Malcolm awoke confused. Eyes stung from something acidic.
In pitch blackness he groped for his phone. Flashlight on.
A corrugated ceiling. No, a tunnel.
He touched the floor. Not rocky, covered in dark sludge and liquid. A muscular firmness and tissular feel. Fingerlike protuberances brushed against his hand. A noxious breeze blew.
Gaseous.
Sludge slid, knocked him about. Bumping his head into what felt like mucus, he recalled: a face fourfold his size, a gaping maw, being swallowed.
The giant thought he killed me.
Malcolm gnawed on its intestinal wall. His oxygen limited, he ate in hopes of freeing himself.
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