Page 52 of Rok's Captive
Not cold, but a stark contrast to the blistering heat above. The sand I’m partially buried in is cool to the touch, untouched by the sun’s relentless glare.
Finally, I crack my eyes open, blinking through the lingering grit.
I’m in darkness, but not complete darkness. Above me, maybe fifteen feet up, I can see a jagged hole where sunlight filters through—the surface I just fell through. The light is faint but enough to see that I’m in some kind of…tunnel?
“Rok?” I call, my voice hoarse from sand and fear. My throat burns, but I can’t stop myself. “ROK!”
No answer, but then I hear the muffled sounds of growls and snarls from above. The shadow creatures. The battle. Rok, fighting them all.
For me.
I clamp my mouth shut, heart hammering. What am I doing? Calling his name isn’t going to help him. If anything, it might distract him.
I bite back another shout, forcing myself to focus. The growls and sounds of combat seem to fade, or maybe it’s just my imagination. Either way, I can’t sit here waiting for him to save me.
I need to get out. I need to help him. I need to help myself.
I start clawing at the sand around me, trying to free my lower body. It’s slow going—every handful I move seems to be replaced by two more sliding down from above. But gradually, I’m making progress.
That’s when I notice that the tunnel doesn’t just go up. It extends to the right and left as well, disappearing into darkness in both directions.
Something made this tunnel. Something dug through the sand, creating this network of…whatever this is. And whatever that something is, I really, really don’t want to meet it.
I redouble my efforts, digging frantically now, fear giving my exhausted limbs new strength. Above me, the sounds of battle have gone quiet. Too quiet.
“Rok!” I call again, desperation making my voice crack.
The silence that answers me is deafening.
He’s dead. He has to be dead. Nothing could take on five of those shadow monsters and survive.
To my horror, tears start streaming down my face, feeling thick as they meld with the sand and grime.
“No, no, no,” I whisper, still digging. “He can’t be dead. He can’t be.”
Why do I even care? I barely know him. He kidnapped me.Twice. He’s an alien who doesn’t understand a word I say. I shouldn’t care if he’s dead. I shouldn’t be crying over him.
But I do. And I am.
“Stupid, glowy asshole,” I mutter through my tears, still digging. “Getting yourself killed for me. Who asked you to do that? Who asked you to be a hero?”
I’m about a third of the way free when I notice something concerning—the more I dig, the more the sand from the sides of the tunnel starts to shift and slide. The walls aren’t stable. One wrong move, and the whole thing could collapse, burying me alive.
“Perfect.” I wipe angrily at the tears. “Just fucking perfect.”
This fucking planet. This fucking desert. Those fucking shadow monsters. And those goddamn Xyma who dropped us here like pawns in some cosmic chess game. If I ever get off this sand-blasted hellhole and find out this was all just some interstellar reality show, I’m going to personally hunt down every single one of them and sue them from their weird, smooth heads to their—wait, do they even have tails?
Doesn’t matter. I’ll sue them anyway. No amount of money is worth this. Not even ten grand a day, if they’d offered.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Panic won’t help. Neither will anger. I need to think.
Looking up at the hole again, I realize directly digging isn’t going to work. The sand is too unstable, and I’m more likely to cause a cave-in than to free myself.
Instead, I start carefully packing sand beneath me, creating a little shelf, trying to build myself a platform to stand on. If I can get high enough, maybe I can reach the edge of the hole and pull myself up.
It’s slow, painstaking work. Every movement has to be calculated, gentle, to avoid disturbing the precarious walls of sand around me. And all the while, my strength is waning. I’m tired. So tired. And thirsty—my throat feels like it’s lined with sandpaper. And hungry. And filthy. And completely, utterly wrecked.
Part of me wants to just give up. To lie back in the sand and close my eyes and let whatever happens, happen.
