[ Only in the ensuing silence, punctuated faintly by the sound of Ian’s breathing, does Mace understand how he’d been relying on the godawful hissing as much as he’d hated it. Letting him know where that fucking thing was, allowing him to orient himself to where it was coming from so he could unconsciously meld his body in between the sound and Ian. Keep track.
Now he’s well and truly blind. She could be anywhere. Sure as fuck isn’t gone; there’s still that alien, hunted distress prickling along his skin, the sensation of being watched in the dark. He picks up the tequila with fingers that are suddenly cold, his other hand in Ian’s grip starting to feel strangely clammy, his eyes darting around them in the heartbeat it takes for him to draw back to where Ian is.
Their backs touch. Mace wedges the bottle between his legs, fumbling for the matches as dread pools down his spine, lighting up a match. Nothing around them, nothing at the mouth of the cave, where the fuck —
I found it, Ian says, and the relief that lances through Mace is as short-lived as it is powerful, his reply dying on his tongue as the click of Ian’s hand is followed by a
SNAP. SNAP. SNAP SNAP SNAP.
It’s not the slow, grating sound of stone against stone as the wall gives way easily, becoming an opening. It's the sound of bones breaking, shattering, dead fingers turning into claws.
And it's coming from the ceiling.
Mace’s blood turns to ice, realizing in a single, terrifying second that he’s been outmaneuvered, knowing before he fully finishes looking up that she’d been hanging inches away from Ian, in the dark. In the rounded corner between the wall and the ceiling, just above their heads, crouched over them like a fucking spider — ]
Motherfuck!
[ Blindly, he smashes the tequila bottle into her head, yanking Ian back with his other hand at the same time. Alcohol drenches dark, matted hair, and this time, there’s no more hissing; this time there’s an ear-splitting, empty wailing that fills the cave as she starts crawling down the wall in jerky, hideous movements. On the floor, moving toward them.
Right before his match goes out, he catches a glimpse of her face, and there's no masking the terror that enters his voice. ]
Jesus, go, go —
[ Practically shoving Ian through the opening in the wall, clambering in after him backwards, their feet landing on what feels like stone steps as the wall groans and slides shut, plunging them into darkness. ]
no subject
Now he’s well and truly blind. She could be anywhere. Sure as fuck isn’t gone; there’s still that alien, hunted distress prickling along his skin, the sensation of being watched in the dark. He picks up the tequila with fingers that are suddenly cold, his other hand in Ian’s grip starting to feel strangely clammy, his eyes darting around them in the heartbeat it takes for him to draw back to where Ian is.
Their backs touch. Mace wedges the bottle between his legs, fumbling for the matches as dread pools down his spine, lighting up a match. Nothing around them, nothing at the mouth of the cave, where the fuck —
I found it, Ian says, and the relief that lances through Mace is as short-lived as it is powerful, his reply dying on his tongue as the click of Ian’s hand is followed by a
SNAP.
SNAP.
SNAP SNAP SNAP.
It’s not the slow, grating sound of stone against stone as the wall gives way easily, becoming an opening. It's the sound of bones breaking, shattering, dead fingers turning into claws.
And it's coming from the ceiling.
Mace’s blood turns to ice, realizing in a single, terrifying second that he’s been outmaneuvered, knowing before he fully finishes looking up that she’d been hanging inches away from Ian, in the dark. In the rounded corner between the wall and the ceiling, just above their heads, crouched over them like a fucking spider — ]
Motherfuck!
[ Blindly, he smashes the tequila bottle into her head, yanking Ian back with his other hand at the same time. Alcohol drenches dark, matted hair, and this time, there’s no more hissing; this time there’s an ear-splitting, empty wailing that fills the cave as she starts crawling down the wall in jerky, hideous movements. On the floor, moving toward them.
Right before his match goes out, he catches a glimpse of her face, and there's no masking the terror that enters his voice. ]
Jesus, go, go —
[ Practically shoving Ian through the opening in the wall, clambering in after him backwards, their feet landing on what feels like stone steps as the wall groans and slides shut, plunging them into darkness. ]