Under Different Stars by Amy A. Bartol

from his duffel bag, Wayra easily removes the lock, pushing open the gate leading to a limestone cave. The sign outside the cave says that while surveying this spot years ago, workmen discovered that their equipment could not be leveled as the plum-bob needle seemed to always skew to the right. It was theorized that gravity does not affect this particular spot in the same way that it does elsewhere.
    Fear threads through me. Until now, I’d been hoping that this was going to somehow turn out to be a horrendous reality show prank, but now, I’m beginning to fear that this is far from staged. Pausing for a moment, Trey, Jax and Wayra each don a headlamp before Trey grasps my arm again, leading me inside the cave.
    Wayra jogs ahead of us, deeper into the winding, dark tunnel. When we finally catch up to him around several twists and turns, he’s securing climbing ropes over a sheer drop. He flashes his light over at the wall, saying, “Alameeda. They came through this way. The wackers didn’t even have the decency to use decomposing lines.” Pulling the Alameeda lines out of the wall, Trey lets them fall over the edge. I wait to hear them hit the ground, but I never hear a sound. Paling, I look at the inky darkness where the world seems to just fall away.
    I begin to back up, putting my hand against the wall. Looking over my shoulder, I can’t see anything behind me. It’s completely dark. I won’t get very far without a flashlight or a headlamp. Turning back to them, I’m nearly blinded by their lights as they all focus on me. Putting up my arm to shield my eyes from the light, Trey says, “Kricket, come here.”
    “I’m not going down there,” I reply quickly, taking another step back from them.
    “Yes, you are. Come here now,” Trey orders sternly.
    “I want to go home!” I demand, hearing my voice echo off the wall and feeling like I’m going to burst into tears, which is something I never do. I rarely allow anyone to see me cry, especially strangers.
    “This is the way home,” Trey replies.
    “NO! I want to go to MY home—Chicago,” I retort, taking another step back and feeling cold, rough stone against my fingertips.
    “You cannot thrive under the wrong stars, Kricket,” Trey says in a calm, soothing voice. “The stars here are in opposition to you…can’t you feel it? You are foreign to them. You have no ancestry here—no lineage. Let us take you home.”
    “Where I can ‘pay for my crimes?’” I ask with a scowl. “No thanks!” I turn and run blindly for a few steps before the light behind me tells me I’m caught. Trey picks me up, swinging me over his shoulder again. Carrying me over to the edge, he says, “We’re going down there, Kricket. I can tranquilize you and take you or you can come willingly, the choice is yours, but you will go.” He drops me from his shoulder and stands me in front of him, angling his light up so it isn’t shining in my eyes. “Which will it be?” he asks in a soft, deadly tone.
    Knowing that if I’m tranquilized, there will be absolutely no chance of escape, I look at the ground, saying, “That’s not really a choice because the result is nearly the same,” I argue. Seeing Trey reach for his pocket, I straighten. “Okay, I’ll go!”
    Wayra steps nearer to me and begins strapping me in a rock climber’s harness, securing a line to it. I’m sure he notices that my entire body is shaking, but I’m hoping he’s attributing it to the cold and not the fact that I’m completely terrified. “Have you rappelled before?” Wayra asks, his violet eyes looking concerned.
    “Yeah…at the Y a couple of times,” I say, thinking of the comfortable, fake rock wall in the comfortable, urban environment.
    “The Y?” His brow arches in question.
    “Never mind,” I growl, shaking my head. “I just hold this line loosely, letting it slip through and the tension gathers here, right?”
    Wayra gives me a crooked smile, saying, “That’s all there is