The realization gave him no choice. He leaped to his feet, spinning as he had seen Rich do when he was trying to break a tackle while playing American football. He turned against the curl of the tentacle, rotated halfway around, and broke into a run, pulling Rich after him.
Behind them he heard the tentacle writhe, grabbing wildly at the air, breaking branches as it whirled around, searching. Then it was sucked upward, and the entire creature was on the move up in the canopy, following them.
Somehow they had to find the path. If they could get to the beach, the monster wouldn’t be able to reach them from the trees. But first they had to get there. Branches whipped at their face and arms as they blundered through the undergrowth. One lashed the side of Darwen’s neck like a scalpel, but then he was out on the wide-open beach, free of the tree limbs through which the Bleck had moved.
“This way!” shouted Rich, who seemed to have had the same idea: get to the shore, and they might be safe. He snapped on his pocket flashlight, and though Darwen knew that would make them visible, he said nothing. He couldn’t stand the darkness any longer, and they just had to get down to the sea.
The creature seemed to sense what they were doing. Branches fell from above as it tore through the canopy, and—just when Darwen thought nothing could add to his terror—it began to scream: a deafening shriek of fury that silenced the storm and every other beast in the jungle. Darwen’s skin seemed to shrink like cellophane in a candle flame, and his hair stood on end. The appalling sound lasted several seconds, and Darwen felt his strength fade, as if the noise was draining the hope and courage out of him.
“Keep going,” breathed Rich, lumbering into him from behind. “Don’t stop.”
Rich’s words cleared his mind a little, and Darwen’s feet began to pound the track again. Somewhere behind them they heard the groan and crack of a trunk splintering from the Bleck’s weight, but they didn’t pause. They ran harder than ever, and suddenly it seemed that the path, though just as windy, was sloping down.
“This is it!” shouted Rich, his flashlight waving erratically. “We’re nearly there!”
Darwen found a little well of energy deep inside him, dipped into it, and accelerated into the path. They rounded one last overgrown corner, and a glorious sight met their eyes. Off to the left, no more than a couple of hundred yards away, they could see the orange glow of the fire.
Rich paused, checking behind them, and his flashlight found the Bleck’s pale and pulsing body up in the treetops, its many glassy eyes staring, its tentacles spread wide, some gripping tree trunks, others poised to strike.
Darwen grabbed Rich by the back of his shirt and pulled, but the larger boy was too scared to move.
“Come on!” shouted Darwen. “Get to the fire!”
The Insidious Bleck opened its great beak-like jaws, and the mouthpart feelers around it flexed hungrily.
Rich didn’t move.
There was something hypnotic about the slow unfurling of those tentacles, the way they stretched out toward them. . . .
“Now!” bellowed Darwen, and he kicked Rich hard in the shin.
Rich blinked, gave Darwen a startled look as if he had just woken up, and then, finally, started to move.
Not a moment too soon. A tentacle lashed the place where they had been.
Fortunately, they were already sprinting the final yards down to the sand. They made for the fire, vaulting over the plastic boxes of supplies, conscious as they got out from under the darkness of the trees that the rain had stopped and the clouds overhead were blowing away already. They ran on, relief washing over them with each step they took away from the trees.
“There you are!” said a voice from beside the fire. “What kept you?”
“Alex!” gasped Darwen. “Are we glad to see you!”
“I don’t know,” said Alex, “are you?”
“We thought . . . you were . . . out there,” Rich managed as he doubled over, breathing hard. “The thing . . .”
“The Insidious Bleck!” said Darwen. “It’s back there.”
Alex gazed past them, her face serious.
“Not so much back there,” she said, “as just there.”
No, thought Darwen. Not here. We’re safe here.
But she was right.
Crab-like, it came toward them from the tree line, half walking, half slithering on those awful tentacles, and on land it seemed more spider than octopus. In the firelight it looked hellish, a sprawling, throbbing horror. It was even bigger than Darwen had thought. Its tentacles could have wrapped around a bus—and crushed it.
“Get your bows!” said Alex.
The idea was so preposterous that even in his terror, Darwen stared at her.
“You got a better idea?” she said.
They picked up their bows and fumbled with the little stack of arrows they had made. They felt pathetically, comically inadequate.
The monster came toward them, upending the boxes so that one popped its lid and spewed its white powdery contents.
“It will be afraid of the fire,” muttered Rich feverishly.
“It’s not,” said Alex as the monster clambered over the supplies.
“Well, it should be,” Rich answered. So saying he drew back his bow, and Darwen saw that he had set the tip of the arrow alight. He fired. The burning arrow scudded through the darkness and found one of the monster’s tentacles. It bellowed in rage, and its pincer-like mouth gaped at them, but it did not slow down.
“Good idea,” said Alex. “Let’s make it really angry.”
“I wasn’t aiming for it,” said Rich. “I was aiming for the box! The one with no lid.”
“The box?” said Darwen, not taking his eyes off the lumbering creature. “Why?”
“Just shoot it!”
Darwen didn’t dare turn his back on the monster, so he thrust his arrow back in the direction of the fire and held it there without looking at it. When he put it in his bow, he saw that the tip was smoldering but not truly alight. Gripped with panic and feeling trapped between the beast and the flames, he fired anyway. The bow twanged absurdly, and the arrow buried itself in the sand. Rich fired again, and his arrow flew up and out of sight.
The monster slid closer, raising itself over the plastic box of white powder.
“Shoot the box?” said Alex, who was sighting down her wonky bow, a burning arrow poised to fire. “Really?”
“Really!” shouted Rich.
“Okay.” She shrugged.
It was only feet from them now, and it showed no sign of slowing. Two of its tentacles were reaching for them.
“Now!” yelled Rich.
Alex fired.
What happened next took everyone by surprise. The arrow flew perfectly straight and clean, smooth as a javelin, right into the open box. The moment it made contact, there was an explosion of yellow flame considerably brighter than the fire at their backs. It roared up, engulfing the monster’s body, surrounding it in a blaze so dazzling that they had to turn their eyes from it.
The Insidious Bleck roared again, not in anger, but in mad and desperate pain. It rocked backward, stumbling, its underside black and scorched. The hair on its body burst into short-lived flame, and the upper parts of its tentacles looked raw and shiny. It fell back, twisting in its agony, rolling in the sand.
And then it was retreating up the beach, groaning, limping into the darkness. Moments later, it was gone.
“What in Krispy Kreme heck fire was that?” said Alex, still kneeling like a statue, her bow extended.
“I told you,” said Darwen. “It was the Insidious Bleck.”
“Not that,” said Alex. “The stuff in the box. What was that?”
“Nondairy creamer,” said Rich. “I saw a show about it on TV. Supposed to be highly flammable.
”
“Er, I’d say so,” said Alex. She considered her twisted bow proudly. “Couldn’t hit the ocean from the edge of the ocean, huh?”
“That shot defied the laws of physics,” said Rich to Darwen.
“You can’t underestimate the power of attitude,” said Alex. “And style,” she added. “And poise under pressure—”
“Okay, Alex,” said Rich. “It was a good shot.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” she said. “And I guess your sciencey bit with the nondairy creamer didn’t suck either.”
“We’re a team,” said Rich, grinning.
A team, thought Darwen, but not the Peregrine Pact.
Mr. Peregrine had abandoned them.
“So,” said Alex, “when the nondairy whatsit stuff went all kablooey, would you say you were right chuffed?”
“Something like that,” said Rich. “We should check on Mr. Iverson and Jorge,” he added, gazing toward the shelter. “You think it’s safe?”
“I think that octo-spider nightmare scared off everything within a ten-mile radius,” said Alex.
“Good enough,” Rich declared.
The three of them set off across the beach to the ranger station.
The shelter was a confusion of shattered glass, broken plastic, and splintered wood. The two men were huddled in one corner, partially barricaded in with overturned tables and chairs, which Rich and Darwen set to pulling away. Alex picked up Jorge’s fallen flashlight and shone it as Mr. Iverson crawled out.
“Are you okay?” asked Rich.
“I’m fine,” said Mr. Iverson, finding his glasses and putting them on. “Just a bit of a headache.”
He didn’t look fine. He looked scared and confused. But before Darwen could inquire further, Jorge emerged from the rubble, and he looked worse, pale and blood spattered. Rich rummaged through a first aid box and set to dressing a particularly nasty-looking gash across the man’s forearm.
“It’s okay,” said Jorge, though he didn’t resist when Rich started anointing and bandaging.
“What about you three?” asked Mr. Iverson, eying the cut on the back of Darwen’s leg. It had stopped bleeding quickly and looked much worse than it was.
“We’re fine,” said Darwen. “Did you see—”
Jorge shot him a hard look, and Darwen tried a different approach. “What did all this?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the shattered remains of the ranger station.
Everyone was watching Mr. Iverson. He rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said, looking around him. “I assumed the storm had brought the roof in, but it doesn’t look like it. I thought I saw . . .” He hesitated, shrugging, and everyone was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure. A minor concussion, I guess. Jorge?”
“Very strong winds,” said Jorge, nodding but not really looking at him. “I cut my arm on the edge of the table.”
“Really?” said Mr. Iverson. It was a genuine question. The science teacher seemed thoroughly unsure of himself.
“Yes,” said Jorge. “But the storm has gone now. We’re safe.”
Darwen found himself wondering, not for the first time, why it seemed so important to keep the truth from Mr. Iverson, who had always been kind and helpful. What difference would it make if there was one more person who knew that they were in danger from the inhabitants of another world? What possible harm could it do? It would be good to have an adult to confide in, particularly with things as they were with Mr. Peregrine. Then again, if Mr. Peregrine didn’t believe him, what chance did he have of persuading Mr. Iverson, who knew nothing of Silbrica or its creatures?
No. He couldn’t tell Mr. Iverson, and he didn’t trust Jorge. He was on his own, as usual—or rather they were. He knew he could count on Rich and Alex. He gave them a nod to follow him.
“You’re going back out there?” said Jorge, curious and concerned.
“Won’t be long,” said Darwen.
“Be careful,” said Mr. Iverson.
“Always,” said Darwen.
“Well?” said Rich as soon as they were out of earshot of the shelter. “You think Mr. Iverson remembers more than he’s saying?”
“No,” said Darwen. “But listen. The monster—the Insidious Bleck—ran away.”
“Well, I’m not sure about ran,” said Alex. “More like limped.”
“What do you want to do?” asked Rich, eyeing Darwen keenly in the last light of the dying fire.
“We should follow it,” said Darwen.
“I’m sorry,” said Alex. “I think I have sand in my ears. We should what now?”
“It’s the opportunity we’ve been hoping for,” said Darwen.
“When that creamy stuff caught fire,” said Alex, “did you, you know, inhale any of it? Because something certainly fried your brain.”
“The monster is running away, right?” Darwen insisted. “It will go through the portal to wherever Scarlett keeps it. If we follow it, we’ll find Luis and the others. I know where the pool with the stones around it is.”
“And if we find ourselves welcomed with open tentacle-like arms?” Alex persisted.
“You saw it,” said Rich. “It’s hurt and scared. It won’t be waiting to attack us now.”
“Oh, right,” said Alex, “make me feel sorry for it!”
Darwen and Rich stared at her.
“I know,” she said, holding her hands up. “It’s an animal, right? It’s probably just hungry.”
“That’s what Mr. Peregrine’s been saying, but I’m not so sure,” said Darwen. “It ate the pouncel right away. But with us . . . it was different. Like it was trying to catch us to take us back.”
“Fine,” said Alex. “But I’m bringing my physics-defying bow and arrows.”
“Deal,” said Darwen.
Rich snapped on his flashlight.
“Lead the way,” he said.
It took them only a few minutes to find the mirror pool ringed with stones, and that was moving slowly, their flashlights constantly scanning the surrounding trees for pouncels. They found no sign of life, however, and the jungle was oddly quiet after the storm. Darwen gazed at the perfectly round depression brimming with bright rainwater, the stones around its rim arranged with mathematical precision.
“What makes you think it’s still online?” asked Rich. “Looks like a puddle to me.”
Darwen took a step closer and leaned over the pool, dreading the sight of a beak and curled tentacles nestled within.
There was no sign of the Bleck. But there was no sign of anything else either. The water was not actually water—not to Darwen’s eyes, at least—but what it was he couldn’t say. It looked like mist, a pearly fog in which vague, greenish lights pulsed, but beyond that . . .
“Take my hands,” he said.
They did so, uncertainly. Rich’s palm was hot and sweaty, Alex’s cool and dry. Neither of them looked sure about this, and their lack of resolve deepened when they could see what Darwen could.
“Nothing’s there,” Rich cautioned. “It looks like cloud. What if it puts us in the treetops of some Silbrican jungle full of God knows what?”
“We’ve waited a long time for this,” Darwen implored. “Alex?”
“Ready,” she said.
“Rich?”
There was a moment of silence, then Rich slowly blew the air from his lungs. “Dang,” he said. “Okay.”
“On three,” said Darwen. “One. Two. Three.”
They stepped into the pool.
Immediately they found themselves on a mist-wreathed staircase, broad and fashioned from wrought iron, like the footbridge in a Victorian railway station, but huge, at least fifty feet wide, and rising—bizarrely—out of dense jungle. The light had a curious greenish cast
that seemed to come from the forest itself.
“Why are the stairs so wide when the portal is so small?” asked Alex.
“The portal is just the stones and water on the other side,” said Darwen. “They can be positioned anywhere, making the portal big as you like.”
“These aren’t just stairs. Look at that,” said Rich, pointing to a huge lever. “They pivot, see? Pull that, and the stairs become a ramp.”
“What for?” asked Alex.
“Let’s find out,” said Darwen.
They went down the stairs, and the metal steps rang beneath their feet as they descended into the stiff, wet fog that rose from the jungle floor. As they got lower, strange plants loomed out of the mist—thick, glossy leaves the size of elephant ears, pagoda towers of crimson flowers, bulging and pendulous amber fruit. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and fragrances sweet and sour that hung in clouds around the vegetation. There was no breeze, and the stifling heat of the jungle rose significantly as they reached the forest floor. The odd green light seemed to emanate from the plants themselves. They throbbed as if they were taking long, slow breaths that set their leaves aglow. There was an electric hum that might have been machinery and might have been insects, and though there was no wind, Darwen could hear creeping movement all around.
“Whoa,” said Alex. “This is even junglier than the place we just left.”
Despite his rising unease, Darwen gave her a look. “Junglier?” he breathed.
“More jungle-y,” she said, and then, shrugging at Rich, “More rainforest-y.”
Rich barely smiled as he inched forward, leaning to avoid a massive blossom whose heavy cream petals were etched with veins of a poisonous-looking purple. “There’s a clearing,” he said, moving so that the fog billowed around him.
Darwen and Alex followed warily and saw that he was right. Though crisscrossed with vines, the ground was open in a circle. There was nowhere else to go unless they forced their way into the seemingly impassable wall of shrubs, flowers, and trees that surrounded them.
“So what do we do?” asked Alex, who was tiptoeing into the circle.
Darwen Arkwright and the Insidious Bleck Page 24