by Forty-one
What looked like a nest of giant fang-mouthed worms started coming through the broken windows. “What is that?” Shouted Dr. Ransom at the paladins of Broceliande.
“Never seen this before!” Answered Sir Ogier, who nonetheless had his sword out and swung powerful strokes at the things, as were the others. The worms were slimy and flexible, and the blades slid off the surface without biting. They had more success chopping at the fangs, but the mouths seemed to extrude new ones.
The first thing Jeanette had done was to touch the embroidery on her blouse to send a signal back to the Queen in the city of Broceliande, but that was a day away. And while King Oberon had to have vanished to get help of some kind, staying alive until that help came looked, at the moment, pretty hard.
Meanwhile, Dr. Ransom, Grandmère Hutan, and Senhor Capoeira Capybara had all pulled out energy weapons from beyond the sixth wall and were firing away. Jeanette joined them. As each weapon proved not powerful enough, they dropped them, letting them vanish, as they pulled out what was hopefully a more effective one. They finally found weapons that stung the things, and, concentrating all their fire at one point, burst open a worm, spraying black fluid all over the ruined house.
But there were a lot of them.
“In case you want to know,” Thyrsis said over Jeanette’s jewelry, “The thing is a big asymmetric monster with elephant legs. The worms are coming out from where its head should be. Get at the body and you stand a better chance.”
“Got it. Now go, get help. Avalon, other birds--something. Don’t think you can help here.”
“Understood.”
By now the knights were getting more effective at wounding the monster: they were covered in slime and proud of it. But the worms would withdraw under attack and then come in another window. Even without the crows’ information, it was clear this was one beast attacking. And despite the bleeding, the assault did not seem to be slowing down one bit.
There was less and less room to maneuver. The energy weapons were setting numerous fires, and detritus was falling from the ceiling in chunks. They were being herded into a smaller and smaller space, and the damage they were doing to the worms didn’t seem to be making a difference.
Now there began to be heavy thuds against the walls from outside, as if the monster’s main bulk was shoving against the house. The house began to groan and slide. Nobody seemed scared: a collapsed house would not daunt Lord Silvertyger and the paladins, and the creature’s main body would be open to direct attack.
But then the staircase to the second floor (which was burning) collapsed forward, right onto them. They rolled away from the blazing impact, but Jeanette rolled the wrong way, separating her from the others.
She was half on her feet, staring upward as the mouth of a worm descended on her and swallowed her.
Lord Silvertyger Elphinstone bared his fangs in full roar as he leaped onto a segment and sliced the thick tube in two.
Sir Huon thrust his sword lengthwise down the pulsating cylinder and split it. Terence Ransom ran over and pulled his daughter from the stinking slime.
She was not breathing.
He did it inexpertly, but could not feel a pulse.
He bent down, put his finger in her mouth and moved it around, pulled out some slime.
He made two breaths: one, two. Then leaned over her and put both hands on her fragile-little girl sternum. He started to pump.
100 strokes a minute, he remembered. He pressed down hard and he pressed down evenly, building up a rhythm.
In all your plans for your little girl, you never envisioned this, did you? You tried to avoid making assumptions, planting images in her mind and heart that didn’t arise on their own. But you never thought of this one, did you?
He paused, made two more breaths, then resumed pumping. He knew that the others had formed a close circle around him, but he focused purely and only on his tasked.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
You never thought that you’d have your beautiful little daughter dead underneath your hands, with you trying in vain to revive her, now, did you. You never thought that that’s what all your careful supportive dreams would come to, did you?
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
You’re trying to make me give up . You’re trying to make me sink back and cry out my grief, aren’t you? Because that way it could all resolve itself into one simple and egotistical wail of my own personal pain, right? And it would be all about me, wouldn’t it?
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
Well, how about this? How about I don’t give up, and keep on working on my little girl’s heart until it starts again or I die myself by fire or slime or being eaten?
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
I’ll take that one. No question.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.