And none of them seemed to be worried. None of them were fighting the force that was drawing them down.
“Relax.” Ankh, who’d rolled off Doc and now lay beside him, was only halfway covered. “You’ll be fine.”
But Doc didn’t believe him. Frantically, he thrashed and floundered, which only made him sink faster. He grabbed for Ankh, as if holding on to the mutie might keep him aboveground, but that just pushed Ankh deeper, out of reach.
Doc yelped and thrashed some more, and then the quicksand took him down. He sucked in his last breaths with heaving desperation, watching the flickering stars through eyelashes caked with sand.
And then he was gone. The ground was empty, as if Doc and the muties had never been there at all.
Doc hit the icy water with a hypothermic shock and barely managed to stay afloat.
Seconds after sinking through the sand alongside the muties, he’d fallen through some kind of open space, then suddenly splashed down in water. He paddled madly now, struggling instinctively to keep from going under, though the truth was, he couldn’t breathe above the surface, either. He’d inhaled enough quicksand on the way down to clog his nose and throat and lungs with smothering muck.
His eyes were wide as he thrashed and suffocated, but there was only pitch-darkness all around. If the muties were there with him, he couldn’t see a trace of them.
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