Chapter 6 New Surroundings
SIX
NEW SURROUNDINGS
Sabrina
Groaning, I struggle to open my eyes, hating that I survived whatever it is I survived because now I’m feeling as hellish as I ever have before in my shitty life.
Pounding swells my temples, an intense pressure between and behind my eyes; I reach up to grab my head and curl into myself—but a pull on my wrists stops me.
Alarm manages to get my eyes open. I’ve wriggled my hands halfway to my face by the time I’m able to focus on anything, which is when I discover my wrists are bound taut near the ground, tied to a rock on the floor next to me.
Shifting my legs under me, I slowly sit upright, biting through the pain in my head to squint at my surroundings.
I don’t need to see more than a glimpse before the curses start expelling under my breath.
I’m not on The Wreck anymore, nor am I by the lichen on the tracks.
I’m somewhere else completely. Still underground or inside somewhere: stone, broken plaster, and rocks make up the walls and floor around me.
Dust motes fill the air, floating through several shafts of light from cracks in the concrete far above.
The space is cold and damp yet light and airy at the same time.
A pool nearby reflects an opalescent greenish hue over everything, giving it all the same overlaying watery color.
I look down at my wrists and cringe, feeling my raw skin scrape against the rope. A laugh leaves me when I realize it’s my rope.
Of course it’s my rope.
Despite the pain, I yank at the bonds, trying to fray and loosen them.
When I’m unable to immediately free myself, I give up on my wrists and opt to get free of the stone instead.
I twist around and push at the squarish rock, only to find I’m unable to budge it.
I kick it with all my might, pressing the flats of my boots against the side, and barely get it to tilt.
Someone put me here like this. Who?
I lift my eyes as a terrible thought occurs to me.
Who… Or what?
Or what!? My body freezes up as I take in my surroundings with a keener, quieter eye.
I don’t immediately see anything that says naga, or aliens. But neither do I see anything or anyone that could help me. I’m alone.
I release the breath caught in my throat.
“Fuuuck,” I say, coming to terms with the fact that I might be on my own here and stuck.
In the end, it doesn't matter who or what has captured me. Escape is what’s important.
I tug harder at the rope, working it against the rock as I grit my teeth against the burn on my skin.
Realizing the strange sensation in my boots is water, I glance at the suspicious pool, wondering why parts of me are wet.
Finally, I pause to take full stock of my body.
I’m thirsty and hungry, but don’t seem to be hurt beyond the head injury and the wrists. I’m still wearing the same clothes I was wearing before, nothing, not even my jewelry or bags, has been taken off me. Whoever has me isn’t after me for my money or belongings.
No, why would they be? Out here in the middle of nowhere?
But they knocked me out for a reason…
Did I stumble on a deserter’s hideout? I take another quick check around again, noting the few items left out, signs that someone definitely lives here.
They apparently didn’t think I’m threatening enough to hide their belongings. Because on the wall behind me, where several pillars rise from the floor to frame a dark entrance I can’t see into, there are spears and sharpened rods and blades.
Whoever has me either doesn’t care that I see them because they plan on letting me go, or they plan on ending me when they are done with me.
Sabrina, again?
This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up in a strange place after being knocked out.
Before getting a job on Weston’s crew, I’d been a part-time thief and had ended up in some tricky situations and untoward confrontations.
Good thing I’m a prickly sort of girl and tend to stab those who get too close to me.
I lie back with a sighing flourish, already exhausted by fighting with the frayed rope and rock.
My stomach yawns, signifying its emptiness.
Unfortunately, focusing on it makes me realize how badly I need to pee.
I’m searching for a good place to go in my immediate vicinity when I hear a rustling noise from the tunnel behind me and scramble back up on my knees.
Rocks shift and tumble as the long sliding sound draws nearer, scattering in the darkness between me and it. I straighten, poised on my heels, readying to kick out at whatever, or whoever, approaches, intent on hurting them before they hurt me. If nothing else, I’ll go down swinging.
Suddenly the noise stops, and fear hits me for the first time as I grasp how very out of my depth I am.
He knows I’m awake. He can see me. Why else would he have stopped right outside where I can’t see him?
He… It had to be a he… It sounded like a he…
Big…
It also sounded big.
Breathless, I spin away from the tunnel, kicking and pulling at the stone and the rope at the same time.
Shit, shit, shit! Adrenaline floods my mind.
Because I know my captor isn’t going to be a human when he finally decides to face me, he is going to be a naga, one like the alien on The Dreadnaut.
Nothing else could sound like that when it moves.
Just as I rip through the last shreds of the rope with panic-given strength and yank it out from under the rock keeping me tied down, the rocks shift in the tunnel again.
I jerk free and scrabble to the far wall at the edge of the water only to discover there’s no exit this way, only larger piles of crumbling stone making deceptive shadows. By the time I turn to flee in another direction, it’s too late. He’s in the room with me.
My jaw drops and I straighten, the rapid breath in my lungs stifling.
I take a half-step back, then freeze, realizing I’m either going to have to talk my way out of this and use my charm or I’m fucked.
There is no way I’m making it out of here alive if I try to fight or flee.
Because the largest creature I’ve ever seen now is in front of me, rising on a massive tail.
I drop my hands to my sides in surrender, palms outward. “Don’t hurt me!”
Staring at him, I open my mouth to say something else but end up closing it instead, unable to find words.
He’s… stunning. Not in a handsome way, but in a ripped physique type of way.
Blueish-gray from tailtip to the top of his bald head, the muscle-packed alien—naga—stares back at me, regarding me in turn.
I gulp my next breath, then release it, taking another, steadier one in, trying not to hyperventilate.
Because it doesn’t matter so much about his strange flat features, or the subtle change in colorization, or his wide bright blue eyes.
None of that matters in comparison to his gargantuan size.
And that, like the alien on the ship, this one’s bottom half is a single, long tail while his upper half is only mostly human.
Swallowing, I tilt my head and frown, feeling my stomach sink to the floor. He’s not nearly as human as the other naga I saw. Human and something else… Something I haven’t seen before.
But he’s not attacking me.
“Are you an alien-human hybrid?” I shout out to him, my voice louder than it needs to be.
He draws his tail deeper into the room and I eye it warily; it’s big enough for me to climb on.
To stand on.
To lie down and roll over without falling off on…
He tilts his head back at me, then peers around the room as if looking for something in a way that has me pausing. Whatever it is, he doesn't find it, and seemingly sighs. “I do not understand,” he rumbles.
I can barely understand him, second-guessing his words immediately. “What? Can you say that again?”
He stiffens. “I do not understand what it issss you ask.”
His voice is heavily accented, unusual, and not in a gruff sense.
I’ve dealt with different dialects and accents across the ships I’ve worked on, some nearly unintelligible at first. His is different from all of them, his s’s elongated, his vowels thick.
His tone is also deeper, and hushed like he doesn’t speak much.
Why would he? I’ve seen what the city looks like. There’s nothing alive here.
Except he’s here. He’s living…
For the first time I let myself notice the large pile of hides and tattered blankets partially between us. Oval in shape, it is clearly a place someone or something rests upon. A bed. Now I know why it’s so big.
His tail flexes into a coil, bringing my attention back to him and his bodybuilder torso.
His abs are ripped, his nipples a darker bluish-gray than his skin.
Scales curve along his tail in various sizes, smallest along his joints and transitions.
Though the dim green light makes it hard to tell, he’s actually lightly patterned—unlike the naga on the ship—with patches of dark gray spots along his arms and shoulders.
In parts along the spine of his tail a dark brown blends with the blue-gray shadows around his larger scales.
His eyes are a bright blue, unlike the duller, paler blue of his body, made even more uncanny by ears tipped like the fae characters in children’s books and his short, clawed nails.
Expression stern, the heaviness of his brows is emphasized by the darker dotted patterning around his body.
I hold my gaze on him, battling down the incredible intimidation I feel by sheer force of will.
I’ve always been a fighter. One had to be in the life I was born to.
Without family, without rations… I was bottom-dwelling scum fleeing the authorities before the age of six.
Even then, I knew I didn’t want to become a breeder or join the military—which is what they would’ve forced me to do if they’d caught me.
I wasn’t book smart and I’m still not, but I’ve always been street smart.
Street smart enough to not make assumptions.
Fisting my hands, I let the crinkle of my gloves calm me.
“You understand me,” I finally say, glancing between him and the three exits I can see, debating how far I’d make it if I tried running anyway. I put the idea into the back of my mind, hoping it won't be necessary. “We understand each other.”
Slowly he nods. “You are a human.”
“I…” My eyes narrow. “I am. Why? What are you?”
“Titanoboa.” He says it almost… sadly. “The lasssst and only one of my clan.”
I point upward. “They don’t call you Titanoboa where I come from. They call you naga.”
Following the direction of my finger his eyes flick up then back down. “The sssskycraftssss.”
“The spaceships? You’ve seen them, heard them lately I guess?”
Am I really doing this? Having a conversation with an alien?
“Yessss.”
“Well, I come from one of them and I’d like to leave and go back to it now if that’s okay.” I spread my feet a little wider, eyes darting to the exit closest to me and the stairs that lead upward, calculating the distance I’d have to cross.
His gaze follows mine, and I curse under my breath.
“I have seen and heard the… spaceshipssss,” he slurs, tilting his head again, eyeing me once over, briefly lingering on my hair, “female. I have seen your sssspacesssship.”
“Great.” I take a step forward. “I’d like to leave now—”
He holds up a hand and spreads out his clawed fingers. I pause where I stand, and huff out a breath.
“I cannot let you leave,” he says.
“I don’t plan on staying,” I respond, carefully bringing my hands up to rest on the butts of my knives, only to find them gone.
“You’ll have to make me,” I warn him, though feeling around my pants, I discover I have nothing on me to defend myself with, that I must have dropped the knives where I’d been attacked.
His gaze drops to my seeking hands. “So be it. I hope I do not kill you in the process. This is my only warning—”
I dodge to the side and grab a mid-sized rock, throwing it at his head. Without watching to see if it hits him, I sprint for the tunnel, pumping my legs as hard as I can.
His tail swings in front of me, making me jerk and fall back a step. I pull my foot back and kick him hard, hoping to slash him with the blades in my sole, but his tail presses forward, sweeping me off my feet.