Chapter 12:

Dark Passage

[Dib]

"Shit." I instinctively grab Zim's shoulder and tuck my body close to his. He doesn't make a sound. We stand stiff as boards and watch in silence as the hidden presence slowly pulls away, dragging its foot through the dirt with a soft hush. It takes seconds, but it feels like years; and then it's gone, vanishing entirely around the bend.

The air sits in my lungs like gelatin. I stare at the space and carefully glance at Zim without moving the headlamp.

"...Did you see that?"

"Yes." He sounds annoyed at the question, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the corridor. "Zim has eyes."

"And we have to go that way? There's not, like, another tunnel I'm not seeing?"

"Relax, Dib." He finally turns his head and squints at my hand on his shoulder like I'm overreacting. "It's just a foot."

I don't let go. "Okay, well, there's someone attached to the foot, Zim."

"I'm aware of anatomy, Dib," he hisses. He whips his head back toward the tunnel, bares his teeth, and shouts: "And if they plan on KEEPING their foot, they will let us pass without issue!"

" Zim!" I pull at his shoulder and feel my heart spasm with the urge to run or duck or something. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He jerks from my grasp, eyes narrowed to thin, reptilian slits. "Zim has wasted too much time dealing with you and your sticky, filthy pig nonsense to allow a singular human foot to disrupt our mission."

"It's a person!" I snap. "There's another person here, and you just want to–"

" I am going that way." His hands ball to fists at his sides, and his expression holds no room for debate. " You can stay here and wait for Zim, if your spine is too jelly to continue."

He walks away from me, toward the bend, toward the thing that waits on the other side. If I follow, I'll be forced to confront its presence - but if I stay, I'll be alone.

"Fuck," I hiss, gripping my scalp. "Fuck - fine!" I jog after him, heart skipping and slamming; a frantic bird in a cage of bone. My fingers dig into the straps of my bag and I wonder if I should pull out my knife, but I know the desire is futile. It's more of a tool than a weapon, and what would I do with it? Blindly slash some random person in the dark and hope to fuck that the small blade is somehow sharp enough to inflict real damage?

I hate this, I hate this, I hate–

We round the bend. I hold my breath. Terror pools in my gut as the headlight illuminates the tunnel. The ceiling hangs lower here, just inches from my head, and the walls are beginning to compress in jagged chunks of rock. The sound of dripping water echoes somewhere ahead of us, rhythmic and shallow. But there is no face catching the beam of my light. I don't see anyone.

And somehow, that's worse.

If Zim feels any hesitation, he doesn't show it. He pushes forward, leaving me to trail on his heels like a frightened dog.

"Here's an idea," I whisper, detesting how my voice quivers, "I close my eyes, and you lead the way."

"That's stupid. You'll trip and fall over me like a fat log."

I resist the urge to hold onto him and instead pull the straps into my shoulders until they ache.

"Where do you think they–"

He stops with a sharp groan and turns to face me before I run into him. His teeth and red eyes glimmer; a shark in the light. "Stop talking, you pea-brained beast," he spits. "You're polluting the air with your mindless dr–"

The focus of his gaze suddenly shifts from mine to the space over my shoulder, and his snarl drops to a thin, pressed line. He blinks and quickly turns away.

"Come on," he hisses. "We're moving too slow."

My reflex betrays me. I twist my neck to see what distracted him, and the headlight falls on a body crouched behind a pile of rocks, its back slumped against the wall we just passed. Wet, prickling fear invades my flesh. A breathless curse slips through my teeth and I stumble back into Zim. He grabs my bag and spins me, forcing my gaze from the pallid, quiet form that rests behind us.

Red orbs fill my field of vision. "Keep. Moving."

It's hard to breathe. My bones are no longer solid, and all my primal instincts are screaming to turn around because there's something there, there's someone there; we walked right past them and didn't even know–

" Dib."

His claws move from my bag to the sides of my head. The mounting pressure of his palms against my skull brings the cold wave of terror down to a hush. My breathing stutters; I blink rapidly and manage a short nod.

His eyes search mine for another moment, analyzing my mental state for compromise. I look away and focus on calming down.

Don't fuck this up. Don't be a liability.

"I-I'm good." I clear my throat. "Sorry."

He finally releases his grip. "No more talking," he mutters. "Ignore what you see unless I say otherwise."

I nod again. He glances over my shoulder one last time and it takes all I am to not do the same. His expression doesn't change; I can only assume the person hasn't moved, because he seems content in whatever he sees and turns on his heels to continue down the tunnel.

I match his pace and keep my eyes locked on the dim lights of his PAK as we go. It's difficult to navigate the uneven ground from my peripheral vision, but I don't dare move my headlight from its fixed point.

The passage of time becomes nonexistent. The air grows heavier with moisture; the scent of metal and mildew lay thick like slime, coating my face and tongue. Wiping the sweat from my brow eventually feels pointless, but I do it anyway to distract myself from the surrounding shadows. I don't want to think about how many more bodies we've unknowingly passed; how many eyes have seen us through the darkness. I count to random numbers in my head and repeat meaningless strings of their multiples, and I match my steps to my breath, pulling a fraction of comfort from the mindless, familiar patterns.

The ground dips again, steeper now. My headlight wavers over the pool of water at the bottom of the slope. Zim pauses at the cusp, shattering the rhythmic movement. The empty patterns crumble to little shards and cascade down the recess of my mind; a tablecloth yanked out beneath fine china.

His antennae twitch slightly and he holds out his hand as if to stop me from barreling past him. "Stay here."

My heart drops. No, I can't, not by myself–

He glances at me with a steady look. "The path turns up ahead. I want to check it first."

A thousand protests ring in my ears. We've made countless turns by now - why is this one any different?

He starts to descend the slope. The fear is a lightning bolt; my hand shoots forward, reaching for the empty space in desperation.

"Wait," I choke. Pathetic. "Zim, don't–"

His boots hit the water and the ripples lick at the light. He stops and looks back at me with a strange glint in his eyes - but then he blinks, and it's gone.

"Stay," he repeats, firm and condescending. "It won't be long, you blubbering smeet."

Dread coils up my throat, snuffing out my response. Frozen in place, I watch while he maneuvers through the water. It doesn't look much higher than his ankles. Dark clouds of silt bloom to the surface with each step.

The beam of my headlamp only reaches so far, and soon, his body fades from view, and I'm left with nothing but the sound of his feet sloshing through the water.

I wait. I count, but past twelve, my brain turns to goop, so I start over to keep myself from yelling his name or stumbling after him.

Pathetic.

"Shut up," I hiss under my breath.

I don't know how long he takes - maybe it's one minute, maybe it's an hour - but my chest sags in relief when his red eyes pierce the darkness. He blinks at my headlight and grimaces. I quickly reposition it and scramble down the slope, joining him in the water. The chill is immediate.

"Well?" I ask, impatient. "Are we good?"

He ignores my question and gestures to my bag. "The rope is in here, yes?" He doesn't wait for my answer; he reaches over and unzips the side pocket.

"I - hey, careful," I hiss as he tugs the roll of paracord free and almost knocks me over in the process. I zip the pocket back up and glare at him. "Why do we need rope?"

He clicks his tongue and swats my arms away from my waist so he can wrap the paracord around me. For someone with only three "fingers," he makes quick work of the knots and cinches it tight to my frame.

"Zim," I press, glaring daggers. "Why do we need rope?"

His hands slow as he adjusts the knot over my stomach, and his expression appears…conflicted.

Fucking hell.

"Dib-stink," he finally mutters, "Zim has reconsidered your bad idea."

"...What?"

He scowls and averts his gaze. "You may close your eyes. I will lead, per your request."

Before I can ask why the fuck he wants me to close my eyes, he starts tying the rope to his waist, leaving three feet of length between us. He wraps the remainder over his shoulder and gives the slack a sharp tug to ensure we're properly linked. I dig my heels in the muck to keep from falling on him.

"There." He seems satisfied. "Zim will move slowly so you do not hit your big head."

"But why–"

"I've only changed my mind about the one thing, Dib." His eyes narrow. "I did not say you could continue talking."

He turns and starts walking down the tunnel, pulling me along.

"Hey, bug-boy," I snap. "I'm gonna keep talking until you explain what the fuck is going on."

I can feel him rolling his eyes ahead of me. "The rope is for safety, stupid boy."

Silt plumes over our steps. "And the second thing?"

He groans with exhaustion. "Obviously, I cannot force you to close your inferior eyeballs…but it is highly suggested."

"A suggestion is not an explanation, Zim–"

He whips around and the force of his erratic movement sends water splashing in all directions. I yelp as the paracord bites through my clothes and pulls me flush against his body. His eyes glow, inches from mine.

"Just do it, you idiot monkey!" he snarls. His breath is cooler than the surrounding air. "If you open them before I tell you to, I will leave you to rot in this stinking, wretched pit!"

"Okay," I gasp, "okay, fine! I'll do it! Just – untangle this stupid rope–"

He yanks the other end and spins me back a couple of steps, unwinding our bodies. A pointed claw gestures toward my eyes.

"Now."

I groan and begrudgingly obey his inexplicable request. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it."

My eyelids fall and drape the world in darkness. He was right about this being a bad idea, but I have little choice in the matter now.

"Finally," he grumbles. His boots kick through the water and I'm tugged forward. My sense of balance has vanished completely with my sight, so I settle for gripping the paracord between us, adjusting my motions to match.

"Duck," he says. I dip my head and wobble after him for a few steps.

"...Do I still need to–"

"No, you can stop hunching now." He scoffs. "You look stupid."

I grimace and straighten my shoulders. "I'm essentially blind, so if you want me to keep my eyes closed, your communication skills need work."

He huffs and says nothing else. Figures.

The water gets deeper. My breath catches in my throat as the gradient changes and the chill of it seeps through my shoes.

"We turn here." His voice drops to a whisper and sets my teeth on edge. Why is he whispering? The apprehension spikes to anger when the pressure shifts on my forehead and I hear the distinct click of my headlamp turning off. I stiffen.

"Did you just–"

The rope jerks. "Don't speak." The words punch holes in my brain. "No talking until we're through."

Through? Through what? My heart sputters and my bones ache with the need to argue. He's always telling me to shut up for one reason or another, but this order sounds less like "shut up because you're annoying me" and more along the lines of "shut up or we'll fucking die ."

In the end, the confusion and anger are drowned by fear, and I nod sheepishly. He says nothing else. The rope tugs again, sliding gently to the left as we round the corner. I rub my thumbs over the ridges of the paracord and try to slow my breathing. Everything seems so loud. My pulse is sharp; a drum in my throat. Can Zim hear it?

Can anything else hear it?

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

I clench my eyes tight enough to see random bursts of color from the blood vessels in my eyelids. My ears prickle at the sound of wet stone shifting under Zim's boot. Biting back the urge to ask for direction, I slow my steps and attempt to feel out whatever loose foothold he just crossed.

He pauses, giving me time to scramble over the rock before setting forward again. The blind submission makes my skin burn. Why am I even listening to him? And what's the point in turning off my headlamp if I'm already closing my fucking eyes?

I trip over something, and Zim's hand hits my chest to steady me. The frustration rears with renewed force and I clench my jaw to hold back the slew of protests broiling beneath my tongue. But the pressure has to go somewhere, so my eyes snap open in defiance.

There is nothing but darkness. No different from when they were closed. I swallow hard and wonder if he knows my eyes are open, but I don't see the red glow of his, so he must be looking ahead. I blink at the heavy black air and decide that since my headlamp is off and I can't see anything anyway, there's no point in following his stupid order.

The weight in my chest lifts somewhat at my recaptured autonomy, however useless it may be. The ground slants up - just enough to reach shallower waters, by the sound of it. I run my tongue under my teeth and count in multiples of six. The monotony of the darkness and the swish of our boots begins to feel…okay. There's a rhythm to it, and with no light source around, my mind has no shadows to contort, no nightmares to project.

We continue at a grating, steady pace, and I keep my hands on the rope. The humidity is godawful; my clothes are stuck to my skin. I'll be scraping layers of grime off my body when we're done here–

A sudden pressure clamps over my left ankle, and I freeze. It's a hand. I know it's a hand. Even through the leather of my boot, the indentation of each finger is unmistakable. I curse and yank my leg forward, but the hand pulls back, and I fall on my knees, taking Zim down with me in a spray of icy water. It tastes foul.

His red eyes are all I can see in the darkness. I sputter and frantically wipe my face, but all I do is smear the putrid substance. The hand tightens around my boot. In a panicked frenzy, I flip the switch on my headlamp and shine it towards my foot.

Everything in me stops. Illuminated in the harsh, white light is the face of a woman. Thin tendrils of dark hair stick to her bony scalp. Her eyes are sunken and bloodshot, reflecting the light in a sickly yellow glaze. She lies on her side, partially submerged in the water and silt; tucked close to the narrow wall of the cavern like a corpse. She opens her mouth and water pools over the black, infected nubs of what remains of her teeth.

"Don't," she whispers. Thin as paper. "Leave."

My brain spams a thousand possible responses to my body, but they pile up on one another in my throat. The gunk sticks to the roof of my mouth and all I can do is stare at her in her decay. Her grip on my ankle is stronger than the state of her body should allow.

Then her gaze slowly focuses on my face, as if she's seeing me for the first time. Her eyes widen in terror and she starts to scream. I feel it in my bones, deep in my skull - a wailing shriek that threatens to splice my cells with its ungodly frequency.

I'm not given another moment in my hesitation. The sharp hiss of metal pricks my ears, and in an instant, Zim's PAK leg impales the woman's skull from the hollow underside of her jaw and cuts the scream from her vocal cords. Her head fractures around the force of it, cracking like porcelain. The blade retracts and splatters chunks of her insides with a vicious jerk. Dark, thick blood slowly oozes from her throat. The taste of it fills the air; metallic and sour.

I'm frozen in the water. Zim says something, but it sounds too far away. I barely register his body stretching over mine so he can pry the woman's rigid hand from my boot. My eyes are locked on the glistening, sticky puzzle pieces of her skull.

My vision sways and the straps of my bag dig mercilessly under my arms as I'm dragged away from her corpse. Cold water soaks my clothes. Zim is talking again, then shouting - a sharp sting rips through my scalp. I jolt in his grasp, but his claws only tighten, yanking me by the hair.

"GET UP!" he snarls. He pulls harder, wrenching a strangled cry from my chest. "Get up, you useless, floppy–"

I dig the heels of my boots down into the sludge and twist until my hands and knees are beneath me. He releases his grip as I scramble to my feet. The beam of light whips across the cavern walls in tandem with each frantic, thrashing motion.

The bodies are everywhere. They lay strewn through the tunnel, naked, contorted, sunken in the silt; a shallow graveyard of rattling breaths and feverish eyes, slick with infection. Their skin clings to their bones like wet paper.

The air forms a bubble and sticks in my throat. Whatever terror I felt before is nothing compared to the slurry of ice in my veins. A startled whine is torn from my lungs as Zim snatches my jaw and rips my gaze from the horror lining our path. He pulls me into him, a fish on a hook, and his eyes are wide and wild and angry.

"We're running now," he snaps. He whirls around and starts to sprint. The rope tightens between us, pinching my organs and bruising my skin, but the pain only adds to the erratic signals firing from my neurons. I pick up the pace with clumsy steps and my pounding heart burrows up, up, up–

I trip again, and the dull thud of flesh is too familiar. Muffled, airy groans lace the sound of our boots slapping through the water. I skip a step, throw my hand out to grab Zim's forearm, and dig my nails into the slick leather. He doesn't argue, doesn't shake me off, doesn't turn back to look at me - we just keep running.

The air is soaked with the taste of pennies and salt and death. My chest heaves, struggling to push and pull the humid weight. My headlight bounces with each footfall, illuminating some new vision of horror every other second. So many faces. So many pairs of eyes staring blankly, trailing after us, weak with rot. I can't tell which ones are alive; if they're watching or if they simply died with their mouths stretched wide and their gaze fixed on some invisible reaper. The constant flood of glassy stares short-circuits my brain. Consciousness recedes to a dark corner and stays there; a child cowering under the bed, waiting for the sun to come up, for the light to chase the monsters away. Primal gears turn, groaning in my bones, leaving me emptyemptyempty of anything and everything but the will to run.

The water gets deeper and the silt drags against our steps. Strain burns my legs. Up ahead, the tunnel curves to a sharp right turn. Zim takes the angle with cat-like agility and it's all I can do not to slide into the wall. The path dips; I narrowly avoid another shifting lump of flesh. And then, Zim curses.

Our bodies collide.

The ground sinks and snaps and drops –

And we fall straight down.