In the sudden darkness, the ghoul's pasty, hunched form was burned onto my retinas.
I clamped my teeth down on a yell and threw a hand over my nose and mouth to stifle my
panting breaths as I pressed my spine to the wall like I could meld into it. I could have sworn the
parabeast's illuminated eyes—like two thin spotlight beams—had landed right on me.
No shrieking roar echoed through the dark medical bay, but I inched backward along the wall
toward the lobby, wincing when my shoe squeaked. I froze. My eyes strained in the gloom,
expecting a long tongue to curl around the corner, leading a searching bald head like a leash.
A steady drip, drip tugged on my senses—runoff from the storm outside leaking into the
dilapidated building. From the nurse's station, I heard a scuffing. Something big, moving without
lifting its feet.
I let out a slow exhale. The ghoul hadn't seen me. It was still shambling around mindlessly,
uninterested and unmotivated.
I crept back out through the swinging doors with a tiny groan of hinges. Before I could think to
grab it, it swung back the other way, bumping its fellow and opening into the hall. I dropped into
a crouch as, just before the doors settled, a ghoul shambled out of an exam room. As it turned
toward its fellow, growths on its back, like ribs torn out through its flesh, undulated with soft
clicks.
In a cold sweat, I cast my eyes around the lobby, looking for any more of them swaying idly in
dark corners.
Keeping low, I crab-walked back through the lobby, my calf on fire, blood seeping through the
dingy makeshift bandage. I made it to the stairwell, straightened with a hiss through my teeth,
and gripped the railing, looking down.
So far down. I had eight more floors to go before I reached the communications room, and all of
them could be crawling with those ghoul things. They could be anywhere right now, spreading
out all around me.
I looked down at the paperweight. Useless.
Beneath the next peal of thunder, I thought I heard guttural growls echoing up the stairs. Then,
much clearer, much closer, the light thump of the double doors bumping each other, beginning
to swing open.
I turned tail, sprinting back up to the cafeteria level. A few of the quilled rodent parabeasts
squeaked and scampered, startled as I staggered into the vast room. Dragging my hurt leg
behind me, I flung myself behind the counter of the taco spot.
Hugging a stitch between my ribs, heart thudding against my breastbone, I slid my back down
the counter to sit on the floor. My pulse raced as I kept an ear out for a tremor in the stair railing
or the thud of bounding two-toed feet. Each skitter and scrape in the dark made me twitch.
After a few uneventful minutes had passed, I chanced a peek. Three quilled forms snuffled
around the dark mound I'd seen growing on the far wall before. Little lights like fireflies blinked
across it, scattering from the beasts' claws as they tore at chunks of sediment. It almost looked
like a termite mound. Raden ants? It was far enough I didn't worry over it too much, fixating on
the dark hole where the floor swallowed the steps.
Nothing had followed me. But what was to keep them from wandering up here eventually?
There was no way I was going back into that death trap until I got myself in better condition and
found a weapon. There had to be one lying around somewhere. My best bet would be to go up
to the ardent floor, check the offices.
I peered down at my left leg, bent at the knee, toe barely on the ground, unwilling to bear my
weight. My right thigh and hip were cramping, exhausted from pulling double duty. I couldn't
search like this. But how was I supposed to clean my wound up without supplies or even water?
The thought of water made my tongue dry and my stomach pang. I needed food, water, and a
good night's sleep, but I also needed a weapon, needed to get out a message, needed to beat
Colter.
The tasks piled into an insurmountable peak, leaving my brain buzzing with a hundred next
steps and my body with no willpower to do any of them.
I laid my head on folded arms across the counter. The rain pattered against the filthy windows.
The occasional chitters of the rodents kept my lids from closing entirely. I wasn't safe here, not
even with what essentially amounted to rats in the cupboards. Those quills, claws, and sharp
front teeth could all kill me faster than I could kill them.
My eyes burned. My head kept rolling left as sleep tried to take me, only for the pressure on my
aching ear and swollen cheekbone to snap me awake. I was going to pass out and fall onto my
bad leg if I didn't move.
Lifting my head was a chore. One look around proved I wouldn't be safe behind this counter.
There were quill rat claw marks in the wall by the drink machine.
I licked cracked lips. First things first. I needed water. I doubted the machine would work even if
I found a power switch. There was a little display fridge, and through the shattered glass front, I
spotted shelves lined with bottles. Thank God.
Tugging open the fridge, I grabbed the first clear bottle I saw and instantly frowned at its airy
weight. The dingy gray plastic was shriveled and riddled with holes, the label nothing more than
colorful flecks sealed into the sides. It almost looked melted. Not a drop of water inside.
I sifted through the rest to find them all in the same condition.
I stole another glance at the staircase, overly conscious of how long I'd had my back to it, and
wondered if there was a way I could temporarily barricade it. But with what? Anything I could
pick up, they'd be able to lift away.
Instead, to appease my growling stomach, I opened the door to the back of the taco place. The
hole in it proved the quill rats had been in here before me, but I was still unprepared for how
barren and disgusting it looked. The two big sinks were rusted over. The wire shelves that held
dry storage had buckled inward, holding plastic bins that looked like they had housed biology
experiments—the insides fuzzed with blue mold or a coating of a substance I could only
describe as brown. Some had fallen and broken open, and all around them were dark stains
that seemed to have eaten away the floor. The only things still intact were rodent pellets.
The light switch I found did nothing, which didn't bode well for what I might find inside the fridge,
but I moved to it anyway. I had a hell of a time getting the heavy door open. All for nothing.
Silver containers lined the shelves top to bottom, but with each lid I opened, I got a foul smell
and empty bottoms. Well, not entirely empty. Black crusting darkened their sides and made the
bottoms look like cast iron. There was absolutely no food in here.
I wandered back into the dry storage in a haze, a headache throbbing over one eye.
What the hell was going on?
I was missing something, but my exhausted brain struggled to put the pieces together.
Flashes of my journey came to me. The mold in the restaurant fridge and the corroded state of
their appliances. All the spotty and disintegrating furniture here in Lightbridge. A rift explosion
accounted for broken windows, lilting skyscrapers, changed geography, and the greenery
growing everywhere, but what about all the decay?
Had I gotten it wrong? Had the destruction come from a bomb after all? A dirty bomb, full of a
chemical agent that… No, that didn't make sense either. Could it be the atmosphere of the rift,
brought along with everything else it had spewed over the city? Was our food not compatible
with some chemical component in it? But if the air was different, how was I breathing it fine?
At a loss for answers or other options, I turned toward the door and paused. Tucked in the
opposite corner of the supply room was a pallet jack, the red paint on its handle peeling away
and tires rotted, but still… Maybe I could barricade the stairs after all. I'd feel a lot better if the
only things wandering around up here were me and the quill rats.
I didn't hear the quilled parabeasts scurrying around anymore. A quick scan showed no pairs of
glowing eyes. The mound on the wall had a gaping hole in it, and not a single light to be seen.
All the better. Wheeling the dolly out on its rims, though, I felt less confident about my plan.
I pushed the two prongs beneath the drink machine's raised bottom, but there was a worrisome
gap. I gripped the badly corroded crank handle in gloved hands and pushed down with all my
might to make it move, straining until spit flew from my lips and a vein throbbed in my forehead.
Rust and paint flaked away as the handle cranked back, and the prongs lifted by tiny
increments, but after about three cranks I couldn't get them any higher.
The machine wasn't as far off the ground as I would have liked, and when I started to pull it
toward the employee exit on the warped rims of the palette jack, the metal legs scraped the floor
with a nails-on-chalkboard scream. My eyes snapped toward the stairs.
I waited for ten breaths, listening. Then pulled again. I'd rolled the damn thing maybe two feet
from its original position when one of the prongs gave way, dropping back onto the wheel axles.
The machine crashed down at a slant and teetered.
I lunged toward the counter, but rather than topple toward me, it hitched against the wall with a
resounding thud. Clutching the counter, I watched the stairs, kicking myself.
Little lights in my periphery drew my attention. I looked down and let out an undignified, "Eugh!"
as I danced around like a marionette to avoid the insects swarming the floor. Feeling one squish
beneath my boot with a resilient crunch, I hopped up on the counter and dropped to the other
side.
The insects were ant-like but the size of tarantulas, with fat, blinking abdomens like fireflies.
They looked like a variant of Colepsis magna, or Coleops, a rarer subspecies of the expansive
insectoid class that included weaver wasps, sometimes found in larger, more biodiverse rifts. On
sticky feet, they climbed the wall near the drink machine, swarming over a dark, glossy mound
riddled with entry holes. The wall was cracked, formerly hidden by the machine, and the mound
expanded inside it. So that's what the quill rats had been trying to get at back there.
Apparently some Coleops were edible for humans, too—according to a few harvesters who'd
gotten trapped in a rift for two days—but I'd have to be desperate before I took my chances with
this variant's pincers or whatever potentially toxic chemical made their butts glow. Come to think
of it, the ones I'd read about had blinking antennae, not abdomens. I'd never read about these.
Or most of the parabeasts that had come out of this rift, now that I thought about it.
The bugs showed no interest in me, and when nothing climbed the stairs, I got back the courage
to explore a few other back rooms for surviving food. Sludge piles, spreading brown stains, and
blackened containers that smelled like death waited in each one, but not even that could deter
my ravenous stomach. I slogged on, hopping counter after counter, grateful for the gloves I
found still in my pocket as I picked through the nasty shelves.
In the fried chicken place, the shelves had collapsed in on themselves, and I almost turned
back, giving it up for a loss, when I spotted one narrow wire rack still bolted to the sloping wall.
On it sat a sealed glass jar of golden brown… something. My boots crunched on a glittering
carpet of broken glass as I picked my way to it and stretched up an arm. I brought it down to eye
level, stomach cramping in anticipation as I realized what it was. Honey! It looked crystallized,
but its color was still appetizing. I twisted the mason jar's rusted metal lid, but it didn't budge. I
braced it against my body and put all I had into it, but I only succeeded in getting rust all over
myself.
Frowning at the jar, I wandered back out into the cafeteria, debating whether I should just break
it open. But I might waste some of it doing that. Maybe there was something I could use in one
of the kitchens. The taco place might have a can opener for beans. Of course, eating would only
make me thirstier. What I really needed was water. I paused at the taco joint's counter, looking
toward the rain-splattered windows. Maybe if I could find a clean container or two I could collect
rainwater… and then hope it was safe enough to keep drinking. But I should do that in the
ardent offices, where the window was out and I could look for a weapon. I needed something to
defend myself if I was ever going to make it to the communications room.
Screek. Screek.
A shuffle at my back, claws scratching the floor.
I turned.
A dozen pairs of nocturnal eyes stared back at me. The quill rats stood in a jagged ring, long
noses twitching. Their dense, digging claws scraped detritus out of their way as they packed in
tighter, closer, watching me.
A slim black tongue flicked out of one's mouth like a serpent, gliding between the bucked front
teeth. It smacked its paddle-shaped tail on the ground like a beaver, its quills standing up like
hackles in a rippling wave.
Thwap. Thwap. More of the creatures followed suit, striking the floor and flaunting their
quills—each one long and sharp enough to easily puncture an artery.
I glanced over my shoulder at the insect mound inside the wall. "That what you want?" I
murmured.
Slowly, I slunk along the length of the counter's outer edge, getting out of the way of their goal.
A few eyes tracked me, but most stayed on the wall.
I strode as confidently and quickly toward the stairs as I could, zagging around the outer edge of
the parabeasts' closing ring. Two quill rats parted to give me a wider berth, and I took it,
limp-jogging until I reached the railing. Not looking down, I climbed up, back past the ballroom to
the ardent offices.
The wind through the busted window caught my hair as I carefully approached the opening,
bracing myself with the frame again. Holding my other cupped hand out into the storm, I
gathered a few desperate sips of rainwater, the liquid spilling out faster than I could choke down
a satisfying mouthful. Mind scrounging for a plan, I took out the honey jar.
If I could break it just at the top, then I could fill it with rainwater to help it dissolve.
I walked to a desk, put on my goggles to shield from flying glass, and lined up the top curve of
the jar with the edge of the desk, just below the lid. Then, whack. The glass shattered and the
lid hit the floor. I was left with a half-sized jar with a very sharp, jagged top. The honey was so
hard I could flip the jar upside down and shake out the few shards that had fallen inside. Making
sure I got them all, I dug a finger into the honey without waiting for water to mix it, unable to
resist. I carved out a thick glob on my finger and sucked on the crystallized sugar. The first lick
set off fireworks in my head, and a happy sigh bubbled up from my chest. My stomach,
however, gave a loud growl, begging for more, and I scraped the chewy honey off my finger,
munching greedily. As I ate another fingerful, then another, some of the brain fog cleared.
When I'd scraped the edges clean, I stuck the jar out into the rain and drank by holding it high
and pouring it into my open mouth to avoid cutting my lips. Trying not to think about the glass
particles I was probably swallowing, I filled it one more time and left it on the desk to retrieve
later, after my search of the offices, not wanting to walk around with it in my overalls pocket.
Leaving the lobby behind, I took the nearest of two hallways, this one lined with office doors,
ending in an intersecting hallway with yet more doors. I sighed, wondering where the hell I'd set
down my paperweight.
With nothing in my hands, I tiptoed over the cement floor revealed by rotted carpet and posted
up beside the first office, its door riddled with wood rot. Through the holes, I squinted into the
dark room for signs of life. Not trusting my eyes, I tapped the handle, making noise to see if
anything inside responded.
Silence.
Confident the coast was clear, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The paint on the wall
had peeled away. Glass from missing picture frames dusted one side of the room. A lone metal
desk remained, covered in that brown pox just like the secretaries'.
I limped to it and opened every drawer, looking for left-behind weapons. Hell, a letter opener
would be something.
Nothing. A whole lot of dust and plastic fragments.
Feet sore, leg aching, I explored the whole hallway that way, then the next, and one beyond
that. I took identical turns, peered down identical halls, everything tarnished and dulled to a
muted, dirty gray. The silence seemed full of whispers just out of earshot. The tilt of the building
set the floor and the rectangular doors at a slant, stretching what should have been straight
lines into endless distances, like looking through a warped telescope. The honey jar had
emptied far too soon, leaving a dissatisfied grumble in my gut. My injured leg trembled each
time I put weight on it. Woozy with hunger, I paused inside a larger office that boasted a window.
Outside, the storm had settled to a mere drizzle, and the sun was about to set, turning the
clouds at the horizon an angry red.
I'd lost my chance to store up more water, and I'd come up totally empty. Not a single weapon. A
few pens with dried-up ink, decay stains in the shape of folders, bits of broken glass.
Sending out a distress call today wasn't happening. No way I was navigating my way through
floors of those ghoul things in the pitch dark.
My forehead touched the grimy window, and a beleaguered groan crawled up my throat.
I peered at the street far below. Nothing moved but leaves in the breeze.
No sign of Colter returning yet. Maybe he was waiting for the cover of darkness.
I knew I ought to hole up and hide. But where? These upper levels weren't safe either. How was
I supposed to sleep knowing untold numbers of creatures with claws and fangs were moving
around in the building? Creatures that were pretty much impervious to any ordinary bludgeon or
blade wielded by a raden-deficient boneforger. I needed a parabone weapon, at least, before I
tried to curl up somewhere for the night. That and maybe some kind of trap to deter anything or
anyone that tried to creep up on me.
Then it came to me. Maybe I'd have luck in the penthouses! Ardents rented them out for
everything from convenient overnight stays between missions, to sweet-sixteens for their kids,
to wild frat-style parties to celebrate Saturday night. Surely where there were drunken ardents
fresh off a mission, there were a few forgotten items.
I tore myself away from the windowsill I'd been leaning on like a crutch and dragged my aching
body back into the halls, tracing what I thought was the route I'd taken. I took a right turn,
paused, and looked back at the left route, trying to find a standout landmark in a sea of
doorways.
Had I been here before? There was a white plaque on the floor, fallen from a decayed door.
Inside the closet-sized room, I saw dark, uniform squares with faded logos.
My heart leaped, filling my limbs with new energy. Emergency kits! Supply packs for extended
missions. I slipped inside and went to my knees before the stacks, pulling one toward me. The
synthetic fabric was riddled with holes, revealing the shiny silver packaging of several MREs
and tempered glass water bottles. I fell on them in a frenzy. Grabbing one of the bottles, I drank
most of it in one go. It tasted super stale, like it had been poured through a shoe, but way better
than nothing. Next, I tore open an MRE, poured the rest of the water into the heating packet,
then stuffed the food packet inside that.
I sat back and watched it expand as it heated, anticipating the smell of the chili mac and cheese
promised by the faded label.
Instead, a sour, acrid stench filled the closet. By the time it looked done, steam seeping out of it,
I was afraid to open it. Urged by my hunger, I did it anyway… and had to avert my whole face
from the stink wave of rotted meat and bad cheese. I tossed it away with a loud curse, forgetting
I was supposed to be quiet.
What the hell?!
MREs lasted decades, easy. How had it gone bad? There hadn't been any holes in the packet.
Desperate, I tried another. Beef stew. The foul odor cloyed the closet air, doubling down on the
smells of sweaty feet and roadkill.
I stared in disbelief.