Chapter 4: "Definitely a metaphor."

Harvel wiped the condensation from his glasses and yawned. He always slept on the cart ride back up to the station. He never managed to get too much sleep, at least not enough for the nightmares to start up. That usually happened at the three hour mark, but he was honestly just glad to catch any sleep when he could.

He rubbed the side of his head with his palm. The steady, gentle, rocking motion of the cart had been interrupted by a violent jarring, causing Harvel to slip down from Dibbuks shin and slam his head on the floor. It had made a reverberating "Poong!" sound upon impact.

'Selby did mention rusted joints somewhere. Guess he wasn't kidding about the rough ride.' He thought while he watched Mary curse at the controls. Varying iterations of "Bullshit!" and "God damn it!" were coming in a steady stream.

Mary gave up for a moment, throwing her hands up in frustration. She resumed fiddling with the panel for a second before kicking the controls. When that didn't seem to work she gave Don, who had been sleeping in the corner, the same treatment.

"Get up idiot. We got problems." She growled, her lips barely moving.

Feeling slightly more refreshed than he had a few hours prior, Harvel put on a smile and attempted to shake Dibbuk awake. She shook her head drowsily and mumbled something incoherent. Harvel sighed, 'fuck it, might as well let her sleep until we get to the station.' He thought, looking out of the cart window.

Wondering what line they were on, Harvel glanced out of the carts porthole. The lights that lit the tunnel shone blue as they crept past. If they were on the blue line now, they'd have to switch over to the red line before they hit the five mile mark. Any further than that and they would start going in a circle.

Don finally stirred almost a full minute after Mary had set her boot shaped alarm clock off into his side. "Ugh, we hit the switch station yet Mary?" He grumbled, still half asleep, or drunk. You could never tell with Don.

"Uh, no. I think we're still somewhere under Lamb street." Harvel interjected, pulling his pack off and setting it in front of him. He was starting to feel the little knot in his stomach that told him he was hungry. He rifled through its contents until he found the crumpled up fruit bar he'd thrown in a week ago.

It was made of buunchal, a watermelon shaped fruit indigenous to the planet. His mom had always told him they tasted like pears but seeing as he'd never tasted a pear this made no real difference to him. She didn't know what pears tasted like either. It was just what everyone said if you asked. He took a second to wonder if everyone just thought this was what pears tasted like. If anyone alive at this point had ever really eaten one.

The bar was in pieces after its rough journey at the bottom of his pack. 'There might be some sort of metaphor here.' He thought fiddling with the plastic. The fruit itself looked like it might've gone bad.

'Hmm, definitely a metaphor.' He thought, as he tossed the pieces into his mouth and waited for Mary to fully stop the cart. He knew he'd have to be the one to check the rails. The cart ground to a halt just as he was popping the last piece into his gullet. Mary shook her head and sighed.

"Harvel can you go check exactly what it is that's making that noise? If the joints were just rusty we would be fine but something must be real fucked up for it to be that goddamn loud." She said still smacking the edge of the panel a few times for good measure.

"Already ahead of you." Harvel replied, draping the strap of his shotgun over his shoulder and clicking on the flashlight. This sort of thing wasn't all that uncommon. Both the carts and the rails were older than his family could go back in generations. They were about as reliable as the word of a used boat salesman.

The boarding ramp of the cart opened to a pipe about the size of a triple decker bus. Harvel stopped the ramp at about half way and walked out to the edge, trying to not shake the cabin. He lifted his gun up to shine the flashlight on the rails. He could see rusted cracks running along the rail and off into the distance.

"Well, I can see the rust, but I'm gonna have to go up top to find out what's really wrong." He shouted back into the cabin, a grimace quickly forming on his face. He really didn't like getting on top of the carts. The footing was bad and there was nothing besides the rail to hang on to if you slipped. Seeing as the rails were consistently coated in a thick greasy grime, hanging on to one was merely a pretense to falling.

The environment suits they wore had a tethering unit built into them. He pulled the inch and a half thick tether out and hooked onto the middle rung of the ladder that led to the top of the cart. He climbed the rungs, nearly slipping on the second to last.

Cresting the top of the cart he instantly understood what had happened. A fatburg from a pipe above them had gotten too heavy and broken through the top of the tunnel. It was laying on the rail and blocking the front right wheel from moving. It was most likely what had caused the rust as well.

Harvel carefully made his way up and over to the affected wheel. It wasn't so bad, but it had wrapped around the wheel itself. He pulled a canister of fast acting solvent from his chest pocket and sprayed the wheel and chunk of fatburg liberally. After a few seconds he realized that it wasn't going to be enough to get the job done.

Using the butt of his shotgun he tried to just knock the chunk out of the way with minimal results. Between the solvent and his regular strikes he could see that he was making some headway, but it was a long way from efficient. After a minute or so he stopped to catch his breath and immediately regretted it.

He heard a sickeningly familiar clicking and chattering coming from behind the cart. He shut his eyes and slowly turned his head to see exactly what he had been fearing. At least six warrior davy ants were making their way toward the cart, and he knew there were more pouring in behind them. This was a very, very bad development for him.

"Mary! Start the cart! We've got warriors incoming!" He shouted down into the cabin. He felt the carts engines roar into life as confirmation that she'd heard him. Harvel turned back to the wheel, resuming his strikes with frantic abandon. Through the sweat pouring into his eyes he could see the wheel beginning to move.

He looked back for just a moment to check on the advancing ants. They were mere seconds away from the back of the cart. He didn't have time left for caution.

"Fucking gun it! Fucking gun it!" He screamed back down into the cabin.

The cart lurched like a beached whale and the wheel broke free. In his infinite wisdom, Harvel had forgotten to grab a better hand hold and the sudden motion of the cart made him lose his footing. He watched, in what felt like slow motion, as the cart seemed to pass right by him, before the tether snapped taught and pulled him along with it.

He felt his side slam into the boarding ramp, still half open. Pain quickly spread along his left side like fire. With tears forming in his eyes he could see Dibbuk standing at the base of the ramp, about to make a grab for him. For a moment, hope of a safe but daring escape filled him. Then he noticed the hook on his tether was bending. With a barely audible "Ping" the hook snapped, and then he was falling.

Harvel didn't even have time to scream before he hit the thick sludge that lay at the bottom of the pipe. Sliding into the muck like a flailing meteor, he could almost make out the lights of the cart disappearing into the distance. He knew they wouldn't be coming back. He was well and truly on his own this time. He immediately glanced behind him to see that most of the ants had seemingly given up chase.

They must have moved at least a thousand feet from where they were stuck, as he could no longer see where the fatburg had broken through. He breathed a short sigh of relief before hobbling up onto his feet. This relief was short lived as he watched the sludge begin to shift around him. He knew what was coming, he just had no idea what to do about it.

'I am utterly fucked.' was the only thought he could muster before it hit him. If the giant muck centipede hadn't grabbed him first try he might have been able to run away, but he would only be so lucky. He held his breath as the giant tube of legs and pincers dragged him through the muck for a solid three seconds.

It had grabbed him from the right side and was trying to cut him in half with it's two massive mandibles. He had been extremely lucky as his shotgun was trapped in between his chest and the bastards jaw. He felt the centipede loosen its grip for just a moment as it chewed on his gun, and took the opportunity to curl up and wedge his feet into it's maw. His shotgun was pinned to his chest and pointing away from the head of the 2 ton insect.

He used what little power he had in his legs to pry open the jaws, just enough to allow the shotgun to slip under his armpit. He could feel the pain as the barbs of the centipedes pincer dug further into his back. It was now or never. Before it could attempt to drown him again, he used his elbow to break one of the antennae on the top of the monsters head.

In the moment that the centipede reacted to the pain sandwich it had just inadvertently ordered, Harvel was able to slip his arm down and back, fumbling for the shotguns handle. He found the safety and clicked it out of place. With extreme force, he jammed the barrel into the bottom of the bastards head and pulled the trigger.

All movement stopped in the matter of a second. Having closed his eyes in anticipation of a slow and painful death, Harvel wrestled himself free of the now limp centipedes grip before he could even open them. He felt each barb rip free as he did. He stood there for a second to catch his breath and try to calm down but his rage got the better of him.

"Fuck you! Stupid! Fucking! Bug! Fuuuuuuck!" He screamed, punctuating each word with a forceful kick to the remains of the centipedes head.

He slumped down onto his knees and panted, using the centipedes body to lay on. He could feel blood pooling in the back of his suit. The barbs had done exactly what they were designed to do.

As much as he would've liked to just lay there and sleep, he remembered the ants. He couldn't stay here. Not if he didn't want to end up as ant shit. He knew they would come to investigate the commotion like any good neighborhood watch association.

The ants aside, he felt like he was being watched. It wouldn't be another centipede. They were lone predators, fiercely territorial, and as big as this one was it must have ruled this level for a few miles. He was surprised that the ants had even risked coming after them.

He knew he had about 12 extra shells on him save for the four already loaded into the shotgun, but that wouldn't do him too much good against the warriors. They each took three at the very least. His back was torn up pretty badly and at this rate if he didn't get it looked at quick infection would set in. He checked his legs to make sure they still worked and grabbed his shotgun.

As he wrapped the strap over his shoulder, he felt that something about the weapon was off. He held it up to his eye to sight in and realization dawned. The barrel was bent in at least a 15 degree angle. It must've bent when the centipede had tried to chew him in half the first time. It was a miracle that it hadn't exploded as soon as he'd fired it.

The feeling of being watched was still there. Like the hand of a large man wrapped around the back of his neck. He couldn't tell if he was shuddering due to adrenaline or fear but it didn't really matter at this point. He had to move either way.

Begrudgingly thankful that he'd been (if only slightly) lucky, he made his way down the pipe. Keeping an eye on the sludge he trudged through and his shotgun ready, he stopped to listen every few hundred feet. It didn't sound like the ants were after him. They most likely had found the centipede and were enjoying the spoils of his currently unfolding near death experience.

The switch station was only about a mile and a half away and he figured he would reach it within an hour. Dibbuk and the rest of the team would probably be there posted up, waiting for him to make his way to them. If he managed to make it that far this might be a hell of a story.

Even the scouts that had their names plastered all over the pump station had never taken down pedes by themselves. He might even get a few days off. He hoped.

He had to stop a few times to catch his breath and to keep himself from losing consciousness. However much blood he was hemorrhaging from his back, it must have been more than he'd thought. Every step felt like he was throwing his legs at the ground. He only really stayed upright by locking his knees as he put weight on them. Any bend and he'd either lose his strength or his balance, and he didn't need any more sewage in his pants.

It took Harvel another 45 minutes but he reached the switch station faster than he had predicted. As he had hoped, he could see the cart parked just outside the switch station. Multiple large spotlights were shining down the tunnel, occasionally blinding him. He held up his arm to block the light, now settled directly on him.

"Harvel! That you?!" He heard Dibbuk shout from behind the source of the light. Harvel was so tired he looked down to check.

"Yeah! Think so!" He bellowed back, wiping some of the grime away from his jacket. He had only just noticed how much muck was caked to his entire person.

He didn't get any further response, but he did hear what must have been Dibbuk jumping down into the pipe. He would have sped up but with the punctures in his suit the cold had really started to seep in. He could barely feel his chest and he knew the muck had gotten in and was now semi frozen within his suit.

He decided to save his energy and stood there. He only noticed that he was shaking when he looked down to see the large ripples emanating from his legs, still calf deep in waste. For the first time since he'd fallen off of the cart he had some time to actually process what had just happened.

He hadn't really felt fear while it was going down. At least, not as he understood it. He had just sort of reacted. He had been as close to death an hour ago as he had ever been. He hadn't thought about that. He'd only thought about what to do next.

'That's a good thing right? I mean it's not like I'm not afraid of dying. I just didn't consider it when it was about to happen.' He thought, allowing gravity to finally set in and slumping down onto the curve of the pipe that was still dry.

Dibbuk was getting close now, her rifle trained on the darkness behind him. He decided to leave all the deep thoughts for when he had time for them. For now, he decided he was tired. And hungry still for what it was worth. As he closed his eyes he felt Dibbuks claw close around his shoulders.

"C'mon, we gotta get you to a doctor. What happened with the ants?" She asked, gently pulling him backwards, one arm still aiming the rifle.

"No problem with ants. Caught by a centipede. Killed it. Walked back." He mumbled, his tongue lazily serving up the words. He was too tired for annunciation at the moment. His back was beginning to burn like hot coals in each wound.

He tried to open his eyes but all he could see were the trails his boots were leaving in the muck.