Cage (Dark World Book 1)

by C. L. Scholey

  Cyra undid her seatbelt; she thrust up forcefully on the seat’s arms for leverage and heard a sucking sound as her ass escaped the pillow confines, and she fled to the tiny bathroom, stumbling in her haste not to embarrass herself. She ignored the captain’s heated demand she remain seated. The SFC hologram appeared directing her to return to her seat. The image emerged in each seat the farther back she lurched until it ran out of places. Looking back every chair had the hologram telling her to remain seated, the voices spoke in unison, arms outstretched, hands reaching for her.

  Creepier.

  Cyra’s hair stood on end. She barely made it to the toilet before losing her breakfast. Cyra was on the seat, pants down in a heartbeat. It wasn’t the best time to need to pee but she always had to when scared. She was a real drag at frightening movies—spent most of the time in the bathroom.

  She spread her legs and puked up more of her breakfast. The shuttle knocked her from wall to wall, her ass skidding as she tried to remain seated. She braced her hands straight out on either wall, her fingertips pressed tight to the plush surface, until her bladder and belly emptied. Cyra jumped up and yanked at her panties then pants as she flushed. A hole in the black toilet underneath opened and she saw space.

  That’s not supposed to happen—not good.

  The self-cleaning toilet seat produced an arm brush which was ripped off, tumbling into space. Cyra felt the air being sucked out of the tiny enclosure and began to panic, gasping for each breath until the hole resealed. She could breathe again. She dropped to her knees and dry heaved.

  The small area was smaller when crouched. Cyra was afraid she’d rip the toilet out if she held on tighter, but tighter she held. She had no choice. A boom invaded her eardrums and she screamed when the side of the bathroom wall indented, grazing her side. They had been hit by something. She screamed again when above her came another crash and the ceiling dropped two feet. She was in the proverbial can, and something was crushing the can.

  Cyra, on her knees, grabbed the door handle and twisted with all her might. Nothing happened, she was locked in. She kicked at the door but the room was too small for any power behind her kicks.

  The vessel began spinning. Cyra placed her hands and feet onto the walls and floor trying to keep her body from tumbling, damning the strict gravity control maintained painstakingly in any circumstance. The walls floors and ceiling were thickly padded inside every space shuttle in case of a crash. The extra insulator also aided in keeping temperatures at a moderate degree. The padding, however, wouldn’t keep her safe from the bathroom’s contents. The outside of the sink was padded as was the toilet seat, but if she bashed her skull on the inside of the tiny sink, she would break her head open. The long sink faucet caught at her clothing as she was flipped, tearing her shirt.

  Cyra’s body somersaulted as round they went, and her slouched shoulders bumped into the ceiling spiraling her down. Her back crashed into the sink and she spun to the floor. Her booted foot wedged between the wall and the toilet base. She was stuck. A good twist at her ankle and she inhaled sharply. Pain exploded behind her eyes. Her last thought before she blacked out was she could be killed by a toilet. Death by crapper would be crappy.

  Chapter 2

  Cyra blinked and groaned. Her entire body ached. The enclosure was tight; the bathroom had obviously taken more of a beating after she’d blacked out. Her foot had come lose and she groaned when she touched her ankle. Sunlight streamed in through a small opening, a tear in the structure. Cyra assumed the breach came as they landed or she’d be dead, all oxygen sucked out. The small escape to freedom was a tight fit, but she thought she could manage to wiggle through. Cyra wasn’t a small woman, nor did she consider herself to be heavy. All her curves were plush where they were supposed to be, accented and healthy. She always lost a few pounds on the space station but gained every ounce back in the time she was home. It might have been the cotton candy tub of ice cream she dove into the second she could find a corner store.

  The toilet was sideways and she stepped onto it. Crouching, she poked her head from the tear; she sniffed the air. Relief washed over her when she breathed deep and didn’t explode or implode. Cyra squished out through the small opening to her shoulders and maneuvered her generous boobs through one at a time.

  “Come on ladies, work with me.”

  Her rounded melons protested with her manhandling but finally cooperated. With the girls set free, Cyra glanced around feeling vulnerable. She wiggled and twisted, grunting until an arm came loose. Groaning, she shoved hard against the toilet with her knees. Her other arm came free. Hands braced, she shimmied straight up. Her waist was slimmer and she stood without much of a problem, but she had a booty.

  Normally she liked the way her ass looked and was dying to get into jeans and out of the space station’s red attire of t-shirt and cargo pants, but trying to squeeze her cheeks through the tin can’s narrow opening was like kneading play dough. Cyra detested play dough. One stupid male first grader who loved to make anything indecent had ruined her experience on the stuff. The numerous pockets on her pants caught on the exposed jagged metal outside the compartment ripping until her aqua lace panties showed in places. Cyra wasn’t fond of red, at least not after years of wearing the same old suits; the panties were her way of defying the system.

  “Ass, you are definitely going on a diet when we get out of here,” she grumbled. “Damn I have a new respect for toothpaste.”

  Cyra oozed her legs through the rest of the mangled mess and fell to the ground with a plop, groaning when her back hit the earth. For a moment she lay staring up at the sky. She breathed a sigh of relief seeing only one sun and the image of one full moon. There were still a few hours of daylight remaining. Off to the side, she saw the distinct pattern of broken, burnt vegetation. The vessel hadn’t simply crashed; it had skidded its way to a halt.

  Cyra made her way to her feet, her senses acute to any pain. Her body ached but it was nothing to cry about. Her foot hurt but she knew it wasn’t broken, and a twisted ankle was for sissies. She walked around the remains of the shuttle trying not to limp, failing horribly.

  So I’m a sissy.

  All that was left of the shuttle was the bathroom. The outside walls were scorched black. The capsule was a dented mess. Everywhere her gaze fled around the forested area was empty except for vegetation. No signs of life. A shiver raced up her spine and she reminded herself fear was not an option.

  Well, maybe a small option.

  “Where the hell is the captain and the rest of the shuttle?”

  There was no sign of him or the vessel, no sign of any other crash pattern. The shuttle was designed to break into various pieces when the structure was at risk. Cyra groaned again and smacked her forehead with the heel of her palm, then winced. The rest of the vessel would be fine. As soon as an emergency rose with the first hit, the inside walls would have turned into the equivalent of air bags. Except the bathroom, it was too small and air bags would have smothered her; only she would be dumb enough to need to pee in a crisis.

  “No wonder the captain wanted me to stay in my seat. I’m such a dumbass. The second the bathroom was hit it was probably ejected from the mainframe. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So much for my outstanding brilliance. I could have spewed in my seat, no biggy. Pissing myself on the other hand… That’s it; a huge ass pad will accompany me on my next trip. Stupid sissy bladder.”

  Gazing around, Cyra assumed she had landed on Earth. Where, she wasn’t certain. The foliage was dense, everything was green; the air was warm which was good. Half her clothes were torn from being caught on the faucet and other fixtures sticking out. She called out and listened. Nothing. She yelled again. Still nothing.

  “Well, I guess that steak will have to wait. Damn.”

  I want ice cream.

  Cyra chose a direction and began walking. The air was clear, with a sweet scent teasing her nose. Gorgeous, huge white flowers dotted a number of the largish trees’ stubbed branch
es. Intrigued by their beauty, she touched the petals on one and was surprised to find it cold. Ice flowers, not unheard of but unusual. The trunk of the smooth, light-barked tree was also cold. The ground beneath her boots was hard dark brown earth, a chocolate color and pleasing to the eye, even with very few stones. There were no leaves to dot the forest floor. The foliage was lush and vibrant. Wherever she was, it was summer.

  A double rainbow teased over a small stream in the distance and though thirsty, Cyra knew better than to approach or she would be tempted to taste and soothe her dry throat. Drinking water from an unsecured place was a huge no-no and drilled into every child’s head—unless desperate, but Cyra wasn’t desperate, yet. Cyra moved on to avoid the enticement. But her gaze lingered on the vibrant colors of the rainbows for a few seconds as she passed. For an instant, the sky overhead went dark. Gazing up, Cyra saw mass fleets of flying birds, so large were they, and flying so closely together in sync it appeared one giant bird.

  “Amazing.”

  Other oddities became clear to Cyra as she walked, her gaze shifting right to left in awe. She had traveled Earth before, linking monorails over nations gave citizens access to any country within hours at super speeds; cars were a luxury and meant for those in power. Her parents owned cars; Cyra had owned a number of them but the monorail, in her opinion, was best. She was privy to oddities of wildlife in other countries as were all citizens of Earth. Learning differences in humans and others was acceptance; it was law to learn and to accept. It wasn’t hard when Earth’s citizens were pleasant. By the age of three, all children were well traveled, many knew multiple languages, not just the three mandatory ones. Brilliance was encouraged and if a child excelled in a certain area, steps were taken to fuel the child’s mind to prodigy. Intelligence was revered.

  Cyra stopped for a moment and took note of strange beings growing in numbers. The squirrel-like creatures lapping at the various ice flowers were a species she’d never encountered before. Their back half was furred and indigo; their front half was bare, white, with two huge ill-proportioned cat’s eyes. Two antennae stuck from their heads and wiggled in her direction as she passed by. The creatures were eerily quiet and Cyra just knew they were communicating with each other as they stared at her.

  “Maybe radiation got them,” she muttered.

  It wasn’t unheard of for large portions of radiation to float from damaged old nuclear containers, be they gasses or liquid. Dumping beyond the legal indicated areas was punishable by death, but a tornado wasn’t subject to law, accidents happened. Cyra had seen three-eyed fish and the mangled offspring of affected animals from time to time. The government was quick to step in and make evidence disappear. She cursed her luck, if she were in a quarantined area of Earth she was in deep shit. It would take weeks of decontamination treatments, doctors, prodding and poking. Ultimately she would be fine, but the idea was annoying. She groaned in frustration. So much for freedom. Maybe they’d let her have ice cream.

  Tiny critters scuttled across the forest floor. Cyra was at a loss as to what they were. She hoped the contamination wouldn’t be too bad. If caught early, she would be fine. The more oddities she detected, the more concern she felt as time dragged by. A tiny bug hovered before her eyes and Cyra waved at it, smiling.

  Finally, someone has noticed me.

  “Ouch,” she yelped in stunned surprise as a small sting pricked her.

  Cyra swatted at her arm. The bug dropped to the ground. Cyra leaned down and picked up the small winged insect. Guts oozed from its belly. She let it fall back to the earth. On her arm, a large welt was forming. She itched at the bump. It had been—never—since an insect had stung her.

  “Insect warfare?” she whispered; her heart began to race with her worry. Not unheard of but it had been decades since the last insect invasion. And the insects weren’t real, mechanical innards wouldn’t have oozed outwards.

  With trepidation, Cyra waited for her throat to swell and seal. She lifted her t-shirt for signs of any rash forming. She blinked wondering when the dots would appear. Her fear increased as her breathing grew labored.

  Am I dying?

  Long moments passed and her hyperventilating slowed. Breathe, you’re fine. Nothing happened. The red welt itched, nothing more. She was lightheaded but surmised it was her own fault. Another insect buzzed by. Cyra danced around it, swatted it and watched as it too dropped to the ground. Cyra stomped on it with her good foot until it was smashed into the dirt.

  “Who would attack a lone woman? And how would someone direct real insects?” The idea was confusing as hell and somewhat scary. Obeying insects? What type of life form were these things? The government would be hearing of this new development. No one attacked women and lived; filthy animals weren’t permitted on Earth.

  A swarm of the tiny insects buzzed in a circle at eye level a few feet away. Cyra held her breath and inched back. Absently, she scratched at her arm. When far enough, she trot-limped as fast as she could in a different direction.

  Dusk settled as time waned. As Cyra moved she realized there might have been more damage done to her body then she first realized. Her movements slowed to a creep as the aching in her bones could no longer be ignored. Her eyes gazed about for a place to rest and unfortunately spend the night. She was surprised she hadn’t been approached by anyone. The microchip in her hand should have activated some type of sensor indicating her whereabouts to personnel. All government employees were chipped for safety reasons. Cyra wasn’t expendable. A small comfort in the middle of nowhere.

  Up ahead in a tiny clearing was a wall made of small tree trunks lashed together. A sure sign of life. Cyra stood before the structure wondering what it would take to expand on it to create a safe sleeping area. It was one simple wall, about twelve feet high and twelve feet long. The tops were carved into pointed spears; the tips looked dipped in a metal substance. Cyra looked behind it; there was nothing there, just the other side of the wall.

  “Huh. Who would go to the trouble of building one single wall? Bored children starting a fort? How sad if there are young ones trapped in a radioactive zone. Also highly unlikely.”

  Cyra touched the wood; it was smooth under her fingertips and sturdy as hell. She howled and spun in a fast circle when three more walls shot up from the ground sealing her in before she could react. Cyra banged against the walls with opened hands and closed fists; she kicked the solid mass, her body protesting with pain, her sore ankle was in agony supporting her weight. She was trapped, caged within the twelve foot by twelve foot enclosure.

  She tried running at the walls to scale the height, but the sides were more than smooth, they were slick. She skidded down each time to land on her butt. Struggling to her feet, she stood in the middle of the structure and swore. It had to be an animal trap, a huge-ass animal. Cyra tried not to panic, knowing if someone set the trap they would come back to see if they had been successful and would let her out. A small amount of panic niggled the back of her mind as she wondered if this were some plot, kidnapping her for her expertise. She shrugged off the thought, she was brilliant but there were others far more superior.

  Well maybe one or two others.

  A humming sounded. For a second, she spun in circles wondering if she was under attack again. On one of the walls near the bottom a box opened she hadn’t noticed. She approached with caution. A clean container filled with what appeared to be water sloshed. Parched and sweaty Cyra dipped her hand into the liquid. She supposed now was a good time to declare herself desperate. A tiny taste confirmed it was plain water. It was apparent whoever trapped her wanted her alive. She drank until satisfied. She scooped huge amounts to toss over her head and rinse the back of her neck and then throat and breasts. The bucket refilled from the bottom indicating she wouldn’t dehydrate while she waited for help to come. The idea should have been comforting but she was pissed—oh the irony of that particular word. It was a far cry from a long soak in a soapy hot tub.

  “Someone is in big
trouble,” she growled.

  It was a small comfort knowing if she couldn’t get out then bears couldn’t get in, Cyra hoped. Or tigers or lions depending on where she’d landed. She plopped her butt down and sat quietly thinking. Absently she rubbed her ankle. Someone would be looking for her. A top computer scientist didn’t go missing without shit hitting the fan. She tried looking on the bright side, she was concerned but not afraid and at least she didn’t need to relieve herself. If the cage was monitored by someone, they might already be on their way to release her and she had no plans to drop her drawers and put her butt on display if the need did arise. Cameras were everywhere, both on Earth and all satellite stations. The captain was lucky the voyage would have been taped on the vessel; he could prove he was innocent of any wrongful harm or foul deed.

  Nope, it was all me and my dumbass bladder.

  Overhead the sky was black; bright green stars flickered to offer some light in her dreary surroundings. They weren’t really stars; as the captain said, they were gas build ups from toxins humans expelled into space hoping one of the black holes would take them away. She was happy he’d explained that to her. From what the captain said, she would guess there were more black holes than ever. The captain was right; no one knew where the holes would take you, and smart humans avoided them. A scary thought. Cyra jumped, torn from her thoughts, when a number of stars exploded making popping sounds. A celebration of the heavens was overhead. Reds, yellows, greens. Beautiful but oddly strange.

  Sighing, Cyra realized it would be a long night; she’d have tons of time to ponder gas clouds. For now, she enjoyed the fireworks. She lay back and laced her fingers together under her head enjoying the serenity. On the space station she was never alone. Her every word was heard. She trained herself, as did many on Earth, to keep her opinions muted. One wrong sound, one taboo word and the hand of the government came crashing down to freeze your assets until you explained any misunderstanding. Shit disturbers were rampant.