“Okay, I think I remember,” Sarah said.
Bryson projected his NetScreen and keyboard and typed out her words as she spoke. Sarah remembered most of it, and the three spent a minute or so going back and forth, comparing it to what Bryson and Michael recalled. Soon the group had it to the point that all three of them agreed. But Michael was stumped.
He threw his hands up in frustration. “The old bag could’ve given us a little more.”
“Well,” Bryson said, “she said we need to figure out what time it is. I guess, if nothing else, it will tell us exactly when life on a flying saucer made out of rock began for us.”
Sarah groaned. “Come on, guys. We can do this.”
“I know,” Michael said. “Look, we’ve got this thing spinning around, we’ve got Portals to somewhere, and we’ve got a riddle about a witching hour. And like Bryson said, the Satchel told us to figure out what time it is. Easy peasy.”
“And we’re on a disk—it’s round like a clock,” Sarah offered.
Bryson jumped in. “Maybe we solve the riddle, pick the spot of the correct hour, and jump through one of those black rectangles.”
“But how do we know where the numbers are?” Michael asked. Before his friends answered, however, he’d started crawling toward the edge of the disk to get a better look.
“Careful!” Sarah yelled. “The thing might move at any second!”
The last word had barely come out of her mouth when the disk spun again, throwing Michael onto his side. He rolled several feet and lost any sense of direction. Letting out an embarrassing yelp, he slammed his palms down hard on the stone, stopping his tumble. The disk came to a standstill and he looked up.
He was still safe by ten feet, but he could only imagine the things Bryson would say later if they ever made it to safety. Michael got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the edge again, keeping his arms and legs spread as much as possible for a steadier center of balance. One of the Portals opened up right before him, and its depth was impossible. It was so black the darkness seemed almost alive.
Slowly, he crawled until he was barely a foot from the edge. He sank down on his belly and pulled himself a few inches closer. As he did, the Portal in front of him vanished and was instantly replaced by the color and movement of the cloudy sky. Michael closed his eyes and looked down, and when he opened them he saw that there was something carved into the disk, right on the very edge. He peered closely at the stone. Numerals—a large one and two—had been etched there. The number twelve.
He turned back to shout at the others. “I found midnight!”
7
Sarah answered immediately: “Get over here before this thing sends you skydiving!”
Michael pulled himself to the left until he found the eleven. As soon as he caught sight of it, he scrambled around and popped onto his hands and knees. The disk spun again and he froze, holding himself firmly in place until the rotation ended, then quickly crawled back to his friends.
“It’s numbered,” Michael said. “Just like a clock.”
Sarah nodded. “Way to go. Bryson’s marking the spot with his legs.”
Michael looked at his friend. He was sitting with his legs out, feet pointed to where Michael had been moments before. “Wow, you guys are smart.”
“Okay, now the easy part,” Bryson said. “Figure out the riddle.” His NetScreen was still floating in front of him and he turned it to face the others. Michael leaned in to read through the riddle again:
Before you choose the witching hour,
Take care to dream the tallest tower.
Then careful before you leave too soon,
Behold the dark and hollow moon.
“It’s gotta be a clue about moon cycles,” Sarah said. “Does anyone know what the moon’s phases are?”
“Or when it would look dark and hollow?” Bryson added. “Is that as easy as a new moon, when it’s all black? Or maybe an eclipse?”
The disk spun again, and they stilled.
Sarah looked deep in thought. “What could the tower be? Maybe that’s symbolic of something, and when there’s a new moon and a … Oh, man. I seriously don’t know what the heck I’m talking about.”
Michael sat there and observed his two friends. Something told him they were totally on the wrong track. Totally. This had nothing to do with a real moon or a tower or cycles or stages. It was something else, and he could almost, but not quite, put his finger on what.
“Michael?” Sarah asked. “You’re the genius—what do you think it is?”
His eyes met hers, but he didn’t speak. In his mind he was turning over everything, processing, almost there.
“Well?” she finally pushed. “What’re you—”
Two things happened at once that cut her off. First, a sound Michael had never heard before, like the sonic boom of a thousand jets. It was so loud and close that Michael’s ears popped. At the same time, a brilliant flash of blinding light lit up the sky in massive bolts of white fire, piercing the stone disk about twenty feet from where they sat. Michael’s ears rang, and spots swam before his eyes.
“What now?” he heard Bryson say, though it was as if he’d spoken through a thick curtain.
Michael was dazed. He’d been thrown onto his back by the force of the explosion. He twisted onto his stomach and got to his knees again. Just as he did, a cracking sound broke through the air, like the settling of a glacier. He spun toward the source and saw that the stone disk was breaking—hairline fractures webbing out from where the lightning had struck. They continued to lengthen, splitting open as the web grew larger. Horror filled Michael as the realization hit him: the whole disk was going to crumble any minute.
“Stand up!” Michael yelled. “Huddle together!”
Even as his friends got to their feet and moved toward him, Michael’s mind cleared, focusing like a scope. The answer was so obvious he wanted to laugh out loud.
“Ten o’clock!” he yelled. “We have to go through ten o’clock!”
8
The disk spun then, and the three of them held on to each other. Loosened chips of stone flew from the outer edges of the disk and disappeared over the edge. The ever-growing spiderweb of cracks continued to spread and widen, nearly covering the entire surface. They had no time.
“Come on!” Michael yelled, and started moving in the direction that seemed about right—without Bryson’s legs pointing to midnight, they had no way of knowing for sure. The black Portals continued their dance of appearing and disappearing.