(A/N: I just spent an entire chapter describing Jet crossing a pool of water. Damn, I suck. :P)
Jet felt empowered by what he had done, but also felt badly about it, if only slightly. He had just left Virginia, whom he honestly did care about alone and lost in the dark. And for what? To flaunt whatever power he had over her in a childish outburst to prove that he was alive. That was the problem with winning an argument against a loved one, afterwards, always afterwards, you felt terrible for winning the fight. It was a valueless victory.
The solemn sound of the crackling torchlight felt like a near silent accusation of his convictions. He was a bastard, like Virginia had said, he knew this, but he did not want to be. It was all so goddamned complicated.
The level of the floor was becoming deeper and rockier, with the leveled earth smelling stronger and fresh. Jet was somehow gratified that he had managed to lift his torch from Virginia, or else he would have tripped down here a countless amount of times, regardless of how finely tuned his other senses were. The ceiling was sinking lower, just barely grazing his head. As the tunnel thinned out Jet knew that he was growing closer. What would he find there? A dragon and a pile of scorched little girl bones? Best that he face the beast alone and save Virginia the danger, her life was not as expendable as he.
Abruptly he stepped in something sticky, and then his leg felt the cool and somewhat shocking chill of cold water. He had trodden into the edge of a small and stagnant underground creek, kept frosty by the lack of sunlight and warmth. Rarely had Jet felt a water so cold and so alien to his touch. He backed up a bit and studied the area about him carefully, making an assessment of the landscape so he could continue as far as the torchlight would allow.
The walls were dotted with strange white spores that were attached firmly by long white strings of thread that appeared to be silky and soft, but glistened more like mucous in the dim light. Some of them had been torn open, Jet observed, from the inside out. Below that, dark shapes moved about in the water, slithering like underwater serpents. He had meant to have stalked the monster, but it seemed like he had found its breeding ground instead. There was no other discernable way forward except for straight ahead, through the water and those dark shadows within.
Were they dangerous? Jet picked up a small angular hunk of stone and hefted it into the pool of water. He was tempted to try and skip it as well as he could, but in the end it would have accomplished nothing. It made a quiet splash and settled down into the water with no problems, no disturbances at all. The weird sea snakes in the pool had ignored it completely. Would they ignore Jet as well if he decided to wade on through?
It still felt a little too dangerous for him to risk it. If they happened to be carnivorous he would be eaten alive in the water, and death by piranha-like creature was not too appealing to him. There was only one last way for him to check and see if it was safe. Reaching into his jeans Jet pulled out a small pocket knife and cut a shallow gash along the surface of his palm, drawing a little bit of blood but not hurting himself too severely. It gathered in his hand and Jet held it over the water, turning it on his side and feeling the warm slick burn drip into the waters below.
He expected a wild fizzle of bubbles as a thousand hungry jaws would have made with gnashing, starving teeth. The blood would be like a drop of the sweetest honey to them, if they had an interest in Jet's flesh, then they would jump like a trick pony right now, on the button. The waters were calm, interrupted only by the small trickle of the blood landing in the pond. The water snakes continued to move through and around the water carelessly, as if Jet was not there.
So he had his answer. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it had to be done.
Jet decided to walk through the water and beyond it, hoping that land and the way to the den lay ahead. Two problems remained, though. The water looked deep and frighteningly cold, if he got his torch the slightest bit wet, it would go out immediately and become useless, leaving him in the dark. He could walk through the water with one of his hands raised, keeping the torch safe from harm, but there was also the question of his Airget-Lamh. If that got wet as well, if the gunpowder in the shells became damp and clumped together like sand, his weapon would be totally useless, it would not fire.
The drifter didn't think he could walk through water with both his arms raised, he would need at least one of them to help guide his way and steady his path through the muck. If he tried, he would lose his balance and fall into the water, rendering his journey as pointless. He would be forever lost in the dark.
A voice within him whispered; Go back and get Virginia. Apologize to her and she'll help you, she can carry the ARMs while you can carry the torch. You'll both be safe and well together. The only thing you'll lose is your pride, and that's a small thing compared to your weapon and your light. You can survive without it.
"Bullshit." Jet growled to himself angrily, recognising the voice as the Jet from Baskar Colony, a voice that he was comfortable with calling Baskar Jet. Voices, he was hearing voices in his mind and giving them names. Maybe he was sick. Sick in the head.
…Do you want the last memories that Virginia will have of you to be bad ones?
To this he did not answer. Crouching down, Jet had had an idea. He could argue with himself later. The boy tugged hard on his red and white scarf and unraveled it from his neck, spreading out the tattered material on the dry ground around him. As his arm reached out to smooth out the creases in the fabric, Jet was surprised to see that his skin had a slight sheen to it, coated in a thin layer of sweat despite being stuck in the middle of the cold earth. He raised his hand to his face and wiped away forming beads of sweat, feeling that his cheek and his forehead was warm, too warm, far too warm for a climate such as this. And yet he had not noticed it before.
What could he do about it now? The only thing he could do was to press on. He could worry about the fever later. Jet placed his Airget-Lamh on his scarf and then, with the greatest of care, laid his burning torch beside it, trying his hardest not to disturb the flame. He wrapped the scarf over it once, lifted the two items up together like a newborn baby, and then wrapped it again, and a third time, this time binding it around his left hand. He spun the cloth around his hand and the two items firmly and tightly until his fingers throbbed with a lack of circulation, the silver-haired drifter trying the ends together securely and firmly at the wrist. This was the hardest part to do, as he only had one hand to do it with, making do with his right hand and his teeth.
There, it was done. Both items were attached securely and firmly to his hand.
Just don't wave it around too much. If you do, you're liable to put the damned thing out.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." He mumbled, wading into the pool with long, steadying strides, keeping his legs carefully apart. There was that shocking cool rush again, swilling around his shins and trying to bore down into his bones. Jet sighed a little as he realised that the cold was caressing against the unwelcome feverish heat in his body, something that he never would have discovered if it weren't by total accident. But now it felt wonderful, magnificent, almost heavenly to have it washed out of his system. It made him feel calmer, more in focus.
Something slimy wriggled past his leg, slippery and animated, like a waterborne worm. It snapped him immediately back to attention. There were things all around him, leeches most likely, slithering and sliding and sucking against his skin. Jet's heart fluttered in his chest, erratically, aroused by an injection of adrenaline into his system.
Jesus Christ!
He surged forward, panicked, sending up a small wave and a splash of spray.
Outlaw Jet, the enemy of Baskar Jet shouted out into his mind, alarmed and angry. What the hell are you doing! Move like that and you'll put the torch out! I don't care if you're up to your legs, dick or eyes in the fucking things, you are not going to leave us in the dark. Calm down. Take tiny steps, don't think about it. If you lose your cool you are dead.
Sound advice. His own advice, if Jet recalled correctly. The boy exhaled sharply and felt that it did him a whole world of good, turning the butterfly-ish fluttering in his chest back into the nice and steady thumping once more. He moved forward once more, saying it to himself over and over again in his mind; baby steps, baby steps, baby, steps…
He was up to his waist in the black tepid water. It was like walking through a bowl of unstrained spaghetti in an odd and curious way, the worms below him floating about like bits of flaccid pasta, nudging, coiling and sailing past his legs and through his thighs. His arm began to ache slightly from holding it upwards so adamantly. He lowered it a bit and rubbed at his shoulder socket a little, trying to reduce the tension. The floor beneath his feet was not that rocky but he took great care in his steps anyway, feeling out with the point of his toe a little for his next step, scraping and shuffling for a safe flat floor.
Deeper still! Now he was up to the middle of his chest. It was becoming harder to move forward at this point, the force of the water pushing against him making it feel like he was trying to walk through a huge bowl of honey or golden syrup. It felt like hands were trying to shove him away. Jet raised his hand higher now, all too aware of the weight of the Airget-Lamh when only being held by one hand and the very possible chance of the torch coming loose from his scarf and falling, ker-splash, into the water. Just how deep did it go? Six feet? Nine feet? Three goddamn miles?
Armpits. Neck. Nose. Jet sucked in a breath before water swam above his mouth and nose and held it, pressing the pocket of air deep down into his lungs, as far as he possibly could. Walking was almost impossible now, at any minute, no, at any second Jet felt like he was going to tip over backwards and fall. His left arm, raised, felt like a thin stick supporting a heavy weight, the sinews in his arms screaming from the pressure. It had started off relatively light in the beginning, but now…
Oh, if only he could change hands.
I'm not going to make it. I'm going to lose it, I'm going to drown. Why the hell did I even think I could-
Shut up. I can make it.
I know I can.
He made it. Somehow, in some way, he had made it. The floor of the pool had crept upwards again when he had moved, sucking his heavy, seemingly lead-laden body forwards and beyond, almost crying out for joy when the cold mask of water had been removed from the front of his face. If another had been there to watch, they would have seen a white tuft of messy hair gliding through the murky water, below a pair of mysterious violet eyes and above a protected and flickering fire. They would have seen him walk from the water seemingly effortlessly, as if he had been born from the water itself, baptized in the pool of darkness.
Groaning as his feet were free of the water, Jet lurched to the side and felt his back slap hard against the side of the tunnel, the drifter loosing feeling in his knees and sinking down onto the floor. Coughing hard, he spat out a mouthful of water and also the felt the tainted pool water running from his nose, wiping at it with the back of his right hand. He felt like a drowned rat.
I never want to do that again. He thought, knowing that the other two Jet 'voices' in his mind would probably agree.
He unwound the scarf from his hand and used the cloth the dab the water and sweat from his face. He wasn't sure which was which. The torch was safe and still dry, burning merrily. The butt of his Airget-Lamh had apparently skimmed the surface of the water a few times, but the most important part of it, the barrel was as dry as a bone.
"Thank God." He said to himself in the dim light, running a hand through his sweaty and dampened hair. A short while ago he had been cold and arrogant, perfectly in charge of himself and the world, at least, in the presence of Virginia. Now it seemed like he had been thrown through the cracks of life, to this lost and forgotten god awful place. Why the hell should he thank God? But he did, anyway.
Without thinking, Jet leant forward over the pool again and dove his hand inside, wincing as his fingers closed around a slimy and squirming body. There was still that other mystery to be solved as well, what the hell those snakes or worms had been. The sensation he got was that he was grasping a gigantic gob of slime. Ripping his hand upward, he freed it from its watery home.
A long brown worm with a coral-like feathered head writhed and twisted in the boy's hand. It squeaked in fright and Jet's face contorted into a look of disgust and surprise, releasing it as soon as it had been caught. He knew what it was.
Mosquito larvae.
Giant mosquito larvae.
"Bloodsuckers." Jet intoned stonily to the emptiness around him. "In the future, they'll be bloodsuckers."
He remembered their slippery caress and Jet shivered, drawing his legs up against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, giving himself a moment to pull himself back together. The monster that had taken the girl could fly, and it had flown off with her into here. He had already met its children.
It was going to be a tough fight.
Jet opened his eyes a little, coming to realise a horrific fact. Though he had escaped from the larvae-filled waters that had threatened to crush his heart in his chest, he could still feel the heavy, cold lead-lined pressure against his ribcage, like somebody had lain a sheet of hard metal against it and was pushing with firm steely arms.
The pressure, it was still there, making it hard to breathe, making his midsection tight with repressed stress.
It was happening again. Slowly, he granted that, but it was happening all over again.
And this time there was nobody there to stop it.