by Amy Cross
"If he's lying," I reply, "I shall kill him and bring the corpse back for you to cook at your leisure."
Turning and following Sharpe along the next aisle, I find myself unable to stop thinking about the meal in prospect. My dislike of humans as a species is matched only by my love of their flesh. It has been many, many years since the last time I encountered such a creature, but I remember the meat's taste as if it was yesterday. There are so many different ways in which one can cook a human, and they're even delicious raw, so I have no doubt that this carcass is going to be the finest meal I have enjoyed in a very long time. Hunger, when it becomes all-consuming, is like a thought that cannot be emptied from the mind. All I can think about is the taste of the human's meat, and the blood in my mouth, and the juices dripping down my chin.
"Are you sure it's dead?" I ask Sharpe as we get closer to the wall.
"Not really," he replies, "but she's certainly hurt. I made sure of that."
"She?"
"It's a female," he says. "At least, I think so. It's so hard to tell with humans. The males and females are virtually identical."
"A live human female?" I say, finding this claim almost too good to be true.
"Oh yes," Sharpe replies. "Now do you see why I asked such a high price from you in return for the offering?"
"With this meat, I shall regain my former status," I say. "The one thing better than having a fresh human carcass would be to have the honor of cutting its throat and watching as the blood flows freely. You might be surprised to learn that although I have tasted human meat in the past, I have never actually had the pleasure of killing such a beast. Men will fall at my feet for the chance to taste but a pound of this meat."
"Well now's your chance," Sharpe says. We reach the wall and he opens the gate. "Get ready for the feast of your life. I buried it nearby."
Claire
The first thing I realize, as I slowly start to wake up, is that for the first time in over a week I've actually managed to sleep for a decent period of time. Instead of feeling tired and groggy, which is how I've been most mornings recently, I feel energized and ready to start the day. Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes and -
Nothing.
Just darkness.
Slowly, a sense of panic starts to creep over me. I'm not entirely sure what's happening, but I can tell that something's seriously wrong. I try to move, but some kind of weight seems to be holding me in place, and suddenly I realize that there's a metal pipe in my mouth. Wriggling to get free and trying to push the pipe out from between my lips, I try to take a deep breath, but instead I just feel some type of fine, earthy powder rushing into my nose. I force my hand up, and finally I feel as if I'm starting to get loose. After struggling a little longer, and despite the pains in my legs and chest, I manage to haul myself up from what turns out to be a shallow grave. Spitting the pipe out of my mouth, I gasp for air and finally manage to calm down.
Someone buried me. Someone dragged me here, dug a shallow hole, and buried me, with a pipe in my mouth so that I could still breathe.
Turning, I look around and try to work out where I've ended up. I'm on a patch of grass, under a large tree, and a few meters away there's a high stone wall running from horizon to horizon. The sun is burning high above me, but the sky seems a little strange, as if it's less blue and more orange than usual. I try to stand, but the pain in my left leg is intense; reaching down, I can immediately tell that I've fractured something just above the ankle: the skin is slightly swollen, and I can barely move my toes. There's some damage to my ribs, too, and overall I feel as if I've been through some kind of fight. Somehow, though, I'm still wearing my old pajamas.
Taking a deep breath, I think back to the last thing I remember. I was in my parents' house, late at night, and there was some kind of creature scuttling about. He was stealing books, and when I confronted him, he started beating me up. I take another deep breath, hoping against hope that somehow everything will suddenly become clear; unfortunately, my memory is still a little hazy. Wherever I am, I'm pretty sure I'm nowhere near home. For one thing, the air seems so much clearer and cleaner; for another, I don't hear any cars or trains or anything that might indicate civilization. The only noise, apart from the gentle rustling of the grass as a breeze blows through the area, is a very distant rumble; looking over to the right, I see a thick cloud of black smoke rising into the air. It looks pretty dramatic, but it's also clearly a long way off: at least ten miles, probably more. I might not have paid much attention at school, but this place doesn't seem like anywhere I've heard of before, although I suppose it could be somewhere like China or Russia.
Supporting my weight against the tree, I slowly manage to get to my feet. Although my ankle is throbbing and my ribs are sore, I figure I can move about so long as I don't put too much weight on my left foot. Now that I'm standing up, I can't see much more than before, but it's clear that the stone wall is longer than any I've ever seen. If I look to the left, I can see the wall running off to the distance; to the right, I see the same thing. My first thought is that this must be some kind of dream. Leaning against the tree, I start pinching my arm, hoping that perhaps I'll wake up. I pinch harder and harder, until eventually I raise my wrist to my mouth and bite down hard on the skin.
"Fuck!" I shout eventually, letting go. I'm pretty sure I would have woken up by now, so I guess this isn't a dream. Still, I need to stay calm. Wherever I am, it can't be impossible to find my way home, and I can't have been dragged very far. That creature was about the size of a beach-ball, and he was clearly struggling with his little sack of books, so it's hardly likely that he could pull me to the...
I pause for a moment as I realize how ridiculous this whole situation has become. I'm treating the events of last night as if they actually happened, when it's pretty clear that I must have suffered some kind of seizure. Right now, in the real world, I'm probably in a hospital, hooked up to a bunch of machines while doctors try to work out how to wake me up; maybe I'm in a coma, and my parents are sitting by my bed, reading stories to me from the newspaper and praying for me to recover from some kind of horrible accident. I guess, in the long run, that's the most likely explanation. Dr. Martindale warned me that I could get an infection in my back, so I guess that's what must have happened; I've probably got a fever, and right now I might well be hovering between life and death.
Huh. I'm in a coma.
Figuring that I might as well get moving, I take a deep breath and then hobble away from the tree. It's an awkward journey over to the wall, and I almost fall over a couple of times, but eventually I clatter to a halt and grab hold of some stonework in order to steady myself. After a moment, I look up at the top of the wall, which is a few feet above my head. Looking left and right, I realize that the wall seems to just go off in each direction forever; I turn back and look back toward the shallow grave, and I see that there's nothing over there other than a dauntingly high mountain range.
"Coma," I repeat to myself. "You're in a coma."
I make my way along the wall, being careful to avoid putting too much weight on my left foot. It's a slow, tiring process and after a few minutes I've only managed to travel a short distance. Stopping again, I start to feel that any effort is completely pointless; if I'm in a coma, I might as well just sit around and wait until I wake up. Then again, I've seen films about people in comas, and they usually have to keep going in order to prove that they're not ready to die. Damn it; if I just sit and wait to wake up, I might just fade away to nothing. Sighing, I keep moving, and after a couple of minutes I spot something a little further ahead. Struggling a few more meters, I come to a small door set into the wall. I glance back the way I came for a moment, before reaching down and turning the door handle; to my surprise, I'm able to pull the door open, at which point I step inside and find myself in what appears to be a long, open-air corridor. The inside of this place seems to be lined with bookshelves and filled with books of all sizes and colors. I look left, and then r
ight, but all I can see is what appears to be mile after mile of shelving, while up above there's nothing but clear, orange-blue sky. It's as if I'm in the world's largest open-air library.
"Huh," I mutter as I hobble forward, putting my weight on the nearest shelf. I definitely don't remember ever hearing about a place like this, so I guess the coma theory is becoming more and more likely by the second. Looking at the shelf, I see books with titles such as 'How to Freeze a City' and 'The Dangers of Gum'; I pull one of the titles out but, just like the books back in the box at home, it seems to be a fairly impenetrable piece of work that makes references to things I've never heard of. I put the book back and, figuring I might as well take a look around, I make my way slowly along the aisle until I reach a cross-point; I can either keep going, or turn right. Deciding to try a new direction, I find myself walking along an aisle that seems to run all the way to the horizon, with fresh bookshelf-lined aisles branching out regularly in each direction; in fact, the aisle is so long, I feel I can almost see how the horizon dips slightly to follow the curve of the planet.
It's hard to believe that there are so many books in the entire world, but this place seems to be vast. It's as if someone took a copy of every book in the entire universe, and then built a massive outdoor library in which to store them, and then just left the place to rot. I'd have thought a place like this would be full of people, although I suppose the internet makes a trip here less necessary. Frankly, I feel as if I'm trespassing in someone's private project. Then again, if I'm in a coma, then maybe this is all some huge manifestation of my brain. I guess that's the most likely thing; I'm just wandering through my own mind, waiting for the doctors to figure out how to bring me around.
"Hello!" I call out, figuring I might as well see if there's anyone nearby. After all, if my subconscious mind has created an entire landscape, I'm sure it could stretch to coming up with a few inhabitants. I pause for a moment, but I don't hear anyone shouting back at me. "Typical," I mutter, stopping to lean against the end of an aisle. While I'm not particularly keen to just sit down and wait to wake up, I kind of don't see the point of pushing on when I'm in pain. As far as I can tell, this whole library is just one big series of empty aisles, in which case I don't see that there's much reason to keep going. Then again, I can't help but wonder if I'm in the middle of some huge metaphor: if I surrender to my painful ankle, and choose to just sit down and wait, does that mean I'm giving up in the face of whatever real-life problem is keeping me in the coma? Damn it, is my subconscious really so obvious? I guess I can't take the risk, so I hobble along despite the agony.
After passing the ends of a series of long aisles, I glance to my left and finally spot something a few hundred meters away, resting against one of the shelves. Narrowing my eyes a little to get a better look, I realize that it's a human shape, slumped on the floor.
"Hey!" I shout, excitedly making my way as fast as possible along the aisle. If I'm going to be trapped here in this coma-based library, I might as well find someone to talk to. Besides, it'll be kind of fun: I'll basically be talking to myself. "Hey!" I call out again, although as I get closer, I start to see that the figure isn't moving. After a moment, I come to a halt just a few meters from the shape, and I realize to my surprise that it appears to be a person wearing a full suit of body armor, slumped in a heap against the lower shelves.
"Hello?" I say, hoping against hope that the figure might turn out to be merely resting. I wait for a reply, but there's no movement at all.
Taking a deep breath, I carefully lower myself to the ground and take a closer look at the figure. The armor is a kind of silver color, and there's a faded coat of arms on the chest. Leaning closer, I see that the visor over the face is slightly loose and I can see something inside; I look closer, but it's hard to make out what I'm staring at; I'm expecting to see eyes, but instead I can just see some kind of white mass. After a moment, there's a hint of movement inside the visor, and finally a small maggot comes crawling out.
"Fuck," I mutter, sitting back. I watch as the maggot crawls across the metal and then heads back inside via a small hole where the helmet meets the neck. My first instinct is to turn and get out of here, but curiosity gets the better of me and once again I lean closer. Since I'm in a coma, I can't be in any danger from anything in the library, so I figure I might as well get a better look at whatever sick ideas my mind has dreamed up for me. I mean, it'd almost be rude not to look. I'll probably start waking up soon, so I might as well take this opportunity to see what kind of sick stuff my subconscious mind has created. I reach out and take hold of the helmet, before slowly lifting it up. To my surprise, it seems at first as if there's nothing inside; however, after a moment I see a couple more maggots drop out from the bottom of the helmet.
"Gross," I mutter.
Before I can let go of the helmet, a huge mass of maggots comes dropping out, accompanied by a skull. Forcing myself to keep hold of the helmet, I stare in disbelief at the maggots as they wriggle all over the armor.
"Seriously gross," I say.
Seconds later, a much larger maggot starts to emerge from the neck cavity of the armor. Taking a moment to calm my nerves, I remind myself that this is all just a part of my imagination: I'm not really in a giant library, and I didn't just take a maggot-filled helmet off the head of a dead guy. I focus on the image of my body in a hospital bed, and I imagine my parents noticing a small spike in brain activity. They're probably wondering whether I'm dreaming in here. Although this whole situation is gross, I really hope that I remember it all when I wake up. If I wake up. Suddenly I'm struck by the realization that maybe I'll never come around, and I'll be stuck in this fantasy world until someone decides it's time to switch off my life-support machine. Then again, my parents would never allow them to do that; they'll insist on every possible procedure being tried to get me out of this mess.
Still, it's too much grossness for me: I drop the helmet and back away from what is now a huge pile of maggots, with just the armored legs of the human figure visible. I guess those maggots had a pretty fun little eco-system going on in there, and now they've suddenly been allowed out to explore a whole new world. A bit like me.
Backing away from the maggots, I try hard to keep from panicking. If I'm really trapped in my own mind, and if my body is really in some hospital bed somewhere, I might never be able to escape. No matter what I do, I'll just be stuck in this fantasy world until my body dies and everything goes blank. I can't help but imagine the doctors standing by my bed, explaining that they think I'm brain-dead and trying to persuade my parents to switch me off. If this place is a metaphor, then perhaps I have to strive toward some goal in order to wake up? Has my subconscious mind set some kind of puzzle for me?
"Hey!" I shout at the sky, hoping that there might be some way to communicate with my parents. "I'm alive in here! Listen to me!" I wait for some kind of response. All I need is a sign that there's someone out there, but right now I feel as if I'm completely alone. Turning, I hobble as fast as possible along the aisle, determined to get back to the door. If I'm ever going to find a way out of here, I probably need to retrace my steps and head back to the beginning. My subconscious mind must have left some kind of clue for me. Once I've worked out what I'm supposed to do, I can get going. I might be in a coma, and I might be imagining some kind of weird library, but I'm not dead yet. I can still find a way out of this.
As hard as I try, though, I can't seem to find the route back to the wall. Hurrying down aisle after aisle, pushed onward by adrenalin and fear, I start to wonder whether somehow the shelves have been moving to block my way. Eventually I come to a halt at a crossroads that gives me four possible routes. Suddenly, feeling as if I'm being watched, I turn and see a figure nearby, sitting at what appears to be a camp-fire. My first instinct is to run, but slowly the figure looks up at me and, from beneath the shawl that covers most of his face, I see a smile.
Vanguard
"She was right here," Sharpe says as we
stand on either side of a shallow grave. "I swear to God, I buried her right here. I even put a pipe in her mouth, so she'd be able to breathe. I thought of everything!"
"How deep did you bury her?" I ask, feeling a sense of anger rise through my body. If Thomas J. Sharpe had a neck, I'd have snapped it by now. He had a human; a real, live human, and he let it get away.
"Just enough to cover her," he explains. "I mean, look at me! You don't seriously expect me to dig a proper six-foot pit, do you? I was in a hurry. I was on my way to find you!"
"She can't have got far," I say, glancing around. "If she's human, she won't have a clue where she is, so she'll probably just wander aimlessly. Humans are notoriously poor when it comes to exploring new lands." I pause for a moment, trying to pick up her scent. "Where's the nearest gate into the library?"
"There's only the one we used to come out here," he replies. "Or there's a smaller one, about fifty meters that way." He points to the east. "I don't see why she'd go all the way along there, though."
"Never try to anticipate a human's movements," I reply. "They're not logical. They make strange decisions based on little more than conjecture. For all we know, she might have decided to run into the mountains. I know everything there is to know about humans, and sometimes they still surprise me."
"She was a smart one," he says. "I could see it in her eyes. Usually it's not too hard to persuade them that they're imagining things, but this one could tell I was real. That's why I had to bring her here, and of course my very first thought was to offer her to you as a symbol of my humble appreciation. And as a bargaining tool, naturally."
"We must find her," I say, as my stomach rumbles. It has been almost a month since I ate anything of substance, and a fresh human would be the perfect way to break this enforced fast. Just the thought of human flesh in my mouth is enough to drive me to a rage that I have not felt for some time. One good meal would be enough to give me the strength I need for the journey back to the Citadel.
