Beach Day

51: Tiff Munches The Bones

The cave is dark and wet; it's warm in a way she hasn't felt in years. The downward slope takes them down to a point; the beam of Tiff's flashlight warns her that, up ahead, the path will get a little more narrow and the squeeze will be a little tighter.

When the path levels and the steadily panning beam of Tiff's flashlight (and Matt and Drew's behind her) reveals the walls themselves, she can see toolmarks and burns along the stone. This place was carved out of the ground, partially— an opening widened by pick and claws and explosions, a place of desperately needing to descend deeper, to get to whatever's at the bottom.

Something's coming. She isn't sure what. She can hear it echoing off the walls, can feel it in the pit of her sloshing stomach. Something's following. Something is watching. Something is going to find them. Something is skittering along the walls and the stone above them, swinging on bone fingers from moss patch to mold patch. Tiff swings her flashlight upward, convinced that, at the front of the group and seasoned as she is, she's just being paranoid.

She isn't.

There's a spider up there— or a facsimile of one. It's made entirely of bone and rot. Its eyes are glistening rocks covered with algae; its mandibles drip some sort of green-black swirl swirl of necromantic rotting venom. She swings the beam back, then points up to it with one finger. "Anyone got a shoe?"

"What the fuck is that?" Drew's voice rises to a quiet fever pitch.

Right. He doesn't like spiders. She's heard him shrieking in the shower. He would probably like this one less if he knew it were made of bone in a way he couldn't rationalize.

"It's a normal spider," she lies. "Nothing more. I wish I had a gun."

"For the spider?"

Matt unclips the holster and hands it slowly to Tiff. He definitely got the memo she didn't send. "Here. It should be loaded."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I brought extra."

She accepts it gently. It isn't the kind of pistol she's used to. It's a revolver with odd, pearlescent grip. Breakaway. Neat. She doesn't know much about gun terminology, just how they work— but she thinks this is neat as hell. A sword isn't great for killing a spider. Honestly, neither is a gun. She checks the safety, unloads it, and sticks it in her bag's side pocket. This was a stupid idea, but she's kind of a stupid person.

Slowly, excruciatingly, she reaches down to untie her boot. She remembers the zipper on the side. She tends not to use it— it's broken— but it's going to be easier to kill it if she can get that bonus surprise round. She's no rogue, but she knows the importance of a good sneak attack. She gently, slowly takes the shoe from her foot—

And she strikes.

She smashes the sole against the spider above her head and it squishes beneath, delicate and jagged bones breaking under sturdy rubber and body falling down past and around it. Cave water seeping into her star-spangled sock, she raise her other foot and stomps it. There's no way in hell she's letting that thing come back to life. Not here, not now, not with Drew in the area.

More skittering. She can hear it behind the three of them, coming closer. She whirls around, spots movement, and puts two and two together. "Oh, shit. Guys, there's a whole wave of them."

At the back of the group, Matt swings his flashlight around and shines it down the hole they've climbed down. Sure enough, there it is. Hundreds of little bone spiders, dripping venom from their mouths, approaching quicker than they should be able to. Delicate and amazing and definitely here to kill them, the bone spiders approach.