Wrighty was shaking him. His hand felt both firm and gentle as the boy slowly woke up in bits and pieces.

  “Grub.”

  Wrighty spoke to him in a stern voice. The boy could hear the voice, but it sounded distant to him like it was underwater. Wrighty continued shaking the boy with a mixture of expectation and hope. The boy was still barely there and couldn’t respond.

  “Grub, wake up.”

  Something warm pressed against his shoulder—another hand. It was strong and muscular and had hard calluses caking it. The boy could feel the strength in his hand as Wrighty began lightly patting his face. The boy grumbled as he turned away from the nagging noise.

  “Doc. Come on. If you don’t wake up I am gonna be forced to punch you—lightly.”

  The boy’s eyelids twitched. Light burned through his eyes causing him to wince. His lungs dragged in air that didn’t taste like acid. Something the boy appreciated more than he should.

  He finally fully opened his eyes. Then his brain began processing everything around him and it hurt. Everything hurt. Not sharp pain — not like before — but a deep, dull ache that felt permanent. His ribs felt like they had been glued back together by a quack. While his head felt stuffed with cotton.

  But the voices were finally gone. The boy heard no screaming. He no longer experienced memories that weren’t his.

  Just silence. He enjoyed having his mind to himself again. He let out a sigh of relief.

  Looking around while blinking slowly the boy noticed that the ceiling above him was not flesh or disgusting slime. Rather, it was woven with sticks and leaves and vines tied into crude knots. Sunlight slipped through gaps in the roof in thin, golden lines. He tried to move. But something tugged at him. He tilted his head downward..

  Vines wrapped around his torso and arms in layered coils. Just tight enough to hold cloth in place—like some makeshift bandages. His leg was propped up on rolled leaves. Thick green paste had been smeared over the burned flesh beneath strips of fabric. It smelled… herbal and bitter. A smell that was frankly much preferred to the damp stench of acid and death inside of the grub.The boy decided to make sure of something and flexed his toes. Pain answered immediately.

  Good. I can still move it at least.

  “Grub.”

  The word came again. Much closer this time The boy turned his head slightly. Though even that motion made his vision wobble. As he looked over he saw Wrighty leaning over him, his eyes bloodshot red. He had been crying a lot it seemed. In fact, the boy noticed that his cheeks had recently dried tears on them.

  “You’re alive,” Wrighty said, voice cracking.

  The boy swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.

  “…How long has it been?”

  Wrighty hesitated.

  “About a week give or take.”

  The word hung there. A whole week.

  The boy frowned faintly. The last thing he remembered was the heart stopping. All the memories of the event felt hazy. Perhaps because his mind was so crowded back then.

  The boy tried to sit up and recollect his thoughts but pain flared in his ribs like someone had driven nails between them. The boy let out a wince as he continued trying to force himself up.

  Wrighty immediately pushed him back down.

  “Hey c’mon Grub! Don’t be stupid.”

  The boy stared at him.

  “…Why are you calling me Grub?”

  Wrighty grinned. His face contorted with teasing joy. In fact it seemed he was proud.

  “You’ll see.”

  Before the boy could respond, Wrighty leaned forward and wrapped him in a tight, crushing hug. Despite trying to be gentle Wrighty was a freakishly strong human so his hugs hurt—a lot. It hurt so bad that the boy’s vision blurred. But he decided not to push him away. Wrighty squeezed tighter, nearly breaking the boy’s spine along with his already broken ribs.

  “You absolute idiot,” Wrighty muttered. “You did it.”

  The boy stared at the roof over Wrighty’s shoulder.

  Did what?

  “Don’t do that again. I don’t want to drag your corpse out of a different monster.” Wrighty pulled away abruptly, wiping at his face.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “I’ll go tell them you’re up.”

  He stood, ducked under the tent flap, and disappeared. The boy lay there in the quiet.

  A week.

  They were still alive. He could hear faint movement outside. One person could be heard hammering at something while another was either conversing with them or denigrating them. He could then hear the scrape of wood being dragged on stone.

  They hadn’t left the ridge. He slowly turned his head toward the entrance. Through the gap in the tent flap, he could see it. A settlement—If you could call it that. It had Lean-tos made of snapped branches. Shelters barely taller than a crouching person. Cloth stretched between poles. It was very little and sparse

  The boy leaned back again. He had killed it and allowed some of the survivors to live. He was fairly content with that, even if most of the peace came from the fact he himself was alive.

  His eyes drifted to his leg. It was covered in bandages and ointment but he could see some of the damage spread past the bandages. It was red and gnarled and bits of white bone stuck out between the flesh.

  If the acid had lingered one second longer… He didn’t finish that thought. His mind felt clearer now, so he wanted to relax. But as he lay there, one thought began to settle into place. This happened because we were together like a school of fish. We were easy to hunt so we were targeted. That grub simply followed the combined noise and smell.

  If he traveled alone—before he could finish his thoughts, the tent flap rustled.

  Shiela rolled in as she sat in a new wheelchair. It was still crude, but better than before. It was much sturdier with reinforced wood and round joints. The wheels were carved much more evenly.

  She stopped when she saw him looking at her. Her eyes filled with joy instantly. “You’re awake.”

  The boy turned his head to her and nodded.“…Apparently.”

  She laughed softly—then looked down at the ground before rolling closer to his bed.

  “You were horrible, you know,” she said. “You wouldn’t wake up and you kept twitching while unconscious . Like you were fighting something.”

  The boy didn’t respond.

  Shiela reached forward and grabbed his hand. Her grip was small but firm.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Grub.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “You too? What is this about?”

  She blinked. “…You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  Before she could answer, the tent flap opened again.

  The makeshift doctor — a survivor who had been practicing medicine by grabbing random herbs and fruits that he found around and testing them on small creatures— stepped in the tent. He checked the boy’s eyes and pulse. Then replaced his bandages.

  “You’re not dead,” the man muttered. “That’s… impressive. I honestly thought you weren’t going to make it.”

  After a few more prods and adjustments, he nodded.

  “You won’t die immediately if you move. That’s the best I can promise.”

  Then he left as simply as that. He clearly didn’t know medicine that well but the boy would take his words at face value. He pushed himself upright slowly this time. Every motion was deliberate and he avoided causing himself pain. He swung his legs over the edge of the bedding.The world tilted slightly. Wrighty—who had entered with the doctor— appeared instantly at his side and offered a shoulder. Which the boy took, leaning his full weight on the dark-skinned athlete.

  Shiela positioned her chair beside him. They waited patiently for the boy to gather himself before they left the tent together.

  The ridge air hit him clean and sharp. The grub’s corpse was gone — collapsed down the slope days ago. But the scar it had left after falling remained as a torn path of trees and rock. Wrighty nudged him gently.

  “Come on.”

  They led him toward the largest makeshift shelter. Inside were: Gravel, Sheath, Snow, Five, and Eerie. Eerie leaned in the corner like he always had been there. The boy was still at a loss with that guy, he couldn’t read him at all.

  The moment the boy entered, silence fell. Snow’s shoulders dropped in visible relief. While Sheath looked away, embarrassed by the emotion flickering across his face. Gravel took initiative and stepped forward.

  “You survived,” he said simply as he tipped his stitched hat towards him

  The boy didn’t answer.

  Five studied him. Looking between him and Shiela, before staring daggers into the boy. Then Gravel turned and stepped outside.

  “Everyone!” Gravel’s voice carried across the ridge. The survivors, who were mostly busy building, gathered slowly. There were a fewer number of them now. Much fewer.

  They formed a loose semicircle around the boy. Gravel gestured toward him before starting.

  “A week ago, this thing tried to wipe us out.” Gravel pointed toward the jungle scar.

  “And it would have.” Gravel looked back at the boy. “But he went inside it.”

  Murmurs rippled through the small crowd. It seemed most of the survivors didn’t know what had happened and were shocked to see someone who entered that grub come out alive.

  “He tore it apart from within.” Gravel said with his voice hard and cold.

  The crowd went silent and began listening intently. Gravel continued but with something different.

  “Out here, names matter—You earn them.”

  Gravel looked at the crowd.

  “He crawled into the maw of a grub.”

  “ And killed it.”

  “He was the reason we survived it”

  Gravel’s gaze locked with his.

  “You are no longer just a ‘boy.’”

  Gravel then gave a rare smile and grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “Your name has been earned through many trials and tribulations and the contribution to our survival. From this day forward, you are Grub.”

  The survivors murmured again, respect echoed through their ranks as the boy stood quietly—completely stunned by the new revelation. Wrighty grinned beside him. And gave him a pat on the back Snow nodded once. Sheath folded his arms but didn’t object. Shiela smiled and looked up at him with eyes filled with joy. Even Five didn’t look away.

  The boy — Grub — stood there. The name settled onto him strangely. Like a coat that didn’t fit yet.

  Grub. The creature that survives underground. The thing that devours and grows. The insect that will become something completely new.

  Wrighty elbowed him gently. “So? What do ya think?”

  Grub exhaled slowly. “I-I don’t know.”

  Grub.

  He didn’t smile. But he didn’t reject it either.He looked around at the group of people applauding him and for the first time since falling—He felt genuinely at peace.