Page 8

8

Olivia

I lose some time to my mind scattering, rage threatening to tip me into a shut down. It’s the pain in my knuckles when I start beating on a cave wall that brings me out of it and I feel the exhaustion trying to take over.

“No, no, no, not now,” I say as I drop back to the ground and use the dim light from the odd glowing mushrooms to find the rock I was using to draw.

Then I use every bit of what’s left of my focus to draw another tattoo design. I lose myself in the swirls of the fern. The spikes rising from the central swirl an extension of my resentment, the point the whirling design ends on like the knife I want in my hand right now.

When the creature comes back, I try to use the rock as a knife, but it just bounces off the tough, glowing skin. Then I start laughing again, heart pounding as I think of how stupid it is to try to pummel something so massive. Then I try again anyway.

It chitters at me, I assume in displeasure, but simply scoops me back into its arms, rearing back its torso like some sort of giant, glowing, lizard caterpillar.

I scream out a few threats, but then suddenly feel exhausted again and I stop struggling as it runs.

The tunnel seems to go on forever, twisting and turning in a dizzying labyrinth that I can barely keep track of. I remain limp in the creature's arms, saving my strength, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. The walls of the cave blur past us, illuminated by the soft, bioluminescent glow radiating from the creature's skin. Every turn it takes, every sudden descent or steep climb, I try to memorize, but it's hopeless—there are too many.

I can't tell up from down anymore. I can only focus on the rhythmic pounding of its four feet against the smooth stone floor, the way its breath vibrates through my body, and the suffocating warmth of its skin pressing against mine. I should be terrified—hell, I am terrified—but there's something strangely comforting about being held like this. The creature's embrace is almost… protective.

It reminds me of how my mother used to hold me as a child. Nice and tight, just how I liked it. The only way I liked it.

But I push the thought away. Now's not the time to go soft. I need to stay sharp.

The rage rattled through me when it first grabbed me, but it was just too strong. Now, held in this tight hold, it’s like something is loosening inside of me when it should be lashing out instead.

Maybe I’ve just finally given up.

“Five and ninety-five,” I mutter, chest tight when the numbers don’t help.

The walls around us are too smooth, unnaturally so. My overactive mind, still buzzing with adrenaline, starts to wander. This isn't a natural cave. The way the walls slope and curve seamlessly into one another, the almost polished quality of the stone—no, this was made. But not by any tech I know. What kind of machine could carve out a cave system like this?

My breath catches. What if it wasn't made by a machine at all? What if something living dug these tunnels? Far too large to be the one carrying me. A creature native to this planet, burrowing through the soil like an insect through fruit? The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I shiver involuntarily. The monster holding me senses it, and its grip tightens reflexively, pressing me closer against its chest.

"Ugh, not so tight!" I mutter through gritted teeth.

The contact against my skin sends shots of panic and anger through me, but I already know that hitting it does no good. I turn to numbers to help me, and this time there is a small thread of satisfaction.

“Three point one four one five nine…”

By the twentieth digit I start to feel better, the pressure of the creature’s hold helping, though I still want to scream at it. Part of me also welcomes the warmth radiating from its skin. It's hot, almost uncomfortably so, but it's better than the skin-biting chill of the cave air. I feel the steady rise and fall of its breath against me, the powerful muscles moving beneath its glowing skin.

My wrists are tucked tight against me, palms curled in so I don’t accidentally touch it.

I try to push away the odd sense of security creeping in, not to mention the ever-present arousal. I need to focus on the situation. What does this thing want from me?

Someone always wants something from me. Usually to take care of them and get shit on in the process. My chest tightens as I think about just how fucked I likely am at this point.

Eventually, the creature slows down, its footsteps growing softer, more cautious. We enter a spacious enclave, brightly lit by clusters of bioluminescent mushrooms clinging to the walls. They glow with a soft blue-green hue, their light casting strange shadows on the stone. It stops near the largest cluster, and I'm struck by the warmth radiating from them. It's surprising, almost like standing next to a campfire. I instinctively lean toward the warmth.

The creature slowly lowers me to the ground. My legs are shaky, barely holding me up, but I manage to stay standing. It steps back, giving me an appraising look. I feel my eyebrow twitch in irritation—its gaze is almost… evaluating. Like a merchant sizing up a new piece of rare, expensive merchandise. It shivers its large, spiked head, seemingly satisfied, and retreats to the far corner of the enclave, where it sits back on its haunches and watches me intently.

I stay where I am, too scared to move, too uncertain to run. My eyes flick to the tunnel we came through, but I can't see beyond the glow of the mushrooms. For all I know, there could be a dozen more creatures just like this one, waiting in the shadows. No, running isn't an option. I purse my lips and settle down instead, sitting cross-legged on the rough stone floor.

Instead I take a better look at the creature. It has two massive arms, each one longer than its four legs. Its body is segmented, reminding me again of a caterpillar, but only if they were incredibly muscular. I assume it must be designed for digging. A glance at the huge claws makes me question my sanity again about the whole rock attack idea.

Its feet look similar to what are on its hands and it makes my skin crawl. There are two long, thick digits directly opposite and closing in toward each other with an additional set of two fingers pointing forward. The ones on the side are oriented so they splay toward the inside and outside of its body.

It has a row of spikes starting on its head, which are oddly not spaced in the middle, but instead start on the left side of the skull, then continue in a crosswise line so they are oriented mostly to the right side by the time they disappear on its last body segment.

As I watch it, different colors light up along its skin. Glowing pink eyes stare back at me, which always remain the same color. There is a grinding sound coming from it, which it takes me a while to realize is from it rubbing together its tusks. There are multiple of them. Large ones jutting up from a massive lower lip, smaller ones inside its mouth on the top.

You’d think with all of the muttering about hoards it would look like a dragon. Or a goblin. But instead it looks like some sort of mish-mash of lizard, caterpillar, glow worm, freaking Godzilla, and bunch of other scary shit I don’t have a name for.

The longer I stare, the louder the grinding becomes and the lower the sharp looking planes of its forehead descend over its eyes and its large, four holed nostrils flare.

I might be clueless when it comes to a lot of human expressions and since it's an alien, I might be completely wrong, but I’m starting to think I’m making it mad.

My lips pull wide into a feral grin. Clearly I can’t kill the thing, but I’ll just have to take what satisfaction I can. You can hurt people just as much without fists, though I can’t say I’ve ever been very good at it. I’ve been on the receiving end enough that I should be able to come up with something, though.

For a while, we just stare at each other, but then my mind, left unstimulated, starts to wander. I think about Earth. About home. My mom. She was near the end before I got taken, her body so frail and weak from the mental illness that had been eating away at her for years.

I wonder if she grieved when I vanished—or if she was even still aware enough to grieve.

She didn’t, even if she knew. I was forever a disappointment. Something to fix, which never happened, no matter how much money she threw at the latest boarding school. She wouldn’t grieve.

The thought squeezes my chest, a deep, hollow ache that has nothing to do with my current predicament. She's probably mentally gone by now, I think. The reality of it settles in, a cold, heavy weight that makes my throat tighten and my eyes burn, though there are no tears to give.

Regret bubbles up, sharp and bitter. I didn't even get to say goodbye. Despite everything, the resentment I felt for her, for refusing to tell me who my father was, for keeping so many secrets, I never stopped loving her. She was a constant in my life, from birth until now, the one steady presence I could always count on, even if it was just to berate me for being weird. And now, I'll never get the chance to say goodbye. To ask her one last time who he was.

I remember being a kid, barely a preteen. My mum would let me into her locked study—no one else was allowed in, not my siblings, not even my step-dad. Just me. The room was packed with old books, their spines cracked and faded, the pages yellowed with age. I'd spend hours in there, thumbing through them, getting lost in worlds far away from our tiny apartment. It was like she wanted me to read them, to know them.

One book stands out in my memory—a well-worn sci-fi novel with a cover so faded that I could barely make out the title. It was the first one she had me read. She insisted on it. Said it was important. I can still see it clearly in my mind, the way it looked, the way it smelled like old paper and dust. Whoever owned it first had scribbled their name all over it, like they were afraid someone would steal it. Ariki.

How could I have forgotten? I'd memorized that name from seeing it so often, but it never meant anything to me. Not until now.

My mind snaps back to my mom's study, to all those books with the same name written in the corners—Ariki. And then I remember her voice, weak and delirious from the meds, calling out for an Ariki . It was rare, but on some nights, when she was particularly out of it, she'd whisper it like a prayer, like she was begging someone for help. I'd thought it was just nonsense, a name plucked from the fog of her deteriorating mind.

It was him. She never forgot him, but couldn’t bother telling me who he was.

A mix of emotions churns in my chest—anger, confusion, a strange sort of hope. Would he have claimed me if he knew? I don't know if it's true, but it feels right. And maybe that's enough for now.

“Ninety-two percent,” I whisper.

A small, almost giddy smile spreads across my face. I try the name out in my head, testing the sound of it. Olivia Ariki. It has a nice ring to it. The logical part of my brain chimes in, reminding me that now might not be the best time to be thinking about surnames, not when I'm trapped in some alien cave with a creature staring me down like I'm dinner or something worse. But I ignore it. I need this. I need something to hold onto, something to keep me from losing my mind completely.

I hum a quiet, tuneless melody to myself as I lean closer to the cluster of mushrooms, soaking in their warmth. The creature shifts slightly, its intense eyes never leaving me, but it doesn't move closer. I take that as a good sign. Maybe it's waiting for something. Or maybe it's just trying to figure me out, the same way I'm trying to figure it out.

Good luck. No one ever has.

Either way, I stay where I am, humming softly, my mind spinning with new possibilities. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel a spark of hope. I don't know what's waiting for me in these caves or what this creature plans to do with me, but I do know one thing. I'm not done yet.

Olivia Ariki. I think I like the sound of that.

And then I see it shift, my eyes narrowing as it moves away. “Where are you going? Take me back,” I say through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t respond.

"Oi! Don't turn your back on me you little shit! You don't get to dump me here and walk away!"

My kidnapper alien keeps walking, and I can almost swear that it increases its pace as my voice climbs in pitch.

"Oh, fuck you, then!"

It's gone from sight by the time I get that last bit out, but even then, I can't help the surge of vicious vindication at getting the last word out.

It'd been a long time since I hurled insults at anyone besides bugs, and now that I think about it, doing this to a potentially violent extraterrestrial probably wasn't a bright idea in the first place.

But damn did that feel good. “Piss off!” I add, although I doubt it can hear me at this point.

Perhaps yelling at a six-limbed, seven-foot-tall mass of multicolored nightmare fuel wasn't the wisest of choices, but I’m frayed beyond my usual limits at the moment and the cathartic nature of my outburst did wonders for my mood.

I probably won't be doing it again anytime soon though.

I snort. “Why not? Arsehole.”

A yawn escapes my lips as exhaustion crashes down on me like a tidal wave. My brain starts to fizzle. How long has it been since I slept?