At the Seams

Chapter 25: The Bone Yard

Chapter 25: The Bone Yard

The Wood ends spontaneously, the trees vanishing into a bare, severe landscape. The air becomes immediately thinner, as if the trees themselves held the humidity in place in the Wood. As the shelter of the Wood gives way, Mary slows to a crawl and gazes about her.

The deep purple sky still roils, but appears higher, less oppressive. The ground rising up to meet the troubled firmament is gray hardpan gone to cobbles. The cruel earth slopes gently upward and away from Mary, terminating in the distance into a vast, steaming crater. No foliage softens the dead dirt, but spires of twisting, razor-edged rock thrust into the air at random intervals across the uninviting scene. Strewn between the twisted formations, all but carpeting the ground, lay the corpses and bones of countless people and animals. Here and there, Mary perceives furtive movement or hears a groan. Some of these victims still die. Darkness conceals the horror of the fallen, but Mary shivers nonetheless. “So, this is the septic tank. It looks more like a bone yard to me.”

“The name matters not. Focus on what lives amongst this rock and emptiness.”

“Are we headed for the crater?”

“Yes, and we’ll want to move quickly.”

Mary walks with long strides, her feet crunching on the gritty hardpan, making her cringe. “Would that I could walk this distance quietly,” she mutters.

“Shut up,” Karn says simply. Mary does.

They cover roughly half the short distance to the lip of the crater when the eerie impression of eyes crawls over Mary’s back. Her feet slow despite her fear, and she stares warily around. A demented rock tower approaches on her left and Mary glues her eyes to it, preparing to bolt if anything waits on the other side. She concentrates so hard on the stone that she doesn’t hear the thunder of approaching footsteps until they overcome her. The noise is like hands galloping across a tile floor and the image Mary concocts is so bizarre she scares herself further. She whirls to her right just as a furious, demonic face flies at her from the dark. In a flash, Mary can see deep-set black eyes, a protruding snout, and bared, mean canine teeth. The rest blurs in motion.

A second later, the face barrels into Mary’s hip, knocking her sideways. She totters and rocks, but somehow keeps her balance and turns to watch the thing gallop past her. The low, thin-rumped body sports long, thick legs that terminate into feet like human hands. The head and neck are monumental, shaggy, and apparently very hard, judging by how her right hip smarts. The thing turns around for another pass and pins Mary with its inhuman gaze. It freezes and stares her down, its regard unflinching. The nose widens into a flat snout that disappears into a mouth and jaw as big as a boxing glove. The beast smiles, displaying every scarred and brutal tooth in its jaw. Mary tries to convince herself it is done with her, but it begins to bob its gigantic head toward her. The eyes, close-set under heavy bone, never leave Mary’s as it ducks and lifts its massive skull. Mary’s bladder lets go when she realizes at what she is staring. “Oh dear God, it’s a baboon,” she murmurs in a breathy rush.

Mary struggles to yank her focus from the bobbing head, the mesmerizing grunts issuing from the back of the thing’s throat like a tree trunk. Uh Uh Uh, it grumbles and whips its shaggy head in the air. Mary backs away slowly, cautiously. When she does, the baboon freezes and tenses, then darts forward a few steps. Its diminutive lower jaw separates from its blocky snout and it screams, its cry like rage itself in the daunting twilight.

Mary freezes, her throat whistling with fear, her wet crotch icy in the cold wind. The baboon barks, over and over, until Mary thinks she might yet lose her mind, after all she’s survived. The monster screams again and rushes. Mary throws her weight into her left hip just before it hits her. She stays up, but the thing has recognized its dominance and it dances just feet from her. It barks and yips, jumping on all fours. Behind it, Mary can see shadows moving toward them out of the darkness, from behind the rocks. Mary stops breathing altogether when she understands—more baboons. A whole troop of them.

Mary’s thoughts flee in her paralyzing terror, and she hears something. Somehow, she focuses, listens. She hears a voice, a calm one, calling to her from across the forbidding expanse of stone. “Run,” it says, “Mary, run like your life depends on it.”

The other baboons saunter up to the dancing male, obviously the dominant; all eyes fix on Mary. In an instant, Mary inspects the ground and spies a sickle of rock between her and the horde of violent primates. Mary shrieks and sprints forward, dipping long enough to scoop up the sickle. She screams mindlessly, startling the newcomers into a shambling trot. The male that rushed Mary stands his ground, however, settling back on his haunches as Mary surges toward him.

Mary knows the baboon will leap, watches for it. She doesn’t waver. The other baboons are returning, apparently inspired by their leader, and Mary doesn’t waver. The huge male before her screams, spittle flying from its protruding teeth, and Mary doesn’t waver. The thing leaps, reaching for her head. Mary swings the piece of rock in her hand. She never removes her eyes from her target. The weapon strikes, cuts easily through the thick, mangy hide to the meat and bone. The baboon’s unearthly war cry becomes one of anguish as it crashes to the ground in a flurry of bone and grit.

Mary sprints toward the crater. She clutches the sharp rock in her hand. Her own blood runs down her arm. The air rings with the sounds of the pursuing troop. They bark and grunt and yelp, all amidst the thunder of hundreds of palms slapping the parched earth. Mary weaves between the rocks. She leaps over and treads upon bones and bodies. She doesn’t lag and, still, the baboons gain.

A hundred yards to the crater. I can make it, Mary tells herself. Somehow, she increases her speed. Each step upon the unforgiving hardpan sends shock waves into Mary’s knees. Still, she pushes. Fifty yards from the lip and Mary hears the unmistakable sound of rough panting behind her. She refuses to look; she already knows it’s close. Thirty yards and the rough breaths drown out even Mary’s own heartbeat. Twenty yards and Mary puts her head down, throwing the bottom of her strength into her legs, grateful she is tireless here. Fifteen yards and Mary can feel breath puffing on the backs of her legs. Ten yards. Five yards. Three yards, and a hand snags her ankle. “No!” Mary screams as she staggers to the ground, her chin thumping the rock painfully. Mary flips over, fast as lightning, and thrusts her foot blindly out. The baboon knocks it aside, but Mary’s other foot is already flying, and not blindly. Her heel connects with the thing’s gaping snout, her foot shoving into its mouth. The baboon falls back with a strangled cry.

Mary scrambles to her feet. She runs at the crater—a magnificent black hole, edged by sharp rock like the mouth of a volcano, curls of gas drifting lazily from the emptiness—and leaps twisting into the air. As she drops toward the darkness, Mary hopes there will be another pile of bone below to break her fall.

After a second or two in the air, Mary lands flat-backed on the tense surface of an invisible lake. The fluid like thick, uneven glue reflects the color of the stormy sky. Mary simply lies there, suspended queerly atop the goo, struggling to breathe after her rude impact. While she gasps, Mary gazes up at the lip of the crater and the silhouette of a huge head ringed with spiky, shaggy hair against the purple sky. Great, she thinks, what the hell am I supposed to do now?

“You’re supposed to drown,” Karn says from beside her, startling Mary into an airy shriek. The baboon answers enthusiastically.

“What?” Mary asks through her panting. “You brought me all this way to drown in a pit of crud?”

Karn grins. “Sucks, yes?” It disappears in a shimmer.

Mary doesn’t even call out to Karn. She lies there, reflecting on the unhappy, chaotic sky. Once she moves, Mary figures, the purple sludge beneath her will become quicksand. She takes a deep breath and sits up, her rump sinking into the thick, purple grease. Once started, Mark sinks smoothly, naturally. In only moments, the dark, oily stuff kisses her knees and breasts. Watching the goo swallow her body, Mary knows stark terror, but feels it not.

She tries to somersault slightly, to get her feet beneath her, on the off chance the lake is shallow. Her efforts only lodge her more firmly into her curled position. Once she quiets, her body settles slowly, gently into the thick fluid. The sludge is warm, predictably, but Mary doesn’t feel wet. Just—enshrouded. Now the slime creeps to her chin and her shins. Mary can smell the stuff now; the odor is earthy and pungent, but a little sour, like sweat. As she realizes the lake smells like sex, Mary chuckles, the motion hastening her descent. Mary tilts her head back as she sinks. Her nose dips below, and her toes follow shortly.