Part 34: Cellar Duet

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Previously in the Vines Inquiry— Frank, Harlow and Blevin navigated the Big House’s cellars after they’d been separated in the dark. Chased by starving cougars, the trio worked to make their ways back to the foyer without getting eaten. Blevin, distracted by an Inquiry archive and all the research it contained, didn’t notice a cougar ready to pounce. Harlow ran blindly before hitting some sort of iron rod and tumbling into the open air. And Frank, finding himself behind a thin wall near the foyer, he heard the Call starting.

Drunk, exhausted, scared and a little endorphin-high from all the running; Blevin ignored the itch behind his ear as he opened a copy of “…By Any Other: A Review of Nouns as Names.” (Inquiry Archives Entry 611.7-14. Table, Rose.)

The divot-eyed cougar jumped down right as Blevin finished reading the abstract. It raked one claw down the right side of his back, missing his spinal column by the width of the manuscript’s spine. 

Blevin was laid out, face down and screaming. He kicked wildly, crawling on the floor as blood soaked through to the front side of his clothing. The cougar batted at his shoes playfully with saliva dripping from its rotten jaws. He turned himself over, the pain stabbing at him fresh as he dragged the wounds across the gritty stone floor of the archive. 

“Go away!” Blevin commanded. “Shoo!” 

The divot-eyed cat did no such thing and leapt again, landing hard on Blevin’s calf without stabbing into him. The librarian looked around the room for something helpful while trying not to break eye(?) contact with the starving beast. It made sense in his head. He dragged himself farther along the floor where another cat joined the party, blocking him in.

Blevin was panicking, which he knew would lead to worse decisions. Stupid decisions. 

“That fits. You’re stupid. You’re always stupid.” 

Not his own words. Ones that had planted in his brain and been left to grow, fed unconsciously. He wished he knew if he was smart. If he was good enough for the Inquiry. Clever enough to save himself from a future that left no mark at the end of the world.

He wanted it all. The community, the family; to unlock secret knowledge and be counted on to get things off high shelves. To be counted on for that and so much more. 

This room alone could be the key to his future. All the information it contained on the metal shelves, packed to their limit. He scrambled, grasping for whatever his fingers could graze. Something behind him grazed smooth knuckles. He stretched and could feel the wound open, spilling more cold blood on the floor without any pain.

That can’t be good, he thought. Reaching further, he grasped one paw around the only thing in reach. A pile of things. With pointy edges! He pulled it close, the muscles on his back splitting like dry logs in a fire.

“Danggit!”

Blevin shook his hand, trying to free the would-be weapons from where they’d gotten stuck to his bloody hand. Feathers, gray ones! Not from a harpy, or even an albatross! If anything they looked like they might be regular down…

Why would someone have a pillow down here?

While he asked the question, and entertained a few enticing answers, he kept searching while the cougars circled him. One had started to lick the accumulating blood from little puddles that had formed in the uneven floor. Finally, he spotted salvation; an unsavory choice though it may be. 

“It’s a first step,” he told himself, plastering on a smile. “And technically, Mr. Cougar. I was right.”

The big cat leaned its head sideways, listening. 

“All of this knowledge is going to save me.”

The cougar licked its lips. 

With all the might of a 2001 Little League World Series Runner-up Pitcher, Blevin hurled the collected thoughts of Rose Table at the cat. The book bonked it right in the snout, sending the beast sprawling onto its back.

Blevin yanked at the shelving unit on his right and pulled it down on top of both cougars. He limped to his feet, the pain in his back frozen under a layer of panic and adrenaline, and started up the conveyor again. 

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Harlow was made of moonlight.  

Lost in space. The buoyant darkness swallowed her whole, but not greedily. The night wrapped itself around Harlow, protecting no secrets from her wild, searching eyes. She could see it all. Through the panes of glass. The cracked one letting in the snow. The other, below, hidden beneath damp soil and rotting leaves.

Light as a feather, she hit the board.

The smell smacked her half a breath before the water. It broke her fall like an egg against the rim of a glass bowl. Harlow crashed through the putrid surface on her side, ribs flinching at the impact. Later, if she got a later, she’d have to thank that instinct; the small curling that saved her eardrum from getting smashed in. She held her breath—more than just when you dive under. A larger, internal pause. A wincing to see if this was the end.

She was still here.