Naked Holocaust     Part VII

When it comes to feelings, I’m not the best. I have to admit that. I simply do not play it well. My head is just too full of hypothesis, preconceptions, scenarios and other ideas I have about what the other thinks. 90% of the time, I’m wrong.  I’ve been trying to put words on Yana’s behavior with me and I know I’m probably miles off course. Flirting in the middle of a world wide catastrophe is a difficult art. I don’t think I’ve mastered it.
It’s been two and half months since we found her in that mall, and she proved to be a very valuable asset to our group. She has some serious skills in scouting, outdoor survival, and her common sense is just what we need to kill in the egg the hair-brained ideas we come up with at times to organize our daily life. Whenever she speaks, we pay attention. I think my obvious listening to her actually has given weight to her opinions, since I’m willy-nilly leading the rat-pack.
Each time she speaks I listen, but there’s more to it. This feeling in the gut that makes me distracted and focused at the same time. I’m falling in love and there’s nothing to it. I have a multitude of ideas, as to whether she could develop an interest in me. But I’m just too dumb to sort them out.

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We left the last city in poor shape. Beck and Pete are now memories that will fade quickly under the assault of the new dramas that certainly await us on our road. We crossed the river at night. The bridges had all been destroyed, either by the careless foot of a giantess or by the explosion of some truck or boat. Finding the boats had been a long quest. We got a few canoes though, that we found in the basement of a derelict outdoors shop. We even got the proper barrels to carry our stuff in. Yana and I had built a simple catamaran, linking two canoes with wooden boards and wire. This would allow us to carry our big stuff. Another team of four had done the same. The others had simple canoes, or even kayaks. In the darkness of the falling night, we looked like a gang of smugglers about to cross the border, as we spoke in hushed tone and moved our rigs stealthily to the river. (I always kept an ear out for the slightest tremor, or unusual vibration) . But the night was good enough to us, and no looming shape crossed the horizon. We started our voyage around midnight, in a hushed concert of frightened exclamations and mocking giggles. It really looked like we were going to pull this off.  The beautiful monster that ate Becky had appeared to us once in the evening, but far way and strolling happily towards the horizon.  We had waited a bit more, just to make sure.

It had been decided after all that crossing the river was not the best idea. As the flow was roughly going North, it was agreed that we’d be trying to let the boats follow the current for a while before attempting to reach shore. We all started to paddle quietly. It was the first transport we’d used for quite some time, since that train we hopped on three months ago. Myself, well, I wasn’t that thrilled. I did not like the idea of the long fluvial journey. I’d preferred to get it over with, cross the bloody river and carry on foot. But since I had no reason to give to the group other than my gut-feeling, it was decided to give it try. Hell, even Yana seemed to be in favor of the cruise. That made me cave in pretty quick. I should trust my gut feelings...

The weather was getting stormy, making the night pitch black. We decided to take advantage of the lightning. In the frequent flashes, and the light drizzle that started pretty early, I kept glancing at Yana, on the other canoe of our makeshift raft. She had found a lifejacket and looked like the monitor of an unruly bunch of teenagers, as she kept hushing people down and gave instructions to the less river-savvy among us. If it hadn’t been for the horror of the day, I ‘d swear we were like a holiday camp on its first outing on the river, excited and nervous all at once.
Once in a while she was glancing at me, and smiling too. Behind me, paddling away, Jack was asking me to “watch the road”, as he put it. I wasn’t too focused.

Our cruising was going fine, we kept it nice and center in the flow, a little armada of tiny crafts. The main problem was visibility. In a world where the slightest light was an invitation to diner, darkness was the common lot of mankind. The river was ink black, its banks a slightly different shade of black. And for bridges, well, we’d know about it when we hit one.
As the storm came rolling upon us, enormous drops started to pelt our heads and our glass fiber boats. The noise was impressive, it could have rained lead balls, it would have been the same. Darkness and thunder and lightning, the perfect setting for a doomed journey. The initial optimism seemed far away already, and we strained to see the river ahead. The giantess we met less than two hours after our merry launch was darker than the night itself.

Her body was huge. I spotted her first as a terrific thunderbolt exploded over us, and lightning struck not far away from our little team. Her black shape was suddenly reflecting the blue glare of the lightning, millions upon million of droplets on her sleek black skin highlighting her contours. I could just about make out her enormous mass resting on the bank. Her shape was only visible thanks to the sharp change in bank height. The lightning of the storm gave her the momentous allure of a fallen ebony statue. I took the near useless binoculars, and in the brief flashes of light, I managed to see the curves of her breasts far ahead like two dark towers over a massive wall. She was lying on her back along the bank a half a mile from us. Her feet were closer to us, her head a good 500 feet further down the river. I whispered to a frozen Yana to hold her paddle and hushed everyone around us. Our tiny boats were gliding towards the monster among the rising surges of the engorged river.(the storms had started earlier in the day in the far country, and the rivers were getting pretty loaded) As we came closer we tried to maneuver away from the haunted bank towards the opposite one, but the awkward skiff we built was taking ages to turn, and I did not want to risk breaking it with heavy paddling. I’m sure it would have been easy with an engine, but we were playing the cards dealt to us. The colossal feet were coming closer. Whenever the skies lit up, every  five seconds, I could see the many rivulets flowing from her massive toes down to her heel.

In the stroboscopic light, it was hard to fathom whether any motion shook the enormous body. Still, no sudden propping on elbows and gleeful shout came to us. I suppose for her the storm was a breeze and the heavy rain, a refreshing mist, nothing to wake up about. Yana’s face was a mask of anxiety, and the others looked just as unnerved by the silent threat. Their boats surrounded us now, everyone seeking the presence of their comrades. Their faces were hard , hesitating between expressions of fear and dark resolve. The opposite bank was too steep to consider it for the moment, it looked like the only way would be past the monstrous woman. The paddles kept bumping against the now compact group of canoes. Hands were reaching out and locking the crafts against one another. I’m sure I was not the only one instinctively pressing my right foot to the plastic floor of the boat, in search of the brakes. We observed the slow approach of the giant prone figure. “She asleep?” whispered Yana. ( I wished I could have reached out to her, but our makeshift catamaran kept our canoes apart). “Dunno” I retorted honestly. For all we knew, she was eyeing our boats coming closer, licking her chops.

Still she wasn’t moving. I could well recognize the dreadlocked black beauty we had spotted in the region a day or two before. In the intermittent flashes , her shape became more obvious. One of her long legs was propped up slightly, an improbable bridge parallel to the river, whose dark skin vaguely reflected the feeble light. Beyond, the curvy wall of her flank was coming to view. She was like a low hill to us, our little boats hardly the size of her fingers.  Yana was studying the opposite bank to see if we could possibly land there before coming too close to the predator. As I pushed against the paddle, I could feel the sweat running down my spine and my brow. The rain was heavy, the waterfall noise covering our whispers.  We kept coming closer. I indicated everyone to go for the outside bank.

We came to the level of her feet. I realized then just how close she was to the river. One of her foot was actually in the current, creating a visible eddy of white foaming water around the ankle. I looked hard ahead. If she was that close…. The long leg of the woman was passing by slowly, we could make out the formidable thigh ahead, magnified by the sudden flashes of lightning. All of us were petrified by now, and Yana was panting, trying to angle our course away from the amazing and lethal enemy. Individuals canoes were faring well, moving away, but the two catamarans were awfully hard to steer. The damn leg seemed to take ages to pass by, the bent knee was a dark mass somewhere high above us. Streams of rain poured from the dark wet skin.  Further away, the mounds of the breasts were becoming clearly discernable in the electrical bluish glare of the storm, dark pyramids rhythmically moved by her sleeping breath..

I heard it at last. The rain had slightly subsided, allowing more sounds to become prominent. The hard liquid noise of a dam. Directly ahead of us , in the darkness, the long arm of the woman was lying perpendicular to the current, the foam and waves on the suddenly interrupted river shining in the moonlight. We were heading straight for it. I goaded further my three companions, but already we were level with the huge hips squashing the river bank, a tuft of shiny hair visible on top of tall dark hill. Ahead the river was fighting its way through a dam of floating dreadlocks longer than the woman arms, and much longer than our boat. It was as if we were meeting a lazy kraken in a choppy sea. The flow was indeed getting choppier. The boat came to a near stop with a thud. Yana was nearly projected out of her low seat. We’d just hit one of the huge logs of hair that covered the current. The craft started to rotate wildly, pushing away the sudden obstacle. I could well see now more strands obstructing the way, gently being piled up by our advance. They were all drifting towards the outstretched arm. I looked at Yana, and plunged my paddle in the dark water. The current had brought our skiff to a near 90 degree angle with the river. We could hear the dull sound of the dreadlocks bumping into the flank of the catamaran, like vast crocodiles coming for a taste of us.

Slowly, very slowly, we began to angle our boats towards the bank, little duck toys struggling in the vast triangular trap between the high wall of the giantess body and her outstretched arm, lost in a floating landscape of hair. The Bermuda Triangle did come to my mind for some silly reason.

She was well asleep. The slow snoring sound of a dozing dragon could be heard coming from the dark shape. These babies have a sound sleep, it seemed. Behind me Jack was pushing angrily against the dreadlocks (nearly as big as pipe-lines) , and every rattling of his wooden instrument against the edge of the boat was a torture. We’d come to accept the large eardrums of the giantesses probably did not catch sharp sounds too well, but that was hardly a consolation.

The arm was coming closer, and the first heavy dreadlocks were already coming in contact with it, piling against the dark skin. Our boat was now moving towards the other bank, but we were still going forward.
 “We’re going to make it . Just keep going” said Yana. I glanced at her and saw my own fear reflected in her darkened eyes.
The arm was near us now, a long wall across the river . The hand itself was under the water. We were coming straight on top of it. I could only guess we’d be passing just above the palm. There was no helping it, the current was just too strong. Hopefully it was deep enough. I could see the first canoes freeing themselves from the long dreadlocks and moving into free water. They had passed without problem over he submerged hand. I don’t think any of us had been breathing for the passed three minutes. On our right, gliding past us, the vast length of the giantess ‘arm was like a pontoon for us to land onto. “We’re going to make it” I thought to myself, wiping away the sweat from my eyebrows. That’s when I saw the other catamaran in perdition in the middle of all the hair, drifting happily towards the out-stretched arm, in spite of the frantic paddling of its occupants….

A terrible grating noise came from under our boat. We were touching something. The boat reeled as it hit the invisible obstacle. The grating noise rattled along our flat keel. Fingernails. We were touching the woman’s fingernails under the water. Our cargo, on the central beams we had built between the two canoes had lowered us in the water far moer than our companions. The contact on the fingertips was light but nearly brought us to a halt. The grating eventually stopped as we passed over the fingers. My heart was in my throat. This was insane, suicidal. We should have landed earlier. The lightning flashes showed the pale and tense face of my companions. Far away, the first canoes were already negotiating the next turn of the river. None of them had remained around to wait for us and I can’t blame them.

Next to us now the face of the giantess was turned towards the sky. We could see its profile even in the darkness following the flashes. Her eyes were closed all right. She had a beautiful face with high cheeks, and full lips. Her dark skin shone in the rain, and a rivulet of rainwater had formed from the corner of her lips down to her long throat. In the water, more hair was floating, like algae in the Sargasso Sea. We pushed it aside with our paddle, afraid we’d catch one and pull on it. If the weather was no concern to the giant woman, an untimely pulling of hair could very well disturb her dreams (do these creatures dream? I wonder).

I turned round to check on the last boats. A few kayaks and canoes were just behind us, their occupants slowly paddling, their eyes riveted on the woman’s face. I realized the second catamaran was not visible. Jack was watching too, a frozen statue in the rain, his paddle in mid air, his neck craned towards the rear. He looked at me, and shook his head. Wherever they were, by now they’d be real close to the arm that had crossed our way. Behind the slanted slope of the massive fore-arm, a tiny yelp suddenly pierced the air. They were in contact. A tremor shook the gigantic body, and it seemed the whole bank was rising in the air, like a dark wave. The woman had felt the touch of the little boat, and was readjusting her position. The high breasts rose in the darkness, her chest and belly rolling towards us, as she positioned herself on her side. I stared anxiously at her face as it turned in our direction, the eyes still closed. The arm was rising out of the water too, an instant waterfall pouring from it, onto the skiffs.
The hand itself had emerged, toppling a canoe, and flying low over the water, and came in our direction, like a hovering truck. “Duck” We flattened ourselves in the canoes, as the black mass passed over us. It landed with a splash in the river twenty feet from us, forming a sudden wall just in our path. The motion of the head had removed a lot of the hair from the water and the current took again its grip on our vessels. “Left, go left!!” I shouted to Yana and my friends. A vast open palm was waiting for us, again,  vertically poised against the current.

We paddled frantically, but our weird configuration made the ship so unwieldy. Before we could do anything the tip of my canoe hit the fleshy obstacle. I could feel the heat of it already on my face.  Then the rest of skiff went bumping into the massive thumb. Lightning struck a pole just ahead of us on the opposite bank. The eyes of the woman had just opened.

It’s hard to remember exactly what happened. It was dark, rainy, noisy. And it’s all lost in the adrenaline rush that overtook us. The hand suddenly disappeared, leaving our skiff picking up the current again. “Go, go!!!” shouted Yana. We grabbed our paddles and dip them frenetically in the water. Next to us a humongous black shape was rising out of the bank, as the giantess raised herself on her elbow. We could hear the bank crumble under the weight, loud splashes coming from whatever was falling in the river. As she started sitting on the bank, the massive legs  came into view again. The feet were dragging in the water, and I saw a large wave front rushing to us.
“Brace yourselves!!”

The wave hit us just as were turning in the current, suddenly lifting us up a good six feet. I heard cracks and the structure of our little catamaran broke apart, leaving us two individual canoes dragging the long planks along our sides. We started to rotate madly.
“Grab the barrels!! “ I shouted, already throwing mine overboard. “Jump out!!” Behind me I heard Jack splashing in the river, making the canoe suddenly dip my end. Cold water entered, blocking my breathing for a second. Yana and Frank were already in the water. Another wave was coming.
In the dark landscape, I could still see the four last remaining canoes, bright colored spots, tossed around in the current, full of screams. “Jump! Jump!! You idiots!!”

Above us a monumental shape had risen, blotting out the sky, a vast black form illuminated by sheet lightning. Her hips were an easy 200 feet above, and as she started to crouch, the long dreadlock came swinging over our heads like a second night. Eyes nearly my size were shining, reflecting the madness of the sky . And the white crescent of her teeth provided us with another moon. Bobbing and struggling in the current, I had a glimpse of tree-trunks-like fingers picking up the first raft. It rose in the air, water dripping in the rain. The usual insane giggle of joy boomed above us, punctuated by the storm thunder. The giantess brought the skiff to her lips and a horrible slurping noise ensued. She was slurping the man in the kayak (his legs probably stuck in the mess inside) just as one would slurp on an oyster in its shell. The empty kayak fell down from the sky, as she swallowed her tiny midnight snack.

The second kayak was a bright yellow, a perfect beacon. Inside a screaming Cassie had lost her paddle. Cassie had been with us for the past three months. The Filipino girl had been the center of our social life, so to speak, with her unfatigable energy and good mood. She’d be the one to choose the yellow kayak: she just would not be joining us in the doom and gloom of our predicament. I saw her attempting to extract herself from the boat, even as she was lifted between two massive fingers. The giantess hauled her overhead and started to shake the tiny boat over her wide opened mouth. In the lightning flash, I just had a glimpse of Cassie’s body falling on a vast elongated tongue. A shrill scream, and then a chomping noise, as she was chewed to pieces by the woman. A sound of satisfaction and glee escaped from the huge throat.

My head kept going under water. i kept swallowing it. With the heavy rain, I hardly knew when was under or when I was floating. Each time I was back to the surface, it took me a few moments to get my bearings. At least the current was telling me where not to go. I got rid of the light rucksack I had, trying to let myself be caught as much as possible by the current. A hundred feet from me, the second catamaran was still holding its shape, and our four companions were trying to avoid the ankle of the giantess. The ankle rose, revealing the long foot of the black woman. A huge toe landed delicately on the tip of the skiff, making its rear rise above water. Wild shouts came from the occupants. The giantess gave a brief laugh, and poised her foot just on top of our friends, and slowly pressed them under water. She kept them like this for a few seconds. I could imagine them pressed into the inside of the canoes, a ceiling of wet flesh imprisoning them, while the water flooded the narrow compartment. The leg went finally ankle deep in the water, the boats under the sole squished deep into the silt below.

The giantess turned her attention to the last kayak. I saw a flash of color on my right. Yana. I swam desperately in her direction. Her head was well above water, she was swimming fiercely in my direction too.
“Take it off!!” I screamed. “Take it off!!”

She kept swimming towards me. Above a scream pierced the thunderous blackness. I looked up just in time to see a minuscule form being lowered towards the vast hips. It was too dark to see anything, but I had an idea of where it was going. These creatures are sure practical-minded, they never lose an opportunity for fun…. I reached Yana at last. “Take it off, take it off now!” She grabbed my shoulders, her face a mask of sheer panic. She just would not hear me. The current was dragging us, and half the time our heads were under water. I pulled Yana to me, dropped under water, my hands all over her body. (She must have thought I was a hell of a pervert to take advantage of her at a time like this) . In absolute darkness, I got to the buttons of her life- jacket, in the last few seconds of oxygen left in my lungs, I fumbled madly at them. I came back to the surface, freed a hand, and grab my knife, before going under, feeling Yana’s struggling body above me. I cut through the straps and yanked hard on the life jacket. When I came back to the surface, the bright orange vest was floating away from us.
Two seconds later a vast hand came looming upon us. It passed over our swimming form and went straight for the life jacket. The huge fingers lifted it out of the water. A second later, a grunt came from above and the little object was discarded.

The vast body advanced on us, truck-sized feet lifting above water, sheets of water pouring from its massive toes before they crashed back into the current. The right foot descended just 10 feet from us. Above the huge legs passed over us like vertical trains. The huge (and generous) ass of the woman was poised hundreds of feet above, her back a mess of long hanging dreadlocks. She kept advancing further downstream, towards the turn of the river. We were nothing but tiny black specks to her, in a black river of ink. I don’t think she could have found us, even in a clear night. I felt a hand on my shoulder, along with a labored breathing. Jack had joined us. He grabbed Yana’s arm, and the two of us started to swim towards the shore, supporting our friend.

We reached a silt covered bank, just as a disappointed giantess came walking back. I pushed Yana into the muddy beach, and we frantically covered each other in dark mud, before crawling to ward the tree line. Behind us, the giantess was pushing her fingers in the water, in the hope maybe to catch some swimming stragglers. In the near total darkness of the forest, we started to run, our arms outstretched, banging into trees, slashing our faces against low blanches and bushes….

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The morning after was dedicated to finding our gear. Most of our barrels had drifted and landed on the shore. Those that landed on the other bank were recovered with the remaining canoes. Our companions, those who had been lucky enough to avoid the giantess, had managed to hide downstream, and a lot of our stuff was salvaged. Still, seven  of us had found their death in the nightmare.
The giantess was nowhere to be seen, in the bright and clean morning that followed the storm. We could see from afar the deep gashes her feet had created in the banks of the river, but it made sense to think of her as gone to better pastures, the nearest town for instance…

Yana was shaken by the ordeal, as we were all. But there was a tacit pact between us all about mopping. Crying for the lost ones is normal. And more than normal, it’s cathartic and healthy. Yet it is a private grief, and most of us avoid too much exhibition of feelings within the group. We acknowledge their departure with a symbolic tomb, myself giving once more the awkward parting speech,  now sadly a fairly routine matter.

We moved on, not waiting for the night. No point hanging around a region we knew was infested with giantesses. Keeping within the woods allowed us good cover , if slow progress.

The only incident of the day was this small clearing in the wood, surrounded by smashed trees. In the middle of it, a brown mound was crying for our attention, a dreadful sign of their activities. We passed as far away as we could.

Such signs of biology are disturbing, and god knows we keep meeting those. Hell, the whole mankind has to cope with those. Giantesses, for all their mystery and insane impossibility, are being like all beings. What comes in comes out. Their less than elegant traces are always a sharp reminder of our current condition. Food we are to them, and as food we are processed in their giant intestines till the final outcome. Meeting one of these huge heaps of shit is always a shock. It’s like stumbling on an open mass grave. Since their arrival, no records exist of the giantesses feeding on anything else but humans, another proof of their specific design, in many people’s opinion. And it takes a lot of people to create the big mounds.
I still remember with disgust the sight I once saw in a big city, where a blond and angelic looking giantess was taking a crap in the middle of the street, in front of the very people she was busy ingesting. Those latter had no illusion left about their fates….

That night is the night we made love for the first time. Yana and I had decided to scout for a decent clearing or trench to set camp. We found it after one hour of circling the place where the group was staying, apathetic and exhausted. (We always have our GPS with us, getting lost is not an issue). We found eventually a suitably spot. I had sat against a trunk, in a puddle of light created by  peaceful rays of sun that were cutting through the foliage. Yana sat next to me, and we stayed there for a while, listening to the birds and taking in the quietness of the forest. I gave Yana my water bottle. I was happy then, with this sudden and near obscene happiness that comes after a catastrophe, when you realize you’re still alive to see the world. My shoulder was touching Yana’s and for all I cared, the world was turning properly again. I felt a tug on my sleeve, and instinctively reached out to get the bottle back from her. What I got instead was a stronger tug, and the sudden vision of Yana’s face coming closer to my own. Before I could register anything, her lips were pressing on mine, and an embracing pull was turning me around against her.
I must have stayed dumb for a second or two, ‘cos she moved her face away from me for a second, a serious look on her face. I know I’m dumb. I don’t look it, but I am. I’m so damn slow when it comes to this. I just stared at Yana as if she had turned into a giantess. “Yana…” She put her fingers on my lips, smiled, and replaced it with her lips again (and a tongue that did not take no for an answer). I could feel her body pushing against mine, her smell permeating my breathing. I did get it after an extra microsecond of wonderment and when I did, a wave of heat just overtook my whole being, submerging the world, the giantesses, and all the horrors of the past days.
The goofy face I exposed to the group one hour later must have been quiet obvious, judging by the few smiles I got from some of our companions.

Later during the evening, our radio picked up the information the whole planet had been waiting for: the first sighting of the fall of a giantess.

Tbc

nostromo