She sighed, but an idea was beginning to form. She grabbed a stick 
from the Queen’s pile (who thankfully didn’t protest) and walked until 
the Queen was only a thumbnail-sized figure in the distance. Then 
she began to walk back, this time dragging the stick in the sand. 
When she reached the Queen (the look of curiosity she gave Amy 
was infuriatingly satisfying) she turned and, still dragging the stick, 
returned to her starting point. Once she arrived, she had drawn an 
oval in the sand some three-hundred meters long and fifty wide. 


In the center of it she drew five runes, each as the vertex of a 
pentagram, that she had memorized weeks ago. Only one was 
different, a Nordic mark that was part of the system used to indicate 
cost. When that was finished, she stepped back and focused. 


The system she had worked out for performing rituals had been a 
simple- she would draw out a small circle. She would her inscribe 
the runes for the magic in the middle, then place inside whatever 
she wanted to use as a cost. When she cast the spell, the desired 
objects would disappear, leaving anything outside untouched. The 
effect would scale with the payment- a small enough offering 
wouldn't completely stop a spell from being cast, but it could render 
its effect so minor as to be meaningless. Pay too much, and it could 
end up being more than you bargained for. 


Meaning the flame half as tall as her erupting from the ground by the 
Queen was accompanied by the sudden disappearance of fifteen 
hundred square meters of sand. Amy scrambled back from the 
newly formed hole, cursing. 


“Are you insane?” the Queen yelled. “Watch what you’re doing!” 


“Sorry,” said Amy, flushing red. Her stomach grumbled. Not looking 
up, the Queen said, “Don’t touch the bag. I'll scout for food in the 
morning.” 


They didn’t speak the rest of the night. 


By the time Amy crawled from the shelter into the morning light, the 
Queen had disappeared. Her bag sat by the still-burning fire, a safe 
hundred meters from the camp. She rose, felt the crackling in her 
vertebrae as she unfurled. 


The first sun was nearing the tip of the sky, dogged by its a 
companion a few degrees behind. A herd of small, crab-like animals 
stampeded towards the sea, forming a path that disappeared into 
the forest. Amy watched as they scrambled over each other like 
tumbling stones,, each eager to toss its neighbor aside if it meant 
seconds saved in the journey to the water. Within a few minutes the 
rabble had subsided. Only a few creatures remained on the sand, 
injured, dying, or dead. 


There came a rustling from the trees, and the Queen emerged from 
the brush. In one held she held a knife. In the other she held a 
clump of uprooted plants. Slung over her shoulder was the carcass 
of a green, scaled creature. Without a word to Amy, she dropped the 
gatherings in the sand by camp, and went to work cleaning the 
corpse. 


Amy watched the sea. The waters were calm, empty. If help was on 
its way, it didn’t seem to be arriving any time soon. She began to 
walk down the beach, keeping an eye to the horizon. By the time 
camp disappeared to the curvature of the island, she was 
reasonably certain she wouldn’t find anything of interest on the 
shores. By the time she completed another circuit, she was certain. 


She completed a third for the hell of it, and ran into a knight in 
shining armor. 


It sat on a white horse, lance in hand, shield on arm, staring at her 
through slitted helm. The horse whinnied, stamped the sand. Amy 
blinked. 


“What the fuck?” 


The rider kicked a leg, and the horse trotted forward. Amy took a 
step back, but the beast slowed, stopped in front of her. The knight 
stared down, silent. Its silver armor gleamed, rainbows swimming 
across the plate. Shoulders heaved with the motion of each breath. 
Once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth beat of an eternity, it lifted 
the lance. The tip came level with Amy’s throat, stroking her Adam’s 


apple. 


She moved before the dance could continue. Stepping to the side, 
she place one hand on the lance, shoved, at the same time holding 
on arm out and muttering a word. As she darted back, mist twisted 
between her fingertips, coalescing into a ghostly knife. With a crack, 
the missed dispersed, replaced by a solid blade. Amy gripped it, 
staring at the knight. It hadn’t reacted to her movement. It stood still, 
lance hanging in the air, staring at the space she had just 
abandoned. 


The spell for the knife was one she had prepared days earlier. That 
had been the third rule- by drawing out a rite and playing a multiplied 
cost, she could save it for use later. The knife wouldn’t do anything. 
Definitely not against armor. Most likely not against a person either, 
not one with any training or instinct. It was mostly for show, partly for 
comfort. At least now she wasn’t fully defenseless. Did it matter if 
she was? The knight still sat motionless. 


It is not real. It is an aspect of the distortion of reality 
emanating from the island’s center. It possesses solid form, an 
outer resemblance of thought. But that is all. 


“How do | make it uh... go away.” 


You do not. Leave it be. Return to camp. Most likely it will 


dissipate within the hour. The distortion is weak here. Reality 
will be more quick to right itself. 


Amy nodded, to no one in particular, and began the walk back to 
camp. The Queen was almost done cleaning her kill when she got 
back, had the knife between the guts and was working loose the 
organs. Amy tapped her shoulder. 


“What do you want?” She didn’t look up from her work. 
“For starters,” said Amy, “look at me when | fucking talk to you.” 


The Queen set the knife down and turned, so that she could just 
view Amy from the corner of her eye. Better than nothing. “I hope 
you didn’t interrupt me just for that.” 


“No,” said Amy. “I found something.” She told her of the knight. 


The Queen grunted. “Keep an eye out. Tell me if you see anything 
nearby.” 


“You’re not worried?” 


“If something happens,” said the Queen, turning back to the carcass, 
“lll worry.” 


Amy shrugged and returned to her seat in the sand. 


In time, the Queen finished her stripping of the meat. Skewering the 
cuttings on branches she’d chosen from hours of search, she began 
to cook them over the fire. Once they were a deep brown, she 
handed one to Amy. 


It tasted salty and gamey, even though she was sure the Queen 
didn’t have (and probably didn't want) spices to put on it. The single 
strip was more filling than it looked. 


“So,” said Amy, between bites, “how long ‘til they come?” 


The Queen had already finished eating. She set the stick on the 
sand and stared into the fire. “If they were going to, they would have 
already.” 


Amy nodded. “I kinda thought so. We gotta plan, then?” 
The Queen didn’t respond. 
Amy picked at her teeth. “I kinda thought so.” 


“What does the Witness say we need in order to use this break in 
reality?” 


Several theoretical rituals have been outlined that would allow 
formless reality to be shaped into a Way. | would be able to 
walk her through one of them. 


“And how many of these rituals are useful in practice?” 


There have been no recorded successful attempts. However, 
that does not mean it is impossible. 


The Queen snorted. “I’m sure it doesn’t.” 
“Have we really got any other options?” said Amy. 


The woman sighed and rose to her feet. “No. So let’s not waste 
time.” 


“Wait, right now?” 
“Waiting will only delay the inevitable. How far is it to the center?” 
Less than six miles. 


“Good,” the Queen called back as she walked towards the forest. 
“We can be there by nightfall, if you don’t fall behind.” 


Amy scrambled to her feet. She caught up with the woman at the 
treeline. “Shouldn't we make a plan or something? We've got no 
idea what could be in that jungle.” 


Pausing, the Queen looked back. “I doubt any amount of planning 
will save us.” 


And she disappeared into the trees. 


Cursing to herself, Amy shouldered through the branches. Past the 
wall of branches and brambles, the interior of the forest was 
deceptively clear, enough that a car could have comfortably 
maneuvered the spaces between trees and had room to spare. The 
sky was hidden behind their wide canopies. The only sign of it was 
flashes of blue between leaves, and the thin strips of light that 
danced across the ground. She fell into step behind the Queen, and 
the two walked in silence. 


Amy watched the older woman as they travelled. On the ship, as a 
figure of silent authority, she had seemed like a figure from a 
renaissance painting, cold and flawless. Up close was like viewing 
the portrait’s model, the bags tugging at her eyes, the wrinkles 
sneaking onto her skin, the hairs split at the tips. The sense of awe 
had faded. But the aura of fear lingered. A painting wouldn't kill you. 
A person could. 


And this one seemed to be itching for the chance. She walked as if 
on coiled springs, ready to snap forward at any target that might 
present itself. Her focus never wavered from her surroundings- her 
eyes took in every movement, her ears every noise, assessing for 
any potential threat. If Amy even registered to her, she didn’t show 
it. Which was fine with Amy. 


As they walked, Amy began to feel an itching on the back of her 
neck, like someone stroking her skin with a feather. The feeling grew 
as they continued, spreading to her arms, spooling down her back 
and legs. 


Is this normal? 


When one is approaching a wrinkle in the nature of space and 
time, yes. 


Her teeth felt like they were being scraped with a dentist drill. She 
worked her jaw, hoping motion would reduce the feeling. It didn’t. It 
only continued to grow. 


In time, they come upon a stream flowing from the earth. They 
stopped as the Queen refilled the water bottles. She handed one to 
Amy. 


“Is it safe to drink?” Amy asked. 
“The bottle will filter out any contaminants.” 


The water was silty and sour, but after walking through the humid 
woods for an hour it was like sipping from the fountain of youth. 
Before she knew it, the bottle was empty. 


“How far do you think we’ve gone?” said Amy. 


“Two miles. Maybe a bit less.” The Queen had finished her own 
bottle and was refilling it in the stream. She held out a hand, and 
Amy tossed hers over. When both were full up, the Queen stood, 
water dripping from her hands. She replaced the bottles in the 
backpack. 


She moved to stand and froze, staring into the water. Slowly, she 
reached a hand to her hip and slid the pistol from its holder. Her 
hand didn’t shake as she aimed the gun into the water and 
squeezed the trigger. 


The crack of gunfire made Amy flinch back. The Queen’s gaze didn’t 
move from the stream. Curtains of red liquid were rising up from the 
water, pooling across the surface. The Queen waited until, some 
unknown curiosity satisfied, she rose and stored the pistol in its 
holster. 


Amy crept over to where she stood. Thin trails of red were flowing 
down the stream, carried by the current. She glimpsed flashes of 
blue beneath. As the water cleared, the picture became more 
became clear. The body of a man lay beneath the water, half-buried 
in the silt, the right half of his head torn away by a bullet. He wore a 
blue suit, gold watch, and a briefcase lay beside him in the water. 
Amy reached for it. The Queen snatched her wrist away. 


“Do you know what that is?” 
“No,” said Amy, yanking her wrist from the Queen’s grip. 
“Then don’t touch it.” 


Amy glared at her, but the woman had already turned away. They 


walked the next half hour in silence. As they walked, the landscape 
began to change. It was a tree she noticed first- it looked normal, 
except the bottom meter of its trunk was missing. The rest stood in 
the air as if nothing was wrong. She picked up a rock and tossed it. 
It sailed through the empty space and disappeared into the grass. 
The half-trees grew more frequent as they walked, not just trunks 
but floating branches, leaves. 


The canopy was thinning out- she caught glimpses of a sky, but it 
wasn’t the sky from the beach. Red and orange and violet bled 
together like a bruise on the cosmos, framing four moons that 
loomed accusingly overhead. Specks of light littered the sky. But just 
as quickly as the canopy had let the sky loose, it swallowed it back 


up. 


She heard growling and snapped her head down, looking for the 
source of the noise. A blur raced through the shadows of the far of 
trees and disappeared. A minute later it reappeared, dashing 
between bushes. On its third appearance, she realized what it was - 
a massive, black dog, dragging a rusty chain behind it. It didn’t 
appear after that. 


Her vision was beginning to blur. It felt like someone had shoved a 
wet rag into her mouth. A dribble of spit ran down her chin. She 
wiped it away. Lifting her arm felt like moving through wet cement. 
She was vaguely aware of shadows moving around her, but they 
seemed very far away, mirages in the distance. Something caught 
her foot, and she stumbled. A hand grabbed her shoulder, steadied 
her. 


“Breath”, said a woman’s voice. Whose? It sounded so familiar. “It 
can be difficult, the first time. Remember what you know is real.” 


What was real. What was real? Her vision swam, looped, doubled- 
back. Lights flashed across her eyes. Were those real? If she 
reached out, would she feel them? Would they touch back? She 
took a stepped, lurched, felt the hand pull her back. The world 
stuttered, like a stuck film strip. 


What was real? She remembered something. A woman. A man. A 
boy. Sitting a table. Were they waiting for her? Where had they 


gone? She reached forward, tried to grasp the recollection, but drew 
back from her touch, faded into mist. Was that all it had been? Mist? 
Another memory faded in. A place far away, a place she had hated. 
Cramped. Cold. Cornered like a rat. She remembered fear and pain 
and writhing in bed, screaming. That had been real. She reached 
out to touch it, and the memory pushed back. 


And this place? These woods? Was this real? The world was drifting 
around her like smoke, something ethereal and out of reach. The 
second it brushed her it slipped away. Echoes of sound shuddered 
around, far away, like stones falling through water. She stumbled, 
realized she was falling, realized she had no idea where or what she 
was dropping through. Just void and smoke surrounding her. The 
pain filled her body. Her body? Was it her body? Or was it 
something far away, something she had only come to believe was 
hers? Again, images filled her mind. A metal bed. A white liquid 
running through a slow drip. Doctors standing above, prodding, 
talking, observing. A dozen needles exploring her flesh. She raced 
for the memory, reaching for their reality. 


A hand touched her shoulder. Everything snapped into place. She 
was standing in the woods again, collapsed against a tree, covered 
in sweat and vomit. She looked up. The Queen was staring down at 
her, expressionless. 


“It’s a struggle, travelling through these places. You'll get better with 
practice. Pray you don’t need to.” 


Images of the doctors flashed through Amy’s mind. She didn’t 
respond. 


The Queen gestured to the side. “Look.” 


They stood at the forest’s end. The trees gave way to thick grass, 
growing to knee-height. The stalks shuddered in the breeze, and 
small, brown animals scurried through the cracks in the plain. Red 
light tinted the world pink. 


At first glance, there seemed to be a skyscraper in the center of the 
field. But no, it wasn’t a building. It was a massive rock, jagged and 
jet black, embedded in the earth and rising so high she almost had 


SCP-686: Infectious Lactation 


Item #: SCP-686 
Object Class: Safe