Blaze

31. Belly of the Beast

How does it happen? Austin is dragging me away with shaking, sharp-angled arms; I'm like a dried-out leaf, offering no resistance. Easily cracked.

The table seems to retract, fold, and sink down into the forest floor. It collapses neatly and without spillage, despite the many drinks that grace it. There's no sound—not even a short sucking noise.

Why is there no sound?

Black eyes spear me in unmistakable anger.

You need to choose me, the Captain says. You need to choose me.

Choose to be happy.

I'm limp-chested in Austin's grip. But my legs follow his, maintaining a steady rhythm. (A distant part of me remembers that he's hurt, and that forcing him to carry my weight is only aggravating his condition. A distant part, buried under heavy layers of cold numbness.) The Captain's eyes are huge and black, like two mouths are eating up his face; they expand, stretch down until his jaw. They seem to suck the fat out of his cheeks. His hair parts under the sudden wide bulge of his forehead.

What is that? Who is he?

Austin is saying something so panicked I can't make it out. We run. We run.

A roar builds up behind us, a throaty roar as ancient as a tree. A roar that cracks.

Alaina is in my head, watching. I feel her words shift, trip over each other. Realign.

What have you done? she asks me. What have you done?

I spare a glance back. The roar has cut the Captain's face in two. Pools of black—eyes, many eyes—dot a skeletal chin and cheeks.

Who is that? What is he?

The air is so cold I'm frightened it'll solidify and we'll run into it. My torso shakes violently. I feel more than hear Austin gasp.

YOU NEED TO CHOOSE ME.

The mental blow nearly knocks me off my feet. (Even Austin, despite claiming mental immunity, seems to wince at the shockwave.) A hand is on my back, spinning me around to look, to look...

This is how and where he died. He did the thing Austin did, whatever thing that is, and he turned around...

The blood, I think back. The flash-image. Was that—?

The voice in me pauses for a moment. I don't know how the memory came to you. Perhaps, as Ismael said, you were already impure. But yes, that was me.

Me?

Yes. I am him.

Impossible. You're me. You're in me. You sound like me. How long have you—?

Not long. I came to you. I also came to him. It was much the same situation, long ago. I am him and you, and all the others that came before.

The roar keeps on going, no breath-pauses.

We keep running. Running. The forest blurs. All I can see is the voice, its pattern, its rise and fall. The lips it issues from. I'm running deeper inside a never-ending mouth. Then I'm heading down the throat. Into the stomach. Through flesh-tunnels. Into blood-veins. I float through darkness. Sprint over a slick, red floor. The ice has caged my heart. (Is my heart still beating?)