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Fourteen
SLOANE
I was being draggedalong the rocky surface of the ground in the dark.
“No!” I shouted, bending forward, trying to get whatever was holding me off. I clawed at my ankle, where something was wrapped around my cast—it was wet and fleshy, like a fucking tongue. “No-no-nooooo,” I cried out, sobbing, as the unseen thing in front of me snarled.
And then there was a rush of movement over me. I heard a slice and snick, and I was free, as hands grasped me.
Spider-dude!
I clung to his chest, and he raced us back to where we had come from, depositing me by the fire. I didn’t want him to let me go—and I realized what he was doing a second too late.
“Don’t!” I shouted, as he turned. “Don’t you dare leave me!”
But he didn’t listen, he thundered back down the way we’d come with frightening speed, and I heard the sounds of a fight.
All I could do was stare into the darkness after him.
Had I gotten spider-dude killed?
What would happen to me if I had?
There were squeals and chittering, and I didn’t know who was winning—then the noises stopped.
“Spider-dude!” I shouted down the hall at him. “Spider-dude, answer me!”
The sound he’d made for me more than once echoed back to me.
“Get back here right now!” I yelled, angry—because I’d been scared, and because, once again, everything had seemed to be my fault.
He didn’t come back at once—he tossed something horrific back first. It was a massive dark-green-beaked lizard-looking head, with eyes as big as my entire skull.
“Oh, fuck no,” I said, almost butt-scooting into the fire in my efforts to get away from the thing.
And then spider-dude emerged from the tunnel I’d been dragged down, leaning one arm against its wall. He looked tired, and there was a massive gash across his chest, where something had gouged his thick protective chest plates.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, in a quiet voice.
His eyes traveled over me in an instant, and he calledme that thing he seemed to, before circling his hands in the air.
“My name is Sloane,” I corrected him, making the circle back at him.
He shook his head sorrowfully and told me what he thought I was again—and then he reached for me.
I shrank back at once, and then so did he—and I felt bad.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “You don’t have to touch me. Just trust me. I’m okay. I’d tell you if I wasn’t,” I said, building steam. “My friends tell me I talk a lot.”
It’s just that there weren’t many of them left alive now, was all.
I bit my lips together to stop from crying, and then decided to try to start building some bridges.
“What’s your name?” I asked him. I pointed to myself. “Sloane. I’mSloane.Who are you?”
He pointed to himself and said something I had no hope of ever saying back—but I was going to try.
“Niynneean?” I tried. There was a lot of clicking at the end that I skipped.
