Page 9 of Splintered Shadow
She dipped her hand into the lower basin. The water was cool. She hesitated. There could be bacteria or some weird fungus waiting to make her life hell.
Ha. Joke’s on the bacteria; my life is pretty miserable right now.
Dehydration was her immediate fate. Alien bacteria could get in line.
Sarah washed her hands, rinsing off the blood and doing her best to work out the dirt from the scrapes on her palms. Clean enough, she caught water in her cupped hands from the spout.
She sniffed the water. It smelled musty, but not foul. She was too thirsty to care.
The first swallow mostly spilled down her chin. The second she managed better, enjoying the cold water, but making a mess. She ignored good manners, drinking her fill.
Thirst satisfied, she did her best to rinse her face. Blood and dirt swirled in the water.
Rustling from above snagged her attention. Darkness clung to the ceiling between the shafts of light.
Something moved in the shadows above her.
Sarah fumbled for her phone, cursing as she turned on the flashlight function.
The phone’s light barely pierced the shadows overhead. Yes, something was up there. She caught inky black figures shuffling in place. Feathers caught the light, shimmering blue on the edges. Feathers and eyes.
So many eyes.
The air felt suffocating. Blood pounded in her ears.
By the time Sarah realized she was looking at dozens, perhaps hundreds, of large black birds, a croaking call echoed in the chamber. She should run, or at least back away slowly. Or just run.
A growl echoed off the stone.
Chapter Three
Sarah
The birds—hundreds,definitely hundreds—cried out and moved. She threw up her arms to protect herself from the flurry of feathers and wings beating against the hot air.
Time to run.
Blindly, she dashed deeper into the complex. Almost immediately, she tripped over the uneven floor. Landing on her knees, she hissed in pain.
The low growl grew louder, and it lit up a primitive part of her brain that refused to stick around long enough to discover the source of the growling.
Nothing good, she knew.
A creature emerged from a shadowy pocket. Or maybe it was more accurate to say the light parted around the creature. Darkness swirled around it like a sinister miasma. Sarah’s mind cataloged the animal’s features—four legs, compact and muscular build like a big cat or a lean wolf, huge triangular ears, four eyes that reflected the light, and a shifting outline that pulsed with the pounding in her chest.
Teeth.
Lots and lots of teeth.
The creature lifted its head, sniffing the air. Blood had drawn the monster. Even now, she felt the sticky ooze of blood sliding down her face from her head wound. For a second, she felt like she was watching a nature documentary and the poor gazelle just realized they were toast.
The watering hole is an irresistible draw for prey and predator alike.
An entirely inappropriate giggle bubbled up from her gut because she was a gazelle, and she was definitely toast. Or whatever-that-was chow. Monster chow.
She rose to a crouch, her eyes never leaving the monster. The shadows pulsed around it. She felt around the ground for a rock, a handful of dirt, or anything to throw. The stones she encountered felt tiny, like pebbles.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
