The oil clung to everything.
It filled my mouth with every breath, thick and bitter on my tongue. Every time I swallowed, I tasted it—metallic, ancient, like the earth itself had been liquefied and poured into this pit. My eyes burned beneath the layer coating my face, and my lungs felt heavy, each breath a struggle against the viscous liquid trying to force its way inside.
But I was alive.
I surfaced, gasping, my arms flailing to find purchase on something—anything—that would keep me from sinking back down. My hand hit solid ground, dirt and rock at the edge of the pool, and I grabbed it with desperate strength. The oil resisted, pulling at me like it wanted to keep me, but I hauled myself forward inch by inch.
The animal was still thrashing.
