Leaving Level Five

by L. S. O'Dea

  CHAPTER 11: McBrid

  Unbelievable. The Brush-Man had used a tool. McBrid stared at the monitor. The intelligence of the creature was impressive and terrifying. Until today, he’d considered them dangerous due to their ferocity, speed and proliferation, but he’d have to add their cunning to the list.

  After he’d escorted Parson out of his section of the building, he’d gone straight back to his office and turned on the video. The meat had been gone and there’d been no sign of the Brush-Man. He’d rewound the tape and watched it over and over.

  Finally, he’d stretched out to get some rest before he had to start work, but sleep had been as elusive as that Brush-Man. However, he must’ve dozed because he’d woken to sounds of activity on the floor. He’d changed his clothes, sent a message for Charlie to come to his office and then he’d watched the video again.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  “You wanted to see me, sir.” Charlie stepped into the room.

  “Lock the door and come here.”

  The young Guard hesitated a moment before closing and locking the door behind him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” After all they’d been through the kid still didn’t trust him. He reminded himself that a lifetime of abuse didn’t go away after only a few months of friendship.

  “Sir?” The Guard fidgeted at the door.

  “Watch.” He pressed the play button.

  “That’s him. He’s not dead.” Charlie grinned.

  McBrid wanted to groan. The Brush-Man being dead and in the lab would’ve been the perfect solution but Charlie didn’t see it that way.

  “Wow.” Charlie’s eyes widened. “He’s a smart little bugger.”

  “He certainly is.” He stopped the video playback. “You said the others attacked him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s a lot smaller than the rest of them.”

  “I know. I really felt bad for him. He was just standing in the grass and they raced toward him.”

  “Standing where?”

  “In the enclosure.”

  “I know that”—he counted to ten—“but where in the enclosure?”

  “Ah...”

  “Show me.” He headed out the door and down the hallway to the Brush-Men lab.

  Once inside, they walked to the enclosures. Charlie stayed a step or so behind him. He didn’t blame the kid. These things made him nervous too.

  “He was kind of in the center but close to the doors.” Charlie pointed.

  McBrid stared at the Brush-Men who wandered about the cage. They were the smallest but they were still at least three or four times the size of the one loose in the lab. It didn’t make sense. Unless...“We need to look very closely at the cage with the bigger Brush-Men.”

  “What are we looking for?” Charlie followed him to the front of the second enclosure.

  The hair stood on his back and his instincts screamed for him to run as all the larger Brush-Men turned and watched them approach, a slight chirping filling the air.

  “We need to see if there are any other small ones, like the one who escaped.”

  “I thought the eggs in this cage shouldn’t hatch for a month or more.”

  “I thought so too but that’s the only explanation for any of them to be as little as the one you saved.” He was not looking forward to telling Conguise that he’d waited too long to eradicate the eggs.

  CHAPTER 12: McBrid

  McBrid plodded down the hallway as if he were heading to a funeral—perhaps, his own. It was time for his weekly meeting with Professor Conguise. He’d hated these meetings for years, but they’d gotten worse since he’d mutated Fersia. However, it was part of his job and he had no choice but to attend. It’d be over soon and then he’d have an entire week before he had to do it again. He knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” said the professor.

  Araldo, even the pompous tone of the Almighty’s voice grated on his nerves. He opened the door and walked to the chair in front of the desk, sitting without waiting for an invitation.

  “Why haven’t you started the eradication of the Phasmatodea eggs?”

  “I’m trying a new process.” Thankfully, there hadn’t been any other small Brush-Men in the original enclosure. It still didn’t explain why the one Charlie had saved was so tiny, but he didn’t have to tell Conguise that there were hundreds more Brush-Men roaming the cage.

  “The process we had in place worked the last time.” Conguise’s steely blue eyes locked with his.

  “You gave me this project because you want me to learn how to control these creatures or at least get them to listen.”

  “I gave them to you because lately, you seem to have trouble creating specimens that survive.”

  He clamped his mouth shut. Stating that he’d been given this task long before he became averse to torturing the lower classes would only get him in trouble. Conguise seldom let the truth sway his mind. “If that’s where you want my focus, I can eradicate them all and start fresh. Perhaps, they don’t obey because of a flaw in the mutation process.”

  “Transformation process.” Conguise’s mouth puckered as if he’d tasted something vile. “You will not eradicate them. They are still valuable.”

  “Only if they obey, as you’ve said many times.” He loved throwing the professor’s words back at him. It drove the older Almighty crazy and even though doing this was like poking a Tracker, knowing it could kill with one swipe of its large paw, he couldn’t resist.

  “What new process are you attempting?”

  “I’m slowly moving them into the other cage, giving myself time to work with the smaller ones without interference from the older ones. The younger Brush-Men should be more open to influence.”

  “Hmm.” Conguise closed the manila folder. “Let me know how it goes but don’t delay too long. Those eggs need to be destroyed. We can’t be overrun by these creatures. They’re deadly, fertile and voracious.”

  “Of course.” He waited until Conguise opened the next folder—the Aranea files. His biggest success and his secret shame. “Was there anything odd about the last poisoning?”

  “You have Scottsmoor’s notes.”

  “Yes, but I was wondering if perhaps he discussed something with you that he may have forgotten to add to his reports.” Or removed. They all modified pertinent details of their experiments when passing a project along. None of them wanted to be outperformed. If another scientist succeeded where they’d failed, it could mean death—a violent, horrible death.

  “Everything should be in his report. If you don’t understand something, ask him.”

  He understood perfectly.

  “Now, how is the new male Aranea?”

  “Good. He’s young and strong.” Sick and weak was more accurate. “I think he’ll survive.”

  “Is he fertile? We need Aranea19 pregnant. We need viable offspring.”

  “His sperm is potent.” Surprisingly, that was true. Perhaps, it was nature’s way of trying to pass along the genes before the male succumbed to leukemia.

  “Good. Let’s hope they mate before she kills him.”

  “Let’s hope she doesn’t kill him.” Fersia was lonely. He couldn’t undo what he’d done to her. The most he could offer was helping her find a mate.

  Conguise laughed. “Always the dreamer.” He sobered. “The male is smaller than she is, right? We don’t want her dead, not now that she’s improving with the ball play.”

  “The male host is small so his Aranea should be similar in size.” He’d convinced Fersia to play catch with him by telling her if she didn’t both he and Charlie would be reassigned. He’d shown the video to the professor to give Conguise hope that she was improving.

  The truth was, she’d be the one killed if she didn’t show signs of obeying and he’d be forced to create a new female Aranea. He would’ve told her that, but he wasn’t sure death scared her.

  “Good. Has she learned any new com
mands?” Conguise’s face was tense with excitement.

  If only the other Almighty knew that he could communicate with her, but that was a secret he’d die to protect. That information would only spur on Conguise’s crazy experiments and that meant more would suffer.

  “No, not yet.” He was an expert at giving hope where none existed.

  Conguise’s long, thin fingers tapped on his desk, reminding McBrid of the Aranea’s claws as they moved across the tile. “You have tried rewarding her with food, correct?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t want food. She wanted to be a House Servant again, not a monster.

  “Okay. Keep me informed.” Conguise closed the folder.

  Usually, McBrid rushed out the door, eager to get as far away from the professor as possible but today he hesitated.

  “Yes.” Conguise’s thin patrician face watched him.

  “I hear you’re bringing on two more scientists.” One he understood. The professor had never replaced Ableson, but two could mean someone was leaving and the only way out of Level Five was death.

  “Yes. They’ll be mentoring with Scottsmoor and Crackderr.”

  “Excellent.” He hadn’t been asked to mentor. That wasn’t good. He was senior after Crackderr.

  “I plan on moving them from scientist to scientist in order to learn from each of you.” Conguise’s face showed no emotion. “Gruder will mentor with you after Scottsmoor.”

  “I look forward to it.” He inhaled as he stood. With his Guard’s sense of smell, he could detect nervousness or fear. Both of those could signal lying but there was nothing but the faint odor of soap, Almighty, and cologne coming from the professor. It looked like he was safe, at least for another week.

  CHAPTER 13: McBrid

  “Charlie, prop that piece over there.” McBrid had already spoken with the Guard about not using the words trap or cage, even though he didn’t quite believe the little Brush-Man could understand them. Unlike Fersia who’d once been a House Servant, this creature had been born a Brush-Man.

  “Way over here?” asked Charlie.

  “Yep.” He was building a cage around the small cage.

  The Guard gave him a disbelieving look but propped one side of the cage at least three feet away from the trap.

  “What do you want me to do with these?” Louis held up the other four pieces.

  “Lean them against the wall.” He pointed across the room.

  “Over there?” Louis was as confused as his brother.

  “Yes, and then let’s go.” He bent, putting a decent sized piece of meat in the small trap.

  The two Guards followed him out of the lab.

  “Sir,” said Charlie. “I don’t understand how that’s going...”

  He put his finger to his lips for a second. “Follow me.”

  He almost led them to Fersia’s room. It was the safest place for them to talk. Everyone and everything feared the Araneas, but Louis was still very uncomfortable around her. Fersia was friends with Charlie not his brother.

  He led them to his office and closed the door. “Have a seat.”

  The two Guards sat, still uneasy at this informality even after all these months of working with him.

  He grabbed three bottles of water from a small refrigerator and handed one to each Guard before opening his.

  He sat at his desk. “The Brush-Man is too smart to go into that small trap.”

  “It’s big for him,” said Charlie.

  “I thought that too, but it’s been days and he hasn’t gotten used to it enough to go inside. Instead, he always uses some tool to pull the meat to him.” That itself was amazing.

  “How’s a broken cage going to trap him?” Louis took a gulp of his water.

  “We’ll put it together one piece at a time.” His uncle had suggested this, having read about it in one of the ancient texts. “For the past few days, I’ve been cutting back on the amount of meat I leave for him. He should be good and hungry tonight. He’ll be scared of the one side of the cage, but since it’s so far away and not closed I believe he’ll still go for the food.”

  “And then tomorrow we put up another piece?” Louis glanced at his brother still confused.

  “Not that soon. We’ll give it a few days. I’ll cut back on his food again. When we put up another piece, I’ll offer him a big hunk of meat. We’ll repeat the process until the last piece is in place.”

  “Could work,” said Louis.

  “I don’t know.” Charlie leaned forward, his leg bouncing with excitement. “That Brush-Man is smart. He’ll see the wire hooked to the food, just like last time. He’ll understand that it will make the last side of the cage drop. He won’t go for it.”

  “That’s very good thinking, Charlie, but you haven’t seen this cage.” He was proud of the Guard. All the reading Charlie did was helping him to think and ponder ideas and choices. “The last piece, the trap door, will be up high. The Brush-Man will probably notice it, but he won’t realize that it drops.”

  “He’ll be nervous.”

  “You could be right, but we’ll leave it open for a while. Let him get used to it and then I’ll wait nearby and spring the trap when our little friend is busy eating.”

  CHAPTER 14: Glick

  Glick crawled toward the front of the cabinet. Once again, the amount of food the Almighty was leaving in the trap was getting less and less. He was hungry all the time but he didn’t dare come out during the day. He’d have to search the room tonight for crumbs or a stray bug. He stilled, hand frozen in the air in front of him. Feast day had arrived.

  He had no idea why, but the Almighty would cut back on the meat. Until one day—the best day ever—there was almost more food than Glick could eat. Today, a huge chunk of meat hung from the wire.

  He forced himself to stay in the shadow of the counter. Even though this was a pattern, he couldn’t race out to feed. He didn’t want to die like Flea had, pinned down and cut apart.

  He swallowed his desire for the food and studied the room. Everything was normal—the hum of machines, darkness broken by soft lights from some of the equipment, sounds from the Brush-Men enclosure and the cage with food.

  He darted across the room, glancing up at the metal that hung above his head. He’d been nervous about it at first but it never moved and the Almighty had told the Guards that it was something his boss was making all the scientists set up in their labs.

  He didn’t understand anything about science or labs, but he did understand hunger and how to make it go away. Thick, bloody meat always beat hunger. He grabbed the long stick that he used to get his treat, hurried to the cage and climbed the side closest to the meat. His arms trembled as he maneuvered the stick through the metal to the wire attached to the food. He hooked it on the first attempt. By now, he was an expert, but that hunk of meat was so big it didn’t budge as he tried to pull it toward him. He tried again, but it only swayed slightly. He pulled the stick back and re-angled it, trying to get it under the meat. There was a soft snap. He froze, staring at the stick. If it’d broken, he’d never get the food.

  A rattle echoed through the room and then a crash. The cage shook from the impact. He let go of the stick and dropped to the floor. He had to get out of here. Something bad was going to happen. Something bad always happened with the new. He raced toward his home, his corner of darkness but the metal was down. The section that’d been tied up had fallen. He tugged on the wires but they were too strong. He tried to squeeze through but only his arm fit. He raced around the cage, tugging and pulling. This couldn’t be happening. He’d been so careful. He skidded to a halt in front of two large shoes. Shoes like the ones that’d stomped the hatchlings.

  CHAPTER 15: McBrid

  McBrid stared down at the little Brush-Man. Charlie hadn’t been kidding, this thing was tiny. From Scottsmoor’s notations, it was probably the size of a hatchling but it’d been months since any eggs had hatched.

  After he’d heard about the small Brush-Man, he’d pored over S
cottsmoor’s notes. He’d even searched the computer’s hard drive for deleted files. Things were seldom truly gone. He’d managed to locate part of a file where the other scientist had mentioned that a few had survived the initial poisoning but they’d only lived long enough to break through the soil. Scottsmoor hadn’t been able to study them because their bodies had disintegrated due to the chemicals.

  He bent. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The little Brush-Man trembled.

  This didn’t bode well for the creature understanding him as Charlie had claimed. “You’re different from the others.”

  It was very small and its skin didn’t look healthy. Not only was it a dark brown but it looked tight and dry. Basically, the little thing looked like a dead stick instead of a healthy part of a tree limb.

  If this creature had survived the poison and all those months in that noxious cage, it probably wouldn’t live long. He needed to study it, but first he had to get it into a smaller container. The problem was, how did he do that? Dropping a net over the little creature might hurt it or scare it to death but the only other option was...

  “Why don’t you go into the smaller cage? I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

  The Brush-Man didn’t move.

  Gruntshit, he should’ve known better than to get excited about the thing understanding them. He’d give it one more try. “The meat’s in there. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  The Brush-Man glanced at the cage.

  McBrid’s breath caught in his throat. Maybe, Charlie was right. “Look, I won’t hurt you but I have to hide you.” He glanced at the door, hoping the thing could understand him. “There are others”—he was going to gamble—“like Scottsmoor who’d love nothing better than to cut you open.”

  The Brush-Man’s bowels emptied and his body almost convulsed in fear.

  Score one for understanding. He needed to hide this thing. “If anyone finds out about you, they’ll take you away. I won’t be able to stop them.”