Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(23)

He’s still thrashing. His big frame holds so much power, but right now his size hurts him.

I place a hand on the small of his back. At my touch, his body stills.

“Listen to me,” I say. “Right arm first.”

His left shoulder scoots back toward me as he reaches his right hand far in front. I feel his muscles flex, see his knees bend, his toes dig: his shoulders slide through.

“That’s it. Keep your shoulders angled, use your toes to push.”



He goes in farther. Now only his feet and ankles are visible.

I look up, and that icy feeling explodes into hot fear—the spider is only ten steps away, a crawling nightmare barely visible in the darkness, coming to rip me apart.

Quickly but carefully, I slide my spear past Bishop, then dive in after him so fast I bang my head on the tunnel’s edge. Brain ringing, I wriggle forward until my face presses against Bishop’s filthy feet.

He’s blocking the way—my legs are still exposed.

My chest is on the damp ground, and through it I feel the vibrations of the spider’s pounding feet. It should be on me already…

“Bishop, move move move!”

Pain explodes through my calf.

My body acts on its own, curling me into a ball, pulling my feet and legs away from the opening. I grab my spear—it’s too long to turn around and use point-first, so I jam the butt backward, feel it smash into something solid.

Bishop crawls forward, slow but steady.

My leg is on fire.

What if the spider comes in after me?

I turn slightly, just enough to look back down the tunnel. A patch of blackness blocks the opening—the creature is too big to fit inside.

My leg screams. Is the spider’s poison already spreading through me?

A strange thought: Why didn’t I hear that whine?

I face forward and crawl. Someone pulls my spear out first, then strong hands grab my wrists and drag me free.

The others pack in around me. Bishop’s face is a mask of fear and concern.



“Are you hurt?”

I look at my leg. The moonlight plays off the glistening wetness coursing down my calf.

“It bit me,” I say. “Why are things always biting me?”

My calf seems to blur. The moonlight fades.

Blackness drags me down.





My brain buzzes. Am I sliding into a dream or coming out of one? Strong arms carry me. My head rests against a warm chest. For once, I actually feel safe.

My eyes open. Blackness and bright stars high above. Bishop is carrying me.

“She’s awake.” Spingate’s voice. “Em, can you stand?”

“I’m not sure. Let me try.”

Bishop sets me down. The moment I put weight on my right foot, my calf sparks with agony. He bends to pick me up again.

“No, I can make it on my own.”

He looks doubtful, concerned, but he takes a step back.

Farrar hands me my spear. I lean on it, take a few painful steps. Not the best solution, but it will do for now.

Towering ziggurats rise up all around us. Shadow drapes everything, resistant to light from the double moons. Up ahead, there is a glow coming from behind a thick, curving wall of vines. We’re back at the shuttle.

My leg hurts. My calf is wrapped in a purple bandage that must have come from Spingate’s medical kit. Spots of blood look black.



“Did the spider poison me?”

Spingate shakes her head. “It doesn’t look like a bite or a puncture wound. I think you tore it on a sharp rock.”

I not only banged my head against the tunnel entrance, I hurt my leg on it as well? I thought the spider was right on top of me…in my desperation to escape, I must have flailed about too much, caught my calf on a jagged edge.

The fear of that moment comes rushing back. My body starts to shiver. Spingate holds me tight.

“You made it through,” she says, gently stroking my hair. “That’s all that matters.” She lets me go, rubs my back as she guides me down the street. “We’re almost there. Smith is waiting to look at you and Bishop both.”

Bishop has purple bandages wrapped around one shoulder. The other shoulder is tied with strips of blood-streaked white cloth.

I realize that most of Spingate’s shirt is gone, shredded into strips. The fabric that remains barely covers her breasts.

“We ran out of bandages,” she says. “Bishop insisted I use what I had on you first. I improvised for his wounds.”

We climb up the wall of vines. Coyotl stays close to me, helping me when I stumble. I feel weak. Weak and dizzy.

At the top, I pause, look out at our shuttle. Lights on the tail, the wing tips, the top, all gleaming in welcome.

We made it.

Coyotl helps me descend the ring of vines. I’m almost to the bottom when I freeze, that now all-too-familiar blast of paralyzing fear driving straight through me—two Grownups, sprinting toward us.

“It’s all right,” Coyotl says. “That’s Visca and Bawden.”



As soon as he says that, I see it. Visca and Bawden, yes, but dressed all in black. The coveralls in the storeroom. My pulse is racing. I can barely see straight. I need to lie down.

The two circle-stars sprint to the top of the vine ring, scouting for danger in case we were followed here. The rest of us shuffle to the shuttle.