Dark Reality 7-Book Boxed Set

by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Chapter 10

  I walk along and feel as if my feet are barely touching the earth as I make my way back to the cave to June. A smile continually tugs at the corners of my mouth. I keep picturing Will, the way his eyes glowed against his tan skin and nearly black eyelashes, the way his lips moved when he spoke. Just remembering the sound of his voice sends a wave of tingles from my scalp straight down my neck to my arms. Goose bumps appear on my skin though the midday sun is sweltering. I am happy in a way I have never been before. I cannot wait to return to the lake, to Will, in the morning.

  Despite my happiness, though, I remain vigilant. My eyes continue to scan the surrounding woods. And the sensation that I am being watched returns. Only this time, it is more than just a paranoid concern. I feel eyes on me. Someone or something is drilling their gaze right into me. I am sure of it. The realization drains any excitement I’ve been feeling.

  I slow my pace and examine the area before me. I see nothing, not even the slightest movement stirs the leaves. I turn and look toward the direction I just came from. I study the dense bushes for any sign of disturbance, but again, I see nothing. Everything looks as it did. I begin to wonder whether I am imagining things. For a moment, I try to convince myself that I am, that my overwhelming excitement has sent my senses into overdrive. But no matter how hard I try to tell myself that, I still have the feeling, the heaviness of being a target. I feel as if I am being stalked.

  Awareness slinks down the length of my limbs and the fine hairs on my body stand up at attention. I am being hunted.

  My hand reaches behind me slowly. The rustle and swish of branches causes me to grip the hilt of my sword. I stop walking and listen. Above the caw of birds and the chirp and scurry of chipmunks, I hear heavy footfalls. I silently unsheathe my sword and hold it out in front of me, gripping it with both hands.

  My heart is banging against my ribs and a rivulet of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and slips down to the small of my waist as I wait for whatever or whoever has been tracking me to make an appearance.

  “Come out!” I shout as the stress of waiting to be confronted takes its toll on me. “Come out and face me! I know you’re there!”

  I do not get a verbal response, but hear a throaty huff instead, and every cell in my body floods with adrenaline. I am under attack. Urthmen are undoubtedly positioned and poised to ambush me at any given moment.

  I squeeze the handle of my sword. Every muscle in my body is tense. I take two wary steps on the path I’ve been on, but halt when the sound of crunching twigs echoes through the ether. I stiffen and look in the direction of the sound. Low-growing bushes part. Prickly fronds shift, and I move in for a closer look.

  Cautiously, I approach the cluster of spiny plants. As I do, I see a large snout jutting among the tangled mess of branches. The snout is connected to a boart, but not just any boart. This one looks familiar. I saw it just a day earlier, the one I assumed was the boartling’s mother, the boartling June had killed. I recognize the unmistakable swath of black fur that interrupts the otherwise all-brown coat.

  Small, closely set eyes glare at me, and saliva drips from its wide mouth, over pointed tusks that protrude like deadly spikes. A bristly tuft of fur at its nape stands on end and quivers like quills and it grunts first then emits a sound that can only be described as a wail. The sound freezes the blood in my veins and I clutch my sword, ready to act. The boart bursts from the brush, charging at full speed. I do not have time to stab it so I take the only other option I am left with. I dive out of the way, narrowly avoiding being gored by her lethal teeth.

  I nearly lose my sword when my body meets with the hard ground. I roll to my side and scramble onto my hands and knees then spring to my feet.

  The boart stops abruptly and turns. Her eyes lock on me and suddenly, the feeling I had earlier and then again a moment ago gels. I was not being hunted by Urthmen. I was being stalked by an angry mother boart. She is avenging the death of the boartling, her boartling, June killed yesterday. Though the notion seems farfetched, it is the only likely one. Boarts do not simply attack unprovoked. At least they never have before. I also thought that rabbits did not attack. Apparently, I know less than I thought about the new, ever-evolving animal kingdom.

  The boart rotates her bulky shoulders and scuffs her hoof against the earth. Her eyes narrow to gashes, and then she lets out a guttural cry and charges me again.

  I sheathe my sword just before I turn and put my head down and take off. I push my legs as hard as I can, demanding they run faster than ever before. Thin branches whip my face and thorny vines lash my legs. But I do not care. A boart is after me, hoping to impale me with its massive tusks.

  I glance over my shoulder and see her hefty form barreling down on me. Her back is almost as tall as I am, and her tusks match the length of my arm from elbow to wrist. If she sticks me with one of them, I am dead.

  The terrifying reality of my predicament propels me forward. But my speed is no match for the boart. She is faster, stronger. Out of desperation, I dip behind a tree and watch her blaze past me. But the moment she becomes aware of what I have done, she skids to stop. I do not waste a second of precious time and bolt in a different direction. I attempt to dart through thick, interlocked growth, but the patch is closely packed and makes running difficult.

  I hear the grunt of the boart and see that she is tearing after me, plowing a path through the solid foliage. I cannot fight the boart as it charges me. Even if I stab it, I will be hit and killed for sure. Without any other choice, I run from her.

  My feet slap against the dirt as I sprint, but my effort is useless. She is gaining on me. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms as much. And when my gaze returns to the path I am headed on, I see I am at the top of a steep ridge. I do not remember climbing a hill as I traveled to the lake. But then I also did not have a boart that probably quadrupled my weight and nearly matched my height on my heels. I try to turn and avoid the sharp descent, as well as getting hopelessly lost in the forest, when my foot snags on an exposed root that pokes out from the soil. I stumble and find myself tumbling down the embankment full speed.

  Pain erupts across my flesh, blasting against my body like hot coals, as I plunge faster and faster. My left side topples over a sharp stone. I scream, unable to harness the agony in my ribs, and still, I am falling. I clutch my head in my hands to protect it and feel my forearms being shredded by rocks and sharp branches. At the base of the mound, the terrain lips and hurls me into the air. I expect to smash into a boulder or tree trunk and break every bone in my body, but I am surprised when I land against a spongy surface that absorbs my weight and rebounds it so that I bounce, springy and in midair.

  I look up, grateful that I did not crash into a boulder or tree trunk, only to see the boart careening down the ridge. It is heading right for me. Suddenly, I think I would have been better off having my bones shattered by the boulder or the tree rather than being demolished by the largest boart I have ever seen. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, bracing for the impact. All the while, images of June and Will and the life I would miss flash in my mind’s eye.

  I am shocked when the boart lands just a leg’s length from me. It sticks to the flexible material I’m leaning against, hovering above the ground. It squeals and flails and appears to be stuck, but I can barely hear or see its tantrum. I am panting and crying and mumbling all at once, tears blurring my vision. I try to move my hand to my face to rub my eyes, but feel resistance. My skin is being tugged. My arm is stuck. I wriggle and twist, trying to free my arm, but my entire body is stuck to the squishy net-like structure that prevented me from launching into the woods. I feel my sword sliding around at my back. I want to be still but can’t stop the panicked squirming of my body. I attempt to kick my legs and use my heels to free myself, but my movements are a waste of time. A loud clang, the distinct sound of metal cl
ashing with rock, and the immediate loss of weight at my back means my sword has dropped to the ground below. Held by the gummy meshwork and stripped of my sword, I am frightened. I frantically search all around me. My head is not connected to the tacky substance, so I am able to look beneath me and above me.

  Sunlight filters through treetops and illuminates the odd pearlescent threads that crisscross intricately between two sizable trees. When it does, it reveals I am trapped in a net of some sort, a web. Overhead, I see bones, many bones arranged neatly, that resemble the skeleton of a boart.

  My mind struggles to think of what could have created the sticky snare I am caught in. Urthmen come to mind. Perhaps they’d fashioned this to capture humans. Maybe this is what the two I killed yesterday built and I just caught them as they were leaving. Thoughts spin in my brain, burrowing into murkiness faster than a grub burrowing into soil. If that is true, if Urthmen built the web, then June is in danger. My eyes are wild as they roam the web for weakness. But the terrified glimpse of the complexity involved in its construction makes me think the Urthmen would not be intelligent enough to make something so elaborate.

  I curl my torso forward and pull with all my might, trying to separate from the sticky mesh. But all that happens is the skin on my back stretches and pulls, hopelessly stuck. I cannot budge. Angry shrieks and protests from the boart remind me that it is also trapped. It flails and fights but is not strong enough to free itself. It is a powerful beast, much tougher and much stronger than I am. Yet it, too, is ensnared. My situation is far worse than I ever dreamed possible. I will either die at the hands of whatever has me trapped, or I will die at the hands of a Lurker. Either way, I will die this day. And what’s worse is June will not be able to roll the boulder in place and cover the opening of the cave to secure herself. She will be wide open, a midnight treat for Lurkers. She has been issued a death sentence.

  Tears rain from my eyes and stream down my cheeks. I cannot bear the thought of June being butchered by a Lurker. I twist and pull again, and this time it is not the boart’s cry that pierces the forest. It is mine.

  I remain bound to the web until the sun sags low in the sky. One arm has lost feeling. It has been perched over my head since I first landed here. The rest of my body aches from the fall and holding my awkward position. But none of that even matters now. If I make it out of the web alive by some stroke of luck, I will never make it back by nightfall. I will be dead before sunrise one way or another. I allow my chin to fall to my chest and close my eyes, when a quiver on one of the strands I am stuck to vibrates. I see something moving at the base of the web. The bushes shimmy. I strain my eyes to see what is coming, to finally meet my awful fate, and when I do, I learn that nothing I have seen in either reality or my worst nightmares has prepared me for the sight before me. Shock prevents my gaze from leaving the creature that slowly scuttles onto the lowest fiber of the web.

  Armed with eight leathery looking legs with prominent joints that bend and flex as it creeps, and a fleshy body sectioned into two defined segments, both coated in tawny fur, the being makes its way up the silken thread. The closer it looms, the clearer my vision of it becomes. An insect face with five amber, feline eyes watches the boart. Its body is as long as mine only much thicker. Bulky, pronounced muscles flex as it walks. I want to scream, but the sound is smothered by my heart firmly wedged in my throat. I am thankful for that, because the boart is shrieking and carrying on. All the sound and motion seems to be encouraging the beast.

  The spindly legs of the creature reach the lower half of the boart. The enormous boart thrashes again, but like me, it is attached solidly. All the while it cries and screeches as the creature reaches its head. The creature perches its colossal form atop the boart and rears the upper sector of its body. Each of its five eyes is a bottomless pit of doom. Its mouth opens and two huge fangs, glistening with a thick, iridescent substance, extend from the roof of its mouth. It lowers its mouth to the boart’s neck, then in one lightning-fast motion, it buries its fangs into the boarts throat.

  The boart yelps and cries. It is the most awful, anguished sound I have ever heard an animal make. I am sickened as small whimpers pass through my lips. The boart is in agony. But the more the boart howls, the longer the creature’s fangs seem to grow. My eyes widen in horror when I see their tips poke through the other side of the boart’s neck coated in red. The boart stops moving, and the fangs retract suddenly. The creature backs up slowly. Its golden eyes are now on me. It scurries off the boart unhurriedly, watching me with the eyes of a skilled predator. It takes every bit of restraint I have to keep from screaming. I know screaming will not help me any more than the boart’s cries helped it. Instead, I feverishly try to free myself.

  My entire body trembles, as the milky filaments all around me quake. I pull my arm, wrenching my shoulder until it feels as if it will separate from my body altogether. But I do not care. Anything will be better than enduring what the boart endured. I tug and yank. Skin stretches to its limit, but I ignore the pain. I continue to pull with strength I never knew I had as the beast draws nearer. My skin starts to tear from my forearm and I am flooded with a sick sense of relief. The stinging is torturous. I can’t stop though. If I do, I am going to die. And I don’t want to die, not like this. I will die fighting.

  With a sickening rip, my skin breaks free of the sticky web.

  My forearm is raw and bleeding when I feel the first of the beast’s legs begin to make their way up my body. With a shaking hand coated in my own blood, I reach for the dagger I keep sheathed at my thigh and wield it just as the beast’s face is at my chest. I thrust the tip of my blade upward and lodge it deep into the lower section of its torso and twist. I cry out the primitive cry of a warrior and it screeches as well. Warmth gushes over my hand. I look down and see bright-yellow goo pouring over it. I withdraw my dagger and stab the creature in one of its golden eyes. It howls out again, and the points of its fangs begin to lengthen. If they appear fully, I will not survive the speed and deadliness of a strike.

  My body is slick with sweat and I am panting and crying at the same time, gore and the pus-like substance covering me. It is lowering its mouth closer and closer to my face. With every inch of space that is closed, my mind centers on thoughts of June, sweet, innocent June who will die because of me. I pull the blade from its eye and, with no room left to shove it, I am trapped, waiting to have my throat pierced by the razor-sharp incisors suspended just above my jugular.

  “I’m sorry, June,” I sob as the creature drops against me.

  “Oh, oh my gosh,” I am gasping and wheezing as the beast collapses so close to me its blade-like teeth nick my shoulder.

  I laugh and cry and feel a spurt of warmth saturate my torso. I have killed it.

  Covered in sludgy gook and with the creature on top of me, I use my dagger to slice the web that my upper body rests against. The spongy mesh immediately gives way and I begin to plummet. But before I plunge to the ground with the creature on my chest, a crushing death for sure, the sticky network of threads clings to my legs and the massive beast rolls from my chest and tumbles to the ground below. I am left suspended upside down, knowing that I must cut my legs free, that I will drop on my head. I curl my aching body forward and slash at the web to free the rest of me. I go down hard and hit a branch before my head and upper body takes the brunt of my fall. My neck and back complain. A patch of my skin has been torn from my body and my entire body feels banged up. I also smell fouler than anything I have ever smelled. But those are the least of my problems. The pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun surrendering to twilight is. I am far from home, off any path I have ever traveled to make it to the lake, and darkness is almost here.

  I scramble to my feet and race for my sword before taking off in a full sprint toward the cave, toward June. I race against my battered body. I race against time itself
. I hope against hope that I win. My life and June’s life depends on it.