I'd sprained my ankle and suffered a head injury—a concussion, they told me later.  I was bleeding from every pore.

The rain came down in sheets, and the old, dry well began to fill with water.  I could swim, but I couldn't tread water forever, not with my ankle. I would drown.  That much had been certain.

I frantically scraped at the sides of the well, watching the sky turn dark and ominous through the small window above. No one heard my wails of confusion and terror.   They were snuffed out by the earth and her husband.

I couldn't remember what chain of events led me to the ruins of the well. I couldn't remember my parent's names.  I couldn't remember Tom's.  I knew I had a family, but details were blemished and foggy.

The thunder drowned out my cries, my pleas. Muddy water splashed my chest, and I shivered and coughed and screamed.  For nothing.

Hopelessness.  Fear. Sadness. They were just as deep, just as deadly. But I never stopped clawing at the stones, never stopped fighting.  It was useless to try, but I did anyway, propelled by fear.

Finally, after hours of dwindling faith, dwindling energy, I spotted a head far above me in the perfect gray circle, shouting my name. A rope was flung into the well—a lifeline.   

"Grab hold of it!  We're going to pull you out!"

"Hold tight!"

My ears were ringing. 

I swallowed, but the constant pitch in my head didn't falter.

My fingers dug into the earth beside me, sensing every fiber of the soil and the sharp ridges digging into my skin.  Alive, my body sang. You're alive.

Thanks to Styx.  Thanks to my mom's...ghost.

My mother had been with me all this time, watching over me, fighting demons with fish and boulders.  I thought she'd been a tween hitting on Will. 

So unbelievably wrong about that one.

It was just as Nova had said: the world was out of balance, and the dead were among us again.  Styx had been my fallen angel. And I'd lost her for the second time.

I opened my eyes to a hazy, muted grave and a binary world of brown and black.   A mountain of rocks pinned me to the ground, and I couldn't move a muscle below my waist.  Thankfully, it didn't feel like my legs had been crushed—just trapped, buried under the rubble. 

From my torso up, I was encased in a wooden fort.  The rotting beams had sheltered my brain from the collapse, providing a pocket of air.  About two meters to my right, a small window of light provided access to the outside world.  A chance of escape...if I could figure out how to exhume myself.

Beyond my feet, the rest of the tunnel formed a wall of earth and debris, a sealed door to my nightmares. 

All those Pans had been crushed and buried alive. 

It stirred up a nauseous feeling in my gut, something foul and ugly, but then I thought of Stretch and the poor nameless soldier, and I stashed the remorse away.                                   

In my periphery, I spotted a pair of blurry hands frantically removing dirt and rocks away from the hole.  Gradually, more light seeped into my tomb, and I felt a sob building in my throat. 

Someone was trying to dig me out. 

My rescuer moved a broken beam out of the way, and the rubble mountain groaned above me, dust trickling down on my face. The hands paused, then vanished.

I'm here! Keep trying, I wanted to say. I tried to voice something—anything—but I couldn't produce enough sound to reach him.  I'd swallowed too much dust. My chest was too heavy. 

The hands reappeared, and this time, they fashioned a plank on either side of the window to keep it from collapsing in on itself. 

Then a body crept through the hole. 

He came into focus as he drew nearer, and a patch of black, dusty hair and a familiar set of shoulders materialized.

Will. 

His coal eyes were wide, panicked.  I'd never seen him panicked before.  It made him look younger.

He crawled to me and hurriedly pushed away the debris from my legs, eyeing the fragile beams above our heads.  He had a fresh array of cuts on his face, and his movements were stiff and awkward—he was stifling pain.

Once he'd cautiously rearranged the obstacles around us, he chanced a look at my face, as if he'd been afraid to do so until now.

Our eyes met, and I grinned feebly, the tears running down my cheeks.

"Whoops," I croaked.

His dread dissolved, and he let out a shaky breath.  "You're unbelievable." 

It was hard to hear him over the ringing, but I could read his lips, as well as the relief that bubbled up under his mask.

A bit of strength returned to my voice.  "Tom?"

"He's fine.  They're all fine."   

The fist around my heart loosened a bit.

Will's gaze flitted back to our exit point. "We need to hurry."

I pointed to my bloody ribcage.  He nodded, like—Yeah, I can see that huge gashon my own, thanks.  He grabbed my hand and pushed it firmly to my wound, giving me a stern look that I interpreted to mean, pressure.

Then he murmured an apology and pulled my body toward him.  I almost retched when the pain returned, and I could feel fresh blood trickling over my fingers.

How did I even have more blood to lose?  How long did it take to bleed to death?

Hours? Minutes?

Did it happen slowly or all at once?                                            

I considered asking Will, but I didn't want to rush him.  He was doing his best.

With limited space to work with, he hooked an arm around my middle and dragged my body backward with his own, like a lifeguard might have rescued a drowning child. 

We were a few feet from the window when a plank gave way, and the unstable mountain shuddered.  Rocks fell down around us.  Soil fell like rain.  Will shielded my head from the debris, and my nails dug into his arms so hard they probably drew blood.

"Hey. It's okay," he said, lips moving against my temple.  "You're okay."

I kept my eyes closed, body tense. 

"You're getting out of here," he assured me. "I'll get you out."

And as stupid as it was, I trusted him. I trusted him to keep me alive, to save me. Maybe more than anyone else.

He tightened his hold on my waist and dragged us onward, rolling aside as a boulder collapsed just inches from his head.

Within seconds, we'd reached the narrow pocket of light.  Will hurriedly pushed me through, and a new pair of hands slipped under my arms and pulled me out the other side.  

It was bright. Too bright. Even for murky gray skies.                         

Will rolled out after me just as the last beams gave way, and the rest of the tunnel collapsed like the death of a giant beast, spewing dust and splinters in its final breath.

Fudge's bloody, tear-streaked face was the last thing I saw before darkness claimed me for the second time.