Chapter 46 I’m All Rung Out
FOR A MOMENT, I’M FROZEN in shock. Did he say the Underworld? As in, Hades? As in, souls? As in…dead people?
All of a sudden, the name of the stop on the train makes sense. Acheron Station. Acheron is the river at the beginning of the Underworld, even before the River Styx. If I remember correctly, it’s in the borderlands, a boundary separating the living from the dead.
And I was there? In a room filled with books? I don’t know whether to be elated or terrified—maybe both, considering the books were guarded by more snakes than I ever wanted to see in my life.
But still. I’m in the Underworld? And if what Kyrian said is true, I can get back out? Normally, I wouldn’t believe him about that, except it’s obvious he gets out. The first time I saw him was aboveground.
All of the myths I’ve ever read, all the history I’ve ever been taught, says that’s impossible for anyone but Persephone—and a few select others with very select circumstances.
So how is it that I am currently on top of a subway train—a train?!—when no myth has ever mentioned trains in the Underworld? Ever. And I’m supposed to escape by jumping as high as I can?
It doesn’t seem real.
And maybe it’s not. But the last thing I want to do is end up moving past the borderlands and into the heart of the Underworld—I don’t think even Kyrian could get me out of that—so I need to get moving. And jump like I’ve never jumped before.
The thought has my stomach churning and my heart beating way too fast. But not nearly as fast as if I had to go back and face those snakes again.
So, heart pounding and mouth dry as that dusty old room I just escaped from, I start walking along the top of the train toward its back. It’s dark and high up here and I’m scared of falling off—I’m good at balancing, but this is a wild—so I go slowly until I get my bearings.
But I’ve only taken three or four steps when I hear the canned voice say, “Please keep your hands and arms and all other body parts inside the train. We should arrive at Acheron Station in eleven minutes.”
Eleven minutes? That means it’s going to start—
A high-pitched whine fills the air, and I take off running just as the train begins to move.
I put every ounce of energy I don’t have into racing to the end of the car. It’s so dark that I can’t see anything beyond it, and I have about fifteen seconds of hope that this is the last part of the train. But as I get to the end, I realize there’s another one.
And I’ve got no time to stop. So I just keep going, jump across the three feet that separate the cars, and land at the very edge of the next one. I teeter a little bit, nearly sliding off the end, but I suck my stomach in, lock my core, and fight to hold the landing even as the train gathers speed.
Once I’m sure I’m not going to fall off the end, I start running again. And find another car. And another car. And another car. How long is this train, anyway?
As soon as the thought flits through my head, I feel bad. Because it’s probably as long as it needs to be to haul all the newly departed souls into the heart of the Underworld.
Shame at my callousness burns my cheek, and I whisper a soft “I’m sorry” to whoever is on the train at this exact moment. They deserve respect.
But respecting them doesn’t mean I want to be one of those souls quite yet, so I keep moving, keep jumping. By the time I get to the end of the ninth car, I’m totally in the groove. So much so that I nearly run right off the end of it and into the abyss of darkness.
Oh my gods! This is it! What I’ve been waiting for. I have too much momentum to stop, so I accelerate instead, and when I get to the end, I bend my knees and jump like I’m the center at a championship basketball game.
Arms outstretched, head tilted back, knees drawn up to my chest, I flail around trying to find I don’t know what. And that’s when my hands brush against a cool, smooth cylindrical bar.
I grab on with every ounce of strength I have left, and for long seconds I dangle in the darkness as I try to figure out where I am and what I need to do. That’s when I remember the slide that took me down, down, down before dropping me in that room. And how do you get to the top of a slide?
You climb the ladder. I’m dangling from the very bottom rung of a ladder. Since getting my legs onto this thing is going to be no easy feat, it kind of makes me wonder just how high Kyrian can jump. And what would have happened if I had jumped just an inch or two less.
As if in answer to my unasked question, a long, low moan sounds from directly below me. And that’s all it takes to get me moving. I swing my legs back and forth like they taught me in gymnastics when I was little and manage to gain enough momentum to put my feet in between my hands on the bar.
My Chucks aren’t as good at gripping the bar as bare feet, but they’re all I’ve got right now, so I’m going to make it work. Especially since this time when the moan comes, it’s louder, longer, and so much closer.
Carefully, so, so carefully, I jockey my hands to the outside rails of the ladder.
Once there, I slide them one slow inch at a time—first one hand, then the other—holding on for dear life the entire time.
Then, when I’ve finally moved my hands far enough up the rails, I push up until my feet are flat on the bottom rung.
Another quick shimmy of my hands onto the rung from the railing, and I’m finally standing on the ladder. Just in time, too, because another moan fills the air, and now it’s coming from directly below me.
Instead of wasting time trying to figure out something I don’t want to know anyway, I start hauling my butt up the ladder, climbing as fast as I possibly can.
I start out counting the rungs, but somewhere around two hundred, I lose track—right about the time my arms turn to the consistency of cooked spaghetti.
I pause for a few seconds, take a few breaths and let my arms rest. And then—because I’m afraid every muscle in my body will stiffen up if I don’t keep moving—I start to climb again. One-hundred-and-eighty-seven more rungs.
By the time I get to the trapdoor at the top of the ladder, my muscles are burning and my entire body is shaking so badly that I can barely hold on to the ladder. But I’m too close to fail—or fall—now, so I use the last bit of strength I have to grab the handle and push it up.
But then the sky—bright blue, with no thunderstorms in sight—appears above me. Taking a deep breath, tears of exhaustion streaming down my face, I push myself up and through the opening, landing face first in a fragrant pile of grass.
The trapdoor springs shut behind me, and as I roll over to stare at the sky, I promise myself that the next time I go to the Underworld, I absolutely, positively am going to be dead.