[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
paranoid bliss in their eyes and Darren feels dirt scouring at his skin and hears the
screeching roar of slags and a world burning down.
They exit the fugue and come upon the devastated exoskeleton of what used to
be Hollow City.
15.
Emerging from the fugue, Darren has an immediate sense of badness. It s dark
from all the smoke in the air. Standing in front of them is an army of mammoth slags,
easily two stories high each. Ten troops are immediately devoured. They ve walked into
something. Shell was a fool for having faith in Pearl. Whatever parlor tricks she could do,
no one could get them out of this.
He snaps to attention and sees a giant toothy mouth in front of him. The opening
is as big as a pond. The slag is rearing back its blind head. Before he can feel its teeth cut
him in half, just as that enormous head begins its descent, Darren leaps forward into the
mouth.
He hears the teeth snap shut and feels the slag s head move around him in
something that could very well be confusion. Then he s sliding down its gullet and deep
into its body. It smells like decaying meat and bile. Darren throws up, adding to the heady
scent. Then he feels movement. They are moving toward something even though Darren
feels the only something he is probably headed toward is certain death. He wonders how
long it will take for the slag s stomach acid to devour him.
The inside is strange and fleshy, covered in something like oozing mucous. No
bones anywhere. Nothing to grab onto. It s only a matter of time before he s sucked down
into whatever sick bowel this thing has and that will probably be it. He isn t a worm, isn t
a parasite, isn t made to live in shit.
He plunges his hand into the gross mucous of the slag s insides. He sets his
slarm to work on the wall. The rapid movement jostles him. The slarm is probably so
small it feels like little more than a pinprick to the giant slag. But he doesn t need much
to make it out. Just a small opening. Then he can run to... where? Where will he run to?
Where can he run to? This is certainly the end. He just watched half the troop devoured in
a matter of seconds.
While his slarm works on the flesh of the slag he thinks about what happened.
It had to have been a set-up. But who was setting them up? Pearl or Shell? It had
to be one of them. Darren leans toward the one who did not sacrifice her arm to the
cause. Even though he really wants to believe it s Shell because he s such a prick. He
supposes it could be both. Maybe they really do have some idea how to end this and just
don t want anybody else around when it happens.
His slarm must be hungry because it tears through the slag with amazing verve.
Darren sticks his good arm through the hole and feels what might be air on his fingertips.
It s hot and grainy, not wet and slimy. He takes that as a good sign. He sticks the slarm
out and lets it clamp onto the outside of the slag to get a good grip and then he rips his
way out. He pushes his head through, pulls his body through, wipes the clinging mucous
from his eyes and slides down the back of the monstrous slag.
It immediately turns to snap at him but its size, while a great asset, is also a
great hindrance. Darren darts for the first narrow spot he sees. A tiny access alley between
two storefronts. Midway down the alley he stops to catch his breath and marvels at his
brief glimpse of this new world.
The slags are reshaping it. It looked like everything was destroyed and the parts
used to make bigger structures. Even the buildings to either side of him must have been
nearly ten stories tall.
Darren s slarm is going crazy. If he isn t careful, it ll take his face off. What
good is it, really? The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks maybe it s some kind of
signaling device for the other slags. How else would they have known they were all going
to be there?
If he is going to have to look out for slags around every turn, he doesn t want to
have to worry about one attached to his body. He roots through the nearest dumpster,
filled with old trash beyond rotten, until he finds a tin can. It isn t a knife but it ll do. The
lid is still attached to the can by about an inch of tin. He bends it up, holds the ridged part
of the can and begins hacking at his slarm at the shoulder, cutting on the slag part and not
the Darren part. The slag gnashes its teeth and Darren angrily hacks at the front of it until
the area approximating its mouth is loose and falling to the greasy asphalt. Then he
continues hacking on the shoulder part. He doesn t feel any pain and when the slag is
dangling there, Darren sticks his right hand into the gap and rips it the rest of the way off.
Then he throws it on the ground and stomps it mercilessly. He turns to look at the end of
the alley and sees Shell running.
He kind of wants Shell dead so he runs after him, wishing he had a gun or, fuck,
even another arm would be great, at this point. Luckily, he still has the tin can clutched in
his right hand.
16.
Darren reaches the end of the alley and it occurs to him that, since Shell is
running, he might be running from something. But it s too late. He turns to his left and
sees an enormous slag half-running half-slithering toward him. Its legs are too
rudimentary to carry him quickly but they are there and Darren can only think about what
they ll look like weeks or months from now.
Darren ducks back into the alleyway, knowing the slag has sensed him. The slag
slows but doesn t stop completely and Darren thinks he is very lucky. Tentatively, he
takes another step out of the alley. The slag is running off to his right, eclipsing Shell who
runs before him. Darren thinks he could try and save Shell but he also thinks Shell is
mostly the one who brought them here.
Where was Pearl?
Darren takes a deep breath and assesses things. Tries to orient himself and
realizes it s impossible to orient yourself to someplace you ve never been. What he needs
to think about is getting out. Getting out or dying. Those are probably his only two
choices. To his left two slags are battling each other. One is the older kind that looks like
a slug except he s the size of a house. The other is the newer, more evolved kind,
Tyrannosaurus rex-like arms and legs that, at this point, just jut out from the lower body,
too small to even reach the ground. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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paranoid bliss in their eyes and Darren feels dirt scouring at his skin and hears the
screeching roar of slags and a world burning down.
They exit the fugue and come upon the devastated exoskeleton of what used to
be Hollow City.
15.
Emerging from the fugue, Darren has an immediate sense of badness. It s dark
from all the smoke in the air. Standing in front of them is an army of mammoth slags,
easily two stories high each. Ten troops are immediately devoured. They ve walked into
something. Shell was a fool for having faith in Pearl. Whatever parlor tricks she could do,
no one could get them out of this.
He snaps to attention and sees a giant toothy mouth in front of him. The opening
is as big as a pond. The slag is rearing back its blind head. Before he can feel its teeth cut
him in half, just as that enormous head begins its descent, Darren leaps forward into the
mouth.
He hears the teeth snap shut and feels the slag s head move around him in
something that could very well be confusion. Then he s sliding down its gullet and deep
into its body. It smells like decaying meat and bile. Darren throws up, adding to the heady
scent. Then he feels movement. They are moving toward something even though Darren
feels the only something he is probably headed toward is certain death. He wonders how
long it will take for the slag s stomach acid to devour him.
The inside is strange and fleshy, covered in something like oozing mucous. No
bones anywhere. Nothing to grab onto. It s only a matter of time before he s sucked down
into whatever sick bowel this thing has and that will probably be it. He isn t a worm, isn t
a parasite, isn t made to live in shit.
He plunges his hand into the gross mucous of the slag s insides. He sets his
slarm to work on the wall. The rapid movement jostles him. The slarm is probably so
small it feels like little more than a pinprick to the giant slag. But he doesn t need much
to make it out. Just a small opening. Then he can run to... where? Where will he run to?
Where can he run to? This is certainly the end. He just watched half the troop devoured in
a matter of seconds.
While his slarm works on the flesh of the slag he thinks about what happened.
It had to have been a set-up. But who was setting them up? Pearl or Shell? It had
to be one of them. Darren leans toward the one who did not sacrifice her arm to the
cause. Even though he really wants to believe it s Shell because he s such a prick. He
supposes it could be both. Maybe they really do have some idea how to end this and just
don t want anybody else around when it happens.
His slarm must be hungry because it tears through the slag with amazing verve.
Darren sticks his good arm through the hole and feels what might be air on his fingertips.
It s hot and grainy, not wet and slimy. He takes that as a good sign. He sticks the slarm
out and lets it clamp onto the outside of the slag to get a good grip and then he rips his
way out. He pushes his head through, pulls his body through, wipes the clinging mucous
from his eyes and slides down the back of the monstrous slag.
It immediately turns to snap at him but its size, while a great asset, is also a
great hindrance. Darren darts for the first narrow spot he sees. A tiny access alley between
two storefronts. Midway down the alley he stops to catch his breath and marvels at his
brief glimpse of this new world.
The slags are reshaping it. It looked like everything was destroyed and the parts
used to make bigger structures. Even the buildings to either side of him must have been
nearly ten stories tall.
Darren s slarm is going crazy. If he isn t careful, it ll take his face off. What
good is it, really? The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks maybe it s some kind of
signaling device for the other slags. How else would they have known they were all going
to be there?
If he is going to have to look out for slags around every turn, he doesn t want to
have to worry about one attached to his body. He roots through the nearest dumpster,
filled with old trash beyond rotten, until he finds a tin can. It isn t a knife but it ll do. The
lid is still attached to the can by about an inch of tin. He bends it up, holds the ridged part
of the can and begins hacking at his slarm at the shoulder, cutting on the slag part and not
the Darren part. The slag gnashes its teeth and Darren angrily hacks at the front of it until
the area approximating its mouth is loose and falling to the greasy asphalt. Then he
continues hacking on the shoulder part. He doesn t feel any pain and when the slag is
dangling there, Darren sticks his right hand into the gap and rips it the rest of the way off.
Then he throws it on the ground and stomps it mercilessly. He turns to look at the end of
the alley and sees Shell running.
He kind of wants Shell dead so he runs after him, wishing he had a gun or, fuck,
even another arm would be great, at this point. Luckily, he still has the tin can clutched in
his right hand.
16.
Darren reaches the end of the alley and it occurs to him that, since Shell is
running, he might be running from something. But it s too late. He turns to his left and
sees an enormous slag half-running half-slithering toward him. Its legs are too
rudimentary to carry him quickly but they are there and Darren can only think about what
they ll look like weeks or months from now.
Darren ducks back into the alleyway, knowing the slag has sensed him. The slag
slows but doesn t stop completely and Darren thinks he is very lucky. Tentatively, he
takes another step out of the alley. The slag is running off to his right, eclipsing Shell who
runs before him. Darren thinks he could try and save Shell but he also thinks Shell is
mostly the one who brought them here.
Where was Pearl?
Darren takes a deep breath and assesses things. Tries to orient himself and
realizes it s impossible to orient yourself to someplace you ve never been. What he needs
to think about is getting out. Getting out or dying. Those are probably his only two
choices. To his left two slags are battling each other. One is the older kind that looks like
a slug except he s the size of a house. The other is the newer, more evolved kind,
Tyrannosaurus rex-like arms and legs that, at this point, just jut out from the lower body,
too small to even reach the ground. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]