CODE ELDRITCH

Chapter XIII

 The Cabin

What is one to do, exactly, when locked between the dangers on the outside and the horrors on the inside? You might think status quo is the number one option, because any other (such as opening the damn door) would risk joining the horrors within with the dangers without.

I'm sympathetic to that idea, but what do you do when someone knocks on the door?

Oops. Getting ahead of myself.

I want to make it clear that I really did ask about The Log, and that my attempts at interrogating an answer out of Supervisor Martell were rank failures. Either he didn't know, or he didn't care to share, but he was adamant I not bring it out of its wrapping again.

"I don't know what I saw when you did it last time," he whispered to me, "but it felt like I was being split open from the inside out. Everything just... swam before me. Never again."

Hey, I'm not one to argue.

It was past midnight, somehow. We had come ashore in the early morning and tarried in the forests for a full eighteen hours, yet only traversing some handfuls kilometers. Inhospitable terrain being what it is, I still could not for the life of me make sense of that. When we'd seen Markovitz's Clearing from the hill, we should have had hours upon hours of light left.

The entire trip, in fact, shouldn't take more than three, four (five? You get the point) hours. But my legs were sore, my pants spattered with mud past the knees. I looked and felt as if I'd been dirt racing for a full weekend.

Martell listened to my concerns earnestly before dispelling them off-hand. "You're not a hiker, and neither are any of us. We were slow and inefficient, that's all." He did his best to broadcast his hesitation, "but the sun did set early, you're right. We'll keep it in mind for tomorrow."

"For tomorrow?" I said. "What's tomorrow?" I leaned in closer, cognizant of the fact that this was my first-ever opportunity to talk to Martell without Buzz's rude shadow hanging over his shoulder, "look at these people. They don't look like they're even ready for today, let alone tomorrow. And you don't look so hot yourself."

"I'm fine." Martell wheezed, "stick your focus to the rest of the group. Do you feel anything?"

"Besides hunger?"

"A... presence, a pressure, something. I don't know how exactly it is you— you POs work your magic."

I would have yelled at him, but it would have been rude to wake Banks from his anxiety-trance. "If you think I have a better idea, I have some unfortunate news for you." I let that sit for a moment. "But no, I don't feel anything. Not since I wrapped... that thing. The pole."

The Supervisor couldn't hide the way his eyes ran instinctively over to the side where I'd discarded the bundle of ragged cloth that only just hid the object. Couldn't hide how unsettled he was, even for a moment. "Make sure it stays that way. It's..."

"It's what?" I demanded.

"Don't you think it's familiar?"

"Maybe you and I grew up in different—" I kind of faltered. "Oh. Now that you mention it."

He nodded, cast worried looks at the rest of the group pathetically crammed into the far left corner of the room, just next to a stairway. "It looks a lot like what killed Ripley, only smaller."

"Candina had a name for it."

"The Tree," he nodded, "yeah. It's on file since a few years back. But it didn't get into our heads, not like that."