Re Treat

In this land, he was a foreigner, far from home. Confused by the storm, lights behind him split either side of gnarled roots, highlighting his position. A tiny round light flew up behind the clouds. The storm raged, confusing him; behind him, the erratic flashes of lightning split either side of the woody roots entwined misshapen, their shadows causing heat on the back of his sodden neck.

Welcome darkness in front of him soothed him in so he ran. Gasping to breathe while blinking iced water away, he wiped his dripping hair from his vision with the back of his hand. A dull ache spread through his lungs and the struggle to consume iced oxygen failed him. Lunging forward onto a rough texture to steady himself stung his hand. Red appeared from the new gash and dropped on his leg. Staring at the unsolvable problem, he furiously ripped at his t-shirt, wrapping his trembling palm into the fabric.

Only the sound of his heavy, ragged exhales, punctuated by the occasional wheeze, fought against the oppressive weight of the dismal, dark clouds and their relentless, booming thunder. Retreat is impossible; however, progress might lead me into an ambush. 

Leaning, worn out against shadowed bark to catch his breath, a shrill echo pushed him on. Interconnected raised roots caused him to catch his knee, sliding off slime covered wood and hitting his nose in squelching brown muck. His white knuckles didn’t chase the pain from his collision with the twisted nature around him.

A sudden sweep of voices above him sent him scrambling to his feet, and he dove into the shadowy nook of a dead tree, its branches offering scant concealment. Gurgling and clicks tell him they are different from him. Nurturing his wounded hand he notices a number cut into his flesh. Am I an escapee? Good grief I wish I could remember. I have a dull ache where my memories should be. But I remember the ice. At least I am now not there frozen to the spot and waiting to die. Though this constant rapid drip makes me think I'm running towards my own grave anyway. I only remember big black eyes and drilling sounds. Yay go me, not.

Groaning nearby has him hold his breath and pull back so only his nose can smell the heat of putrid huge animal teeth and a wide nose sucking in the drying moisture of his crimson wiped on a leaf. Grunts and a deep loud howl and the huge something thuds slowly past him.

I hope I can hide in here until they all pass by? I wonder if that sweet in my pocket is still edible? Sticky fingers retrieved his only food. Picking off the pocket fluff of adhered escaped goo and its wrapper, he plunges the smooth surface into his greedy orifice. His tongue melts hard solace into energy to give his exhaustion a glimmer of hope. Damn my head hurts and my hunger is biting my innards. Where was I before this? My memory is hazy and my feet throb from running in this monsoon hell. Where the hell am I?

A short burst above him lit up his position. Time to labour on. Taking a deep, painful inhale, he hit his chest with his fist and coughed on the light brown toffee. It shot out of his open mouth. Damn, that sucks. I needed that to concentrate.

Cracking behind him causes his clumsy  reaction -.pushing his foot into the air. Not connecting with anything living, his knee shot him a searing burn. Hitting the tree, he crumbled and waited for a piercing silver bullet of pain. I can’t be caught, not now. Raising his chin, he blinked and stared into the darkness. Only nature’s hoots and leaves rustling bounced off the torrential downpour, with his clothes pulling at him which drained his energy further.

Large white teeth releasing steam caught his attention. The kind moon framed the furry face for just long enough for him to mutter, “Fug, a bear. Hell to the no I can’t let that maul me.”

Sliding up the trunk using his hand, he pushed off and ran. Erratic sounds of crunching and thudding disorientated him. Is the bear behind me or is it them? 

All strength fades and he flops down. Stinging frosted discs hit his back. From tiredness, his reactions become slow motion in his mind. Sharp shoulder blade pain strikes and his last microbe of energy means he needs to know who they are. Beams of light flicking his way fade as he hits the soaked foliage, mud smeared and still.

                                                    ***

Raising his arm to protect his eyes from the intense light. He blinks and slowly takes in some air. Conscious on a bright day, his eyes dart around him, attempting to acclimatize while he watches a long finger pull back from his head. His mouth is open but no scream is audible.

“Ah, so that’s what you hoomans call afraid for your life.”

He nods. “Now it’s my turn.” His taught hand slides into the small grey alien’s skull whose head opens out into a huge mandible and swallows the hooman whole.

“Mmm, hooman fear tastes good. Release the next one. I need pudding.” Round lights hover over the next habitat and a beam lowers a still body. 

                                                             ***

Bubbles tickle his nose and warmth calms him. He pulls his arm and resistance prevents him from doing anything else. A womb of sticky calm envelops him until he realises movement is tight. Am I a bug for a giant spider? What a way to end my final moments. I know I am one of the last hoomans but now I know why. All those lies aboard ship of our race pretty much wiping each other close to extinction until the greys revealed themselves on earth in antarctica. Something holds his lashes down and something in his mouth prevents him from coughing. Damn I can’t even ask for a last meal of toffee. At last a thin white something floats past his one open eye. A distorted view of rows in long cylinders informs him where he but he doesn't know why.