With her free hand, Coronela snapped her fingers twice.
In the next instant, Adelita had the oddest sensation that her body was being painlessly disassembled, one molecule at a time. With a dreadful suddenness, she was next sucked into the pages of the hundred-year-old diary, millions of molecules per nanosecond. Her stomach lurching—the molecules had been reassembled instantaneously—she found herself in a long, dark passageway rushing headlong toward the black unknown. She was accelerating through the shadowy burrow, weightless, the wind pushing against her face and tugging at her hair—it streamed in the air like a windsock.
The uneven stone walls of the expansive tunnel were smothered with the stark, chilling images of shabbily dressed peasants in hand-to-hand combat with uniformed soldiers in pith helmets. The dark and murky visions streaked past at an alarming speed. The deadly crack of rifle fire and the choking screams of people dying resonated in Adelita’s ears. Her tongue tainted by the unmistakable taste of metal, the smell in her nostrils was so vulgar that she knew it could only be that of human blood. Too terrified to watch any longer, Adelita closed her eyes and prayed the journey would soon be over.
Quite unexpectedly, Adelita’s feet touched solid ground.
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