Denver peered through the grass at the rails, glimmering in the sunlight. From far away came a low rhythmic drumming, almost inaudible. A freight train making its way along the banks of the Willamette. He felt its coming, rumbling down the rails, miles before it got there. To that place where he crouched, silent, waiting in the tall grass of the railroad right-of-way. A spy. Waiting and watching. Looking for the strange grafittied cars from Santa Fe and Wichita and Birmingham. Cars with curious cargoes bound for other places. But not far enough. Not Arcturus.
     And those passengers with eyes like Brock’s when that thing got inside him. Eyes that said danger. With their tentacles of hatred and despair. Where were they looking, those eyes? The train rumbled closer until it shook the ground beneath him. Until he could smell the diesel of its engine. Feel its heat. Until it sped past clickety clickety clack and it seemed the earth itself was moving in the opposite direction faster and faster until it would spin so fast he would be hurled right out into space. Into darkness and stars.

     Darkness. Cold hands. The hollow tap of heels on tile. An uncomfortable draft of air. A voice, soft in the distance. Denver.
     Is that my name? Denver?
     His mind drifted, played with the sounds. The smells. That familiar antiseptic odor. I’ve been here before.
     “Unisi.” The voice sounded so far away. “Unisi, listen to me.”
     “Granny?”
     “Listen to me, Denver. You must waken, boy.”
     He opened his eyes. He was standing in Forest Park. In that spot he had been before. In dreams. Granny Goat sitting there on that same log, like an old elf. Spitting a wad of tobacco into a rusty tin can at her feet.
     “I’m tired Granny,” he croaked. “I’m tired and I just want to sleep.”
     “The Uk’tena, Denver….”
     “I don’t care, Granny. I’m tired.” He began to drift away.
     “Think of the young woman, unisi. You don’t want harm to come to her.”
     “Harm, Granny? I don’t understand.”
     “The Uk’tena, Denver. Remember the stone, the ulun’suti?“
     The iridescent stone. Wrapped in soft worn leather. He had put it in his pocket. Only it wasn’t real. None of it was real.
     “It’s a dream, Granny. This is only a dream.”

     Words echoed into darkness. Rubbing alcohol. A faint trace of perfume. Hushed voices. Silence.
     Almost silence. Except for the low rumble. The clickety clickety clack. The long, low moan.
     Denver opened his eyes and looked through the grass at the sunlight on the rails. At the freighter snaking it’s way up the river. The glitter of its scales as it slithered through the grass toward him. A great serpent with a horn on its head. And a stone, like the stone Granny had given him. Blinding.
     A tremendous crash shook the ground beneath him and the low moan became a piercing shriek.
     “Denver.”
     Saphronia was shaking him.
     “Denver. Wake up.”
     He opened his eyes. The shriek continued to echo, piercing the forest twilight. Then silence. A dream!
     He lay there, his eyes not quite open. In the distance, the moaning sound resumed, low, rumbling. Saphronia shook him again.
     “What is it? What is it?”
     “I don’t know,” she said. There was a look of fear in her face. “Something is out there.”
     Denver scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Saphronia’s hand and dragged her down the path toward the creek, into the fog. By the time they reached the water, the woods had become silent. He called out, “Hello,” but there was no answer. No sign of the ghostly strangers. The woods seemed quiet now, except for their ragged breathing. But he was certain it was following them. Whatever it was.
     Pulling Saphronia along behind him, Denver jumped into the water and began wading across. At the deepest part, the water came to his waist. It took forever to get to the other side. He dragged himself up on the shore, along with Saphronia.
     On hands and knees he gasped for air. Another unearthly moan, louder this time, twisted its way up the canyon. A thundering splash had him up on his feet and running along the creek bank, Saphronia following close behind. Suddenly, the bank began to rise steeply where the water had cut deeply into a limestone hillside, until it reached a point with only a narrow gorge and no bank at all. He stopped, gasping, his heart pounding, a sharp pain in his side. He looked at Saphronia, not knowing what to do.
     “Get in the water,” she said resolutely.
     He obeyed her and waded into the creek. It was more shallow here, coming just to his knees. But the limestone cliffs looming on both sides gave him a feeling of claustrophobia.
     “I hope that thing doesn’t like the water,” he said, “’cause we’re gonna be a couple of rats in a hole.”
     The horrible sound echoed down the walls of the canyon as they scrambled upstream. The creek became more and more shallow, until they arrived at a wide, placid pool. Denver searched for the source of the water, and his heart sank. He realized that the cliffs surrounded them completely except for the direction they had come. They were trapped!
     “Oh, shit,” he said.
     Saphronia frowned, but she didn’t say anything. She waded over to a place where several boulders formed a bank, and began to climb.
     “You’re crazy,” said Denver. “We can’t climb up that.”
     “I know,” said Saphronia.
     Denver followed her up onto the rocks. Saphronia was pushing a large rock resting against the limestone wall. From beneath trickled a steady stream of water.
     “What are you doing? You can’t move that.”
     “Yes I can. If you help.”
     Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed one side of the boulder and started pulling with her. The rock barely budged.
     “Wait,” said Saphronia. She climbed back down into the water and disappeared out of sight. Just then the ground trembled and a small shower of rocks came crashing down from the cliffs above.
     “Saphronia,” Denver screamed. She didn’t answer. He scrambled over the rocks in the direction she had gone, until he saw her there, standing in a cove, water to her knees. She seemed to be talking to someone. Someone who wasn’t there.
     “Saphronia,” he called, but she ignored him.
     He tried to make his way back to the big boulder, to climb back down the bank. But before he got there, another temblor shook more rocks loose from the limestone cliffs.
     “Saphronia,” he yelled again.
     “I’m right here.” Her voice came from behind him.
     “We gotta hurry,” Denver cried.
     “This way,” she said, pointing to where the boulder had been. Denver’s mouth fell open. The boulder had moved several feet to the west. Where it had been, he could see a black hole in the limestone. Out of it came a cool, moist breeze.
     “What is it?” he asked.
     “A cave.”
     “We can’t fit in that.”
     “Yes we can. I’ll go in first. You follow right behind me.”
     “No way. I can’t do that.” he said. This was just another dream. It must be a dream.
     “You have to help me, Denver. You said we were going to help me find my baby. You can’t leave me now.”
     Like his daddy had left him. Left his mama.
     Saphronia climbed in, head first. When her feet disappeared inside the cave, he lay down on his belly in the cold water and began to pull himself into the darkness. Moving forward in the subterranean passage, a lingering remainder of the moonlit dawn faded into total blackness.
     “Saphronia,” he whimpered, “Are you there?”
     “I’m here Denver. Just in front of you.”
     “I’m scared.”
     “Me, too.”
     “I can’t breathe.”
     “Take deep breaths,” she said. “Calm yourself down. Whatever it is, it won’t find us in here.”
     “I hope so.” He envisioned an alien monster, its tentacles breaking through the wall into the air vent where the heroine has hidden herself. A she-alien might even lay her eggs in a place like this.
     He tried to do what Saphronia suggested. Breathe deeply. Shake off the fear and the claustrophobia. A few times he tried to lift himself, to stretch out his tightened chest, but each time his head met a hard surface and he swore beneath his breath.
     As they inched forward, Denver chattered nervously, afraid of any possible silence. Afraid that Saphronia might vanish into this nothingness. He told her about Granny Goat and the garden and the long walks. About Mama and his missing his daddy. He talked until his talk exhausted him, and all he could think about was sleep.

     Drip, drip, drip, drip, kerplunk. A leaky faucet. Rubbing alcohol. Latex. Faint scent of perfume. A hospital room.
     Are you okay, Mama?
     I’ll be alright, Denver. Just a little accident. Took too much medicine again. You can be a big boy and stay with your granny for a couple of days, can’t you?
     Sure, Mama.
     Darkness.
     What is this darkness? Where are the lights? The stars? Arcturus? Ariadne’s crown?
     Drip, drip, drip, drip, kerplunk, drip, drip, drip, drip, kerplunk.
     He lay in water, clothes sopping. Dripping down on him from above, splashing his cheek. He remembered a cave. Something following.
     “Saphronia,” he called softly.
     No answer.
     “Saphronia,” he shouted. All that came back to him was an echo, repeating over and over. Saphronia. Saphronia. Saphronia.
     And then silence.