Prey writhed in the dirt of the larger den, no longer confined to his little hole. His hole was not big enough to allow him twist and bend his body in agony. Spasmodically flinging his body this way and that was all he could do in response to the onslaught of stabbing pain in his abdomen, each internal strike somehow more excruciating than the last. He could only writhe and whimper the pathetic whimpering of a pregnant boy overburdened by his clutch. He did not form words, just bellowed vowels and sharp squeaks. Occasionally a hiss would escape him, and this might have once concerned him, weeks ago, but the pain was too much to care about anything else now. His days were spent doing nothing but chasing brief moments of relief. An archipelago of respite in a dark swirling sea of ache. He found himself praying once again, to anyone, that this might end soon. That he might be rid of his burden. That he might give birth. He did not even know if he would birth the larvae. He’d figured out a while ago that Red really had no clue how this whole process would end. But if merely containing the eggs felt like this, perhaps death was preferable to the pain of birth, not that his body was killable. After going through all of this, he was starting to feel like a sickly immortal.
He pressed his hands to his overfull abdomen, his womb. The pain had started several days ago, he did not know how many, as the eggs began to stretch his organs outwards. It had started as mild discomfort, but the eggs grew quickly in the final stretch of gestation. It did not take long to reach the soaring heights of pain when the larvae jostled within their shells, pushing his insides around as they tried out their newly formed muscles. His belly was absurdly stretched around his brood. A heavy, taut, womb uncannily similar in appearance to that of normal human pregnancy. Had Prey been in the long dead world of his kind, he would have needed maternity clothing. But now he was naked. Naked and sweat-caked and dirty, praying in an unintelligible mix of two languages for deliverance.
In a state like this, swallowed by darkness and writhing in pain, time was only marked by the edges of relief. He did not know how long he’d been crying out in the dark when it finally subsided, but he knew it was night when it did. The den was chilly with night air. He lay exhausted, unwilling and unable to move a single muscle. What caused the larvae to move about and what caused them to be still was a mystery he had no answer to, despite a desperate search. When they ceased moving though, the pain was manageable. A blessing compared to its alternative.
But blessings were not long had in the red dirt desert. It seemed that just as relief arrived, discomfort would find another way in. A tremendous booming echoed across the plain. It frightened Prey, though he did not have the strength to react. Even Red, who had been up to this point resting a foot away, raised its head, antennae swinging with alarm. It began to speak, and there were several words Prey did not recognize. The booming sound surrounded them again, and Prey now remembered the sound.
Thunder. Though muffled by the dirt above them, that was the distinct sound of thunder. Prey had not heard it in centuries. He’d nearly forgotten the sensation.
The thought occurred to both him and Red at the same time. With thunder came rain. And as if summoned by their thoughts, the infinite drumming sound begining above them signaled the fall of water. Heavy rain, it seemed. Prey had assumed it did not rain here in the desert, but this new world refused any predictability.
Rainstorms here were rare, but when it rained in the red dirt desert, it poured. It did not take long for the saturated humidity to enter the den, followed quickly by a small trickle of muddy rainwater. That trickle grew fast, and in no time at all a river rushed down to wash over Prey’s body and turn the den into mud. Prey shivered, chilled by the water, barely able to hold his head up above the puddle he found himself in. To think, just weeks ago, he’d have let himself have a sliver of hope. Now he was naked, cold, wet, filthy, and perversely pregnant deep underground. It was enough to make even him, who had unexpectedly scored so well on a mental fortitude assessment, give up.
Had he been alone, he might have. He might have let the mud choke and subsequently bury him. But as he shivered and gasped in the cold, Red began to move. Prey expected him to leave. Perhaps to escape the muddy confines of the den for a bit, and feel the swirling winds above. But Red began to encircle Prey, his long flat body forming a barrier between the incoming water and the boy. Prey reached out a weak hand to touch Red’s belly, and felt a hard sharp leg brush him. A comforting touch? Or just accidental contact? It didn’t matter, Prey made it what he needed it to be. He needed a companion and at this point he did not care to which phylum they belonged. He whispered a grateful click, though he was sure it was not heard.
Red continued to wrap himself protectively around Prey, forming something of a crude dome, just large enough to contain the little mammal’s body. Inside the dome, Prey’s body heat was preserved, and he was able to warm some. He was shielded away from the cold incoming stream as well. And with the brood still miraculously calm, he was finally able to sleep.
He woke not too long after the storm had passed to the sound of Red unfurling his body. The brood was still calm within him, they often were when he first woke, but he knew it would not be long before they returned to their thrashing. He grimaced at the thought of more pain and at the unpleasant saturation of his wet skin, but he was grateful the storm had at least passed. Moreso, he was grateful for the protection Red had offered. He had long grown used to living with the beast, but such a kind act made him suddenly quite endeared to his companion. He felt, perhaps for the first time, an upwelling of genuine affection for the centipede. Despite everything, Prey such moments of gladness and hope stubbornly presented themselves. The den was warming, Red had gained new humanity, and the larvae were at peace. In that moment, Prey went against his better judgement and held onto hope for a little longer. Hope for what? He could not say. But something in the boy made him push on, always, even when he could not know why.
Red seemed to be leaving the den now and Prey wanted to follow. He had not been outside in so long since his brood had grown so large. He suddenly desired, like Red, to feel the wind on his body, to smell something other than dirt, and to see again. He crawled up after Red, heavy belly dragging against the dirt. He now remembered why he so rarely left the den: movement in this state was laborious and painful. Still, he was able to make it to the ground outside, albeit slowly. The sunlight, it was day apparently, blinded him for the first few minutes and he crawled forward to grope about and find Red. But after a few moments, he adjusted and was able to look out onto the transformed desert.
Most of the water had soaked into the ground and before the day was over the sun would dry everything out, returning things to their normal state. But for now, the air was thick with petricore, the ground a little softer, and all the red in the desert had turned a deep wet umber. There were clouds too, which were rare here. As he looked out onto the changed landscape, Prey felt almost like he was back home again, on Earth. And of course, he was still on Earth. The planet had outlasted his civilization and would outlast many after it. But it certainly felt like an alien world most of the time. Now though, the feeling of wet heat in the air after a storm, that was something familiar. Somethimes he could recall memories of from before hibernation. Such moments were rare now.
Using Red as a crutch, Prey hobbled to his feet. Both the weight of his gravid belly and the disuse of his legs made bipedal motion quite difficult, but with a little assistance from Red, he was able to take a few wobbly lurching steps forward.
So much had changed since his arrival here. Myrio had been thrust out into this world by the cruelty of random chance and cursed with the fate of surviving it. Now, Myrio was gone now. In his place stood Prey. Myrio had been plumper, Prey was withered. Myrio had been scared, Prey’s fear was dulled. Myrio had cried for his mother, Prey was soon to be one. Myrio had been alone, Prey looked to his left and saw, perhaps, a companion.
The open desert with its endless miles of featureless land had a way of punctuating loneliness, but that power was weakened now as arthropod and mammal walked side-by-side out of their shared den.
Prey gripped his pregnant belly and wondered, for the first time, if he would name his children. He then realized that this was the first time he’d even considered them ‘children.’ Were they children? Or just parasites to be rid of? He was unsure.
He would not be given much time to consider the question however, as a particularly sharp jolt of pain in his abdomen signalled that the young were waking in their shells. Prey was turning to return to the den when he felt a warm viscous fluid drip down his thigh. Blood? No. More sharp pains followed and suddenly a flood of the slimy fluid poured out of him. Red, who had been intently surveying the air for prey before this, now fixed his attention on Prey’s womb. Prey brought his hands to his belly and felt the squirming movements of something free of a shell. He and Red became aware of it at the exact same time: he was about to give birth.
Comments (2)
See all