Chapter 3 - A sluggish start

This time, she knew what to expect.

Even though her body was tense with fear and confusion, she managed to steady herself enough to think. These faces, their eyes, multitudes of black spots following her every movement, they weren’t there just to make her skin crawl. They weren’t there for no reason. They were there for her. To watch her. Specifically her.

The girl’s mind filled with an image, so multi-faceted that she could only understand it in short bursts of impressions. A room, like this place, round and made for watching, for being watched. Made so those on the outside could watch those in the middle, with sight unbroken, uninterrupted. Nothing would be missed, no detail unnoticed. They wanted to see how it was done, how things unfolded, what they could learn from it. There were lives at stake, a strain of skill, a delicate operation, a demonstration before the hungry minds of students.

The image came together: an operation theatre. Tiers of students and spectators quietly watching the operation, the surgeon. Sometimes it was to save a life, and other times it was a dissection, but the intent was always the same: to watch, to see, to learn.

But, for these spectators, the only thing she’d done worthwhile of a reaction, the only thing that had sparked the screams she now understood to be cheers, was… Was now crushed in her elbow. Blood still coated her skin down to her fingers, a mix of her own and of the mosquito’s.

The mosquito. It had been there to be watched as well. This surely meant that this time, there would also be something else. Here. With her-

Her mind cleared with a flash of adrenaline. There was something else, here with her, somewhere - There! On the far side of the round place was a shape, elongated and low to the ground, nearly half her size. Its movement was faint, a subtle undulation that moved it along, which was likely the reason she hadn’t noticed it earlier. On one end, probably the head since it led the movement, were four short tentacles, two above and two below.

A slug. The knowledge came with discomfort, as though her mind was being filled beyond its capacity, against her will and without consent. She hadn’t asked to know, but now she did. And every reluctant step she took towards the slug brought more information, like the unstoppable beating of a heart pushing blood into constricted vessels.

Behind the slug’s head was the mantle, saddle-like and made to cover essential organs. A single ridge, the keel, ran back from the mantle to the tip of the tail. And around the lower edge of the slug was the skirt, the outer part of the foot, which the slug contracted in waves to move forward. Its skin was wet, covered in mucus, of which a long trail showed where the slug had passed.

Following this trail with her eyes brought her to notice a second archway, just like the one she had been pushed through to arrive here, with its own shimmering blue and silver veil. The slug had apparently emerged from there, perhaps even forcefully just as she had. It was a wonder she hadn’t noticed it before, which made her briefly question just how much she hadn’t become aware of yet. But, once again, she had to take things one at a time.

Looking at the slug made her feel bad for it, gave her an impression of kinship and of a common struggle. As far as she could tell, they were both being subjected to the same challenge, forced to make a show of themselves for the spectators.

The slug moved its tentacles about inoffensively, seemingly trying to find its own bearings. The girl felt that the slug had noticed her, its upper tentacles wavering in her direction. They were made to detect light and airborne chemical traces - sight and smell. Clearly, it had either seen or smelled her, or both. And while the mosquito had come for her blood, she could tell this slug was trying to avoid her, changing directions as she neared.

The meekness of the slug disarmed the girl, made her feel a bit safer than she had before. And though it was somehow silly, the girl also felt the slug to be her companion in this ordeal. A slimy, squishy, and surprisingly fast companion. She watched it for a moment, covering ground faster than she’d expected, as though looking for a way out or a place to hide. It didn’t like it here, no more than she did. She had to get out, they both did.

On an impulse she spun into a sprint, lowered her shoulder and collided into the veil beneath her archway, only to fall backwards. She rose again and ran towards the wall, this time using her foot to push herself upwards. She managed to take three steps up the wall, reaching up to grab onto the upper edge, but fell short and dropped to the ground on all fours.

She’d almost gotten it, almost reached the top. She didn’t know why she was trying this, or even what she’d do if she managed to get up. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine being amongst those pale faces, but she had to get out. She had to try something, had to escape this pit.

Again she tried, this time with four steps up the wall, and then with five, but each time the edge seemed to slip away, sliding upwards just out of her reach. She lost count of her attempts, barely aware of the sensitive welts and bruises that had started to appear on her body where she’d fallen. She hurled fistfuls of sand upwards, only to see it waft away, twinkle and disappear into the sky.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The sky - she hadn’t even looked at the sky since she’d been forced into this place. It was clear, a grey similar to that of the walls. The white faces of the spectators were at their clearest immediately above the walls, but the ones further up became hazy and progressively merged with the sky, giving the impression that the sky itself was somehow also watching her. It was like a dome, a lens, with her as the focal…

Again her mind filled with a complex image - lenses made to magnify, to analyze. Samples placed on plates and dishes. Tiny organisms pitted against each other to glean some data. Her mind reeled at the scale, at how small she suddenly felt. This, combined with the fact that she was looking directly upwards, made her lose her footing and stumble backwards blindly, causing her to step directly into something wet and slick - the slug’s mucus trail. She slipped, nearly fell, but, with a pivot and a wave of the arms, managed to stay upright.

This success was little solace when a strange itch began in her soles. Before she even had time to try to figure out what was happening, the itch turned to a stinging sensation, then into a vivid, angry burning. She jumped away with a yell, but her movement was restrained, her feet lifting from the ground with a nasty, tacky, ripping sound, only to land once again in mucus.

More rapidly than the first time, her feet began tingling and burning, and again she tried to jump away, only to realize in mid-jump that nearly the entire ground around her was covered in mucus trails. Only the area near her archway, where she’d been attempting to run up the wall, was still trail-free.

With a series of faltering, burning, steps, she came to a dry patch and fell onto her back. Grabbing her ankles to avoid getting mucus on her hands she pulled to get a look at the undersides of her feet. The soles were wrinkled, so severely dried that the skin had become pale, broken and cracked. Hissing in pain she pressed and rubbed her soles on the ground, hoping to rid herself of some of the mucus.

From over her shoulder, she noticed a strange play of light and turned to see the slug twisted onto itself, so that both its head and tail were pointed in her direction. Its tentacles wavered, but this time the girl couldn’t help feeling there was menace in their movement. The slug quivered, and a slick cord of slime shot from the end of its tail.

The girl swayed back, following the cord with her eyes as it zipped past and stuck to the wall. She’d felt empathy for the slug, believing that their shared situation could perhaps be turned into companionship, but now no longer. Instead, she was shocked in indignation that the slug would be antagonistic towards her, even though she’d done nothing to provoke it.

With a resentful glance at the slug, she saw that it had started to sway and shake, its movement translated into the cord which began to waver and whip. Quickly she scuttled back, trying to avoid it, but found there wasn’t much dry ground left. She’d thought that they had both been trying to find a way out, but she now realized that the slug had put its efforts to something more sinister.

It had quietly slithered nearly everywhere, covering the space in harmful and impeding mucus. She was trapped far from the slug, and now it could take its time to string her up with sticky cords of slime. She didn’t doubt the reason for this: to immobilize, neutralize, and devour her.

She swayed away again as another cord zipped by, the first now anchored near the slug’s archway. There weren’t going to be two ways about this, she’d have to act or end up being desiccated by mucus with tremendous hygroscopic powers. But she didn’t have anything on her side, no weapons or tools or -

The proboscis had remained in her fist, unconsidered the entire time. But she’d known it was there, with her all along. There was some kind of connection, one she couldn’t understand, perhaps increased with the heightening of her senses. She knew that it could work, that it had kept part of its function.

With this feeling came an idea, only a fraction of a plan, but dire circumstances called for urgency of action. Feeling strength from the bundle of needles clasped in her hand, she propped herself up beneath the cords, then leaped up from her hands and knees. In a single bound she reached the wall and planted her foot on its surface, wincing at the pain. She managed to take six steps sideways along the wall towards the slug before she fell, doing her best to aim for spots that seemed dryer.

Each step on the mucus-covered ground made pain course up her legs, and it was only after a few tacky steps that she lost feeling in her feet and fell onto her knees, just in time to duck beneath another slime cord zipping by.

It felt like the skin had been peeled from the front of her legs when she reached the slug and dove towards it, grabbing its upper tentacles with one hand. She wrapped the other arm over its back, feeling its surface with her forearm until she found it: a shallow depression on the right side of the mantle.

She raised her hand bearing the proboscis, ready to strike down, when the slug contracted its foot, flipping them both over. They rolled in mucus, smearing the girl nearly completely. She just managed to cover her face with her arm to avoid getting some in her eyes and mouth, but still felt most of the surface of her skin begin to itch, sting, and burn.

To make matters worse, the slug contracted its body sideways, forcing her to bend to follow it, and brought its face to her flank. It ran its lower tentacles over her skin, touching and tasting before its tongue-like Radula emerged and scraped over her ribs. The girl’s mind went blank in pain as countless, razor-sharp teeth rasped and dug into her. Into the wound was added an acid secretion strong enough to bore through shell.

If it hadn’t been for a heaving bout of regurgitation, the girl might have lost consciousness. Instead, the spasm of her digestive system broke her from the pain of the slug’s assault. She raised her hand and stabbed the proboscis down into the mantle, only to feel it strike something hard - an internal carapace! There was only one way to get in, and she had to trust her muscle memory to know where to stab.

Earlier, she’d felt the shallow hollow on the right side of the mantle. Once again she lifted her hand and struck, this time driving the proboscis directly into the slug’s pneumostome - the respiratory opening. Her hand had remained balled into a fist, allowing no mucus to find its way in, and so she felt the sheath of the proboscis pull back as the six needles were sent into the slug’s body.

Hemolymph erupted from the end of the proboscis, a continuous jet of blue-green blood arcing out of her hand. The slug spasmed and pulled its radula back into its mouth. It contracted into a defensive ball, hardening its skin and immediately making itself stick to its nearest substrate, which happened to be the girl.

Fortunately, the needles had already found their way into the slug’s hemocoel and open circulatory system, and its fluids were being drained at a pace too rapid for it to compensate by absorbing humidity into itself with its mucus. Before long the slug weakened, and its production of mucus slowed so dramatically that it nearly ceased. Only the hope that the slug would die first kept the girl’s grip on the proboscis firm.

When her eyes rolled back, from both pain and hypovolemic shock, and consciousness started to slip away, a smile born from delirium crept over her face. She tried to think as loud as possible, loud enough to be heard by the spectators, even over the splash of blue-green hemolymph falling around her on the mucus-covered ground:

How’s this for a show?

End of Chapter 3