Symbiotic Submission

Part One

"Come on, it landed over here!" I called, cresting the ridge on the side of the bike trail.

"Jeez, Charlie, slow down!" Billie called up after me, panting for breath.

I shook my head. "And let someone else beat us to the punch?"

She could catch up. I wanted to find the meteorite.

We'd been out for a hike when it soared across the sky, unmistakeable. A ball of fire with a black, smoky trail plummeting from the sky and into the woods ahead of us. I'd grinned and told Billie, 'Last one there stinks like a rotten egg!' before taking off, wanting to beat the other hikers to the treasure.

I could see clearly the broken branches that the plummeting meteorite had left. Triangulating the position with a guess, I slid down the steep hill, digging in the heels of my hiking boots to stay upright. My miniskirt caught the edge of a bush and flipped up indecently, but that's why I wore a pair of athletic pants underneath.

What I hadn't planned on was that a pile of leaves and brush were disguising a pitfall at the bottom of the slope. Instead of sliding to a gentle stop, I lost my footing without warning, fell, snagged my pants on a thorny branch, and twisted my ankle.

(Goddammit), I groaned to myself, extricating my limbs from the pile of leaves that'd disguised the gap in the ground.

Then I stood up, and–Riiiiip.

"Goddammit!" I repeated out loud, feeling sudden cold air on my right thigh as a big section of my pants ripped open.

My ankle hurt to stand on, but I limped out of the hole and sat.

Prodding at the injury distracted me so much, I didn't even notice the charred black crash site a few feet away until it gave a little crackling pop.

I blinked and looked over.

The meteorite was within arm's reach, black and sooty from its entry into the atmosphere, clods of dirt clinging to its shell. I reached over to wipe away some of the dirt and pick it up, not thinking about how it'd likely be burning hot.

When I touched it, though, it felt cool. Icy, almost.

I puzzled at that, picking up the rock. It was about the size of a basketball, and other than the dirt chunks stuck to it, perfectly round.

Another pop sounded, and the shell suddenly split in my hands, cracking sharply in half. I could have sworn something black and viscous spilled out right onto my lap, but when I looked down, nothing was there.

(An illusion,) I guessed. (Or maybe some kind of gas? Should I be worried?)

"Chars!" Billie called, coming around the side of the hill, winded. "Jeez, girl, you scared me!"

"I'm fine," I said, standing up. My ankle didn't really hurt anymore, and my skirt helpfully concealed the hole in my pants. "Come check this out–the meteorite was hollow!"

I didn't think anything else of the strange optical illusion, more fascinated by the meteorite itself.

In retrospect, I should have been worried.

...

We rode our bikes back to town, the meteorite halves in my backpack. This'd been a weekly activity for me and Billie when we were in highschool; traveling out and exploring the surrounding world for hours on end. Now that we were both well into college we still reenacted the ritual, but only when we came home on holidays.

I knew I'd get an earful from mom once I got home about not having my phone on me, but I couldn't be bothered. I was on break, nobody but me got to have my constant attention, and I was an adult–I didn't need anyone nannying me to ensure I was safe.