The Halls of Moambati (The Dark Filament Ephemeris Book 4) by Russell C. Connor

Author:Russell C. Connor [Connor, Russell C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Filament Books
Published: 2021-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

2

Harris’s vision was impaired.

He’d always counted himself lucky in this area, since most people who stare at a screen ten hours a day need some form of optical correction, so the sudden deficiency threw him for a loop. It hadn’t been that noticeable at night, but once the sun rose, the light glinted off the cataract-like crust on his eyeballs and dropped a layer of white gauze across his sight. He rubbed and rubbed, splashed river water in them repeatedly, but it made little difference. If the Moambatis did receive a visual signal from their drones, it must be extremely low-def.

And that wasn’t the only problem he found himself dealing with since his ‘awakening’. The fetid smell that hung around him was gag-inducingly terrible, but he only became aware of it when he inhaled, which wasn’t all that often. Far worse was the fact that, any time he stopped moving, his joints stiffened up, to the point that they almost locked him in place and popped like fire crackers when he tried to work them again. Even after getting limbered up, he struggled not to fall behind as the kid set a swift pace through a series of wooded foothills beyond the empty town, nimbly avoiding brush and rough terrain that Harris blundered through. He hadn’t felt this awkward and ungainly since…well, to be honest, that part hadn’t changed much in his horrible new existence.

Most annoying, however, was the override itself. Just knowing it sat atop his head, futzing with his cranial circuitry, was driving him crazy. He longed to tear it off but didn’t dare; for all he knew, it might be the one thing keeping him ‘alive’. Until he could get to some proper equipment and run some tests, he couldn’t afford to do anything that might upset this bizarre fluke.

Would that be so bad? a small, plaintive voice inquired. Do you really want to go on like this?

It might not be as bad as it seems. There could be a cure.

A cure? For death?

Harris sighed inwardly. Trying to reconcile all of this was maddening. Just get through this business with the kid, then you can figure out what happens from there.

Speaking of which, Korden had drawn so far ahead, he was about to disappear around a sharp bend in the road they were following. The kid had seemed to have no destination in mind other than east until they’d come across this broken trail of asphalt just past sunrise. Upon finding a road sign and consulting a laminated map from his messenger bag, the teenager excitedly declared that it should lead them right to their destination. He’d sent his talking pet to scout ahead, the little blob racing off on its gaggle of tentacles.

Before the boy could leave him entirely, Harris yelled, “Would you mind slowing down?”

Korden slowed and turned, his mouth tightened in annoyance, before something by the side of the road caught his attention. He walked over and hoisted the rusted remains of another sign. Harris had to squint and block the sun from his diminished eyes to read it: CRESTED BUTTE, 2 MILES.

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