wondered if Emmett had bothered to add her false tooth to that pile.
She could barely hear him now. Zoe turned and ran through the rest of the chambers, following the sound of Emmett’s voice. There was little light past the chambers. She blundered in the dark, groping and stumbling along the walls until she came to an underground crossroads, tunnels leading in four directions. She couldn’t hear anything. Emmett had stopped singing.
She didn’t know what to do, which way to go. A wrong decision could waste enough time to let Emmett get away. But standing there forever would accomplish the same thing. Zoe closed her eyes. This wasn’t the time to lose her shit, she thought. She’d come too far for that. She breathed and looked around for clues. As she stared at the ancient stones, the image of Mr. Danvers flickered into her mind. He’d know what to do. He was smart and would figure out some cool science trick to follow Emmett. But she didn’t know enough science for anything that James Bond-like. Did she know anything at all, anything useful? No, she decided, but she had to make a decision, and knew she needed a push. She pulled out Valentine’s compass and held it close to her eyes so she could see where the little pointer settled. It came to a rest pointing west, to her left. That was better than nothing. She started down the left tunnel.
At first she walked very quietly, even covering her mouth and nose in an effort to muffle the sound of her breathing. The tunnel dropped her back into darkness almost as deep as the sewers, but there were candles here and there that kept her from bumping into the walls. There was something else, too. A whisper, like a voice. And maybe a melody. It was Emmett, singing again. Zoe sprinted frantically toward the sound.
The tunnel took sudden sharp turns and there were two-foot blind drops where the candlelight didn’t reach. She fell. She slammed her shoulders into the walls. She twisted her ankle, but she kept running, and Emmett’s singing grew louder with each step. She gulped air and her chest burned from breathing so hard. Her arms and head ached from tension, but she closed in on the sound. She could tell Emmett was just ahead as she rounded a final corner. .
. . And she found herself in a cul-de-sac of bare, rough limestone. A dead end. Emmett’s voice still hung in the air, a dying echo, like the smell of a room that had once held flowers.
Zoe’s legs shook, and it was hard to catch her breath. She touched her fingertips over the walls, feeling the cold, damp stone. There was nothing in the cul-de-sac, no sign that Emmett or anyone else had ever been there. She looked wildly around the floor for footprints, a dropped piece of paper, anything that might show her that she’d gone the right away. There were just murky puddles, stones, and trash-speckled silt in small dunes in the corners. Zoe fell back against the wall.
Lost, she thought. Everything lost. Emmett. Dad. She bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood. She wasn’t even sure if she could find her way back.
Zoe held up her hands. They were almost black, covered in filth and ragged cuts. Her sneakers and jeans were ripped in a dozen places. She felt empty, as if, in the last few hours, she’d used up everything she was.
Something snapped inside her, and without thinking, Zoe screamed and kicked the stone in front of her. It hurt, but she didn’t care. She grabbed garbage from the floor and hurled it at the wall-cans, old magazines, a motorcycle chain, a beer bottle. The bottle shattered against rough rock, sending shards flying back at her. She covered her face, but felt blood running down her arms where pieces had cut her. The blood mixed with the black filth on her hands. The sight of it made her very tired. Tears ran down her face. She wiped them away and sagged against the wall.
From far below, something rumbled. Zoe stepped back and the noise stopped. She pressed her weight into the stones, but nothing happened. She touched the stones to see if she could feel any movement. The rumbling came again, faintly. A moment later, the wall started to open, but stopped when she pulled back her hands. Zoe looked down and understood. She wiped her hands over her face, smearing her tears onto them, then touched the wall again. When her wet fingers came in contact with the stone, the wall swung back like a door opening.
Another tunnel lay ahead, crowded with the skeletons of rusted-out old buses half buried in mud. There was a narrow pathway through the debris, and at the end of the path was an opening onto what looked like a street.
Slowly and carefully, Zoe made her way between the mounds of garbage, limping on her twisted ankle. Rats scrabbled along the tops of the buses, their small, sharp claws ticking on the metal. Zoe could see their glittering eyes and twitching, inquisitive noses as they followed her passage through their kingdom. There was nothing threatening about the rats. They were just curious and cautious, but she also got the idea that the rats were partly staring at her in wonder, as if they knew something she didn’t.
A light rain was falling where the tunnel ended. A street spread out before her and a cloudy sky hung above. It was night and the rain was stinging cold, but to Zoe it felt like the most glorious shower in the world. She held out her hands and rubbed them together, washing off as much of the grime as she could. Then she looked up and let the rain rinse her face clean. There was a full moon, high in the cloudy sky over a calm, black sea. It was a beautiful sight. A sudden blast of wind came from the direction of the water, carrying an ocean chill. Zoe shivered in her wet clothes. By the far wall a heavy black overcoat hung off the end of a bedpost. She picked up and inspected it. The coat was relatively clean and no rats seemed to have claimed it for their own, so she put it on. The weight and warmth made her feel better instantly. But that good feeling only lasted for a moment. Above the bedpost where the coat had hung, a single word was carved into the high granite wall:
IPHIGENE
Eight
There must be some mistake. The garbage-strewn passage and this dreary, pitted road couldn’t be part of the same town where she’d just spent a day with her father, could they? Maybe there was more than one Iphigene.
A horn blared at her from nearby. Two bright lights crossed over her. A screech echoed off the rocky cliff as tires tried to grip the wet road. Zoe lurched back and pressed herself against the hill. She’d wandered to the center of the road without even realizing it. A bus swerved around where she’d been a second earlier and continued on, disappearing around the curve. Everything was suddenly quiet, except for the rain, which was coming down harder than ever. Wind from the ocean threw itself against the hillside and the rain seemed suspended in the air, like shuddering Christmas lights. Iphigene, whatever version of Iphigene she’d stumbled into, lay just around the corner ahead. She’d come much too far to simply turn back without a look, so she started walking.
Her right leg hurt. She’d twisted her ankle coming down the giant stairs and now her whole leg throbbed. Her sneakers were soaked through, but she could live with that. It meant they couldn’t get any wetter. She pulled the coat tighter around her, hoping it would warm her up. It helped a little, but not much. As she neared the town, the rain turned to a fine mist. Zoe heard the sound of the surf breaking quietly on the shore below the boardwalk. The fat, ice-white moon cast its reflection onto the dark water. For just a moment, no more than a heartbeat, the moon looked to Zoe like a giant eye watching everything and everyone in Iphigene, including her. Then the feeling was gone and it was just the moon again.
Ahead, the bus that had almost run her down sat idling by the curb. The front and rear doors were open and people were stepping down to the pavement. Many of the new arrivals stood on the corner, seemingly confused. They turned in slow circles like lost dogs trying to catch a scent that would lead them home. A few walked up the street, drawn by the sounds coming from the bars, while others crossed over to the boardwalk to stare at the ocean.
Zoe approached a plump man in a dark brown suit at least a size too small for him. The rain plastered his straw-colored hair across his forehead and his white shirt across the ample curve of his belly. He and a handful of others seemed unwilling to move far from the idling bus.
“This isn’t right,” murmured the fat man.
“Uh, excuse me,” said Zoe.
