by L. S. O'Dea
Breaking the Brush Men
Chimera Chronicles, Volume 3
L. S. O'Dea
Published by L. S. O'Dea, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BREAKING THE BRUSH MEN
First edition. October 27, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 L. S. O'Dea.
ISBN: 978-1942706328
Written by L. S. O'Dea.
Also by L. S. O'Dea
Chimera Chronicles
Rise of the River Man
Feeding Fersia
Breaking the Brush Men
Rage Of Rattus Norvegicus
Leaving Level Five
Lake Of Sins
Lake of Sins: Secrets in Blood
Lake of Sins: Hangman's Army
Lake Of Sins: Betrayed
Whispers From the Past
Lake of Sins: Escape
Standalone
Lake of Sins Series Box Set Books 1-3
Chimera Chronicles
A Demon's Gift
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By L. S. O'Dea
Breaking the Brush Men (Chimera Chronicles, #3)
CHAPTER 1: Glick
CHAPTER 2: Glick
CHAPTER 3: Glick
CHAPTER 4: Glick
CHAPTER 5: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 6: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 7: Glick
CHAPTER 8: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 9: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 10: Glick
CHAPTER 11: Glick
CHAPTER 12: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 13: Glick
CHAPTER 14: Glick
CHAPTER 15: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 16: Glick
CHAPTER 17: Glick
CHAPTER 18: Glick
CHAPTER 19: Glick
CHAPTER 20: Glick
CHAPTER 21: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 22: Scottsmoor
CHAPTER 23: Glick
CHAPTER 24: Glick
Rage of Rattus Norvegicus
CHAPTER 1: Rufus
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The World of the Lake of Sins
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Author’s Note
If this is your first foray into my books, you may want to click over to the World of the Lake of Sins section. I put it at the end since it’s just a little information about the world and class-societal structure.
CHAPTER 1: Glick
Glick took short, little breaths, trying to conserve the oxygen as he pushed at the membrane surrounding him. He scratched at the material that had once been filled with life giving mucus but was now thin and brittle. His claw cracked the shell and he tore at the opening. He inhaled deeply, his heartbeat slowing. It was a reprieve but he wasn’t safe yet. This air would run out too. He chipped away at the shell until there was a big enough opening for him to crawl through.
It was dark and damp and the small bits of soil that slipped through the clutch burnt his skin. He fell forward, jarring into another egg. “Sorry.”
The inhabitant was shriveled and dark, his claws pressed against the shell, his eyes unseeing. Glick stumbled backward and there was another egg and another. A few hatchlings had broken free like him. Some hung partway out of their eggs, bent at the torso. Others were prone in the soil, their skin dry and white from the earth’s poison. None moved. He couldn’t be the only one left. Someone else had to be alive. There’d been hundreds in his clutch. He pushed his way through the eggs and bodies, searching for movement, sound, anything that would mean he wasn’t alone. He called out but no one answered. He burst through the last line of eggs and into the soil. It burned his skin and his eyes watered from the toxic fumes, but he couldn’t go back to that crypt.
There was movement behind him and above. Others had hatched and were climbing to the surface. He followed their path, the dirt peppering him and eating into his skin. His nerves tingled and itched. He stopped, unable to do anything but scratch at his arms.
“Keep going.” Someone shoved him from behind. “We have to keep moving.” The other survivor grabbed a smaller companion, tucking her to his side as he pushed past.
“Where are we going?” Glick crawled after them, trying to ignore the pain. If the other guy could do this, so could he.
“Out of here,” said the larger Brush-Man.
Glick followed. It seemed like the entire world was shifting around him. All surviving hatchlings were crawling for the surface. Clicks and chirps of pain created a haunting song that vibrated through the earth.
He tried to stay on the path his larger companion made—less dirt meant less pain—but the other guy was moving fast. Glick stumbled, catching himself seconds before his face landed on the ground. He was tired and he hurt everywhere. He stopped next to another hatchling who was kneeling in the dirt.
“Come on,” yelled the larger Brush-Man.
“I need to rest.”
“You need to move.” The big hatchling looked back at him over his shoulder. “Or you’ll die. Your choice.”
“Bumpers, help him,” said the small female in his arms.
“As soon as I get you to safety, Flea.” Bumpers tightened his grip on his little friend’s hand and kept moving.
“What does he know?” He turned to his companion. “He’s a hatchling just like...”
The other Brush-Man’s eyes and mouth were open. His skin, which was dark brown was starting to turn white and flake away.
“You okay?” He poked the guy’s shoulder and the other hatchling’s arm snapped in two. He staggered backward. That’d be him if he didn’t move. “Wait for me. I’m coming.”
He hurried upward, ignoring the pain from the soil, ignoring the pleas for help and cries of agony from those he passed. He clawed at the dirt and more of his skin turned white. He didn’t want to die. He’d just hatched. He wanted to live. The tip of one of his fingers snapped off, sending shooting pain through his arm. He wanted to tuck his hand into his body but that’d slow him down and then he’d die. He moved faster and faster, his legs unsteady as the burning became more intense. He glanced down. His feet were turning white. He’d lose them soon. His legs too. Without them, he’d never make it to the surface. He was going to die, just like the others.
The earth around him no longer moved as a wave but in tiny ripples of motion. Only a few hatchlings still fought to the surface.
He blocked out the pain as he crawled, always upward. He was never going to make it. He was too tired. He hurt too much. His nose twitched. There was something different in the air. Fresher. Cleaner. Not as damp. He raced toward the scent, his hands raking through the dirt. He screamed as another tip of a finger broke away, but he kept digging. He was not going to die down here. He scrambled and kicked and clawed until suddenly his hand hit air. Real air. Not earth-air.
He shoved upward, his head breaking out of the ground. He inhaled his first deep breath as he emerged from the ground.
“Look out,” yelled someone.
A huge creature stomped toward him. Its feet a hundred times the size of him. He hopped to the side and the foot landed nearby, shaking the earth around it.
“Up here.” Bumpers was hanging on the monster’s clothes. He held out his hand and Glick leapt upward, grabbing it and jumping onto the creature’s foot. With the strength of the other hatchling, Glick scurried up the giant’s pant leg.
“Thanks.” He dug his claws into the cloth securing his position.
Bumpers took Flea’s hand. “We’re glad you made it.” He looked around. “Not many did.”
The ground was littered with carcasses of the hatchlings.
“What’s your name?” asked Bumpers.
“Glick.”
“Over there.” Flea tugged Bumpers’ hand and pointed.
There was movement on the earth. Someone else had survived.
“We need to help him,” said Flea.
“If”—Bumpers slapped the creature’s leg—“this Guard walks that way we will.”
Glick had no idea how he knew this monster was a Guard, but he did. He had memories that he hadn’t learned in his egg.
“We have to do something.” Flea squeezed Bumpers’ hand.
“I can’t exactly guide him.” Bumpers frowned at her but there was amusement in his gaze.
The earth moved in the direction that Flea pointed. A small, clawed hand broke through the surface and then another and another.
“Look at all of them,” he whispered.
“Come on.” Bumpers helped Flea move down toward the shoe. “If we can’t get to them, we at least need to warn them.”
“What’s he doing?” Glick pointed at the second Guard who was a few feet away spraying something. The soil was getting saturated and the air was becoming pungent.
“Don’t know.” Bumpers stopped, near the top of the Guard’s boot. He had one hand clutching the pant leg and held out the other to Flea. “Probably, ain’t good.”
“Why do you say that?” He followed his new friends downward and copied Bumpers, holding on with one hand. The stomping of the Guard rattled his body and he flopped forward, slipping downward. He clutched the cloth with both hands, sinking his claws into the material and steadying himself.
“Because they’re here to kill us.” Flea wrapped her arm through Bumpers’ and moved to his side.
They were riding on a huge creature that wanted them dead. They couldn’t stay here. He scurried farther down the leg and when the Guard stomped, his hands slipped and he fell, his stomach flipping as he dropped through the air. “Help me!”
Bumpers grabbed his arm, catching him before he tumbled to the earth.
“Careful. Soil burns. Remember?” Bumpers put Glick’s hand on the hem of the pants. “Hold on tight.”
“Thanks.” It was still a long way down and hitting the ground would’ve eaten through his skin. Being on a beast who wanted them dead was a bad place, but it beat their alternatives.
“Hey, Stink,” yelled the Guard.
The sound reverberated through the air. Glick buried his face in the cloth, his arms trembling.
“Over there. More of the tiny Brush-Men,” said the Guard.
“Gruntshit,” said Stink. “I’m almost out.” He shook the large container that he held in one hand. His other hand held a hose-like object. “You got enough, Topper?”
“Nah.” Topper’s wand dribbled a little more liquid onto the earth.
“We should fill up”—Topper started for the door—“and spray again.”
“I can’t. I just can’t.” Stink turned and a line of creatures like Glick and his friends stared at them from another cage.
The other Brush-Men were all big—bigger than Glick, bigger than Bumpers. The largest ones were around four feet tall, the smallest several inches. They were thin, brown skeletons with long claws. Their eyes were brilliant blue or green and the bigger ones had leaves sprouting from their bodies.
“We aren’t the only ones,” said Bumpers.
“Not exactly like us.” Glick looked at his arm. “They’re lighter.”
The others were a soft brown whereas Glick, Bumpers and Flea were all dark brown, almost black.
“Still more like us than these guys.” Bumpers tugged on Topper’s pants.
“Scottsmoor will kill us if we don’t finish the job,” said Topper.
“I can’t stay in here much longer.” Stink glanced at the Brush-Men again. “I hate how they watch us. I hate it.”
“Me too but we got to make sure none live.” Topper walked over to the moving earth.
“How we going to do that with no spray?” Stink followed him.
“Five made it.” Bumpers smiled, hugging Flea. “Five.”
Five small hatchlings popped out of the earth, the largest one helping to pull the fifth one from the soil.
The Guard poked at one of the hatchlings with his toe. “This guy ain’t gonna make it long.”
“They look healthy to me,” said Stink.
“Not if we do this.” Topper brought his foot down, crushing a hatchling.
“Watch out,” yelled Bumpers.
The largest Brush-Man looked up and shoved one of his friends out of the way of Topper’s boot. He then hurried to the side, pulling another along with him.
Glick flopped to the side with the impact of the stomp. His claws slipped through the cloth, his feet scrambling for purchase on the slippery boot before catching and steadying himself.
“Run,” yelled Bumpers. “Get on the Guards if you can.”
The remaining four Brush-Men scattered as Topper and Stink stomped, trying to squish them.
The largest of the Brush-Men lifted a smaller one, tossing him toward Topper’s shoe.
“Grab him,” yelled Bumpers as he shoved Flea into the pant leg. “Hold on.”
Glick stared at Bumpers, not sure what he could do. He was bouncing all over and barely holding on himself.
“Help him.” Bumpers was trying to make his way to the boot, but Flea kept falling.
“If I let go, I’ll fall,” said Glick.
The small Brush-Man bounced off Topper’s shoe. A second later the Guard’s foot came down on the hatchling and twisted. When Topper stepped away, the little Brush-Man was smashed in the soil, his arms and one leg disconnected from his body.
On the ground, the largest hatchling raced around the boots, pulling another Brush-Man out from under Topper’s foot. He tossed the littler one upward and it managed to grab a hold of the shoestring but it bounced along the side.
“Help me.” Its blue eyes pleaded up at Glick.
“I’m coming.” Bumpers tangled Flea’s hands in the cloth and kissed the back of her head. “Hold on.”
She nodded and he made his way down Topper’s leg.
“Bumpers, I’m slipping,” yelled Flea.
Bumpers looked up at his friend and then down at the hatchling. “Glick, do something.”
Glick shook his head and clutched the cloth tighter. If he let go, he’d die.
“Hold on, both of you.” Bumpers raced upward, grabbing Flea and tossing her over his shoulder as he made his way to Glick. He yanked on Glick’s arm.
“Stop it. I’ll fall.” His new friend was trying to kill him.
“Let go!” Bumpers slapped Glick’s hand.
“Don’t.” His so-called friend pried his fingers loose. He was going to die. He was going to fall and the Guard was going to crush him. He leaned forward, clasping onto the material with his teeth.
Bumpers shoved Flea under Glick’s arm. “Now, hold on. Both of you.”
Glick and Flea tangled their hands into the cloth as Bumpers made his way across the shoe.
“Please, I can’t hold on much longer,” yelled the hatchling.
“Don’t let go. I’m coming.” Bumpers legs slid out from under him as Topper’s foot landed on the earth with force.
“Bumpers!” Flea buried her face in the cloth between their hands. “Tell me he’s okay. Please.”
<
br /> Bumpers was falling, sliding along the slippery boot but the claw on his foot caught on the frayed edge of a shoestring.
“Is he okay?” Flea lifted her head, but refused to look anywhere except at their hands.
“Ah...not sure yet.” But it didn’t look good.
Bumpers was hanging upside down, bouncing with every step, but he didn’t seem to be concerned about himself. “Grab on.” He stretched, reaching for the hatchling.
The tiny Brush-Man clasped onto the extended hand, his claws sinking into flesh, but Bumpers didn’t even flinch.
“Use your feet to help,” shouted Bumpers.
The littler Brush-Man’s legs began to flail, but eventually his feet landed against the boot and he climbed. Bumpers’ arms shook as he pulled but he didn’t let go. Every step the hatchling took seemed like forever but finally the tiny Brush-Man was safe on the top of the shoe.
“Hold on.” Bumpers tugged on his hand, and the hatchling let go.
Bumpers struggled to sit up. Topper’s stomping made him bounce back against the shoe, hitting his head over and over but with one sudden burst he was up. He wiggled until he had the shoelace in one hand and then he unhooked his foot.
“Please. Tell me what’s happening,” whispered Flea.
“They’re safe. They’re both safe.” Glick started to hug her but tightened his grip on the cloth instead.
She turned, letting go with one hand and giving him a quick hug before turning and yelling, “Way to go, Bumpers!”
Bumpers looked up at them, his face parting in a wide grin. Glick forced himself to smile back at his friend. It should’ve been him. He’d been closer. He should’ve saved the hatchling, but instead he’d clung to the Guard’s pants like a coward.
CHAPTER 2: Glick
Glick clung to Topper’s pant leg and the little hatchling clung to him. The tiny Brush-Man’s claws scraped Glick’s skin every time the Guard moved but he wasn’t going to complain. He could handle a little pain. He flinched as a claw dug into his back. Okay, that was more than a little. He opened his mouth to yell, but the Guard stopped.
