Chapter 18

chapter eighteen No one speaks for a long, long moment. I can almost feel the terror and fear coming from my friends. We are in a stunningly huge cavern, and what's inside is ghastly. Grisly. There's a quick jerking in my chest—my heart skipping wildly. There are monsters everywhere. They're scattered across the cavern floor like peanut shells at a baseball game. Like scraps of garbage, like leftovers, like Starburst wrappers. The ground is covered with barely breathing beasts. "I think some are dying..." June whispers. "And some are already dead," Dirk says softly. As my eyes adjust to the dim, strange light, it only gets worse. And worse....

We slip down to the cavern floor, not quite believing what we see as we take in the spectacle. All these creatures are shriveled and shrunken. You ever suck down a Capri Sun, squash it in your hands, and toss it? That's what this is like.... Except these aren't juice boxes—they are living creatures. Monsters, yes. But not evil monsters. No Dozers or Winged Wretches.

"So many creatures," I say softly. "I see ones we haven't seen since we were tracking down monsters for the bestiary." Quint smiles wistfully. "Ah, the bestiary. Some of our finest work." Quint and June kneel down to examine one moaning creature while Dirk inspects the Vine- Thingies. I step toward a monster I recognize: the Hairy Eyeball Monster. "Hey, buddy," I say, "Long time, no see." I realize its eye—its body—is glazed over and I add, "Sorry, didn't mean it like that—'no see' like an eyeball joke. My bad." "It's in bad shape," Dirk says, coming up behind me.

MOOOOOAAAN It's like—it'S been used And disposed of The eyeball—splitting, sucking, closing— reminds me of a goldfish, yanked from its tank, gasping for water. Dirk says, "The Vine-Thingies—they're plugged into its body, like baby cows sucking on the mama." Looking around, I see it's the same for every single monster in the place. My eyes follow the thick, tube-like vines. They lead away from the creatures and across the cavern floor like crisscrossing electrical wires.

The snarled mess of vines meet at the far side of the cavern. There's a huge, sloping wall —and the vines grow up it. They thicken as they near the ceiling, turning nearly black. There's a smell in the air. A chemical smell. Weed killer... The same stuff we used to blow up Thrull the Tree Beast. And that's when it hits me. "Guys, I get it!" I suddenly say, and the thing I "get" makes me want to hurl. "I know exactly where we." "Jack," Quint sighs. "You definitely do not know exactly where we are. We've walked nearly a mile underground. And you have a terrible sense of direction...." "Do not!" I say as I whirl around—

I hove a yreat Sense of direction, Ouint! Over here, bud. I spin back around the other way. "Whoops. OK, fine, my sense of direction is crummy. But I'm not wrong! We're beneath the Tree of Entry. That's why these Vine-Thingies are extra super thick. They're not just vines—they're roots." We look around, our eyes tracing the Vine- Thingies to the roof of the cavern. There, the