Chapter 7

chapter seven As I'm dragged through the rip-tear, I half-expect to see something like that cockpit view of the Millennium Falcon blasting into hyperspeed—a million tiny pinpricks of light all suddenly stretching into infinity. But I don't. And to my happy surprise, I don't see the tentacle either—it's vanished. What I do see is so much worse. I see myself, tumbling through cosmic nothingness. It's like I'm watching myself on-screen in real time. This out-of-body weirdness turns into an out-of-body nightmare as, from my disembodied view, I see my arms and my legs and my torso begin to stretch...

You know when you chew up a huge wad of bubble gum, grab it, and stretch to see how far it can go? Well, it turns out that me and gum have more in common than I thought, 'cause that's what's happening. Finally, when my noodle-y limbs can stretch no farther, I watch my body explode into pieces. I want to reach into this tornado and grab every piece of ME I can. It's like that carnival game where some sucker stands in a glass booth while cash whirls around them, trying to grab as much as they can in thirty seconds. Only here? I'm the sucker and I'm the cash. I can't grab anything, because my arms are out there, floating

around in the abyss. But if every part of me is in pieces, how am I even thinking right now? How am I conscious? Am I conscious? WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN? I can feel my brain-scrambling panic spike, and then my mind, mercifully, seems to shut down. It can't handle what's happening right now—and so it won't. Instead, I find myself thinking about what I saw moments before... Quint's face, just before I stepped through the rip- tear. My best friend—the first real friend I ever had— watching me walk into the unknown.

I wonder if that's the last time I'll ever see him. I wonder if that's the last time I'll ever see anything. A faint, distant voice causes my eyelids to snap open, like window shades yanked too hard. Which means: woo-hoo, I have eyelids! And my other body parts, too! I'm in free fall, tumbling though cosmic nothingness, toward a pinprick of light that's rapidly growing as I plummet toward it. I hear the voice again. It's calling, "I got him! I got him!" Suddenly, an explosion of colors and then... FLOOP! I'm in... a net. I kick and thrash in confusion. My hands thrust out, pawing at the netting, pulling myself upright. And then I see... Wait. What??

Goon platoon? I DO Not LIKE THAT. You REFER TO Us As Gos. I dig it. The net splits, and I flop to the floor like a fifty- pound tuna. On the ol' scale of confusion, I'm somewhere around a billion. Less confused than when my body was bubble gum—but only barely. "It's OK. You're home, buddy," Dave says soothingly. "Now give us a hug." "This is not his home!" Peaches barks. "Home is where the hugs are," Dave says. "You're safe now."

"He is not safe," Peaches says. "Stop telling lies!" "I'm trying to ease him into this," Dave whispers. "Remember how scrambled our brains were after we got sucked through?" Peaches scowls. "Your brain is always scrambled, Dave." "What are you guys doing here?" I ask. My own words sound faint and distant, like I'm underwater. Great. On top of everything else, my ears are all plugged up. I try yawning. No luck. "We're here to rescue you," Cannonhead Johnson grunts. "Caught up to ya just in time." That's when I realize: we're moving. Everything is bucking and swaying. Wind stings my cheeks. A wet- dog odor comes from somewhere. I follow the smell to the trembling deck beneath my feet. "Mamooph," Dave says, apparently indicating the creature we're riding. Suddenly, Cannonhead whirls, swinging a hunk of artillery the size of a refrigerator. "Strayfurs are back! TIME FOR MORE FUN!" he barks, lifting and firing the cannon. BOOM!