Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
After a while though, I grow bored. The lab is starting to feel claustrophobic and stuffy. The fact that I can see all the spores floating around, probably remnants of the earth stars that shoot theirs out into the air, makes me a little wary about breathing them in. I know breathing in spores can’t hurt you but…I don’t know. This place is called a lab, after all. I don’t want to take my chances.
“I need to get some fresh air,” I tell Nick. “I’ll just be outside.”
“You okay?” he asks. “Smell can be gnarly, can’t it?”
I just give him a close-lipped smile and head over to the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the fresh air. I have to blink at the light for a moment. The greyness feels like the sun after being in such a dark tomb.
I take in a few deep breaths, then my restlessness gets the best of me. I decide to walk to the barn. Though I’ve heard the goats at all hours and the roosters in the morning, I haven’t actually gone to the barn yet, just walked past it.
There’s a fenced paddock on one side of it where the goats are grazing, and the chicken run on the other. I lean against the fence and decide to watch the goats for a bit. They’re one of my favorite animals, and despite them being all creepy-eyed, I find them super cute and entertaining to watch.
But the moment I lean against the fence the goats all raise their heads to look at me. They bleat and cry and start running in the opposite direction, toward the far corner of the fence.
“What the fuck?” I mutter out loud. Since when do goats hate me? Most animals love me. Maybe they just don’t get enough interaction here.
They’re experimented on, I remind myself. Remember what Everly said about the testing? They might not be here for goat milk.
I shudder. I have always hated animal testing, even though I know it’s necessary in some regards for medical science. Still, it’s the worst aspect of getting into any neurobiology field. I know the testing on rats is what helps us develop the drugs that treat things like Alzheimer’s, or hell, even Adderall would have been tested on them at first. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I decide to head over to the chicken yard instead, feeling the sting of the goat’s rejection. The chickens at least run up to me, clucking about.
“I wish I had some food for you,” I tell them.
They cock their heads in unison, demanding treats.
Suddenly a god-awful noise fills the air, like nails down my spine. The chickens all cluck at once in alarm.
It sounded like a baby goat but also…not a baby goat.
The wind blows around my hair, this time carrying a chill with it, and I look toward the entrance of the barn from which the sound came. It’s dark. Darker than it seemed a couple minutes ago. I can barely see what’s inside—some bales of hay, a few stalls.
The bleating shriek sounds again.
I jump.
It’s louder now.
It sounds like something is in trouble, and as much as I’m already freaked out, that’s something I can’t ignore. Even though, as I step into the barn, I feel the darkness close around me. It’s physical, like the damp air, a blanket to weigh me down.
A noose.
Go get Nick, I think. Go and tell Nick.
But like all those times before, my body moves without me telling it to. I feel wildly out of control, I’m just one foot in front of the other, going toward the terrible, terrible sound.
My heart is in my throat, my lungs shallow as low tide.
“Are you okay?” I manage to call out as I carefully creep forward into the darkness. Eventually my eyes adjust to the grey light coming in through the windows at the side, but it only deepens the shadows.
And then I see it.
Against the far wall, by the floor, something is writhing.
It’s pink.
Shiny and pink and attached to the wall.
At first I think it’s like a piglet that’s stuck in some kind of web, or like the liquid stuff they use as insulation. Maybe it was stuck behind the wall and it’s trying to burst through. My brain is going for the most rational explanations first, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
But as I step close and it opens its mouth and lets out another ear-piercing scream, one that cuts to the bone, I realize how horribly wrong I was.
A baby pig stuck in the wall makes sense in this world.
What I’m looking at doesn’t make sense.
In any world.
It’s a baby goat. Devoid of all skin. Just the pink, red, and deep burgundy layers of muscle, creamy lines of fat. It doesn’t have any eyes; instead it has long snaking lines emerging from the sockets, blending into the wall, spreading up it like mold.