The Dig (26 page)

I realize that I am very afraid right now. It‘s not just the possibility of Hera coming after us.

It‘s the quiet, simple understanding that I will never see any of these people again, that my life here is quite literally flashing before my eyes as we run toward the pasture, toward the temple.

And everyone knows what it means when your life flashes before your eyes. It means you might die.

Zeus trips and falls and in seconds I‘m right there with him.

―Are you okay?‖

―I‘m okay.‖

We‘re low to the ground and we see it now, something we haven‘t seen before. It looks like the tip of a paintbrush that spins onward for miles.

It‘s following us and the townsfolk are parting and bowing. Only it‘s not a paintbrush.

It‘s Hera‘s mane, slick and sharp, and it‘s on a warpath and it‘s headed our way, slithering like a snake.

I wish it
was
a snake. This hair monster is infinitely scarier than any poisonous snake.

And how appropriate that my ultimate enemy would be the long, thick mane controlled by a mean girl. I live my whole life fussing with my hair, unable to get my cowlick out of the way. Of course my death will come at the hand of a girl with supernatural control over her superior hair. That‘s why I‘m so afraid right now. It feels as though not just my time here but all of my life has led to this one battle.

But there‘s no more time to think. Hera‘s swath of hair is sharp and vicious and coming for me. On all sides it cuts, like a creature with a hundred mouths—it bites; it chomps. It is the darkness. It is the very essence of Hera‘s power and it razes the earth and casts shadows that stamp out the life. Anything that doesn‘t get out of its way is cut to pieces, and it never stops moving. It won‘t stop swerving and careening and thrashing until it catches the one thing that it really wants: me and my stupid little cowlick.

And if Zeus stays with me, it‘s going to take him too.

We don‘t seem to be moving fast enough. We can hear the tendrils gaining on us and we‘re struggling but the path is windy and we‘re on the steepest part. The tendrils are thickening and spearing the air to warn us,
Here we come
. They own the ground and they cut the sky and they‘re gaining on us—they‘re better than us. They don‘t get sidetracked because of cumbersome feet that can‘t make it around sharp turns without slipping. They shine and sharpen and are designed to travel and they don‘t have to grab on to olive branches for balance. Those black tendrils may have gotten a late start but they‘re catching up. There‘s no way around it.

Hera isn‘t drunk with power anymore. She‘s sober with it. She‘s smart. And there is nothing more dangerous in this world, in any world, than someone calm, clear and angry.

We make it to the top of the hill, where I first emerged from the temple and saw the smoke in the distance. Only now we can‘t see the village. The tendrils are eating the sky. They‘ve eviscerated the view and they‘re swirling and tangling their way toward us. The patches of darkness have cut the air itself. There is no sky in some places. There are only voids. But we‘ve made it here and I can‘t help but hope that there is a way. There must be a way.

―Maybe we can fight her.‖

―We can‘t, Zoe.‖

―You don‘t mean that.‖

The tendrils are almost upon us now, snapping and whipping at the ground. But I feel something much worse than any strangle or chokehold that those tendrils could do to me. I feel Zeus‘s hand on my back and he‘s pushing me into the temple.

―I won‘t leave you,‖ I say.

―Zoe, go. You can live. You can go home.‖

―But what about you?‖

―She‘ll lay off once you‘re gone. That‘s all she wants. She wants you to go home.‖

Don‘t cry, Zoe. You‘ll have a whole long and lonely life to cry. Soon you‘ll be back at the base camp, trying to explain where you‘ve been to Sophia and Alex. Probably they‘ll ship you off to one of those resorty mental institutions for the rest of the summer. And then in the fall you‘ll be back at Greeley hearing all about CeeCee‘s summer of fun on Martha‘s Vineyard. You‘ll check your Facebook—no messages—and when you try to tell people about your boyfriend, Zeus, you‘ll sound like the female version of an outcast geek boy who claims to be dating half the supermodels in Canada. In other words, you‘ll be home soon.

―Zeus, you‘re my home.‖

―Zoe…‖

―I‘m not going without you. I don‘t care if I die. I‘d rather die next to you.‖I don‘t know what he‘s going to say. The tendrils are snarling and rising and tangling and they hover over us blocking the sun. At any moment they could come down and wipe us both away.

He takes my hand and says, ―Then I‘m going with you.‖

―What?‖

―We‘ll go together.‖

―You can‘t!‖ I exclaim, genuinely surprised. I had never even imagined this as a possibility. Zeus coming
with
me? ―This is where you live. You‘re…

you‘re Zeus.‖

―I‘m Zoe‘s boyfriend. That‘s who I am.‖

I see it before he does, the tendrils rising and coiling into one monstrous thick braid. Before it can lash out at us, I grab him and pull him through the door of the temple. The braid is too thick to make it through the entryway and I swear I can hear Hera shrieking in the distance as she tries to untangle her black braid.

As we rush through the unfinished temple, I try to remember where the room I found the obolus is, but so much has happened since then that it‘s almost impossible to backtrack and—

Wait a minute. Does he really mean he‘s coming with me?

―Zeus, it‘s okay. You don‘t have to come along.‖

―I‘m not staying here without you.‖

―But I‘m just a student. I mean, I‘ll have to go back to school and you don‘t go there and you don‘t know how to live in the future.‖

―So you‘ll show me.‖

I try to picture holding his hand and strolling to the cafeteria. Would he be wearing pants?

Would he not have his wings? How long would it take for some pretty sophomore to bat her eyelashes at him?

Ah, but all these thoughts and worries are irrelevant. I don‘t have those insecurities anymore, not really.

―Zeus, are you sure?‖

―I‘m sure.‖

I stop short. I see it, the landmark. ―Scaffolding!‖ He follows me to the door and we hear a crash behind us. The tendrils have broken through the entryway and are winnowing down the corridors toward us. They‘ll be here soon. I pull him left and then right, and when I duck into a high-ceilinged room, I see it in the corner, the giant iPhone.

And I understand now why it wasn‘t here when I first arrived.

They hadn‘t built it yet.

Sometimes, you just need to be patient.

I take the obolus out of my pocket.

―If you hate it in the future,‖ I tell Zeus, ―I‘ll feel terrible.‖

―I won‘t hate it.‖

―Well, you might…‖

―How bad can Bookface really be?‖

I laugh. He laughs. We needed to laugh. Black hair is slithering around the corner and it won‘t be long now.

―It‘s Facebook,‖ I say softly.

He takes my hand. ―I‘m never changing my mind about you, Zoe. I love you.‖

Hera‘s black hair bursts into the room and rolls and twists and swats.

Something even more ferocious has come for us: Hera herself. She‘s peering out through all that hair, piercing us with her frustrated gaze. As I watch her literally hiding behind her hair, I feel myself forgiving her for all that she has done. She doesn‘t know love. All she knows is power.

And like her hair, it‘s too much—it‘s literally swallowing her.

She could kill us right now. She has the power and she has us cornered.

But there‘s no venom in her eyes anymore; there is only a loneliness that is almost tangible, a yearning to feel accepted. She just wants to be loved, and deep down she knows she cannot find that love in this room. She would be better off if we were both gone. She would be free.

I look into Zeus‘s eyes. I look at the giant iPhone. I motion for him to kneel down with me and he does and I bring the obolus close to the circle. I look at him one last time. I‘m going to ask him if he‘s sure about this, about a whole new world, about holding my hand for the rest of his life, about there suddenly being such a thing as ―the rest of his life,‖ because in all probability, where we‘re going, we won‘t be immortal. All these questions swirl in my mind and I need to start asking them, but as it turns out, I don‘t need to ask him anything at all. His eyes are an answer. He‘s ready.

I‘m ready. Love is real and it changes people, if they let it. I bring the obolus to the circle and I whisper, ―Hold on tight.‖ Light flashes and a wall of water surges over us. It‘s just like the storm that carried me off the first time, the storm that brought me here. The swell is sudden and the wind is sharp and cold and the lightning is so close it‘s blinding. And then it‘s too dark to see but I know I‘ll be okay because his voice is the last sound I hear before I drift away, muffled by the wind and the rain and the thunder, but undeniably, absolutely his voice, speaking only and with certainty to me, ―I‘m here, Zoe. Forever.‖

About the Author

Audrey Hart
came up with the idea for
The Dig
while visiting the Minoan ruins in Crete.

The Dig: Zoe and Zeus
is the first book in a trilogy.