Fangs, Feathers, and Flames (2) (Patreon)

Sophie tossed and turned. Her thin cot gave her little comfort. The sleeping bag twisted and tangled around her, squeaking with every little movement. She stared up at the canvas ceiling, willing sleep to take her. Nothing happened.

Sophie sighed, then slid a hand beneath her nightgown. She rested it on her abdomen.

"This is all your fault," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind rustling the trees outside. "I used to sleep like a log."

There was no reply, of course. She couldn't even feel anything yet. How much stranger would it be when she could?

The mattress creaked as she rolled onto her side, facing the wall. She reached out and fumbled for her phone. Finally, she had it, and the screen lit up, briefly blinding her with blue light. 2:47 AM. 

Sophie groaned. If she didn't get some rest, she'd be a zombie tomorrow. She couldn't waste this trip. With what was happening, it might be her last chance for an adventure; at least until the kid got big enough to bring along.

She set the phone back down. Then she smacked her head into the pillow, shaping it with a few repeated strikes. It did no good. Her problem wasn't just the cot being uncomfortable, though it was. Nothing she could do to the pillow would make a difference.

She curled onto her side, one hand still resting protectively over her belly. Why was this so hard?

Sophie's mind raced. Even without showing, her friends would figure out what was happening. She could only turn down so many drinks before someone connected the dots. 

A sudden wave of cramps racked her, far more powerful than anything in recent memory. Pain burned; searing heat that made her briefly tense every muscle in her body. She curled up, fingers clawing at the slippery fabric of the sleeping bag.

"Easy!" she hissed. "It'll be worse for both of us tomorrow."

But the pain only intensified, centralizing along her spine rather than her abdomen. It felt like something was trying to burst out from between her shoulder blades, stretching and tearing at her skin.

Desperate for relief, she reached blindly for the water bottle she kept near the bed, hoping a drink might settle her stomach. Her fingers fell short. What she did succeed at doing was throwing herself off balance and toppling sideways off the mattress.

Sophie hit the wood with a graceless thud. She lay still, trying to ignore the pain on her back.

It got stronger by the second, centered around two points on her shoulders. It felt like she'd been stabbed, though obviously that couldn't be true. There was no one here, unless maybe a team of ninjas had scattered caltrops on her cabin floor without her noticing.

"What are you doing to me?" Sophie whispered. She pulled her knees up to her chest, rocking slowly in place. There was no one to answer, of course. She didn't even know who she was asking. 

Her muscles stretched taut, flexed as stiff as her body allowed. Was something trying to rip through from below? "Stop," she begged. "It's not supposed to hurt like this yet. I have seven more months…" But no baby would be ripping its way out of her back, either.

No one was listening, and no one cared. The pressure finally burst, tearing skin in a single, agonizing moment. Sophie screamed into her arm, muffling the sound as best she could. She felt sudden pressure against the nightgown, pulling taut against her body. Moisture dribbled down her back—blood.

Sophie reached back with a shaking hand, her fingertips grazing something downy. She jerked her hand away a second later, heart throbbing in her chest. There was only one obvious explanation for what was happening to her. Her rational mind rejected every sensation; but what else could it be?

She tilted to the side, far enough that the strange lumps would brush against the floor. She felt the contact further back than it ought to be, with the same organ that now strained against the nightgown. The new limbs flexed and twitched, responding to her fear and confusion. She should've torn the nightgown by now, except—somehow it was getting looser. How did that make any sense?

Sophie dragged herself across the floor, her new appendages twitching with each movement. She reached up, fumbling for her phone. Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy, like they belonged to someone else. But she could still reach it, if she strained high enough.

She managed to grasp the device, pulling it down to her. Sophie propped herself up on one elbow, staring down the screen. She pressed her thumb to the scanner, but it only flashed. "Fingerprint not recognized." She tried several times more, each with the same result. Rejected.

"Come on, you piece of shit," she growled, swiping at the screen to enter her passcode instead. Her vision blurred, the numbers swimming before her eyes. She managed to tap out the first few digits before a fresh wave of pain drove her to the floor. It was focused on her back again, but also behind her.

Sophie spasmed, and her fingers slipped over the edge of the phone. It tumbled from her grip, smacking her in the face as it fell. The screen flashed; her half-entered password rejected.

Her mind raced, latching onto delirious thoughts. If she could just call for help... but what would she say? They'd think she was high, or crazy, or both.

As if responding to her thoughts, one of the new appendages twitched and unfurled. It stretched around her side, somehow emerging from the widening neck of her gown. Sophie stared down, dumbfounded by what she saw. Yellow feathers, some long and tough, others softer and smaller underneath. The deep yellow of a canary, except when she tried to touch one, she felt it against her fingers

"This can't be happening. I'm not growing wings." Except she was, clearly. Simply saying she wasn't didn't take them away.

Sophie staggered to her feet with a sudden rush of motion. She felt off-balance, her stance unsteady on unfamiliar legs. Something scratched against the rough wooden floor with each stumbling step, threatening to catch and toss her over. It felt a little like dragging her fingernails against the wood, except somehow gigantic.

She fumbled for a few seconds in the dark cabin, then closed her fingers on the hanging electric lantern. She turned it, and harsh white light filled her cabin. Strange shadows appeared on the wall, shifting and bending around her.

Sophie caught sight of her reflection in the compact she had open on the wooden table. Her nightgown stretched out behind her, the fabric straining to contain the massive wings that had sprouted from her back. Feathers poked through from inside, a smattering of bright yellow and creamy orange.

"No, no, no," Sophie whispered. "This isn't real!"

But the evidence was right in front of her. Sophie choked back a sob. She couldn't even look down without seeing more of the disfiguring strangeness. It wasn't just the wings—her feet were all wrong too. No more pale skin and painted nails—just flat stumps, covered with something yellow. They clicked when she walked, yet she still felt the ground. Was her real foot somehow trapped inside?

The touch was much worse than just seeing it. Sophie felt it, every twitch and shift of her transformed limbs, the brush of feathers against her skin, the strange weight of her wings.

Sophie's throat tightened with panic. But before she could scream, another sound startled her—a harsh knock on the cabin door.

Sophie whirled around, eyes widening. The knocking came again, like someone was smacking into the door with something metal. It must be one of her friends—maybe they'd heard her struggling in the tent. She couldn't let them see her like this!

She took a shaky step forward, her strange feet clicking loudly with each one. She had to move slowly, one hand on the bedframe. If she let go, she would probably fall right back onto her face.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice shaking. It sounded a little different than she remembered, higher. Like a nervous bluejay, wondering if the sound was a friendly bird, or maybe a hungry cat.

A voice answered through the wall. Their words were a blur, barely even audible. Sophie strained to make out the words. One ear twitched, somehow moving towards the noise. That made a difference, and the sound got clearer. Somehow.

"Sophie? Please, I need help. Open the door." Kevin's voice, sounding worse than she'd ever heard him. Like he was on the edge of panic, somehow.

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the wings emerging halfway from her nightgown. The clothing hung only loosely now, as though it had grown several sizes in the intervening minutes.

Sophie swallowed hard, clenching one hand into a fist. At least her fingers still worked. "Is it—really weird?" she asked. "Straight up impossible?"

Kevin didn't say anything right away. She saw his outline through the canvas sides of the tent, shuffling awkwardly. He clutched something under one arm to stay standing, and even that seemed to take considerable effort. Then his voice came again, raw and ragged.

"Yes. Yes, it is. I don't know what's happening to me. I need your help."

Sophie closed her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. Something told Sophie she knew exactly what was happening to her friend.

Sophie reached for the doorknob. She hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the metal. Every instinct told her to leave the door shut, and find the darkest corner to curl up in. Whatever awful thing was happening to her, no one should ever see it.

Sophie turned the knob, then took a step back, her wings folding instinctively against her body.

Kevin stood outside; his body outlined by the light of her electric lantern. 

He didn't look any better than she did. But she'd been wrong about one thing; she didn't know how he would look. Somehow, his change was different.

A horn emerged from his forehead, reflecting the light of the lantern. His feet had been replaced by hooves, the hard keratin glinting where it peeked out from beneath his legs. Kevin leaned heavily on a stick to stay standing. Strangest of all, something that might be a tail swished behind him, dark red tipped with black. 

Sophie gestured for him to come inside, her own movements clumsy and uncoordinated. She stumbled, her malformed feet slipping on the wooden floor. She kept herself from falling, but only barely.

Kevin hobbled into the cabin, making the same loud clopping sound hers did when she walked. Yet his were different—split right down the middle like a goat. He pushed the door closed behind him, then he turned to face Sophie.

He pointed at the wing emerging from her torn nightgown. "Are those... yours?"

Sophie nodded stiffly. "Yeah," she said, annoyed. "Sure feels that way. That horn yours?"

Kevin stared for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He reached up with a trembling hand. His fingers brushed against it, and he winced. 

"And I have a horn." He glanced sideways at the tent wall—towards where the guys' cabin would be standing. "What do you think are the odds that LJ got hit too?"

Sophie swallowed hard; her throat suddenly dry. This wasn't over—that unplaceable pain and shifting cramps had followed her. "But by what? What's happening to us?" And privately, the question she didn't dare to ask. Why are we different? It wasn't just her she had to worry about, after all.

Would the baby survive? It would either have to change too, or—she couldn't bear to consider the possibility.