Leaving Level Five

by L. S. O'Dea

  “Maybe.” McBrid wanted to flee. What he was promising was a fate worse than death, but he had no choice. He had to keep making the monsters or he’d die and his father and uncle might too. This was the best solution to a terrible situation.

  Since Fersia, he’d been purchasing the very old but a month ago Conguise had seen the host before the transformation had begun. He’d lied and said that the new serum was causing accelerated aging. He didn’t think the professor had believed him, so his only choice was to pick a younger Servant.

  “I swear with good food and some sleep—”

  “You’re not going to get better. You have leukemia.”

  “So. I’m young and strong. I’ll fight it.” Cal wasn’t educated but that was also common with strays.

  “You may fight it but you won’t win. However, I might be able to help you with that.” It wasn’t a lie. If Cal came with him, the Servant wouldn’t die from leukemia.

  “You can make me better?” The kid dropped all pretense of not being sick.

  “There are risks.”

  “I don’t care.” Cal’s eyes darted around the cell. “I have no chance here.”

  That was true. “What I’m suggesting will be painful.”

  “Like this isn’t.” Cal looked down at his body. “I hurt all the time.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please, don’t go. Give me a chance.” Cal grasped the bars. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “I...I meant, I was sorry that you’re sick.”

  “Oh.” Cal let go of the bars. “Yeah. Just my luck, I guess.”

  He took a deep breath, hating himself for this. “I want you to understand that what I’m proposing will change you.”

  “Will I get better?”

  “If you don’t die, you won’t be sick anymore. At least, I don’t believe you will be. I’ve never done this with someone who was sick. I usually purchase the elderly.”

  “And they felt better?’

  “They became stronger, faster...They became something else. Something other than Servant.” He wasn’t going to lie. From his recent experience, there was no need. The Servants were so desperate for a chance that they’d even take a terrible one.

  “I’m in.” Cal grinned.

  “I’m serious. If you live through the shots—”

  “Shots?” Cal’s face paled a bit.

  “Yes. I’ll be drawing your blood and injecting you with serum every day. I may even draw blood more than once a day.”

  “I hate needles.”

  He waited, doubting that a small fear like this would turn the kid away.

  “But...you said I’d be stronger and faster. Not sick anymore. Right?”

  “Yes, but you also won’t be a House Servant.”

  “What will I be?”

  “A monster.” There it was, the entire truth.

  Cal’s eyes brightened with amusement but faded as he studied McBrid’s face. “What kind of monster?”

  “The deadliest there is.”

  Cal’s body trembled but he smiled. “Well then, let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 3: McBrid

  The next morning, McBrid checked on Cal, making sure the young Servant was comfortable in his cage. “If you want anything, just let me know.”

  The Servant stretched out on a cot in the Aranea staging lab. He wouldn’t be housed in the same room as Fersia until he slipped into the cocoon phase. He didn’t need to see an Aranea until he became one.

  “Sir, you sent for me.” Charlie, one of the two young Guards assigned to him, entered the room, keeping his gaze averted from the Servant.

  Neither of them liked what they had to do. Fersia had changed how both of them saw the hosts and the creatures they became.

  “I’m going to keep Cal company for a while. I need you to open the divider between the empty Brush-Men cage and the full one, but only a little. I want the smaller ones to enter the replanted enclosure first. It’ll give them a chance to find a place to hide from the larger ones.” The Brush-Men, or Phasmatodeas, had no qualms about eating their own.

  “Do I need to feed them?” Charlie’s eyes darted to Cal. “Live food?”

  They both hated that part, especially now. Tossing helpless Servants into cages to be devoured by monsters used to be just part of the job, but that also changed since Fersia.

  “Yes, but there’s meat in the refrigerator.” He’d been forced to do a live feeding of the Slug-Mugs the other day. Parson was out sick and Conguise had accompanied him to the Gastropoda laboratory. It’d been horrible and Charlie was still upset.

  “Great.” Charlie hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out several roasts.

  “Cut them up and toss them in before opening the divider. Make sure the doors are locked and sealed before you press that button. They may be small but they’re deadly and if the bigger ones manage to squeeze through...” He didn’t need to say more. Charlie understood better than anyone how dangerous working on Level Five was.

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie started for the door.

  “Get your brother to help you.” He trusted Charlie, but Louis was big and steadfast whereas Charlie was still naive. He had to figure out how to get the kid away from Level Five before Charlie’s kind heart ended his life.

  CHAPTER 4: Glick

  Glick hid in the bushes. His home was now filled with lush vegetation and bugs—lovely, juicy bugs. They’d come with the plants just as he’d predicted. His only problem was catching them. He was fast but small. He’d never grown like the others of his kind.

  The Brush-Men wandered about in their enclosure, paying no attention to his side of the cage. They couldn’t get to him so they didn’t even look at him anymore, but he saw them. He hated them. They should’ve helped Bumpers, not eaten him.

  The door to the lab opened and the Guards named Louis and Charlie came in carrying packages of meat—the blood seeping through the white paper.

  “Open the cage,” said Louis.

  Open the cage? What were these Guards thinking? The Brush-Men would tear them apart. He wasn’t going to miss this. He climbed to the top of the bush. He’d rather watch Stink and Topper be devoured but he hated all Guards, so these two would have to do.

  Charlie moved to a panel on the wall. “Here goes.”

  The click of the door unlocking echoed through the room. Glick stared at the other enclosure but the door didn’t move. He glanced at the Guards. They weren’t going into the other cage. They were coming inside with him.

  No one had been in his cage since the night Bumpers and Flea had been killed. He tucked himself in the foliage, his arms shaking as the giants stomped past.

  The door was still open. He could flee but where would he go? He was alone and the outside was big and dangerous, but if he left, he could find Scottsmoor and kill him.

  He stared at the opening, his freedom, his vengeance. He had to try. He owed Bumpers and Flea that much. His body trembled as he made his way toward the ground. His hands, slippery with sweat, slid off branch after branch. A huge thud shook the plant and Glick stilled, staring at the Guards. Louis had dropped his armful of meat in the center of the cage.

  “Don’t dump it in one big pile.” Charlie unwrapped a chunk and tossed it toward the side farthest from the opening between the enclosures.

  Glick licked his lips. He’d never tasted meat. The Guards dropped it from above into the other cage, never his.

  “Why not?” Louis didn’t move to pick up his packages.

  “Because they’ll fight over it.”

  Glick couldn’t take his eyes from that large pile of deliciousness. The other Brush-Men didn’t seem thrilled when that was dropped from above instead of live Servants or Guards, but they weren’t as hungry as he was.

  “So.” The larger Guard still didn’t move. “And why are you taking off the paper?”

  “Because it’s paper.” Charlie unwrapped another package. “No one wants to eat paper.”

  Louis shot him a
disgusted look. “Do you think Scottsmoor had them strip the Servants and Guards before feeding?”

  Scottsmoor. That name snapped Glick out of his food induced trance. He didn’t have time to eat. He hurried down to the ground, making his way to the end of the bush—to the end of safety.

  “No, of course they didn’t make them strip,” said Charlie.

  “Then those things ate the clothes.” Louis kicked the pile of meat, sending a few parcels skittering to the side. “A little paper isn’t going to bother them.”

  Glick’s eyes darted to the door. It was a long way away, but the Guards were busy and they still had a lot of meat to distribute. He swallowed. Even one small chunk would be more than he’d eaten in his entire life.

  “I suppose not.” Charlie stopped throwing the meat and stared at the Brush-Men who were gathered at the glass watching them.

  This was his chance. Both Guards had their backs to the door. Glick darted through the grass to the closest bush and then the next. He made his way across the vast opening, using anything to hide—tree, bush, even dropping to his belly and crawling through the high grass.

  “I hate how they stare at us,” said Louis.

  “Me too,” said Charlie.

  “Finish up and let’s get out of here,” said Louis.

  “I can’t just drop it in one place.”

  “Then throw it.”

  A bunch of tiny thuds shook the ground. Glick spun around. The Guards were heading his way, but he was almost there.

  He ran as fast as his legs would move to the next bush. The earth shook as the Guards strode closer. He launched himself into the foliage, his heart beating almost out of his chest. He was only a few yards from the door, but there were no more trees, no more bushes—nothing but open grass. He’d be exposed, vulnerable, but he had to try. His small, brown body trembled as he raced forward.

  The Guards’ heavy footsteps drew closer. They were going to catch him and stomp him into pieces just like Stink and Topper had done during the hatching. His chest heaved as he ran faster. He had to get to the door. He had to get away. A foot landed in front of him. He stumbled and then darted to the side, cringing as he prepared for the pain of the other foot crushing him into the earth, but the Guard continued toward the door.

  It must not have seen him. He’d never escape, not now. Not with the Guards in front of him, but he still had time to get away. His legs pumped faster and he gasped for breath. He had to get back to the bushes, back to safety. His toe connected with a root and he tripped, skidding through the grass, his brown body easy to see in the vast field of green. He scrambled to his feet as the Guards walked out of the cage. He stood, panting as his chance to escape slid closed.

  “Make sure it’s locked.” Louis turned around, facing the cage.

  Glick dropped to the ground, burying himself in the grass.

  Charlie tugged on the handle and then ran his hands around the edge of the door. “Yep. Sealed and secure.”

  “Good. Ready?”

  “Yeah.” Charlie ran his hands along the door again before stepping away from the cage.

  Glick’s breath was still coming fast and hard, but the excitement was gone, replaced by the familiar sense of failure. He’d done it again—tried and failed, just like with his clutch-mates and his friends.

  The humming of a motor made him roll over and stare at the ceiling of the other enclosure. It must be feeding time. His stomach rumbled. Time for him to eat too. He pushed to his knees, staying hidden in the grass as he crawled toward a delicious pile of meat. He couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into all that cold, bloody flesh. He stilled. Why had the Guards left so much in his cage? Why had they left any? He glanced at the ceiling of the other enclosure again. The window hadn’t opened, but the sound of the motor covered the Brush-Men’s chirps of food, food. He turned, staring at the doors but both were closed. The other Brush-Men weren’t even looking that way. They were focused on the glass that separated the enclosures because...the glass was rising.

  CHAPTER 5: Glick

  Glick jumped to his feet, no longer worried about the Guards seeing him as a swarm of Brush-Men spilled into his home. They’d killed Bumpers. They would kill him too. He had to move but his legs only shook. The others surrounded the meat, devouring it in great big gulps. More pushed into the enclosure, finding and tearing into the packages of flesh scattered about the cage. The bigger ones shouldered the littler ones to the back.

  One of the smallest ones, who was at least three times bigger than Glick, turned away, tired of trying to squeeze through to the food, and his gaze landed on Glick. “Prey,” he clacked. “Hunt.”

  Some of the others stopped eating, their thin, stick-like faces covered with bits of flesh and blood.

  Glick’s breath left him in a whoosh as his feet finally moved. He raced for his bush, hiding was his only chance. Some of the Brush-Men broke away from the groups surrounding the meat and ran toward him. He shoved through the thick grass, everything moving in slow motion and yet so fast. His heart pounded in his ears as his breath burst from his mouth in pants. He flew over the ground—his bush, his safety looming so far away. The others were gaining on him, their legs longer, their bodies stronger. He darted to the side, hopping over a stick that’d fallen from one of the trees.

  The Brush-Man closest to him didn’t jump soon enough, stumbling and falling. The others didn’t even pause, trampling their companion into the earth. Glick ran faster, his feet barely touching the ground before sprinting off again. There was nowhere to hide and no other obstacles to use to slow down the horde. There was nothing but a long stretch of grass between him and his home.

  A small group veered away from the others, racing in the same direction he was going but at an angle. They were going to cut him off. He’d never make it. Dying like Bumpers was an honor, but he wasn’t ready to die. Something hit him on the side, knocking him to the ground as teeth and claws tore at his body.

  He screamed, his mouth filling with dirt and grass as pain roared through him in a hundred different spots. He bucked but they were all over him, their weight holding him down. He grabbed an arm near his face, his bony fingers tearing into barky flesh. An open mouth loomed toward him. He rammed it with his skull and chomped down on whatever got in his path. The other Brush-Man screamed and Glick’s mouth filled with hot, fresh blood and flesh. He didn’t have time to chew so he spit it out and bit at another one. He had to get up. He had to flee, but there were too many. They were crushing him as they tore him apart. He bucked again but it was a futile attempt, his small body barely moving more than a twitch.

  Then, the weight was gone. The Brush-Men were running away, scattering in all directions. He had no idea why they’d left and didn’t care. This was his chance. He pushed himself to his knees when something big grabbed his foot, lifting him into the air. The larger Brush-Men. That was why the little ones had fled. He closed his eyes. This was it. He’d die like Bumpers had, in one great big bite. His stomach flopped as he swung back and forth. The Brush-Man wasn’t eating him, but it was moving fast. He opened his eyes, trying to twist to see who clutched his foot, but his body didn’t bend like that anymore, his skin too stiff and brittle.

  He was high off the ground, so it had to be an Original who’d captured him. They were tall. Maybe, it was saving him. They knew he understood the Guards and Almightys, like they did. None of the others seemed to understand anything but each other.

  The grass behind him shifted like waves. The Brush-Men were coming back.

  “Hurry! Hurry! They’re right behind us!” They wouldn’t attack an Original, would they?

  The Original moved faster almost flying across the cage, but it didn’t duck into a bush. Instead the grass and green of his enclosure disappeared, replaced by a white tile floor. The door closed and loud pings and bangs echoed through the room as the Brush-Men pummeled against the enclosure, trying to break out of the cage to attack.

  The tightness on his foot disappeared and
he fell, hitting something hard. This wasn’t an Original. It couldn’t be. Only two creatures entered and left the cages. He scrambled to his feet, crying out in pain. Part of his hand was gone, torn away by his kind.

  “Shhh.” Charlie’s eyes darted to the door. “You have to be quiet. If my brother comes back and sees you, I’ll be in big trouble.”

  He stared up into the face of the Guard, his enemy, his savior. He backed away, his leg throbbing from being carried by the foot and his body aching everywhere from all the wounds, but it was nothing compared to what this Guard would do to him. His back hit something and his eyes darted around. He was in a beaker just like the Almighty had used for Flea.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Charlie’s voice was soft. “Are you hungry?”

  Glick wanted to be brave, but his body shook. This was worse than being eaten by Brush-Men. Guards had captured Flea for the Almighty. They hadn’t hurt her at first but later they’d cut her into pieces.

  “Stay. I’ll get you some food.” Charlie walked away.

  As soon as the Guard turned, he scurried around the container, trying to find a way out but there was none. He was surrounded by glass, the only opening too high for him to reach.

  The Guard came back. “Here.” He dropped a small chunk of meat near Glick’s feet.

  He couldn’t pull his eyes away. It was red and juicy and his stomach rumbled. He dropped to his knees and dove face first into the morsel, tearing into the flesh and swallowing it in hunks. His stomach stretched and complained but he kept eating until every bit was gone.

  “Dang, you were starving.”

  He looked up at the Guard and nodded.

  “You understand me?” Charlie’s eyes widened.

  Glick nodded again.

  Charlie looked around the lab and then bent over the container. “Really? You know what I’m saying?”

  This Guard must not be too bright. “Yes.”

  The Guard’s face wrinkled in confusion.

  “I understand you.” He said it very slowly.