Kzine Issue 23 by Graeme Hurry et al

Author:Graeme Hurry et al. [al., Graeme Hurry et]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kimota Publishing
Published: 2019-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

THE GRIP

by Steve Bates

Carrion birds traced low, lazy gyres above the canopy of stunted trees. Dotted with chalky stone outcroppings, the humped hillsides wended eastward on either side of the narrow valley floor, reminding Kyle of the carcasses of slitherers he had encountered in gulches. Scrawny grunters sniffed the air listlessly in their rickety wooden enclosures beside the shallow creek. Weeds battled for dominion with vegetables in scattered hillside farm plots.

Not another soul in sight.

Shaking his head in disgust, Kyle started down the slope, but his left foot slipped momentarily on soft ground. A puff of gray dust billowed, and pebbles cascaded into gnarled vines and grasses lining the path. The buzzing hovered: half-heard and half-felt. It was so faint that it could have been his imagination. But it refused to dissipate, and a familiar foreboding coursed through him. He closed his eyes.

Please no, he prayed. Not today. Not now.

The sensation intensified. There was no doubt. The Grip was coming.

Setting out well before daybreak, he had explored a remote western valley, locating two caves that were large enough to accommodate settlements. And he had harvested seeds from a succulent yellow plant clinging to the thin soil. All without a hint of an onset. But now he had maybe fifty heartbeats to reach shelter. He spotted a crevice in a rock formation to his right—too small to squeeze through. The best option was the cave of the Jensen clan, about 200 paces away.

Focus the cave. Nothing else is real.

Motion captured his attention, a blur out of the east, slowing and creating a silhouette almost directly above him. His thoughts turned to First Grandmother and her constant admonitions during his childhood: If you stare at the sky, you will go blind. Yet here he was, gazing upward, feet frozen. The sun reflected painfully off one smooth side of the object, its edges sharper than those of any box that his elders had crafted. Though starkly alien, it was eerily familiar. It drifted toward him. Kyle felt it peer into his soul.

He forced himself to look down. The temperature rose rapidly, becoming nearly unbearable. Jets of fire erupted from fissures in the ground—crackling flames with hungry tongues that doubled in size each time he blinked. His robe shimmered and evaporated. His flesh crackled, turned black, became a gray powder, then blew away. He was nothing but bleached bones.

A drumbeat of frantic paces echoed across the valley, shaking every hill, every stone, every grain of sand. The path lurched and wobbled. Boulders transformed into sulfurous beasts galloping beside him, ever closer. He leapt and crashed and leapt again, aware of pain so visceral that it could only mean that he was still alive. Up. Sideways. Up some more, as if drawn by giants tugging a massive vine clasped around his waist. Thigh-high insects with iridescent shells emitted piercing screams. He tasted the bitter salt of seas he had seen only in dreams. Time itself seemed to dissolve.

A massive maw with jagged teeth opened in the hillside.

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