Chapter 10:

Digging Deeper

[Zim]

The horrid stench of decay that has filled the Voot serves as a sharp reminder: I forgot to dispose of the dog. The fluids have leaked across the floor, and the gases of decomposition have embedded their molecules in every surface. All the fibers of my being wish to scrape the gore down the hatch and leave it in their yard for them to deal with, but her voice drapes over the urge in a layer of frost.

"But…that's someone's pet. And Dib loves dogs."

The smell burns my eyes. I clench my fists.

"Fine," I hiss, and I can taste it on my tongue. "FINE!"

I smack the hatch controls and grimace as the ramp withdraws. The door seals shut, trapping me in the pool of waste and death.

Seething in this unexpected torment, I curse Dib. I curse him as I travel to the landfill and slide the bony, wet pulp over the edge, and I keep cursing him as I fly home.

Fueled by rage, I scrub the interior of the Voot seven times over with the harshest chemical solutions I own, until the emotion slowly recedes with the fluid and grime. I dump the contaminated waste into the incinerator.

"Well, Computer," I chime, peeling off the gloves. "Other than the rotting dog meat and all the yelling, Zim believes this was a successful sleepover."

"I didn't ASK."

I ignore him and change into my uniform. "Requesting guests to sleep on couches initially seemed like an inhospitable practice, but after being forced to lie in the filthy Dib's stink bed, it is obvious why the tradition exists."

My thoughts begin to wander as I gently fold the sleeping garments and set them on my desk. It was horrible, obviously…but there was an element to be enjoyed, even in the ridiculous chaos. I was not wanted nor invited, but my presence was accepted rather seamlessly. It felt…

Natural.

I gag and stuff the pee-jays in the nearest drawer so I don't have to look at them. There is no time for mindless wanderings - there is a problem to solve.

"I'm leaving," I call toward the ceiling as I climb back up the ramp to the Voot. "I'll return at some point, probably. Forward security alerts to my PAK."

"Oh sure," he groans. "Make me do EVERYTHING."

"I will!" I shout as the door closes. "That's your JOB!"

Irk, I don't know where he got his attitude.

I slide into the pilot seat and punch in the coordinates. The Voot rumbles and whirs to life, carrying me out from the base and towards the strange, empty house in the woods.

[Dib]

"What's that?"

Gaz drops the box on the edge of the bed and glares at me.

"Clothes," she mutters. "Because you're stupid for not having any."

"I have clothes." My brow furrows as I peel the tape off the corner and pop it open.

"You had clothes," she corrects with a sneer. "Your jacket's fucked, your shirt's fucked, your jeans had a weird hole torn through them, and you've already got blood on the only other shirt you own."

I glance down and see the light splatter from the blood bag. My nose scrunches and I avert my attention to the box. For a moment, I worry it'll be full of generic graphic t-shirts or some shit, but Gaz must be feeling some kind of way because all I find are duplicates of what I already own.

"Uh…thanks." I slide the box away and look up at her. As usual, her expression holds nothing of note beyond the shade of annoyance and disdain. "Are you feeling okay?"

She scoffs. "Are you ?"

"I'm fine." I change the subject. "Where did you even get this stuff anyway?"

She shrugs. "Dad's credit card and one of his weird-ass drones."

My lip curls. "You actually use the credit card?"

"Yeah." She arches a brow and folds her arms. "Might as well. I got something for Zim too, but it's not here yet." She sighs. "Do you plan on sulking in here all day, or are you coming downstairs?"

I clench my jaw and stare at the floor. "I don't know if I should."

There's a long stretch of silence. I fully expect her to leave - but she doesn't. Instead, she moves the box and sits next to me.

"What're your powers?" she asks.

I blink. "What?"

"Your powers," she says again, irritated. "You're a vampire or whatever, right? So shouldn't you, I don't know, have abilities or something?"

"I…" I purse my lips at the notion. "I haven't really thought about it."

She laughs in a mean way. "You're such a dork. Don't you research this shit for fun?"

My brows draw to a pinch and my eyes sweep over the room. My room. Covered in horror posters, archives of newspaper clippings, blurry photos of monster sightings, and stacks of books with eyewitness accounts of cryptids across the globe.

Oh …

I am an idiot.

Gaz smirks beside me, clearly pleased. "There he is." She leans over me and snatches an old notebook from my nightstand. I quickly grab a pen and hand it to her as she flips to one of the few blank pages in the very back.

"Okay," she says, tapping her lower lip. "This column is a list of what we think vampires can do, and the other column will be what you can actually do." She scribbles a few crude checkboxes on either side. "Gimme the facts, genius. Strengths and weaknesses."

"Oh...uh…"

Over the years, I've amassed an embarrassing arsenal of cryptid knowledge - but it's not something anyone ever asks about, and the sudden spotlight has scattered my thoughts.

She flips the pen between her fingers and scowls at my hesitation. "Weaknesses first."

"Um…sunlight?" I shake my head and scoot closer, trying to focus. "Either an aversion to sunlight or a physical weakness within the skin barrier." The memory of me lying on the concrete and spasming in the heat flashes through my mind. I wince. "You can probably check that one off. I think I had a seizure at school after I went outside."

She shoots me a questioning look and then shrugs. "We'll test it again…just in case."

I frown. "Cool, yeah, sure."

"Next?"

"Fire. But that's a weakness for most living creatures." She writes it down anyway and I grimace. I'm starting to think she just wants an excuse to torture me. "And uh, getting stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake." I absently trace my sternum. "Zim already did that…but it wasn't wood, so I guess that could still be true."

She pauses and looks at me. I clear my throat.

"Long story."

"Uh-huh." She goes back to writing. "Maybe we'll ask Zim to test that one out, then."

"Great."

We go through the remainder of my notes: garlic, holy water, religious artifacts, and decapitation (no duh that would kill me). A surge of relief hits me when we switch to the column for strengths.

"Okay, so we've got super strength, super speed, immortality, regeneration, and possibly some kind of telepathy or heightened senses."

"Yeah," I mutter, "but again, I don't know how we could test most of these without actually endangering my life, so–"

The notebook slaps shut. "Don't bitch out on me now, Dib." She pushes off the mattress with a wicked glint in her eye. "Come on, we've got science to do."

[Zim]

I stare at the heap of brick and wooden beams toppled at odd angles and feel a bright flame lick up my chest. The asylum has been demolished.

I curse Dib again and spin on my heels to march back to the Voot, tucked away in the tree line. But then I remember the basement.

I stop and clench my fists. I can't leave here empty-handed, not again. Not with his condition in constant flux. I need to find that old woman - I need a DNA sample from the source so I can render an antidote and get Dib back to his normal, energetic, annoying self.

With no other choice, I stomp up the two remaining stairs and crawl through the largest opening I can find, squeezing my body between slats of wood and plaster. Plumes of dust and fiberglass cloud the air around me. I squint my eyes to avoid contamination and maneuver through the wreckage, but it's slow and disorienting.

A jolt of fear rips through my chest as something thin and filmy snags my ankle. I curse, jerking my leg away and smacking my head on a busted panel in the process. My vision adjusts to the gloom and debris in time to register the string of police tape as it wafts to the floor.

If the authorities were here, I can only assume the security guard's body was reported. No one with a brain would credit the attack to a human. I glare at the yellow tape and scan the ground ahead of me in search of the basement stairs. Even beneath the rubble, the dark stains of blood are visible. The prospect of climbing through the waste is not a pleasant one, but none of this ordeal has been pleasant. The sooner I can fix it, the sooner it will end.

I push forward, using two of my PAK legs to shift chunks of the walls and piles of bricks as needed. As I lift what appears to be a crumbling fireplace mantle, something glints, reflecting the sunlight. I scrape it from the concrete and slide it towards me.

It's Dib's phone. Or, it was. The screen has been smashed to bits and it is definitely broken beyond repair. I pocket it anyway, just in case the authorities are suddenly infused with mild intelligence and come back to search for actual clues instead of leaving the scene in ruins.

"Was that their solution?" I hiss, ducking under a collapsed beam. "They found a gutted dead guy and decided to bulldoze the place? Ridiculous…"

Actually, the sentiment is familiar. If I think about it long enough, I could probably create a list of times the Tallest have done exactly that.

I banish the thought, focusing instead on wriggling between cracked blocks of concrete. Dirt cakes my gloves and coats my tongue with a disgusting, grainy film. As the dust clears on the other side, I spot a section of the foundation that slopes into shadow, dipping below the earth.

Finally . I worm my way through the carnage and frown at the sight of the basement steps. With the building so sloppily collapsed, the stairs are crammed with fallen materials. If I had more time, I could carefully remove the debris, but I'd risk being crushed from above.

This whole place is a death trap. I groan and opt for more crawling, only moving what's absolutely necessary. The remains creak as I go; trails of old water spit from rusting, splintered pipes. Given how dirty my gloves have become, there's no way to wipe my eyes, so I have to keep pausing to blink rapidly until the little flecks of drywall are dislodged.

It takes ten minutes, but it might as well be an eon. I stumble past the last large stud and hit the concrete on my knees, cursing for the umpteenth time.

The ceiling of the basement sags precariously. It smells like death and mildew. I take small, measured breaths and inch across the dark space, skirting around old needles and discolored bandages. The crates in the corner have been smashed by part of the kitchen sink falling through the floor.

My claws dig at the stone. There's nothing here . No suspicious woman, no sign of occupation - only shadow and dust and ruin. The fire grows, warming my teeth. I want to yell; I want to throw something, break something, anything . But I am caught beneath a teetering mass, so I swallow the searing urge and feel it burn my insides.

After a moment of seething in self-pity and rage, I'm startled by a quiet hush of sand spilling down the wall in the far corner.

I crawl toward the sound, and as I draw closer, the particular smell increases. A small hatch slants up from the floor. It appears to be large enough for a person to fit through. The old, wooden doors have been punctured by debris. I try every angle to peer through the cracks, but all I see is darkness.

It's clear the hatch leads to a tunnel of some sort, and the demolition collapsed the part that connected to the house. Judging by how strong the stench is, I can only assume the creature was using this entrance to access the basement. It's highly unlikely the whole length of the tunnel has caved in. I should be able to locate the geological discrepancies and trace the path from above.

With a new goal pinging through my brain, I scramble out of the basement and make my way back through the maze of destruction.

[Dib]

"Well," Gaz says, notebook in hand, "you're not exploding, so sunlight can't be that deadly."

Sweat beads down my brow. My back is pressed against the edge of the garage as I hold my arm out in the sun, waiting for…something. But she's right - I have not exploded.

"Do you feel anything weird?" she asks, skirting around me to examine the exposed limb.

"Um, not really. It's uncomfortable, but I don't feel like I'm dying."

At least, not yet.

Her gaze flits between my face and my arm. "Eh, okay. I'll check that one off."

A heavy sigh escapes me as I drop my arm back into the cool shadow of the garage. So far, no burns have manifested, but it is noticeably warmer than the rest of my body.

She flips the page and taps the pen along the thin, metal spiral. "You still have a reflection, unfortunately for you." She glares at me. "Running water didn't do shit…which is good, because you definitely need to shower more. And sunlight was a bust." She pauses, pursing her lips. "We don't have holy water." She sets down the notes on the cluttered workbench and searches the toolbox.

"Hm." She pulls a metal object from the mess and points it at me.

"What?" I squint at the lug wrench in her hand. "Is that supposed to be a cross?"

She groans and tosses it over her shoulder, where it clangs loudly against the other tools. "I'm improvising." She snatches the notebook and scribbles one of the boxes. "It's a stupid weakness, anyway."

"Can we test strengths now?" I rub my arm to make sure it hasn't turned to ash or goo. "Because all that's left on the 'weakness' column is 'fire' and 'decapitation,' so–"

The door behind me swings open. I hardly have time to turn around as GIR squeals at the top of his robot lungs and launches something at my face.

"I FOUND THE PICKLES, MARY!"

The object smacks me in the nose and I stumble back with a yelp. An awful stench explodes under my nostrils and sends a sharp bolt through my eyes, instantly triggering tears.

GIR bounces off the step to retrieve the goddamn biohazard. He waves it triumphantly over his head, and as it passes my face a second time, my gut lights up with pain. I double over, heaving out a thick string of bile. They both ignore me while I cough and spit the mucus on the ground. When the burning finally passes, I straighten my shoulders, grimacing as I wipe my face.

"Why…?" I groan.

"Garlic," Gaz answers simply, unphased. She holds up the notebook like I'm stupid. "It's on the list."

"Pickles is my favorite kind of ice cream." GIR shoves the lumpy, fuzzy clove in his mouth. I jerk back and turn my head to avoid smelling it again.

"Okay, fine," I swallow past a gag. "But that garlic was definitely covered in mold."

"You wanna try again with a fresh one?" she asks.

"...No. No, I do not."

"Great." She loudly scribbles another checkbox. "Since you're being a baby about it, we'll save 'fire' and 'decapitation' for later."

I glare at her. "You're so kind."

"Don't get used to it."

"Can corn squares be pickles?"

We both stop and stare at GIR. The garage falls silent. He blinks at me, then at her, and taps his chin.

"I was just thinkin'."

I shake my head to make sure I'm not having a stroke. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

Gaz flips to the next page. "He's asking for Poptarts."

I stare at her, incredulous. " How could you possibly know that–"

"They're in the pantry, GIR," she says. He claps and spins in a choppy little dance - and just like that, he zips back inside.

"Huh. You guys actually get along."

She shrugs. "He's fine. Now go try and lift something heavy - I'm getting bored."

We argue about what could be considered heavy enough to count as a supernatural ability; she comments on my "twig arms" and says that "everything is probably heavy" to me, and we settle on the broken car engine on the far side of the garage that weighs 400 pounds.

It'd be a lie to say I'm not nervous as my fingers curl around the divots in the metal, because I don't feel strong. In fact, I've only felt weaker since the day my symptoms began. But Gaz is here, and I know it's mostly to push me through my mopey limbo so she doesn't have to deal with it anymore, but it still means something.

My hands grip the engine, steeling my resolve, and I pull. The metal groans, but it lifts - and suddenly, I'm holding it over my head. My eyes widen and I look up in shock. It's not weightless…it just weighs less, as if it's only a cinderblock.

"Whoa." A grin stretches my face and I can't hold back the triumphant laugh. "I did it!" Heat flutters through my heart and I watch as Gaz's expression droops. She glares at me, then at the engine teetering overhead. With a sigh, she updates the list.

"Congrats, dork," she mutters. "You can finally do something cool."

"Yeah!" Pumped full of adrenaline, I toss the engine in the air and catch it over and over again. The rush is exhilarating, and for once, I feel…excited.

I have powers.

"You should probably take it easy," she warns.

"I got it," I chime, pushing it up into the air. "It's actually pretty easy–"

It comes down heavier. The force of it landing in my hands sends a ripple through my bones, and I barely manage to catch it before it hits the concrete.

"Shit," I gasp. I quickly drop it and stumble back.

"See what happens when you fuck around?" she mutters.

My chest swells and I blink at the sweat forming on my face. "It-it just got heavier out of nowhere."

"Maybe you did too much at once." She scratches the pen along the page, adding notes to the "strengths" column.

"Maybe…" I stare down at the hunk of metal and the dark, oily grime on my palms. The warmth steadily grows beneath my skin until I feel sickly hot. My vision blurs.

"Hey, Dib."

The room tilts as I try to focus on her face.

"Wha…what?" I wipe my eyes, but it only gets worse. I flinch when I feel her hand grab my wrist and tug me towards the door.

"Come on," she says quickly. "You need to eat."

Minutes later, I'm slumped against the side of the tub, clutching a pack of blood Gaz had stashed in her room. She sits across from me with her back to the closed door.

"I…I thought GIR had these," I mumble, somewhat coherent as I fumble with the plastic.

"He did," she says simply. "But that was a terrible idea, so I told him I was throwing them away because the blood made you sad."

"Huh." I finally manage to tear the corner of the pack. The deep red glistens along the jagged edge and the familiar smell siphens all my attention away from reality. The liquid pools along my teeth and tongue, sliding down my throat, soothing the ache and lifting my bones from the nauseating heat until every last drop is gone and I finally feel my existence solidify once more.

I drop my head back against the tub and groan at the bloom of relief.

"Fuck," I hiss, rubbing my eyes. "That was almost really bad. We can't mess around like that again–"

" You were the one messing around," she quips. I blink up at the ceiling as my vision corrects itself. The sound of a page turning draws my attention back down.

"Can you hear my thoughts?" she asks with a pointed glare.

I squint and focus on the space between her brows. "You're…thinking about insulting me."

She snorts. "That's cheating - I'm always thinking about insulting you." She draws a sharp question mark in the box. "We'll figure that one out later, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's a bust. You are literally the least observant person I know, and I know Zim ."

"Wow, okay, ouch."

She rolls her eyes. "We'll test super speed once you stop being dramatic."

"Yeah," I sigh, wincing as I sit up. "A break sounds good." I glance at the empty bag in my lap. "...You have more of those, right?"

She flips the notebook shut.

"Nope."

[Zim]

The sun hangs low in the sky, stretching the shadows of the forest. I keep my eyes on the screen in my hands and study the pattern of radio waves bouncing between the radar and the tunnel below. The earth is damp and the tangled system of roots keeps causing minor distortions in the frequencies, but if I move slowly, it works well enough to trace the path from the asylum to the woods.

The rhythmic beeping has lulled me into a trance. I don't notice the change of the sound under my boots until the radar blips once last wave and the pattern disappears completely.

"What?" I glance up to see a cave carved into the large cluster of rocks protruding from the base of the mountain. Its dark mouth yawns up towards the sky, and there is nothing but black beyond.

The sun is setting. I blink. How far away am I now?

I lower my tablet and sweep my gaze over the cavern entrance. An old, tattered sign leans to the right on splintered stilts with faded black letters.

WARNING: KEEP OUT.

There are more words beneath the warning, but they have long since washed away; a casualty of the elements.

A heavy sigh pushes past my teeth. Why couldn't this be easy ?

The light continues to wane above, leaving cold blue shadows in its absence.

I'm in the middle of debating whether or not to enter the cave when my tablet dings and an alert appears on the screen. I close out the GPR and frown as I scroll through fifty-three message notifications of absolute nonsense.

"I said no memes ," I hiss, tapping on the most recent text. The bubble expands:

Out of juice.

Go get more or it'll be your problem.

-pig sister

My eyes narrow and I bare my teeth at the words. This has all taken much longer than I anticipated, and I still don't have answers. But the sun is setting, and Dib's condition is too unpredictable for me to take any risks.

I respond: FINE.

She sends a pixelated image of a middle finger and then a black heart.

I roll my eyes and shove the comms unit into my PAK. Before me, the cave grows darker as if it's swallowing the twilight. I stare into the black and clench my fists.

"Tomorrow," I whisper sharply. Gravel pops and snaps under my feet as I turn on my heels and head back towards the Voot. "This ends tomorrow."