Eternity's Wheel (InterWorld 3)

“I know,” she said a little testily. I suppose I didn’t have to keep reminding her how serious this was; there wasn’t anything wrong with looking forward to dessert while knowing you still had to eat your vegetables.

“I used to have a whole book about stuff like that,” I said after a moment, trying to make conversation as we slogged our way through the thick, dank air. I knew I should save my breath, but we hadn’t had much chance to talk about anything other than tactics and technical ship stuff. I knew next to nothing about her, except what I assumed we had in common.

“Stuff like what? Modern mysteries?”

“Yeah. My aunt gave it to me.”

“I had the same one,” she said. “Aunt Theresa?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Blue cover?”

“No, green. Yellow title.”

“Mine was black, I think. Don’t remember; I got it when I was really little. Mom and her sister didn’t talk much, really.”

“I guess that’s how it was for us at first, but they got closer after the accident,” she said.

“What accident?”

“The car accident.” Josephine glanced sidelong at me. “Where Mom lost her arm.”

I paused, once again struck by the realization at how different we all were, even though we were all essentially the same. When I’d first come to Josephine’s world, when I still didn’t know what was happening or why, I’d gone into her house and seen the woman who was my mom but wasn’t, who looked like her and sounded like her but had different hair and a prosthetic arm.

“That didn’t happen for you,” she said.

“No,” I admitted. “I remember one car accident we were in, but it wasn’t bad.”

She was silent for a moment, considering that. She didn’t seem upset, just thoughtful. Josephine was like that, I was learning; she tended to mostly roll with the punches. I guess she’d had to.

“Well, it was bad for us. I have a scar right here from when I hit my head.” She pulled her sleeve away from her mouth long enough to push her hair back. I couldn’t make out the scar with how my eyes were watering from the dust in the air, but I nodded anyway. “And I only sort of remember what happened. I woke up in the hospital with Dad sitting next to me, and he told me we’d be staying there for a few days while Mom had surgery.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to think of anything else.

“Whatever,” she said. “Don’t pity me or anything. It wasn’t that bad. Mom’s used to using the prosthetic now, and she can do most things pretty easily. She even makes jewelry.”

I automatically reached up to touch the necklace beneath my shirt, the one I always wore. My mom had made it for me the night I left home, and I wondered if Josephine’s mother had been able to do the same.

“Is it just me, or is it getting harder to breathe?” she asked.

“It’s not just you,” I said, pausing. “And do you hear that?”

We both stopped, holding our breaths for more than one reason. Had I heard a faint rustling nearby? Now I wasn’t sure. There was the same unnatural stillness that had surrounded us since we arrived: no birds, no breeze, no insects. But now there was a heaviness to the air, a sense of waiting, of anticipation.

I tackled Josephine to the side as I felt the ground shudder behind me and slightly to the right, my only indication that something was about to happen. I felt a rush of air over my head, and heard a shrill, strangled sound that made my spine tingle. It sounded almost like a bird, but . . . not.

I rolled defensively to my feet, some small part of me noting with pride that Josephine was doing the same.

A shape loomed up out of the red dust at us, beady eyes glinting in the scant light. It looked like some sort of ostrich or emu, but . . . well, not nearly as silly. Large, flightless birds have always looked kinda weird to me, you know? Not this one. For one thing, it was probably close to twice my height, and I know I’m not exa

ctly big, but still.

I rolled to the side again as the thing’s head—almost the size of my torso—lunged toward me, fast as a striking snake. I got the impression of some kind of hooked beak before it spun past me, orienting on Josephine. Definitely carnivorous, definitely hungry.

I’d like to say what I did next was heroic, but it was probably closer to dumb. As Josephine darted backward to avoid the beak, I threw myself toward the thing in what I hoped was a coordinated jump. It probably looked more like I was flailing while falling, but I managed to get my arms around the thing’s long neck anyway, legs wrapped around its body and feet off the ground.

It’s times like that, half-astride the back of a prehistoric monstrous emu, that I wondered what I’d be doing right now if my life was normal. Probably not playing rodeo with a giant bird, that’s for sure.

“Run!” I shouted, scrabbling for purchase as the whatever it was hopped and bucked. I managed to get an arm around its neck, locking my grip with my other hand. I felt feathers and rough, leathery skin against my arm, and then I felt my teeth rattle as it tried to run me into a tree. Basic anatomy teaches that most mammal or avian creatures have to breathe, usually through a windpipe of some sort, and I was hoping this thing would be no different. Of course, with all the soot and dust down here, I might have been way off the mark. . . . Maybe this creature had evolved to not need oxygen? I probably should have considered that sooner.