"There may come a time when everyone in Everlost will have to take sides," Nick told Isaiah. "Can I count on you if I need you?"

"If there's a side to choose, I'll choose it when the time comes," Isaiah said, keeping a stern poker face. "But right now, you can count on me to let you pass through Atlanta safely."

Nick nodded respectfully. "Thank you."

Isaiah prepared to rise, thinking their meeting of the minds was over--but Nick wasn't quite done.

"One more thing," Nick said. "Because I've heard rumors ... Maybe you could tell me if they're true."

Isaiah smiled. It was unguarded, uncalculated. It was genuine. "So what would you like to know?"

Nick cleared his throat, and tried to figure the best way to word the question. In the end he decided to just be direct.

"What do you know about 'The Ripper'?"

Isaiah's expression was stony. He took a moment before answering as if he had to control some emotion before allowing himself to speak. "I know what they say about him. Not sure if I believe it all, but I don't want to find out."

"Tell me what they say."

Isaiah gripped the arms of his chair as he spoke. "They call him Zach the Ripper. They say he was a bad seed when he was alive, and even worse afterward. Evil to the core, and dumb as a post. They say he hates the living so much, he reaches into the living world and pulls their hearts right out of their bodies."

"Ecto-ripping!" Nick said, not sure whether he was more amazed or horrified.

"They say he can pull anything out of the living world and into Everlost ... but that kind of ability, it can make a person crazy."

Nick nodded. He had known a spirit called the Haunter. Ecto-ripping was just one of his powers. He might have been insane, or simply corrupted by his power from the inside out. Regardless, he was darkly evil, and had imprisoned Nick in a brine-filled barrel, where he might have stayed until the end of time, had things been different. The thought of facing another Afterlight like the Haunter made him shiver.

"There's more," Isaiah said, but then he hesitated, as if he was afraid to even speak it aloud. "People say the Ripper can also reach right inside an Afterlight, and pull stuff out, too. And when he does, the wound doesn't heal ... and whatever he takes ... it don't grow back."

"That's impossible." Nick knew enough about Everlost to know Afterlight "flesh" wasn't like living flesh at all. Wounds were bloodless, and zipped closed instantly. "You can't hurt an Afterlight."

"Maybe it's just a story," said Isaiah. "But maybe not."

Was Nick crazy to be searching for a spirit such as this? Probably. But on the other hand, Mary was building herself an army, and what did he have? Johnnie-O and Charlie? If he were ever to face Mary again, he would need powerful allies by his side to help balance the odds.

Allies ... and Allie.

He wondered where Allie was now. Of course he wanted to see her again--but he had also spent a lot of time thinking about her skinjacking skill. What an amazing power that was! And terrifying, too. Or at least it would be, in the wrong hands. Thank goodness Allie was a decent girl with a conscience-- because her skill could really make a difference in a battle against Mary.

But Nick had to admit, with a heavy heart, that there was no guarantee he'd ever see Allie again. Which meant he had to find other kids with unique powers to stand against Mary.

"Tell me where to find the Ripper," Nick said to Isaiah.

Isaiah sighed, and told Nick where the Ripper was rumored to be. "Like I said, it may just be a story--no guarantee he'll be there."

Then they shook hands. "I hope to see you again," Nick said.

Isaiah couldn't look him in the eye. "You won't," he said. "Because if you find the Ripper, you're never coming back."

CHAPTER 6 Shuttle Diplomacy

The tracks ended.

They didn't end at the ghost of some grand terminal--they just stopped. Whoever built them must have ripped them out of the living world even before the rail line was completed. Charlie pulled on the brake just in time, and the train squealed to a reluctant stop, just a dozen yards before the tracks vanished. "Lucky I saw it!" Charlie said. "If we went off the end, this whole train woulda sunk, with us still in it."

Charlie etched the end of the line on the map he was making on the engine bulkhead. "There was a spur that went off west, maybe twenty, thirty miles back. We could back her up and see where that track goes... ."

"Maybe later," Nick told him, and turned to Johnnie-O. "We'll walk the rest of the way."

Johnnie-O did not seem pleased. "Rest of the way where?"

Nick didn't answer him. "Charlie, you stay with the train." He thought for a moment, then added, "You'll wait for us, right?" "Sure ... unless those Atlanta kids show up."

Nick nodded his understanding, and he and Johnnie-O went south, pushing through dense living-world brush that tickled their insides as they walked.

In time they came to a two-lane highway that ran east and west, cutting through the flat, forested Florida terrain. Nick turned east, and they followed the road, which was easier to walk on than the marshy earth.

"Are you ever gonna tell me where we're going?" Johnnie-O finally asked.

Nick didn't look at him. "We follow this road east until we reach the shore."

"Why?" asked Johnnie-O. "You want me to be your bodyguard and all, then I got a right to know why we're doing this."

"I never said you were my bodyguard. If you don't want to come you don't have to."

"Why can't you just answer the question?"

Nick stopped and turned to him, thinking about how much he should say, if anything. "When did you die?" Nick asked him.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It just does."

Johnnie-O looked down, shuffling his feet. "I can't exactly remember."

"What do you remember?"

Johnnie took some time to rustle up what memories he could. "When I died, The Whistler was my favorite radio show," he said.

Radio, thought Nick. That would probably place Johnnie-O in the 1930s, maybe '40s. "The place we're going is part of my history, but part of your future--and anything I tell you will just make you ask more questions that I don't want to answer."

Nick turned and continued walking.

"I'm really starting not to like you," Johnnie-O said. "Not that I ever liked you to begin with." But still he followed Nick east.

Great tragedies have great consequences. They ripple through the fabric of this world and the next. When the loss is too great for either world to bear, Everlost absorbs the shock, like a cushion between the two.

On a sunny Tuesday--for it seems so many awful things happen on a Tuesday--six astronauts and one schoolteacher attempted to pierce the sky. Instead they touched the stars.

Ask anyone who was alive at the time, and they will still remember where they were the moment they heard that the shuttle Challenger blew up just seventy-three seconds after lifting off from Cape Canaveral. The shape of that terrible explosion became burned into human consciousness like the shape of the mushroom cloud over Hiroshima.

The world mourned the lives lost, as well as mourning the loss of an idea, for although space flight had always been, and would always be a dangerous endeavor, there was a certain unspoken faith that human ingenuity, and the grace of God, would keep our ascent to the heavens safe. But the universe is nothing if not balanced. For every Apollo Thirteen, there would be a Challenger. For every miracle, a tragedy.