The first thing Avery felt was the dashboard as she smacked into it. Her seatbelt had somehow slipped off her arms, though it held her more firmly around her legs. If it wasn’t for that, she might’ve gone through the windshield. She could smell the fuel after that, hear the persistent siren in the car as it wailed.
She must’ve hit damn hard, because nothing felt right. Her extremities had gone numb, and her head throbbed in a way worse than any of her migraines.
After an indeterminate length of time, she felt something moving her. Air went rushing by, and she saw a dim shape over her. The shape was wrong, and the colors were strange, but at least the voice was familiar. “Stay still. You hit your, er… whatever that is. There’s so much blood.”
“J-Julian,” she croaked, reaching out and trying to touch him. She couldn’t—her arms weren’t working right.
The shape with Julian’s voice wrapped some bandages around her head, and she hurt some more. But he ignored her protests, and after a while she started to feel cold. She told him so, her voice shaking with pain.
“I know,” he said, breath fogging in the air above her. “I had to get away from the car. Plenty of… don’t know if it’s safe to move you… how I would.”
“You look weird.”
Was that a smile? She couldn’t tell. “You sound weird.”
“I am… weird.”
She drifted again. She saw gigantic stalks of hideous fungus, saw the entire world drowning. She heard the desert scream.
She jerked awake on somebody’s sofa. Blankets and pillows scattered around her, and she squeaked pitifully. Her breath fogged in front of her. It felt a little like there was something glued to her face, but when she shook it the thing didn’t go anywhere. She gave up once she realized that shaking was only making her head throb.
Something stirred from the ground in front of her, something that stood warily taller than she was, with feathery wings and a light blue coat. She probably would’ve run away, if only she could’ve. As it was, her whole body still ached, and her head felt like it might explode whenever she moved it too fast.
“Sorry… must’ve burned out while I slept…” the creature with Julian’s voice muttered, taking a few steps forwards to a stone fireplace. He started tending to the fire, stoking a few of the embers, then building to scraps of paper and wood all piled up beside it. He struggled a great deal during this process, dropping the logs more than once, and nearly burning one of his little hooves as the paper caught.
“You’re… Julian,” she managed to say, once he’d finally got a fire going. The more the room warmed up around them, the more she woke from her stupor. “And I’m…” She looked down. She looked like he did. Well, in lots of ways. Not all of them.
“Yep,” he agreed, sitting down on the ground in front of her. He sat on his haunches there, not at all like any human could’ve comfortably sat. But then, he didn’t look human—he looked like a Greek myth. “I guess I should’ve let you drive after all, bird. I actually crashed into the worst alien planet ever.”
Avery slumped back onto the couch. Her head still hurt, and she’d localized that pain to a stupid spike jutting out of her head. A horn, wrapped in bandage along the base. “Where are all the aliens?”
Julian shook his head. “Haven’t found any yet. Unless you count us. For all we know, we’re breathing something awful, and we’d be dead if we weren’t aliens too. There could be arsenic in the air.”
The pain practically guaranteed Avery’s head would stay clear. Even so, everything Julian was saying sounded like a dream. If she didn’t have the proof right in front of her eyes, she never would’ve believed him. “Where… is this?” She stretched her neck just a little, looking over the edge of the couch.
It looked like they were in a modest, comfortable home. She couldn’t place any of the artistic styles, but the general shape of much of it was familiar to her. There was a big flat thing that was obviously a TV, and a kitchen behind them with an oven and a refrigerator and a sink. There were even photographs on some of the walls. The pounding in her head didn’t let her focus on them, but she could tell there were aliens in every frame.
“Looks like home,” Julian answered. “Except that you’re shorter and I’ve got wings, and everything is covered in fungus.”
Avery didn’t really want to know what that meant. But at the same time, she couldn’t help her curiosity. Though it wasn’t likely she’d be staying awake much longer, at least not right then. “What do… what does that mean? Like, the house is moldy?”
“The outside is… it isn’t mold. It’s way grosser than that. Like the nastiest thing you ever saw. Just an ocean of… well, you can see once you feel better. You shouldn’t be any more exposed until you finish healing.”
Avery slept a long time. She ate a few meals from cans heated over the fireplace. Julian kept going out, and coming back with more food, or more wood, or water. Over the next week or so, Avery eventually reached the point where she could walk. Or at least, the point she could learn to walk.
Which was just in time, because that was when Julian started getting sick.
Avery saw it first around his legs—a spindly growth of white fibers that clung to his fur when he moved. Then he stopped eating.
“It’s fine,” he assured her, the first day of their second week. “It’s just… I’ll be fine.”
Avery wasn’t so sure about that. He already looked thinner, and made a pained wince whenever she touched the growth on his haunches. So she stopped trying to clean them off.
It was no mystery how he had gotten so bad. Avery could see it out the window.
Through the glass was every bit the alien landscape she had been expecting. A small town with a blanket of wispy white tendrils covering everything. Whenever there was something for it to lean on, the fungus grew tall, wrapping and constricting and pulsing with a life that made her sick to look at. The fruiting bodies grew dark, and every few hours they snowed a fresh curtain of spores.
“I don’t think they’re natural,” she muttered, looking to Julian. As usual, his eyes had started to glaze over. He seemed to do that more and more, particularly when he went outside.
“I… can feel it,” Julian said, after a long silence. He adjusted his wings on either side, as though trying to dislodge a tick from the skin underneath. “Downhill is… somewhere else. It’s there.” He pointed with a wing, feathers shaking.
Avery still couldn’t control her tail, much less imagine what it would be like with two more limbs. It was probably for the best her friend had been the one to grow the extra limbs instead of her.
“You sure there aren’t any more antibiotics left in the medkit?”
Julian nodded. As he did, Avery could see a thin strand of white creeping up his neck. Like a garrote, ready to strangle him.
She turned away from the window, back to the rest of the house. More and more it was feeling like a shelter on an alien planet—they had moved all their living upstairs, since none of the appliances worked and there was another fireplace. Here was where they kept supplies—cans and pallets of water Julian had dragged here, cords of wood for the fire. Books written in a language neither of them could read, useful for eventual study or future kindling.
Avery selected a thick raincoat from the closet, struggling into it with difficulty. She wetted a cloth next in the open sink, which was filled with water for washing. “Help me tie this around my mouth.”
“You shouldn’t go out there.” Julian stopped beside her, with the first real emotion on his face. “It’s bad enough this stuff is making one of us sick. I don’t want it to get you too. You have to… have to survive this.”
“We both have to survive this,” Avery argued, sliding the moist cloth along the counter towards him. “Tie me up. I’ll only be out there a few minutes, I promise. It’s my damn car. I’ll see if there’s anything in there you missed.”
Julian glared at her—but Avery just glared stubbornly back. She was several inches shorter than him now, and smaller in some other ways. But no less determined. After a few more seconds of glaring, he finally grunted and reached for the cloth.
Julian had more practice with his hooves, but it still took him almost ten minutes to tie it off. She held uncomfortably still the whole time, conscious of the strange smell of his body. It had smelled nice in her first few memories after waking up, but didn’t anymore. Now he only smelled like sickness.
She stepped out into the entryway a few moments later, waiting until Julian had shut the inner door securely. She used the time to stomp out a few of the creeping feelers that had wormed their way in from the outside, using a pair of stolen boots to protect her hooves.
The aliens had been so like humans in their habits. As she stepped outside, she found the similarity a little disturbing. She would’ve enjoyed walking down the street between these modest homes before they’d been covered with putrescent white fungus.
There were no animals nearby—no birds dared fly close enough, no insects buzzed. Well, none alive.
As she walked slowly down the empty street, Avery could feel eyes on her. A large vulture that had been completely covered with white fungus was perched on a streetlight, its whole head pivoting to follow her as she walked. Its eyes were sunken pink pits glittering with moisture, and it never opened its mouth. Faint white feelers waggled in the air all over its body, as though scenting for pheromones.
Julian had told her nothing out here was dangerous—apart from the fungus itself. He’d made several trips a day for the last two weeks, breaking into other houses, going to the river for water, and who knew what else. It had to be safe to make the trip back to their car.
She found it not much further along, where it had smacked straight into the side of a house. With the wall open, now the white curtain was crawling its way in. The front of the car had been almost swallowed by the fungus, or at least the hood and engine had. But the back of the car was intact, and the metal and glass apparently did a better job keeping it out.
Avery walked around it as briskly as she could, conscious of just how small she was. The alien world she’d been transported to was built to the size of this strange body. She had to rise onto her hindlegs to reach the handle and yank it open, and practically collapsed into the backseat. She reached out, tugging the door closed behind her. Only when it was finally shut did she feel even a little safe again.
Her breath fogged out in front of her, turning the windows cloudy. She didn’t start to shiver right away, though—the jacket was thick, and she had warm fur underneath. She could go back to feeling embarrassed about it once it wasn’t keeping her warm anymore.
Despite Julian’s fears, the car hadn’t exploded. There was no fire-damage at all in here, no sign of the crash except for the spiderweb of cracks across the windshield. Bits and pieces of glass had broken in, and she could see a few tiny patches of white from the openings they made. In time, her old car would be swallowed just like everything else.
It didn’t look as though Julian had even bothered to open the backseat. Her backpack was still here, along with a trash bag from In-N-Out. “Lazy butt,” she muttered, clambering over the divider towards the front seat. She stole the flashlight from the map compartment, along with her Bluetooth transmitter and a few music CDs. No idea what she’d do with them, but she knew she’d never get them back if she didn’t bring them now.
She’d been hoping the old pocket-medkit she’d made in the scouts would still be hiding in the divider, but she couldn’t find it. At first, it didn’t seem as though she would find anything of value here. Julian was probably right—they really could just leave the old car to rot. Maybe coming out here had been too dangerous.
She took one last look around, intending to toss everything in her backpack and drag it back, when she noticed something she hadn’t before. A pair of thick books was under the driver’s seat, books she didn’t recognize. Not just dropped down there either, but wedged so firmly against the brake that it was still stuck down against the floor. It took a fair amount of effort to break them free, several minutes of frustrated kicking.
The books practically shot loose, bouncing against the plastic sidewall before coming to a stop. Both books looked about the same size as the ones she’d seen in the alien houses, the size of a small human paperback. Only they had thick covers, well-worn and scuffed, and she’d never seen them in her life. One of them was facing back-up, and she could read the bold English text printed there with ease. She no longer needed her glasses.
“READ ME!
Refugee—I know you must be terrified right now. You’re lost, confused, and alone. You don’t know what you are, where you are, or how you got there. Your body is strange, and your friends are gone. You’re looking for answers. Please, find somewhere safe and read me. I have the answers you’re looking for.”
“No shit.” Avery clambered with her loot into the backseat, turning one of them over and letting it fall open in front of her. It felt like a library book, one with many bent pages and stains on the cover. An artifact that had seen many owners over the course of its life. Yet the pages felt strange under her hooves, obviously not made of paper as she knew it.
The book fell open to one of the early pages. There was a symbol printed there, like an open book with a human outline on one of its pages. Below that, was a simple section entitled “How to use this book.”
This book is not what it seems. Though it might look like paper and leather to you, it is actually a sophisticated device, made of the finest craftsmanship. I do not give it to you to keep, only to borrow until your life is over. If you die, or if you take poor care of it, I will reclaim it from you.
That was long past the point an earlier Avery would’ve given up reading. Such things she might expect to be printed in something in a novelty shop, not something for her to take seriously. But considering what had happened to her, considering where she had arrived, she had no grounds to disbelieve. So she read on.
My name is Archive. I am the memory of Humanity—all its achievements, all its failures. I have done everything I can to see that humanity is remembered. More important than that, I want to make sure that humanity survives.
You hold in your hooves a summary of all that we suffered. A record of the end of our world, and the beginning of the next. Following this, I have included a detailed guide to every species you might have become. You should be able to find biological information within to enable you to adapt to your new environment, and take advantage of your new abilities.
Following this, I have explained in the simplest terms the principles of technology that enabled our species to succeed. I could not include every invention, but I hope what I have provided to you might serve as the seed around which the tree of knowledge might regrow. The best that two worlds could learn has been distilled to fit within these pages.
I am sorry I could not protect each one of you. I am sorry I could not explain this personally. But the human spirit is enduring. I know you have the strength to survive.
Publisher’s Addendum: Innovations in spellcraft have replaced the static printing of this volume with a causally-linked arbitrary Otherspace index. Consider all statements about the limited nature of the information contained in the BOOK OF SAND edition of this volume revoked. This edition is voice-addressable by the individual to whom it was assigned. -Mercy
Something smacked into the roof of her car with the force of a bowling-ball. The steel deformed on impact with an awful groan, even as a few sharp points appeared over her head. It wasn’t just the metal of her car screaming.
“Shit shit shit, what do I do?” Avery lowered herself down, cowering away from the growing opening above her. It was the vulture—or what was left of it. Only the lower half of its body was still moving, claws digging into the metal. Its upper half slid down the side-door, trailing sickly green slime as it went down.
Beside her, the book ruffled through pages, as though it had been startled by a breeze. It settled somewhere in back, on a page that looked like it had been mostly overcome with diagrams.
Avery hardly had the mind to read as the lower half of the monstrosity kept trying to claw its way through.One of its claws was now grasping for her, even as the ragged steel tore up the flesh of its leg.
Avery was no coward. If she’d been human, she would’ve grabbed the first thing within reach and tried to beat the monster away from her. But she had no limbs for that—it took great concentration to apply even a modest amount of force with her hooves. What was she supposed to do?
Leaning over to one side, Avery could see the words printed on the open page, the one that the book had turned to when the monster let the breeze in.
“EMERGENCY FORCE AMPLIFIER.”
There was a pattern on the page, one with an unmistakable hoofprint on it. There were few words on the opposite page, only a single block of bright red text so big she could read it in a single glance.
1. Aim horn at danger.
2. Place hoof on page.
3. Recite the following while thinking angry thoughts:
Avery never would’ve dreamed of trying to obey what the book said—not in any other situation. But her whole world was gone, her body was gone, and much else that she had known. And she was being attacked by the lower half of a rotting fungus bird. The rules she knew obviously needed some revising. “Take some of my blood, ancients! Give this one wrath in exchange!”
The top of the car ripped open like a tin can filled with explosives. Glass shattered from around her, and charred bits of creature began to rain down in flaming chunks. Avery panted, feeling so tired all the sudden. Like she was about to fall asleep.
She couldn’t, though. Not out here. She remained still a few more seconds—long enough to be sure that she wouldn’t be attacked again. She wasn’t. A few minutes later, she felt strong enough to move. Avery tossed both books into her backpack beside her laptop, then spent another few minutes securing it on her back so it wouldn’t slip. All the while she was conscious of the profound attention focusing on her from all directions. There was no swarm of rotting creatures attacking her through the opening, but it did feel as though one might arrive at any moment.
What the hell did I do? There was no time to linger outside and figure it out. She had to get back to Julian with her haul.
By the time she made it out, the sun was starting to go down. Where the red light of sunset touched the fungal mat, it changed to a sickly green instead of red, like she was seeing through its flesh to pulsing veins of rot beneath.
There was already the flicker of firelight coming from her target, and a plume of smoke rising from the chimney.
She staggered through the door, then stopped in the entryway to leave her dirty clothes behind. They would wash the fungus and slime off those, but not today.
She hurried through the rest of the way with her backpack, and was unsurprised to see Julian in the kitchen, preparing another meal of too-salty beans. He hadn’t managed to properly open the cans so much as puncture them wide enough that they could shake the contents out into a pot. He stood holding one of the cans in his hooves, shaking it methodically out into the pot. He kept repeating the gesture—kept on repeating it without looking up for nearly a minute straight. He made no sign of hearing her as she crossed the room towards him. Didn’t stop what he was doing until she smacked her backpack down on the kitchen table.
“Hey, bird!” she called.
That was enough to startle him back to reality. Relief flashed across his face, then annoyance. “That’s your nickname.”
“Well, maybe it was. Except now you’ve got wings. You need it more than me.” She put the backpack back on as she spoke, getting ready to go upstairs.
Julian frowned as he looked over her shoulder at her backpack. “I don’t know how much we need that. Unless you want to watch Madoka one more time before your battery dies.”
She shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. Her ears perked up, her tail moved—and she couldn’t control any of it. “You won’t believe what I found, bird. You won’t believe what happened to me!”
She told him as quick as she could, trying very hard not to let her mind wander in her excitement. She lavished the story with details in her usual way, and most of them were right.
“You sure you didn’t fall asleep in the car?” he asked, before taking the pot by the handle in his mouth and turning to head up the stairs. The pot was shaped for this—made to be used by creatures who used their mouths. The stairs were short too, short enough for them to climb each one with ease. That did mean over twice as many before they finally got to the top.
“Positive! You wait until you’re over there, you’ll see what I did to the roof! And… I’ve got the books with me as proof. We can read one together after we eat that… slop.”
“Don’t,” Julian warned. “If I can eat it, you can. We’re going to survive, remember?”
Except I don’t see you eat anymore. But she didn’t say that as they reached the top floor. There were three bedrooms up here, along with another family gathering area they’d used as their kitchen/workspace. There was an old-fashioned wood stove up here, with an iron top waiting to receive the pot full of beans. There was already a kettle going for tea, though it wasn’t boiling yet.
“Alright, show me,” Julian said, settling down onto the ground in front of the stove. He opened the metal door almost on instinct, tossing in a few bits of wood.
So she did. She left everything else inside her backpack, much as she was tempted to rip out the cliff bar and taste the first familiar thing she’d eaten in two weeks. It would keep longer than that—it would still be there when they had some occasion to celebrate.
“You weren’t kidding… I mean I knew you weren’t lying, but… I thought maybe you were… wrong somehow.” Julian pulled one of the books in front of him, skimming it. His eyes seemed to get wider the more he read.
They spent the rest of the night reading after that.