The Lost Level by Brian Keene Read Free Book Online Page B

helpless, and my overall despair deepened. I longed for someone to
talk to, even if the conversation was only about trivial things—sports scores
or politics or the latest celebrity gossip. I’d abhorred such topics in the
past, but they would have been a comfort to me at that moment, because they
would have been familiar, and therefore, reminders of home. I’d never felt so
far away from everyone and everything I held dear as I did at that moment, and
although there have been times since then when I’ve felt just as lonely, it was
never deeper than it was that morning.
    Coming across a massive, moss–covered log, I probed it
experimentally with the tip of my blade. The wood was soft and the sword sank
into it easily. Kneeling, I dug into the log with my fingers. Moist wood
disintegrated under my touch. I uncovered white grubs, black and red ants, and
other insects. I had no way of knowing whether any of them were poisonous or
not, but at that point, fueled by hunger and desperation, I didn’t really care.
I decided to try the grubs, rather than the ants, as there was less chance of a
reaction, based on what I knew of their biology back home. I snatched a plump,
wiggling grub from the wood pulp and popped it into my mouth. After a moment’s
pause, I chewed. The worm exploded inside my mouth, popping like an overripe
cherry tomato. Grimacing at the taste—something akin to sawdust and sushi mixed
with motor oil—I waited to see if there were any side effects. Other than the
foul taste, there didn’t seem to be, so I ate the rest of the grubs, albeit
slowly. I waited a few moments, but other than the urge to vomit from the
nauseating taste, there didn’t seem to be any side–effects. Satisfied that I
wouldn’t get ill, I then continued on my way.
    The jungle came alive around me. The trees and bushes echoed with
the chorus of a multitude of insects and birds. Some sounded identical to ones
that I’d heard all of my life. Others were entirely alien to me. Their cries
reminded me again of how alone I was in this place. I considered shooting a few
birds, but I was reluctant to waste my limited supply of ammunition, and most
of them were small enough that by the time I field–dressed them, there wouldn’t
be more than a mouthful—if the .45 left even that much behind. Feeling
helpless, I plodded on, pushing through the undergrowth, and I swear it sounded
like the birds were laughing at me.
    At one point, a noise like thunder rumbled overhead. It seemed to
go on for a long time, yet when I looked up at the sky, it was still clear and
cloudless. I considered the possibility that it was an earthquake or an
explosion, but saw no signs of either. The ground wasn’t shaking and the trees
weren’t swaying, nor did I see any disturbances around me. Perhaps more
telling, the sound didn’t seem to disturb the wildlife. After a few minutes,
the roaring faded.
    A little while later, I discovered a patch of what looked like
watermelons growing wild across the jungle floor. They were of the same size as
the ones back home and had the same green and white rind, but I remained
suspicious. I wrapped my knuckles on one and found it solid. More so, it
sounded ripe. Cautious, I cut the melon open with my sword. It was pink and red
on the inside, and the black, teardrop–shaped seeds were certainly familiar.
Most convincing was the smell. My mouth watered at the prospect, and so, I
tried one. My first tentative taste confirmed that they were indeed
watermelons. How they’d come to be here on this level I had no idea, nor did I
very much care at that point. I grunted and sighed happily as I gorged myself
on an entire melon, gnawing it down to the white of the rind, enjoying a taste
of home. My stomach cramped a few times, but I kept it all down. I sliced open
a second melon and devoured it at a more leisurely pace. When I was finished,
my fingers and face were sticky with watermelon juice, my stomach was full, and
my thirst had been