Chapter 55
COLD GREEN ichor oozed around my hand. It seemed full of infinite, tiny mouths sucking at my skin. The layer of ooze between my hand and the metal edge of the driver’s side window made the metal and plastic unspeakably greasy and filthy.
The slime turned my stomach.
But worse, the touch filled my head with impossible, unfamiliar voices, all at once.
You don’t need ice cream.
I love you.
Critical hit, roll for damage.
Screaming. Laughing. Crying. Dozing.
Blue sky laced with amber fire.
Where are my clothes?
Help me.
A gut-stab of hunger, somehow driving up my arm and into my own gut.
Cold, so cold.
Where is everyone?
Oh my God, it’s beautiful!
The voices triggered a convulsive spasm, knotting me around my gut—
—but ripping my hand away from the ooze.
The voices i
