The next day, after an early lunch, they began the trip back to the crash point. Since Onia walked at over forty miles per hour, Peric estimated it would take about two hours. Nevertheless, he dressed warmly, wearing his jacket under his heavy coat. The window of time when he could endure nakedness had become slim, perhaps an hour of peak daylight, so timing was critical.

As customary, he perched on her shoulder with strands of her hair wrapped around his arms for balance. The slight bump of her clavicle made a decent footrest and her neck a reasonable space heater, especially given the insulating properties of her thick mane. He’d seen owners ride in the cleavage of their Fyth, but it wasn’t common. Furthermore, it wasn’t possible without some form of support, something more substantial than the remnants of a nightgown.

Aside from sitting on top of her head, a more dangerous and colder location, he couldn’t beat the view. Clusters of trees — Aezock, Oubleaf, and even larger varieties he hadn’t yet identified — spread out in the valley below. One species, an odd palm-like tree with branches only at the top, dwarfed even Onia, rising on thick trunks two or three times her height. He’d heard of Fyths depleting the resources of a planet and then starving to death. She’d never have to worry about that here, not in a thousand years.

Animals scurried about, darting away from her footsteps. They were small game, mostly hoppaws and bellyrollers. The former resembled a cross between a rabbit and a squirrel: they ran on four legs, occasionally vaulting into the air, propelled upward by a hidden fifth appendage extending from their torso. The latter also had four legs, but ran sideways, picking up speed until their furry bodies puffed out sending them rolling in the same direction. Neither tasted particularly good, unlike the bearish Tarlo, which looked sickly but actually tasted quite delicious when cooked.

After bypassing the deepest part of the valley, they ascended what he referred to as crash mountain. He never claimed to be the most original when it came to naming things. They’d crash landed there, hence the name.

As the softer plains transformed into packed tundra, the grasses gave way to shrubs and the vibrations from Onia’s footsteps intensified. He could see the ship now, only a quarter mile in the distance. It didn’t look like any spaceship he’d ever read about as a kid — more like a metallic flower, only eight feet tall from its cylindrical base to its petal-like top. In fact, it didn’t even venture into space. The name of its design, a terrestrial jumpship, described its purpose: to jump from one planet to another, skipping over everything in between.

Jumping to an unexplored planet such as this one had been like playing a game of Russian roulette. Aside from the coordinates of the planet itself, the ship’s computer lacked sufficient data to ensure a safe voyage: terrain details, elevations, topography, etc. As a result, he materialized a hundred feet in the air. Had Onia failed to catch him, he would’ve certainly died from the impact. She herself had been partially buried along with the cargo, but she’d luckily been able to free herself.

The ship itself had sustained damage from the impact, damage which they were working to repair, but it still spun like a top, a slow rotation powered by its nuclear core. The elemental harvester had indicated iron as the missing component, so once he reclaimed the harvester from Onia’s stomach, they’d be all set.

“Here.” He tugged on her hair as they came alongside the ship. It rose higher than her ankle, but not by much. He boarded her hand and waited to be lowered. After disembarking, he stepped under the ship’s flanged canopy and it stopped rotating.

The summary screen flashed to life.

Passengers: 2

Cargo: 0

Power: 99%

Status: Signal relay damaged.

No change from last time. Part of him hoped the ship, given enough time, would magically repair itself. Clearly that wasn’t going to happen.

He turned his attention to the four buried containers, less than ten feet from the ship. Metal cross bars secured the round tops, the only portion of the barrels still visible. He swiped the dust covering one to reveal a yellow black sticker: Caution Radioactive.

“Dig these out, but be careful,” he said.

She dropped to her knees and slammed her fingers into the ground like a back hoe. Shrubs and soil flew away, forming piles on either side of her legs. When given simple commands with clear objectives, she worked quickly, this being no exception.

Then, she hit the permafrost. Her nails scraped against the rocklike material. She clawed rapidly, but made little headway. Half of each container remained stuck as if melded with the solid ground.

“Stop.”

She paused, her right hand hovering in midair. Though never particularly long, her fingernails had whittled away to mere protrusions, caked in dirt and green blood. He wiped off grime and winced at the raw stump underneath. If he hadn’t stopped her, she’d reduce her fingertips to bones and likely wouldn’t stop even then.

“See if you can loosen one of the containers and pull it out.”

Like the crane machine at an arcade, she gripped a container and pulled upward. To her, a single container was the size of a soda can. It’s weight provided no obstacle whatsoever. However it remained fused to the mountain, not even wobbling as she attempted to shift it from side to side.

“Hold on. There’s gotta be an easier way to do this.”

“Jump,” she said.

“What?” She usually didn’t have suggestions. And by usually, he meant never.

“Jump.” She raised both hands palm up, twice.

“Yes. Jumpship is broken.”

“No. Jump.” She stood and stomped lightly with one foot, causing the ground to shake.

“Oh. Shit. Ok.” It wasn’t a bad idea. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it. “Let’s move the ship first.”

Onia carried both the ship and Peric to a location half a mile away. After setting them down, the ship resumed its neverending rotation, and she returned to the digsite. Once there, she positioned herself, raised her right foot and slammed the heel into the ground.

The shockwave could be felt from where he stood, like a small earthquake.

She repeated the action a few times and bent to check on the containers. Each time she raised back up, empty handed and stomped again. Finally, she motioned with her hands, signaling something. Then, she jumped straight up. She landed, heels first. He’d never seen her jump before, and now he knew why.

BOOM!

The ground cracked in several places under his feet.

Soil sloughed off and avalanched down the mountainside, carrying him with it. His head surfaced for a moment to see her running his direction, before plunging back into the rocky dirt. He tumbled like a ragdoll in a cement mixer, blue sky replaced by brown earth over and over again. Cold dirt filled his mouth and nostrils, making suffocation a real possibility, assuming the descent didn't kill him first.

And then it stopped. Onia plucked him from the deadly spin cycle and brought him to her chest, cradling him. He coughed up a mouthful of clay and pebbles, leaning against her right breast for support.

“Onia do bad. Onia do bad.” She intoned like a broken record.

“No.” He coughed the word. “Onia do good.” He settled back against her fingers, shaking filth from his hair and beard. “Onia do good.”

“Peric hurt,” she sounded about ready to cry.

“Peric is fine. Just a little shaken up.” He patted her muddy palm. “Now let’s head back and see what we’ve got.”

She licked the sides of his face several times, clearing the majority of the dirt from this skin, then walked back toward the containers. The ship itself hadn’t moved. It simply hovered where she’d left it, though a bit lower down than before.

The ground surrounding the container looked like someone had detonated TNT underneath the surface. The barrel crates were still buried, but the permafrost spider webbed like a windshield struck by a brick. After she set him down, he kicked a few triangular blocks of earth away, amazed by the destructive power of the feet that had loosened them. She sat knees up and wiped her eyes which had green stains at the corners.

“Alright. Have you ever had Rouean before?”

She shook her head. Her upper teeth chewed on her bottom lip which had turned downward.

“Well, you’ll probably like it.” He tapped on the nearest barrel. “Go ahead. Give it a try.”

Her face scrunched, eyebrows drawing together. “Onia not hungry.”

She’d spent all morning eating at his request, tree after tree, until her eyes glowed purple. Had it been dark, he could’ve used her eyes as dim flashlights. She must’ve eaten three or four times her body weight over the course of the morning, a lot even for a Fyth.

“I know you’re not. But we have to make you evolve. It’s the only way you’ll be able to swallow me. The only way we’ll ever get off this planet. Understand?”

She chewed on her lip, eyes flicking between him and the container. “Onia not understand.”

He sighed and touched her thigh, noticing how it warmed considerably. “Just drink. And don’t stop until you grow. Got it?”

She hesitated. “Ok Peric.”

She lifted the first container from its rocky surroundings like a cold beer from an ice chest. When she brought the end near her mouth, it opened with a hiss of steam. She smelled it for several seconds, then licked her lips and poured the metallic green substance into her mouth.

The effects were significant and immediate. Her hands healed and the purple glow in her eyes intensified. Her skin changed from tan to pale green and deepened in color with each gulp. Upon finishing, she inhaled sharply and slapped her hand against her stomach, then released a half sigh, half moan.

“Feel good.” Her free hand went straight for her breast and squeezed. Unsatisfied, she tore the shift from her body like wet tissue and resumed her needy caress. Her usual pine odor changed into something sweeter, onion-like.

Peric stepped back. He’d never seen a Fyth grow. He’d only seen evolved Fyths in documentaries. They weren’t permitted on most planets, including Earth, and could lead to serious fines for the owner. They were simply too big to be useful for anything but the largest jobs, and their maintenance costs were astronomical. Their metabolism alone required eight times the nutrition of a normal Fyth.

She reached for another container, then gulped it down, not even pausing to breathe. She fell back on her elbows. Her stomach bulged, then flexed. An eight pack erupted. Veins across her body glowed neon green under her skin. They pulsed faintly, starting from her stomach and radiating outward to the capillaries in her fingers and toes.

“I think that’s enough,” he said, continuing his backward retreat.

She rolled over onto one elbow, eyes half lidded and shining like twin lighthouses. They weren’t aimed at him but at the remaining containers. She grabbed another and lifted it shakily to her mouth. As she drank it, her stomach expanded again. She tossed the barrel and got onto all fours, her back arched, her head pointed upward like a wolf preparing to howl.

Her abdomen contracted and veiny muscles emerged with striated definition, threatening to burst from her skin. The ground sizzled as heavy drops of brilliant liquid dripped from her vagina and nipples, boring holes into the rock. Her arms and legs widened along with the rest of her body, stretching to accommodate the increased musculature. As the seconds ticked, she continued to enlarge, knees and hands sinking into the earth.

Her head snapped to the side like a reptile, eyes casting a purple light on the remaining barrell.

“Onia. That’s enough. Stop!”

She bit her lip and swallowed. Her voice came out lower, more guttural. “Can’t stop. Need more.”

“Onia!”

She removed the final container and rose to her feet, slowly. Her leg muscles formed, twisting and overlapping each other like nested snakes as she applied her considerable weight to them. She tipped the container back and downed it in a single gulp, then crushed the reinforced metal in her expanding hand.

With her face pointed straight up, she moaned. Then screamed. So loud Peric had to cover his ears. So bright, he had to squint. The scream faded as did the brightness. She stood there, green as an Aezock leaf, rippling with oversized muscle.

She giggled and something happened to her butt. Or rather, above her butt. A tail extended, its furry tip pointing downward. As it descended, she ascended. Her musculature diminished but her size multiplied, as did the goofy smile spreading across her face.

Her ascension continued, toes dipping into the holes left by the containers, heels pressing further outward against the hard ground. When it finally stopped, she looked normal again. Skin tan instead of green, toned instead of muscled. But her tail remained, traveling all the way to the ground and then some.

And of course her size. She had to be twice as tall and proportionately larger in all areas. Had her shift remained intact, he doubted it would fit her leg now, much less her entire body.

“Onia feel good.” Her voice carried with it a certain weight, as if she were some minor deity speaking from a place of power, like Olympus. Her tail swished and coiled on the ground, conjuring a cyclone of dust in its wake.

Peric released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Onia. Can you hear me?”

“Onia hear Peric.” She curled her tail around her waist and sat in her favorite cross legged pose. He covered his eyes to avoid the clouds of dust produced by her movement.

“Are you OK?”

“Onia feel good.” She tilted her head to the side and scratched her cheek. “Bigger.”

“Yeh.” He mumbled. “A lot bigger.” The word big didn’t quite describe her. At this angle, he couldn’t even see her face properly, half hidden as it was behind her expansive chest. He touched the back of her foot, marveling at how the tiny hairs had become more visible, the pores themselves nearly large enough to insert a finger.

Her hand landed behind him with a soft whump. He boarded by first stepping on her pinkie, a finger as tall as himself and many times stronger. Instead of a recliner chair, her open hand had become like two queen size mattresses, laid end to end. He balanced on the cushy surface as she elevated him to face level.

“Onia eat Peric now.” The way she said it, he couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement. Regardless, he’d definitely fit down her throat now. She’d be able to swallow him as easily as he might swallow a baby carrot or a couple large pills.

The sun had only just begun its descent, so if he acted quickly, the day’s warmth would be at its peak. “Yes. Onia swallow Peric. Then pull me out.”

She nodded slowly. “Onia not chew Peric.”

He stripped down to his birthday suit and tied the lengthened rope around her forefinger. She had to curl it for him to reach the last digit. He attached the other end to his ankle, like last time, then hopped a few times to shake off the chill. Her eyes, each five times the size of his entire head, followed his movements with curiosity.

Conveniently, his digital watch doubled as a flashlight, a lantern of sorts. The time on its display, 3:02 AM, made no sense. He’d never found a way to calibrate it against the planet’s rotation, especially considering the rate at which daylight had been diminishing recently. But its illumination capabilities came in handy.

He pressed a button on its side, coating his wrist in a mustard yellow glow, then crawled into the five foot opening of her mouth. It had transformed from a cubby hole into a small cave, her tongue easily capable of supporting his entire body laid flat and then some. He inhaled. An earthy, coppery smell mixed with her normal scent, probably the remnants of Rouean. Though radioactive, her saliva somehow neutralized the substance, making it safe for herself and other living organisms.

His right hand gripped the corner of her rear molar and his knees dipped into the pliable texture of her tongue. He held his wristwatch over the chasm of her throat and looked down. Wavy ridges encircled the esophagus, in and out, like a covered playground slide with ringed bumps. Mucus lined muscle rippled with each breath she took. He couldn’t see where it ended; his light didn’t illuminate that far down. But she had a stomach, and he intended to pay it a visit.

Steeling himself for the ride, he pushed off with his knees and dove into her throat. Her esophagus constricted around him, and for a moment, he felt it would reject him like list time. Then, it loosened and he slid down several feet before stopping again. Gusts of air swept past his feet as her windpipe opened and closed.

Liquid streamed down all sides of him and he dropped. While in freefall, his mind raced. What was he doing? This wasn’t a good idea. Surely there had to be an easier way. What if I break my neck?

His hands and elbows splashed into something spongy and slimy. He rode the sloped, erratic surface downward. Fyth acid splattered against his face and body, stinging his eyes like a chlorinated pool. When he finally came to a stop, he spat a mouthful of liquid that tasted like pennies and blinked.

He stood on the slippery surface and shined his light around. The shallow pool of bile reached his knees, pumpkin orange and releasing wisps of steam. The temperature of the liquid was lukewarm, a couple of degrees warmer than the moist atmosphere itself. In spite of the humidity, he found it surprisingly easy to breath, as if the concentration of oxygen were higher. It made sense considering the nature of Fyth respiration. They inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide, or something like that. It made things like starting fires easier.

And harboring humans inside their body.

The thought repulsed him, but here he was, standing literally inside the stomach of Onia. He checked his rope, ensuring it was still intact and leading upward. Satisfied, he began his exploration.

In spite of her size, her stomach wasn’t exactly a spacious area. The ‘ceiling’ sloped upward from about six feet to fifteen, depending on where he stood. He could walk a few feet in either direction before the room curved, like a lopsided U. A maze of glistening folds lined everything. Any of them could be hiding something, like his harvester.

Systematically, he started at the entrance, climbing as high as he could toward the esophagus. He ran his hand between the folds, burying his arm past his elbow. As he worked his way down, his light flickered and he thought back to when he’d last charged it. It had been a week ago, maybe, before the discovery of the railroad spike. Regardless, it would certainly last long enough for him to finish the job.

By the time he reached the bottom of her stomach, half an hour had passed. He hadn’t anticipated there being so many corrugations in the lining. He also hadn’t stumbled upon anything other than a few rocks, some larger than his fist.

The grooves at the base of her stomach proved difficult because of the bile layer, and because she appeared to be ticklish there. As he ran his hand through them, barely keeping his head above bile, her stomach jolted as if being poked from outside. The disturbance forced him to re-trace his search a couple times, resulting in more random jolts.

It was at this point his light flickered out. Whether it was due to the seepage of bile or the low battery, he didn’t know. But when he pressed the button, nothing happened. No light. No display. Just pitch blackness.

Blind, he continued the search, feeling his way along the upward slope leading to the small intestine. When he reached the end, he had to hunch over, the canal narrowing to a point where he couldn’t stand. He pressed against a section of smooth tissue surrounding a valve. It responded by opening enough for him to slide his hand inside, and then his entire arm.

On the other side, he felt something hard, distinctly different than the stomach lining. It appeared to be stuck in a groove of some sort. He pulled hard, leaning back into the tug while his legs pressed against the opposite side of the sphincter. It came free, whatever it was, and he pulled it through the opening.

It wasn’t the harvester. But it wasn’t a rock either. Though hard like a rock, it had three large holes surrounded by a dome shape on one end and jagged edges on the other. One of the jagged pieces fell into his hand. It was the same size and shape as a tooth.

Fuck. It was a tooth.

He held a human skull in his hands. He was certain of it.

Why the hell would Onia have a skull in her stomach? Fyth didn’t eat humans. And while her bile didn’t taste particularly good, it couldn’t digest him. Could it? He’d never heard of such a thing.

Then again, he’d also never heard much about Tomas, except for his mysterious disappearance. Why would a man abandon his farm, a farm that by all accounts had been quite profitable? Why would his family sell Onia to him at such a steep discount?

He blew the whistle.

And waited.

***

He’d lost track of how many hours had passed since he’d first blown the whistle. Since the rope around his ankle had snapped. Since he’d been swallowed alive by his own property.

He couldn’t blow it anymore. He simply lacked the energy. His adrenaline had been running too high for too long, and all he wanted now was sleep.

Maybe he’d dream.

Maybe he’d die.

He deserved to die, consumed by the acid that he bathed in. It would likely be a painful death, but a fitting end to his life. He’d join Tomas. Another skeleton hidden in the nooks and crannies of Onia’s digestive system. A passive expression of the vengeance she deserved.

***

It had been more than hours, more than days. He’d learned to back himself into the smaller canal to avoid the sporadic downpour of masticated foliage. The bile rose when this happened, but not enough to drown him. She never filled her stomach and the plant material dissolved quickly, usually within a minute or two. Had her stomach been normal sized, prior to her evolution, he could see the area becoming fatally claustrophobic.

His throat was beyond parched, his mouth unable to produce enough saliva for him to swallow. He’d heard of suicide by starvation, but never by thirst. Now he understood why. His body wouldn’t allow it.

He licked the lining of her stomach, but the mucus-like substance proved impossible to swallow, especially without the ability to generate spit. What other options were there? None, except for… Desperate, he dipped a hand into the viscous bile and drank. It tasted like metallic lemon juice, but in an odd way, it soothed his dry throat.

After taking several sips from his palm, he lowered his lips into the solution and sucked, gulping down as much as he could. He didn’t care if it burned holes in his stomach, it seemed to be quenching his thirst and that was all that mattered.

After filling himself, drowsiness overcame him and he slept.

***

A plopping sound awoke him. It differed from the rain of foliage because no sizzling sound followed.

He crawled forward and stuck his hands into the material, identifying it as kale. Why had she eaten kale? He’d never seen her do such a thing. He doubted she’d even be able to digest it.

He shoveled it into his mouth like a starving man, which he was. It tasted like buttered lobster, his favorite food. The mind had a funny way of making even tasteless things delicious when faced with starvation.

He ate until he could eat no more.

***

One might wonder about the logistics of surviving in the stomach of a Fyth. He measured time by the length of his beard. It had grown considerably, the tip reaching to his chest.

Occasionally, at first, fruits would fall from above. He could eat them if he managed to catch some before they touched the bile. However, lately, the fruits were either frozen solid or nonexistent.

Once every third day, his supply of kale arrived. By then, the old kale had all but disintegrated. Maybe she digested it. Maybe not. Regardless, he’d be dead if it weren’t for the constant supply.

Unquestionably, she digested his own bowel and bladder movements. Bile sizzled whenever he peed or pooped. It had disgusted him at first, but when he considered the alternatives, he figured it was for the best. Just as he survived on kale, Fyth had been designed to survive on human refuse, the most potent of which was Rouean, essentially nuclear waste. Due to scale, a Fyth needed other sources of sustenance than a single human, hence the vegetarian flexibility of their metabolism.

***

What did one do when stuck in neverending darkness? Two possible answers: one went insane or exercised.

Each ‘day’ started when he awoke. He’d jog an elliptical path in the swampy area until his legs ached. Then he’d scale the wall leading to the esophagus using only his arms. Up and down until his arms ached.

Then he’d do situps and pushups, hundreds of each until his entire body refused to repeat the movements. At that point, the bile sizzled as sweat dripped from his hair and face. The atmosphere cooled considerably, as if it sensed his exertion, then warmed back to normal after he’d had time to cool down.

By repeating this workout every day, he grew stronger. More importantly, he exhausted himself to the point where eating and sleeping dominated his thoughts. Any free time before he slept would be spent imagining fantastical scenarios in his head, like what he’d do if he got his first true spaceship. The planets he’d visit. The discoveries he’d make.

He knew, even with his regimine, his sanity wouldn’t last forever. But maybe, one day, he’d be free again. It was the key ingredient for sanity.

Hope.

***

No wissel, but Onia pull string anyway.

No Peric.

He must want to stay in tummy like Tomas.

Funny humans, asking for tummy.

***

Peric warm, spread through her body.

She keep Peric warm too.

She let him out when day warm up.

Play with new tail.

***

Day not warm up.

It ok. Onia feed Peric.

Poop not taste like tree but Peric eat it.

She flatten some and eat some.

She notice something shiny and save it.

***

Colder now. Every day colder.

Peric sleeping in tummy. So warm.

Tomas got cold, but Peric warm.

Ice melt from tummy when Peric sleep.

***

Onia miss Peric.

Hoppy animals run from Onia.

White everywhere.

Tail not fun anymore.

Onia miss Peric.

***

Snow melting.

Lake cracking under feet.

Breath not frozen.

Peric come soon.