Chapter 28: The Sound of Bones
Chapter 28: The Sound of Bones
I stayed in the tunnel.
It was the first decision I made entirely alone, and every instinct I had objected. They wanted distance from Eastbridge while darkness lasted. My instincts had also led me into Eastbridge with my hands raised, so their voting rights had been suspended.
Outside, armed searchers were moving through a city I had never walked. Inside, I had two defensible bends, a memorized escape hatch, and five dead creatures that had occupied the passage.
I inventoried what I had.
Eleven portions of meat. The exposed surfaces were already becoming tacky. The tunnel was cool, though far too damp to preserve them for long. Without salt, smoke, or fire, I would lose most within two days.
I considered cutting more from the carcasses and rejected it. Five bodies in a tunnel would attract every scavenger nearby. Carrying more would only slow me down when they arrived.
Then I began learning the rifle.
There was no skill window waiting to make sense of it. I had a black weapon with a curved magazine, several unfamiliar levers, and enough sense to keep my finger far from the trigger.
I discovered the magazine release first. The charging handle came next, along with the chambered round that jumped free when I pulled it. I worked out how to press the round back into the magazine. Then I unloaded the rifle, loaded it, and repeated the process until I could manage it with my eyes closed.
I never touched the trigger.
A gunshot would reveal the tunnel to Eastbridge and anything else living below the district. I treated the trigger as if it were already attached to a siren.
After that, I practiced shouldering the weapon. Stock firm, cheek down, left hand supporting the front. The rifle felt far heavier once I tried holding the sights still.
Eight seconds.
That was my best before the barrel began drawing circles and my forearms burned.
Poor Coordination. Frail Body. Twenty-year-old me continues to make excellent contributions.
Eight seconds was still information. I knew how long I could aim before my body lost the argument.
I planned three exits while hunger twisted through me. West would retrace known ground but point toward Eastbridge. Northeast through the industrial yards led away from it. Straight north crossed exposed ground and would only be useful with something already behind me.
I tied three knots into separate strips of cloth and placed them beside the meat: one for each route. If panic emptied my head, I could grab the strip matching the safe direction and follow the landmarks I had assigned to it. The method felt childish. Childish was acceptable if it helped me move while terrified.
My flashlight was another problem. The charge indicator had fallen below half, and darkness made the tunnel useless without it. I began switching it off between tasks, then counting ten breaths before using it again. Each time the light vanished, my imagination filled the bends with movement.
Water dripped from a pipe near the first corner. It smelled of metal and something chemical. I collected a little in the empty bottle and held it to the beam. Fine orange sediment swirled at the bottom.
Drinking it would be a last resort. I wrote that into the plan along with everything else.
My wounds throbbed once I stopped moving. The bandage beneath my ribs had begun sticking to the cut, and lifting the rifle pulled at my shoulder blade. I tightened both dressings by feel, swallowed one painkiller dry, and immediately regretted wasting it on discomfort. The bottle of questionable water sat beside me like an accusation.
The meat waited beside me. Aria had ordered me to cook it, and the cold, metallic smell strengthened as the hours passed. I did not eat it raw. Getting free of Eastbridge only to die from whatever lived in an unknown monster’s flesh would have been a humiliating ending.
I need fire.
Planning helped until exhaustion won. I slept sitting against the wall, the rifle unloaded across my knees and a magazine in my left hand. Every drip woke me.
During the fourth stretch, a different sound pulled me upright.
Crack.
A pause followed, then grinding and a low wheezing grunt.
Another crack.
Something was eating the carcasses beyond the second bend. The long bones snapped one by one. Whatever had found them possessed enough weight to break them without hurry.
Silt shifted. The sound moved several metres closer.
Then came a wet sniff.
The creature had left the carcasses. Its weight pressed water from the silt with each step. I listened to it reach the second bend and stop there.
My flashlight was off. In the dark, distance existed only as sound. I could hear its breathing and the faint click of teeth closing.
One of the wrapped portions slid inside my shirt when I stood. I caught it before it hit the floor. The cloth whispered against my jacket.
The breathing at the bend stopped.
For ten seconds, neither of us moved.
Then bone cracked behind it. The creature returned to the easier meal.
My hand closed around the rifle.
No.
The muzzle flash would blind me in the tunnel. The report would draw Eastbridge and every predator within hearing. I could hold the sights steady for eight seconds against a target I could see. Here I had only a bend and the sound of teeth.
I rose carefully. The meat went inside my shirt. I put a magazine in my pocket and slung the empty rifle tight against my back so it could not swing. The military knife filled my right hand. The kitchen knife filled my left.
Neither blade made me feel capable. Level 7 had given me no training, attack skill, or useful instinct. My legs were merely stronger while carrying the same fear.
Second bend. Sixty metres. Ladder. Hatch. Hands only.
I moved toward the rear exit one careful step at a time. Behind me, the cracking continued.
It never paused to listen.