Thunder: The Shadows Are Stirring (Thunder Stories Book 1) (13 page)

“Are all Dwellers …?” I don’t know how to phrase it; maybe “animal” would be offensive?

Jamie breaks in. “Do any people live here?”

Oden sees through our tact. “Afraid to call us animals, are you?” He snorts. “We
are
animals. There are many forms of animals, humans, and creatures that call the Shadows ‘home.’

“You’ll understand more when we arrive. I believe your Shifter left details of our world intentionally vague so you could form your own opinions. That’s the best way to cross through. You must have a quality mentor. Sounds like Thunder.”

Chapter Eleven: Going Deeper

(OLIVIA)

W
E CRASH THROUGH THE FIRST LINE OF TREES
, and it vaguely registers in the back of my mind that they seem to be growing in straight rows, like an orchard; not a forest at all. I try to look over my shoulder to make sure Ethan is still with me, but my lids are practically swollen closed, so I squint in his general direction. Xaiben is not with us; he’d stayed behind, probably to finish his meal.

Of all the times recently where I’ve felt like I was dying, this is one of those rare occasions that I kind of wish I could. Like just a little bit. The fracking skeeters are the size of mini hummingbirds and almost as fast. Okay, maybe not that big. But, sheesh, they hurt. The welts left behind feel more like bee stings than mosquito bites, hard and warm. Little volcanoes oozing thin streams of bloody lava. My arms are stiff and my knees don’t want to bend properly. My clothes hadn’t been a deterrent at all to the demonic bloodsuckers.

Even though the mosquitos’ droning has quieted and all I can hear is my own wheezing and the crunch of our feet thudding against the ground, we don’t stop. We push our way through blurred branches, which catch and scrape across us, inflaming the bites and creating an itch so bad I want to scream bloody murder. Finally, I slam my imaginary brakes and stop moving. This is ridiculous. Ethan runs into me from behind, knocking me face first into the ground, and falling on top of me like I’m his safety net. The air whooshes painfully from my lungs.

A stream of slurred profanity cuts through the still air as he rolls off me. Attempting to crawl forward a few paces, he ends up flopping onto his back in a show of disgust. Meanwhile, I continue to lie like a sack of rotten potatoes, my cheek pressed to the ground. It must be at least ten degrees cooler in this grove of trees, and the air around us is blessedly quiet. Don’t know where those horrendous bugs went to, but they’re gone. I don’t care about anything beyond that golden detail.

My cheeks ache and I try to talk, but my jaw doesn’t want to move. Blast. We’ve got to do something, fast. This is
so
many shades of wrong.

“Nungh!” I say with some heat. “Ugh!” I heft my arm up and over and make contact with Ethan’s ankle. I jiggle it a bit. “Ee-hen?”

He jiggles his leg back at me. “Nuh-uh muvin’,” he mumbles.

“Uh-huh, muvin’,” I reply with some edge to my voice. Aw, Jeez-Louise! Think girl. The ground is cool, and this is an orchard. There has to be water somewhere. Water and dirt create mud. Mud could be good. Maybe.

I shake Ethan’s leg again and then use it as a grip to pull myself forward, parallel to his prone form. When my hand reaches his thigh he jerks. “Guh Gaw, ’Iv!”

I flop my leaden arm away from him and try to get traction against the ground until I can peer into his face. Well, squint and tear. You know. Whatever. “Ee-hen. Muv. Eed wah-er.” I’m talking like a baby and feel about as helpless. But I know he understands. We’ve got to get to water, and then we can see if we have anything in my pack for blood-sucking Pterodactyl bites. I don’t remember Jamie adding anything of the sort, but we could get lucky.

Ethan rolls onto his stomach and together we inch our way forward. After several days of hard work, which is probably fifteen or so minutes, our ears pick up a steady swishing rush, like wind through leaves, but there is no wind. It has to be water, the source of irrigation for these trees. We scrape our bellies over hard nobs and bumps of whatever’s on the ground, our movements quicker now that we sense our salvation.

We end up at a shallow brook lined with tufts of grass and rocks and pebbles. Sharp rocks. Shifty pebbles. Beyond caring anymore about additional pain, we slither like snakes right to the edge; Xaiben would be proud. We consider each other briefly and then twist and flop our bodies into the water. Holy cripes, it’s downright frigid, like glacial melt-off. Well, that should be good for reducing the swelling and it may even dull the burning pain. Our breath comes in gasps, little misty puffs escaping our swollen lips. Sliding my stiff fingers over the creek bed, I push away stones and search for mud. Score! I scrape and scoop with numb fingers and paw it against my face, neck, arms …. Ah, sweet manna from heaven.

Ethan is following suit, but we soon realize it isn’t good enough; our limbs are swollen, our clothing tight and wet, and the mud needs to be against our skin. No time for modesty, we wiggle and tug and pull until we’re bare except for our undergarments. Scootching to the edge of the water, we plaster ourselves from head to toe in absolute silence. Thank goodness for swollen eyes; I can at least pretend I’m being discreet.

When I’m thoroughly coated, I awkwardly reach for my pack, thanking all that’s magical about Gunther for making it water proof. With brown, mud-monster hands I reach in, thinking of medicine or cream that could help with bug bites, allergic reactions, itchiness, anything. Nothing. Either I need to be more specific, or I have nothing in there to help. Ethan heaves a sigh of disgust. Gaugh! We collapse against the rocks, side by side, muddy shoulder to muddy shoulder, and fall into exhausted sleep in the shade. Which is how Xaiben finds us, almost hardened through in our mud shells.

Xaiben coils around us, one at a time and drags us some distance past the creek, into a more naturally wooded area. He takes me first, and leaves me by a lichen-covered rock formation. He returns with Ethan, carrying our belongings clenched in his mouth. My eyes follow him as he slithers around the rock. Finding a tiny crevice, he starts pushing and wiggling with his flat snout, and I gape as the opening widens enough for him to slide his body through. His head pops out and he states, “Olivia Williams and Ethan Stone, I shall return momentarily. Marrah will want to be a part of this.” And he disappears into the crack.

I shift my slitted eyes back to Ethan, who is propped near me against a rock. The sun dapples the ground through the leafy branches of the trees, making lacy patterns across the dirt and grass. Birds call out and some type of bug buzzes lazily. It makes me shiver, even though the sound is small and normal-sized. We could be on a picnic or something, if it weren’t for our brown body casts. I sigh. I’m doing a great job of this so far. Keep breathing, girl.

Xaiben pops back through the gap. “We’re set. I’m going to nudge you through, and Marrah will help to catch you.”

Hmm … I don’t know if I like the sound of that, but it’s not like I’m in any shape to voice another plan. Once again, I get to go first. Xaiben rotates my body until I am feet first, positioned into the crack splitting the rock. Counting down from three, he heaves me in and I plummet over an edge. Falling in lock-jawed silence, my screams echo inside my head. Stupid mosquitos. Since I can’t twist or ball up to avoid any outcroppings, I do the next best thing and close my squinchy eyes. Whenever I do knock against something, the surface feels padded, so I open my eyes again. I can’t see much, but the walls around me seem furry somehow, maybe plant covered. Right as I’m thinking this is a long fall, I hit bottom against something solid; it bends with me and absorbs my impact.

A silky voice calls from somewhere below me. “I’ve caught her Xaiben! Give me a moment and then send the other.”

This must be Marrah
, I think to myself. I travel in her coils a short distance away to what appears to be a cavern’s mouth. She bends her face near mine and flicks her tongue around me. I know this is how snakes smell and identify friend or foe. I can’t imagine I’d smell too good in my present mud-caked condition, but, hey, she’s a snake. Maybe mud smells good to her. And non-threatening. And friendly. This is an important hope because, as she moves her body away from mine, I make a sudden realization. Female snakes are larger than their male counterparts. Holy mother of hugeness!

Marrah dips her head gracefully and whispers to me, “Wait here, Child. We will fix you soon, let me first assist with your companion.” And she glides away. And away. And away. Her tail giving one gentle flick to my sore cheek, like a mother’s caress, and for some reason I feel sad.

I examine my surroundings, rolling my eyes to see as much as possible, which isn’t much. The lighting is muted with a greenish tinge, like a phosphorescent glow. And the walls are covered in vines. I can’t see into the cavern, since my back is against the wall next to the opening; but muggy air, which smells of sulfur, wafts over me from its direction. I hear water and muffled noises, which indicate movement of some type. And, in front of me, I hear Ethan thumping into the vines on his way down. He lands with a solid “Oompf” against Marrah’s coils.

Xaiben follows, wending his way easily through the wall vines and slithering towards us. Pausing at his wife’s side, he drops our belongings. Both snakes flick their tongues and wrap their upper bodies together in a quick embrace. Marrah’s scales are golden with splotchy black stripes across her back, her belly is cream. Beautiful and deadly. The two of them are stunning entwined as they are. They break apart and each takes one of us and pulls us through the entryway.

“Welcome to our den,” rasps Xaiben, who is transporting Ethan.

I am frustrated, completely immobilized as I am, and in such pain and itchy on top of it, I am pleased beyond measure when Marrah informs us that first we will have baths. Even if I’m in no hurry to see what I’m facing underneath my mud cast.

The room we’re transported to has several small pockets of hot springs with mist dancing across the surface of each. We’re placed into our own separate pools, and I try to relax as the warm water both heats and softens the dried mud. I imagine the whole experience is rather like a spa treatment. Never in my life will I
ever
want to repeat anything like it.

I lay back and let Marrah wipe away at the muck, wincing as her coils glide over all the lumps across my body. With the buoyancy of the water and the lack of a shell, I feel a lot more mobile. Some smaller snakes have arrived, holding some type of cloth in their mouths. They use these for wiping at our skin, and I groan as my body is touched. The welts are tender and hideous. I bring an arm close to my face for a closer inspection. Gruesomely taut, my skin is red and swollen. Not pretty. My mouth, a little more flexible, can now form words to some degree. “Oh, tank you ’arrah an’ Xaiden. Tank you all.” I tip my head back and call over to Ethan, “You ’kay?”

“Yeah. You?” His voice is terse.

“Sure.” I’m alive at any rate.

~~~

A
FTER THEY SWAB US DRY
, they lay us out on stone benches and smear us on all sides with a cream laced with venom. Apparently, it can counteract our bodies’ reaction to the bites and should relieve the pain and swelling. They swaddle us in big sheets of the strange material, which they say is made from a spider’s thread. I contain my grimace as I eye our hosts. Any spider that could spin this would have to be huge.

They let us shuffle in-between them as we head to another chamber. Mushrooms grow along the rock walls, and these give off the light needed for us to see. The entire cavern system is heated by underground air vents; the plants and vines have been cultivated over many generations, and the effect is breathtaking. An underground jungle, with oddly colored vegetation dripping from walls, hanging from ceilings, and concealing entrances into other rooms.

I am hopelessly lost, but that doesn’t concern me. I have just noticed all the jumbo-sized snakes, frogs, and lizards eyeing us from camouflaged hideouts in the walls, along the ground, and through the vines. There’s a steady murmur of hisses, clacks, croaks, and even a chirping of crickets; rather than being creepy like the mosquitos’ droning, it’s a whole ’nother kind of disturbing. Friendly or not, this will take a while to get used to. And there’s no way I’ll ever be able to hear the “Nature” setting on my white-noise machine at Gunther’s without thinking of three-foot tall frogs.

We are led to a large open room, perfect for big gatherings. There is to be a “Feeding,” followed by a “Dialogue.” Ethan and I regard each other in alarm and Xaiben chortles. “Fear not, Olivia Williams and Ethan Stone. It is not you providing the feast. And we are aware of human ways; we have prepared a meal to suit your tastes.”

I sigh in relief, thinking of the chirping crickets, and feel a smidgen hungrier than before. They lead us to smoothed rocks, which work as seats, and I readjust my spider wrappings, forming a type of sleeveless sheath dress. Ethan has rolled his, positioning it like a towel around his waist. His chest, usually firm and defined with extremely impressive muscles, now looks like a horse has used it for its own private rodeo. We lower ourselves gingerly onto our perches; Xaiben sees our discomfort and has a lizard carry over several mouthfuls of large rubbery leaves. Cushions! Much better.