Bone and Blood Volume I

7 - The Nest, 1926

As the sun set, Hook-Nose's eyes fluttered open. A familiar weight pressed down on him. Digger and Four-Fingers. The grub pile had become their normal sleeping arrangement. A symbol of mutual acceptance. They would still snap at him if he annoyed them, but he doubted they would kill him. Not now. They were the only ones left.

Scar's climbing efforts began months ago. He would scamper up a few feet before sliding back down. Then he tried again. And again. All. Night. Long. It went on for weeks.

One evening, Scar had a new determination in his eyes. He reached his usual apex. Held tight. No more slipping. No more giving up. Slowly but surely, he kept going. At some point, he disappeared. His body never fell back into the pit.

As for Chaser: he chose to be an obnoxious, thieving pest one too many times. Digger decided to show that bully what true dominance looked like. Teeth, claws, and ruthlessness. With his life on the line, Chaser put up a decent struggle. It made Digger rip him to pieces faster. She reduced him to a hollowed-out shell. When it was done, she looked disappointed with her efforts.

After that, Hook-Nose planned to give her a wider breadth. No such luck. That sunrise, Four-Fingers walked over, flopped on top of him, and settled in to sleep. Digger followed suit. Apparently, Hook-Nose had been deemed a worthy companion.

With just the three of them, there was enough food. In fact, it seemed like Digger and Four-Fingers left the best scraps for Hook-Nose. Maybe because he was the biggest and therefore the hungriest. In any case, there was no reason to fight. And without that aggression, loneliness was palpable. There was comfort in the pile. In his brood-mates' rumbling breathing.

However, Hook-Nose had work to do.

He wriggled, hoping to slink free without waking the other grubs. A sleepy growl from Digger. A hand flex from Four-Finger that left her nails embedded deeper in his skin. So much for that plan. He huffed at that wall. The bane of his existence. The teasing whore that beaconed him closer only to reject him.

When Digger finally awoke, she sat up and stretched. Then collapsed back on Four-Fingers. Four-Fingers groaned and shoved her off. They grumbled half-heartedly in mock aggression before tumbling over each other, fighting to stay on top. That left Hook-Nose free. He crept away, while they continued their waking ritual.

Slowly, but with ease, he rose to his feet. His back never fully healed, but he could walk now. A specific spot on the wall called to him. He stood before it and stared. How many nights had he lost doing this? His meaningless, futile task. The waste of time. This hopeless impossibility.

It had to be done though. At least, that was how he felt when he was on the ground.

His hand reached for the only reliable, jutted rock. As it became a foothold, a chill passed through him. You cannot be here. You belong down there. You have to stop. It is not safe. This is not your place.

His grip failed. He fell to the sand. Laying there feeling sorry for himself was an attractive way to spend the night. The urge to climb thrummed through him. Drove him to try again.

Between play fighting bouts, Digger and Four-Fingers stopped by to watch. They gawked up as he reached the same height that always stopped him. They made no move to help when he slid down. Or plummeted onto the sand.

He made no progress. He felt no stronger. His hands inevitably gave up. Every. Damn. Time.

After a particularly painful failure, he sat up defeated, tapping his head against the wall. What was he doing wrong? Nothing. This was pointless. He would live and die down here. Accept it.

Except the need to go up never lessened.

Hook-Nose placed his hands on the wall. A resigned sigh. He started climbing. Made it one body length above the ground. Bones dropped into the pit. Joyful screams from Digger and Four-Fingers as they threw themselves onto the meal. Maybe Hook-Nose would have a better chance on a full stomach.

He took one hand off the wall to drop down. His other held tight. One did not simply stop climbing. But the cracking bones and slurping marrow called to him. It was go now or get none. Still, Hook-Nose hung on.

Fine. He would rush up until he failed. He could grab food after. Scurrying up the wall, he ignored the sting in his back. His grip weakened on cue. Good. Soon, he would eat.

He remained on the wall. His hand refused to let go. Panic washed through him, ordering him to stop. To go back where he belonged. A weak, but omnipresent command undermined it: Climb.

He hauled himself up another half-body length. The horror reignited. Demanded he give up. Let go.

He waited it out.

Now, he understood why Scar's ascent had been so slow. So methodical. Success required resilience against that fear. Hook-Nose smirked. His entire existence had alternated between thoughtful patience and vicious attack. That was all this was. He could do this.

It took hours to crawl 50 feet. But, he was undeniably higher than he had ever been. On the tail end of panic, he glimpsed down. The pit floor was gone. Uniform blackness stared back at him. Looking up, he was startled by the light. Dancing shadows hinted at somethings lining the pit wall. The above world that he knew existed but could never fathom.

He waited for the command to climb to return. Silence. But nothing called him downwards either. Fine. There was a target in sight now. That was all he needed.

Except he also felt the pull of dawn. A new panic swept over him. He was exhausted. Staying awake after the sun rose would be impossible. If he fell asleep here, he would fall to his death.

One option: slide back down. Another: climb faster. He looked down. If he quit, he would never come back up. He frantically scraped the wall for the next handhold.

In his mad dash, he almost missed a flicker to his right. A miniscule candle melted out of the wall. It illuminated a tunnel above a wooden landing. His salvation. Hurrying sideways to reach it. Scrambling onto the landing. Stumbling into the tunnel entrance. Smashing into a wall when the path sharp-turned left.

Hook-Nose collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. He made it. He reached the top. He had no idea what would come next, but who cared?! The ascent was done. Whatever horrors awaited him here would at least be new.

His euphoric moment broke as he doubled over in pain. He was starving. Bones came from the upper world. They had to be here somewhere. He tried to stand. His legs wobbled like jelly. They gave, and he fell to the ground. His body felt so heavy. Food would have to wait. His eyes drooped shut.

A noise brought him back to semi-consciousness. Something climbed down the wall. Stepped onto the landing. A worker's head poked into the entrance. Hook-Nose rolled into a crouch with a warning hiss.

The worker startled back. A moment of hesitation. She took two cautious steps closer, gently shushing Hook-Nose. He remembered when the knight had shushed him. The pain that followed. He gave a buzzgrowl. She advanced anyway. He leaped at her, swiping wildly. Squealing, she ran back to the landing. Hook-Nose gave a victorious shriek. The tunnel was his.

Frustrated murmuring from the landing.

Hook-Nose leaned forward to look. Three workers. More than he could fight by himself. He retreated around the tunnel's bend. From there, they would have to come at him one-by-one. This spot was worth fighting for. He settled in.