“If the human persists, it will be transfigured into varmints.”
“I’ll stop her.” Desmond tried to swim through the fluid, without much success. “Can you help me get out? I care about her and don’t want her to get hurt.”
Whatever was gripping his right hand began pulling him toward the membrane.
The conversation was ending, but Desmond had many more questions. “This key you mentioned. Do you think you could share it with me? Could you tell me how to find it, or tell me the information it contains?”
“Perhaps. Come feeding time, if you do what you have promised, perhaps we’ll bequeath the secret of the key to you.”
He had arrived at the edge of the bubble and could see Infinity on the other side. She was now standing still, looking back at him.
“Is there any chance we could use the key to reverse the destruction of our world?”
“You claimed to know the process had gone too far. If your claim was truthful, the process cannot be reversed.”
Desmond felt the membrane give way against his skin. His left arm and shoulder passed through. Infinity grabbed his wrist and pulled. For a moment, he tried to resist. He needed more time. But the mongrels nudged him the rest of the way through the membrane.
He fell to the ground in a heap. Infinity raised his torso to help the fluid drain from his mouth. He realized he was holding his breath. Surprisingly, the thought of switching breathing mediums again was almost as terrifying as it had been the first time. But the fluid in his lungs was depleted of its oxygen. He blew most of it out onto the ground. He choked on his first breath of air, triggering a coughing fit. Eventually, the last of the fluid came out, and he took a few tentative breaths. The air seemed so thin, so easy to suck in and blow out. He tipped and shook his head to drain his right ear and then his left. He sat up and blinked at Infinity.
She stared back at him with a deep frown.
“We can talk out loud now,” he said.
“What the hell happened?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
He wiped the last of the fluid from his eyes. “You’re not going to believe it.”
18
Tiers
September 3 - 6:37 AM
A refugee woman whistled to draw Infinity’s attention. The woman pointed. The sun had just risen, and nearly-horizontal shafts of light barely illuminated the forest, but there was movement in the distance. A man with an orange body and blue arms. A yellow woman with black stripes.
The painted herd was coming.
Infinity scanned the sea of over five hundred refugees gathered beside the mongrel bubble. The refugees were not holding rocks or other weapons, and they were seated on the forest floor rather than standing, in order to appear less threatening. Having had only an hour to prepare for this moment, they had discussed and discarded several plans in favor of a tiered approach. They would begin with a peaceful, reserved plea for an audience with the leaders of the painted herd, assuming the group even had leaders. They would follow this up, as needed, with increasingly aggressive tiers of persuasion. If necessary, they’d go as far as deploying two or three refugees to every native, chasing them down and restraining them, forcing them to listen to reason.
It was crucial that the herd understand what was at stake.
Besides Infinity and Desmond, only three refugees were standing: Arty, Gretchen, and Lottie. Oliver and a handful of others were waiting for group thirty-two to arrive, at which time they would calm the new arrivals and prevent them from escalating the situation.
Infinity glanced at Desmond. Remnants of mongrel bubble fluid clung to his skin. Most of the fluid had dried, leaving behind a layer of clear film that was gradually flaking off. He noticed her looking at him and nodded, indicating he was ready.
Nehemiah, the man with a black torso and yellow limbs, was leading the approaching herd. It appeared the entire herd was coming. And every one of the natives was carrying at least one rock. These people were expecting trouble.
The herd stopped ten yards from the closest refugees. Nehemiah glared at Infinity but remained silent.
“You can speak freely,” Desmond said. “I have spoken to the mongrels, and they have agreed to allow us to talk.”
Several hundred native heads turned to stare at the translucent bubble.
“You lie,” Nehemiah said, covering his mouth and keeping his voice low. “No one speaks to the mongrels but for musk monkeys.”
“That statement ain’t necessarily true,” a warbling voice said. Abel walked around the edge of the mongrel bubble, once again having appeared unexpectedly. The musk monkey positioned himself between the painted herd and the refugees. Infinity realized for the first time that the flakes of transparent film peeling from its green skin were dried pieces of mongrel bubble fluid. Abel continued, “A human with a stubborn streak and a will to give up the ghost might have the gumption needed to speak to the mongrels.” The creature looked directly at Desmond. “And live to tell of it.”
“Ain’t no concern of ours,” Nehemiah said. “We offered these people a fair deal to leave us be, but they spurned our offer. They intend to seize our bailiwick, and we got every right to defend it.”
“Please listen to what I have to say,” Desmond said. “We have a plan you’re going to like. I did talk to the mongrels, and they agreed to allow our herds to live together in this bailiwick. They’ll provide sustenance for all of us, a combined herd of nine hundred.”
Several long seconds of silence followed.
Infinity’s muscles tightened, an instinctive response to moments of uncertainty, particularly when lives could be lost.
“Lies!” one of the native women hissed.
“The mongrels are deceivers,” Nehemiah said. “You’ve been hoodwinked.”
Again, several seconds of silence.
“No, I haven’t,” Desmond said with admirable calm. “The mongrels agreed to allow all of us to—”
He was cut short by a sharp phhhit, and then another. Arty slapped his neck and looked at his hand. Wet goo glinted on his palm.
“God almighty,” cried a man painted brown on his back side and yellow on his front. The man’s chest had also been hit with goo.
Arty fell to the ground, and the brown and yellow man did the same a few seconds later.
“You’ve brung mongrel mischief upon us all!” Nehemiah said.
The painted herd began backing away.
“Wait!” Desmond said, holding both his hands up. “The mongrels meant what they told me. I’m sure of it.”
Arty and the native man weren’t even struggling. They appeared to be dead. Infinity stepped closer to Arty to check for a pulse, but then she stopped cold. His body was changing. And so was the painted man’s. Lengthwise slits formed on their skin. The slits became deeper and wider, until the two men were no longer recognizable as humans. Their bodies separated into numerous elongated, worm-like strands, which then segmented into shorter pieces, each about fifteen inches long.
Infinity stared, mesmerized, as tiny protrusions grew in rows on the sides of each piece. Each protrusion elongated until it became a jointed leg with a single claw at its tip.
Desmond moved to Infinity’s side. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said in a whisper. Together they stood watching the final transformations.
The two men had each become a pile of twitching venomcrooks, perhaps fifty per pile.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Abel warbled.
Nehemiah stepped closer to the pile of weapons that moments ago had been his companion. “Bloody buggering hell,” he whispered. “Venomcrooks!”
The retreating natives stopped in their tracks and began approaching again.
“They didn’t say anything about using weapons,” Desmond said to Infinity. “They just said we had to convince the herd.”
“Well, venomcrooks are pretty goddamn convincing,” Infinity said. “Apparently they want to make this more interesting.”
“My good
ness gracious,” Abel repeated, his voice higher than before. “Tribulation and trauma are afoot.” The creature scrambled to the nearest tree and began climbing. “Tribulation and trauma, as sure as the day is long.”
The painted natives crowded around their pile of venomcrooks and stared, wide-eyed.
The situation was about to go to hell. The mongrels may have intended for the painted herd to have half the venomcrooks, but Infinity wasn’t about to let that happen. She turned to the refugees. “Everyone on your feet! Surround both these piles of weapons. Don’t let anyone through. No one touches them!”
But it was too late. The natives were already grabbing wildly, each of them fighting to get their own venomcrook. Some of them began moving toward the second pile.
“No!” Infinity cried. She darted in and clotheslined the nearest woman with her forearm, flipping the woman onto her back. The two men who had been behind the woman paused briefly, then they quickly spread out to go around Infinity.
She managed to trip one of them, and Desmond darted in front of the other and shoved him. “Get back! You’re not touching these.”
The other refugees had now surrounded the pile of venomcrooks that had once been Arty Heath, cutting off the painted herd’s access.
The venomcrooks that used to be the painted man now had all been snatched up. The natives stood staring, mouths agape, at the weapons in their hands, as if they couldn’t believe they were real. A woman painted green and yellow suddenly struck her own thigh. Seconds later she went to her knees and then to the ground, moaning with pleasure. A purple and red man beside her saw what she had done and then struck himself. Three others followed their example.
“Stop, you fools!” Nehemiah cried. “The mongrels did not bless us with these venomcrooks for you to lay waste to your own wits. No! This blessing’s for a higher purpose. We shall smite these demonic usurpers. They wish to seize our bailiwick. Instead, they will come to know pain. I have seen the musk monkey command the venomcrook to purvey pain. It is done thusly, with four quick thrusts to one side.” He put his hand on the weapon’s exposed tendon and pushed it to the side four times.
Infinity had already begun sprinting the ten yards to Nehemiah. She drove her right foot into the side of his ribcage hard enough to crack bone. He went down, dropping his venomcrook and gasping for air. Infinity snatched up his weapon.
“Listen!” she announced to the painted herd. “If you want to live, listen to what we have to say.” She glanced at Desmond.
“We have a plan for all of us to survive together,” he shouted. “The mongrels will allow it.”
At least a dozen natives had now dosed themselves and were moaning on the ground in rapture. The rest of them were fiddling with the handles of their weapons, apparently following Nehemiah’s instructions.
“Drive the usurpers away!” a green and black man cried as he began charging at Infinity.
Unwilling to risk even a scratch from the man’s venomcrook, Infinity waited until the last moment and then darted to the side, circling to the man’s back before he could come to a stop. She struck the back of his neck with the venomcrook she’d taken from Nehemiah. The man stopped and turned to her with a confused look. His eyes bulged, and he collapsed, screaming from the pain that was spreading across his body.
Infinity stared at the man for a moment, almost feeling sorry for him. She then scanned the fifty or so natives holding venomcrooks. A few of them looked hesitant. But not the majority. They were beyond listening to reason.
She began backing away from the painted herd. “Everyone who can, grab one of those weapons!”
This was all it took—apparently sensing they had an advantage, the natives charged.
Infinity managed to strike the closest man in the face with her venomcrook without getting dosed, but then she realized there were too many. She ran back toward the refugees, Desmond following at her side.
“Form a defensive line!” she yelled.
Some of the refugees were still swarming around the pile of weapons, trying to distribute them, while others had moved back to avoid the conflict altogether, too disorganized to respond adequately within the few seconds available.
The painted herd plowed into the refugees, viciously striking them with venomcrooks, rocks, and fists. Screams of fear and pain erupted amidst the melee. Dozens of refugees collapsed, and painted people tripped over them, creating a tangled, thrashing pile.
Infinity had never experienced a conflict like this, but she quickly realized the refugees’ only hope was to run from the natives. She needed more time to organize them into some kind of defensive formation.
“Run!” she cried. “Leave the fallen behind and follow me. Stay together!”
But the refugees were already scattering in every direction.
She saw Desmond intercepting some of them. “This way!” he shouted. “Stay together with the group.” He pointed toward Infinity and the fleeing refugees changed direction.
Infinity took off running, leaving behind dozens of fallen refugees.
When she was sure at least a couple hundred refugees were following her, she stopped. “Desmond, keep them together. Don’t stop until you’re no longer being followed! Those of you with weapons, come over here with me. If you don’t think you can use the weapon, give it to someone who can.”
Seconds later, about forty armed refugees had gathered around her.
Infinity heard shouting in the distance. “Colonists! It’s Desmond. If you hear me, come to my voice.”
She heard cries of anger and pain coming from the direction of the bridge-in site. About ten armed natives were chasing a refugee woman toward Infinity’s group, but they stopped and turned back when they saw they were outnumbered.
Infinity scanned the refugees around her. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But listen—Desmond’s plan will work. We have to believe it’ll work because it’s the only chance we have. The mongrels screwed with us by tossing venomcrooks into the mix, but we have no choice but to hope they’ll still honor their promise.”
“We understand the stakes,” one of the men said. “Tell us what we need to do.”
“We have to make these goddamn painted assholes understand. But first we have to keep them from killing any more of our people.”
A new surge of cries arose from the bridge-in site. But these were different, more like cries of confusion.
“Oh hell, that’s group thirty-two,” Infinity said. “I need every last one of you to help me protect them.” Without giving them a chance to doubt themselves, she started running.
As she approached the area near the mongrels’ bubble, she saw a scene of chaos. As many as a hundred bodies, of both refugees and natives, littered the ground. Some of them writhed in pain or pleasure, while others lay still, perhaps dead. Within the bridge-in site, some of the twenty newly-arrived refugees were still retching. Those who had already recovered were staring wide-eyed at the mass of brightly-painted natives converging on them with rocks and twitching venomcrooks.
Infinity ran faster. She charged into the midst of the painted natives, hitting three of them in the back with her venomcrook before they realized she was upon them. She struck three more while they were still reeling from surprise.
The forty armed refugees who had followed her plowed into the painted bodies, cursing and swinging their venomcrooks like maniacs. Dozens of painted bodies collapsed, and the remaining natives panicked and fled. But the refugees didn’t stop, striking another fifteen or so as they tried to escape. Enraged refugees started chasing after the remaining fleeing natives.
Infinity noticed more natives closing in from all directions, returning from chasing the scattered refugees. “No,” she shouted to the refugees giving chase. “Let them go! We need to get out of here.”
The refugees stopped and turned back. They looked almost disappointed, which was good. It meant they were reaching the critical point of murderous fury necessary for self-preservation. Most people simply
weren’t equipped to fight and kill until they had been driven to this critical point.
Infinity nodded down at the fallen natives. “Grab every one of these venomcrooks. And be careful!”
She scanned the surrounding ground for fallen refugees—she saw perhaps twenty. Most of them were completely still or barely moving. She saw one of them flick a venomcrook to dose himself. She stepped over and snatched the weapon from the man’s hand. Hopefully he would recover, but she didn’t have time to worry about him now. She quickly checked to make sure none of the other fallen refugees or natives had venomcrooks in their hands or nearby.
Once she was certain, she turned to the twenty new arrivals, who were now either staring in horror at the bodies around the bridge-in site or staring in confusion at the shimmering bubble looming over them. She waved her hand to get their attention. “Hey! There’s no time to explain. You need to come with us. It’ll hurt your feet, but keep up. We have to stay together.” She scanned the surrounding forest. Painted natives were clustered in haphazard groups here and there, but they were slowly regrouping. Soon they would muster the confidence to attack again. Infinity needed time to come up with a new approach.
She ran, leading the band of sixty naked refugees away from the bridge-in site.
19
Manifestation
September 3 - 7:19 AM
Oliver Hanley came over and stopped beside Desmond. “Three hundred and ninety, plus or minus. And there come another two now.” He pointed to two refugee women picking their way through the underbrush toward the main group. “Only twelve of them have venomcrooks, so including yours we have thirteen.”
Desmond shook his head and cursed silently. Six hundred forty refugees had already bridged to this world. Now over two hundred were missing or dead. The plan to convince the painted natives to join them had seemed easy when he’d described it to the mongrels. But it had turned into a complete disaster. To make matters worse, the painted herd was apparently in possession of the majority of the venomcrooks.
Bridgers 3_The Voice of Reason Page 17
