and hissed clouds that blackened the sky.
Nothing would get through that-dead or alive.
As Amanda had promised.
Eliot watched for a moment. Lightning flashed among the clouds, but there was no rain.
He wished he’d been there for her at school. But he’d just complained about her and treated her like a weakling. . when in fact, she had been just struggling to contain a power that, if she’d unleashed it, could have killed them all.
The words Eliot spoke not an hour ago echoed in his head: “
He’d gotten her killed.
Coming here and bringing her along had been his idea. But worse, even if he had known about her unstable power, if he’d had a choice to make between Amanda and Jezebel. . he still might have made a choice, and it would’ve been Jezebel, not her.
That made him, what?
Was he like his father? Evil?
Eliot sank to one knee. He was dizzy. . and unsure of everything.
He threw up.
Fiona came to him and set her hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered.
She didn’t understand. Yes, he felt guilty over Amanda’s death, but what he really felt terrible about was that along with Amanda dying, something had been burned out inside him, too.
Eliot hunched over and threw up again.
Coughing, he stood up straight. “I’m okay now,” he told them, and then pointed. “That’s the direction I saw the train tracks.”
And then, one foot in front of the other, he started moving again.
Eliot walked down the center of the Night Train tracks.
He had Lady Dawn slung over his shoulder, and the instrument banged along his back. For the first time since Louis had given him the instrument, he didn’t feel like lugging it around.
It was quiet here and merely hot (compared with the furnace temperatures elsewhere on the plains). Occasionally a meteor would slam into the dust and leave a crater, but they never hit the train tracks. Even whirlwinds that sprang up vanished before they crossed the tracks.
But quiet was the last thing he wanted because he kept thinking about Amanda, and how she’d died to save them, so Eliot could get the girl he
Would he have done the same for Amanda? Or was Paxington making him selfish? Or was it his Infernal blood?
How had this all gotten so out of control?
Fiona walked next to him, and for once in her life, she had nothing to say.
That was driving him nuts, too. If she’d just yell at him-tell him how stupid his plan had been. . something. . then he could’ve defended himself.
The silence was like a knife slowly twisting in his brain.
Mr. Welmann took point, on the lookout for mobs of angry damned or onrushing trains. Robert walked on Eliot’s right side, balancing on the railroad track. He’d unbuttoned his shirt all the way, and dirty shirttails flapped about him.
They were quiet, too.
More condemnation by the lack of conversation.
It was hard to tell how long they walked. The light from the furnace-orange sun was always behind clouds, and never changed. Robert’s watch was busted. Fiona’s phone displayed jumbled characters when she’d tried calling Mitch, and she got a “caller unavailable” message.
Mr. Welmann scanned the horizon. “Uphill grade,” he told them.
Eliot nodded, not caring. It was as if this place evaporated his ability to think straight and all he could do was walk on these tracks.
There were channels and riverbeds alongside the rails now, bone dry as if there had been running water in them a million years ago. As the plains sloped up, black rocks jutted from the ash and seared red clay. There were even a few spots of lichen.
Eliot’s mind cleared a bit when he spotted stunted sagebrush. There were scrub pines, too, twisted and tortured, but alive.
As they neared the summit of this hill, a breeze carried a hint of moisture.
He got to the top, and it was as if someone had drawn a line along the ridge-splotches of moss appeared on the other side, the earth was black loam, pine forests sprouted and thickened into a jungle that blanketed the valley beyond, and a ribbon of muddy river snaked down its center. The sunlight turned from blazing orange to a cool silver overcast.
Eliot took a deep breath, and smelled a “compost” scent mixed with honey and the perfume of a million flowers.
“The Poppy Lands,” he said.
“Duh,” Fiona muttered.
Despite her sarcasm, despite the fact they’d just lost one of their team, Fiona’s eyes were wide, taking it all in and gleaming with curiosity. She’d always wanted to travel and see exotic places. This was about as exotic as you could get.
Flowers grew everywhere: fleshy orchids with inviting petals, drooping wisteria cones that dangled nectar- sticky stems, and carpets of pinhead-sized blossoms the color of cotton candy.
