The Storm Runner (The Storm Runner 1)

Good. The three of them were safe and sound.

“Now back to old Puke,” I said. “Unless you have some secret up your sleeve, you badgering me in my dreams isn’t exactly helping. And it really hurt when you jammed your beak into my hand!”

“Yes, well, you deserved that. I agree that dreams aren’t the best way to communicate. Only some of my words are reaching you, and it’s quite maddening. But it’s all we have.”

“So what do I do? Once I’m in the Old World?”

“Kill him.”

“Great idea!”

“Zane, I’m a chicken! My legs are chicken legs. My eyes are chicken eyes. My brain? Well, you get the point. I’m not exactly… DID I MENTION I’M A CHICKEN? And You-Know-Who sings out of tune to me every day!”

I hoped I’d make it back to tell Mr. O that La Muerte was as powerful as he’d dreamed. He’d be so excited. “And Rosie?” I asked hopefully. “Any word from your friends?”

“Do I look like your secretary?”

The metal trees shimmered with warped images I couldn’t make out. Then Ms. Cab squawked. “Time to wake up. Remember the blind spot, Zane. Find it!”

There was a terrible explosion, and a cloud of smoke filled the air. I jerked awake, hacking up my lungs. Brooks pulled the blanket over her head and jammed her foot against my leg.

“Sorry,” I murmured, sitting up. Thankfully, the explosion had only been in my dream. The smoke had been replaced with fog so thick it swallowed the sea and the horizon. The sky above was a pale grayish blue. It was impossible to tell for sure, but I guessed the sun was rising.

Jazz rushed down from the second deck. “We’ve made incredible time! See? I told you this boat was amazing!”

“Are we close?” I asked, lowering my voice to avoid another kick from Brooks.

“We’re here.”

“This is the Old World?”

That got Brooks up. Her hair was a tangle of knots and she had dark circles under her eyes.

Jazz snorted. “No, this is the entrance.”

Blinking, I looked around, trying to see through the mist. “Where?” I half expected a door or a gate.

Brooks was on her knees, peering over the railing. “I don’t see anything.”

The boat lurched and stopped suddenly, like a stone wall was blocking our way. Slowly the fog separated and curled into ribbons, creating an image. I held my breath, watching as it took shape… sleeping eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It looked like an enormous face.

“Holy K!” Brooks cried. “What is that?”

“How do we get through?” I asked.

Jazz grunted. “The mouth, of course.”

“Do we need some kind of magic words or something?” Brooks said. “To get it to open?”

Jazz frowned, then looked at us with one frantic eye. “Give me something that belongs to each of you. Something with some weight to it.”

There wasn’t time for questions. Brooks yanked off her boot, muttering something about freezing feet, and thrust it at him.

Jazz turned it over in his hand.

“It’s all I could think of,” Brooks said. “Unless you want a dirty sock.”

I looked around, grabbed my stupid cane off the bench, and handed it to him. “You think it’s going to open for a combat boot and a cane?”