Dominant Species Omnibus Edition

by David Coy

  “Screw it, right?” Donna said. “It’s the chance we’ll take.”

  “Now you’re showing a con . . . a conscience,” Rachel said.

  “Oh, save it, Rachel. I’m showing stupidity.”

  They sat wet, barely moving, in the dripping foliage like still, carved outgrowths of the alien plants. They sat and waited.

  “I’m hungry,” Rachel said at one point.

  “Me, too,” John said.

  “Oh, quit your complaining, Rachel,” Donna snapped.

  They sat and waited until darkness and the first bugs crawled or flew out from under leaves, bark and fallen logs.

  Finally, Donna rose to her feet and went over to Katz. She pulled the gag out of his mouth. His mouth worked to unstiffen itself.

  “Okay, we’re moving. One peep out of you or Bukowski, and I swear I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you here.”

  “You win,” Katz said.

  “Yeah. I win. Don’t fuck with me.”

  “Can you loosen the belt around my arms. It hurts like hell.”

  “Forget it,” she said.

  They helped the men to their feet, and Donna prodded them forward with the rifle’s muzzle. By the time they were halfway to the lockup, the bugs were heavy in the wet air, swirling around them or buzzing past, smacking noisily off their clothes or flying full speed into their faces, making them duck or wince.

  “Ever been out at night without a net suit, Katz?” Donna asked.

  “No.”

  “You should try it sometime for a few nights—just for fun.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie added.

  John opened the door using Bukowski’s key, and Donna prodded them up the steps. She kept them moving all the way to the kitchen then pushed them down into the u-shaped dinette seat. “You’re on your own, boys,” Donna said and turned to go. “You’ve killed us,” Katz said.

  “Hey, I could have left you outside. Stop complaining.”

  “They’ll put us in those cages,” Bukowski said.

  “Hey, beg forgiveness. You never know.”

  “We’ll be Vilaroosed,” Katz said.

  “Better you than me,” she said casually.

  “Donna,” Katz implored.

  “What?”

  “Leave the door unlocked.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please.”

  “Nah. Not a good idea.”

  “I promise we won’t move for an hour, say. Besides it’s to our advantage not to . . . to go after you . . . ”

  “Nah.”

  “Or even tell anyone you’re gone. We’re at risk as much as you. Please.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “If you could bring us back, your asses would be in Jacob’s good graces and ours would be in jail waiting to die. Forget it, I can’t take the chance.”

  She took a few more steps toward the door.

  “Please. I’ll give you my word as a soldier.”

  She stopped and turned.

  “Katz, look. You’re a smart guy. Forget it. You don’t have much to trade here. I gotta go.”

  “Wait! I’ll give you the key to our squad’s shuttle.”

  That got her attention.

  “You don’t have it,” she said.

  “Yes, I do. I have it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Here. Here in my pocket.” He pointed at his right upper pocket with his face.

  If he was telling the truth, they stood a chance of a clean get away. Her first impulse was to call John or Rachel to check it out. That would have been the smart thing. What she did instead was walk over and put the muzzle of the rifle against his chest. “If you so much as blink, I’ll shoot you,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Holding the rifle with one hand, she reached out with the other and slipped her fingers in the pocket.

  The hand came out of nowhere and with such speed she had no chance to avoid it. It grabbed the rifle’s barrel, and she felt herself lose control of it as it was forced into the air. Her finger closed on the trigger and the weapon fired a burst with the loudest noise she’d ever heard and left a straight line of holes in the shelter’s wall above Bukowski’s head. She growled and kicked wildly at Katz as he tried to get up, hitting him solidly in the midsection. The blow drove him back onto Bukowski’s lap. Before he could scrabble back up, she brought the rifle back down at him and fired. A cloud of red spray filled the air around both men as the rifle roared and clattered. Some of the rounds hit the edge of the plastic table, shattering it. When her finger relaxed on the trigger and the awful noise stopped, silence filled her head like soft wax.

  Through the whine of ringing ears, she heard the tiny, faraway sounds of table fragments hitting the floor.

  Katz was killed instantly. Pinned under Katz, Bukowski’s legs moved and kicked lamely as if he was trying to climb out and get away. He stared up in dumb shock at Donna, coughed a single gob of blood, and then died. The same bullets had killed both men.

  John was through the door as fast as his legs could carry him, followed a step behind by Rachel.

  “What did you do?” Rachel asked.

  “I killed the bastards!” Donna screamed. “I fucking killed them!” She pointed the rifle at Rachel.

  “Donna, don’t,” John commanded, pushing the rifle’s business end toward the floor.

  “They tried to kill me, Rachel! Katz grabbed the gun, and I shot him! The goddamned bullets went through Katz and killed Bukowski, too.”

  “She’s right, Rachel," John said. “Look. Katz must have worked his arms free.” He pointed to the belt now hanging loose from one arm.

  “I did them a favor,” Donna said.

  “Sure,” Rachel said. “Sure you did. That’s the kind of gesture everybody appreciates.”

  “Forget it, Rachel,” Donna said. “At least we’re alive.” She leaned over and reached into Katz’s pocket, just to be sure. She was surprised when her fingers found the object. She held it up to John hopefully. “Does that look like a shuttle key?” she asked.

  “Hell, no. It’s a key to a portable field latrine,” he said.

  She backhanded the key against the wall. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  She brushed past them and headed for the door.

  “Where are we going?” Rachel asked.

  “We need transportation,” Donna answered. She opened the door and walked out into the night. The air was filled with flying insects.

  “The bugs . . . ” Rachel said.

  “Screw the bugs,” Donna said and stomped off toward the settlement, rifle in hand.

  The first truck they came to was parked outside an abandoned shelter on the edge of the settlement. Three of the tires on one side were flat. When John looked closer, he saw slashes in the tires’ sidewalls. “Somebody didn’t like this truck,” he said.

  “Maybe there’re some spare tires,” Eddie said.

  “Forget it,” Donna said. “We’ll find something else.”

  The contractor’s ghetto was where it had always been, but it was worse than they’d ever seen it. Half the shelters were abandoned. Plants and vines grew up under them and over them and through open doors and windows. The ones with lights on were a little better, but some of the plant life had been trimmed back, and they looked somewhat maintained. The former clinic was ruined; deserted and ransacked for anything useful. It sickened Donna to see it. Its doors hung open exposing a black and cavelike interior—an invitation to any infection-carrying crawler or flyer to come right on in and nest.

  A few of the shelters had trucks parked along side them. Donna set her sights on one straight ahead and marched toward it.

  When they got near it, Eddie spoke up. He knew right where he was.

  “This is my old boss’s place,” he said nervously.

  “So?” John asked. “Wanna go in and say hi?”

  “No.”

  “Leave him alone,” Donna said.

  “T
hat’s her truck. She usually leaves the key in it,” Eddie said.

  “Good choice, Ed?” John asked.

  “I guess so,” Eddie reluctantly replied.

  “Shut up. Both of you,” Donna ordered, “And wait here.”

  She crept quietly, and crouching, hid behind the truck and scoped out the shelter’s windows. When she thought it was clear, she waved the others up. They squatted in a tight knot behind the truck, their voices low.

  “We can’t get in it without exposing ourselves to the windows,” Donna said. “Eddie, crawl up and see if the key is in it.”

  Eddie slipped around the side of the truck and crabbed along until he could peak up into the cab. There was the key embedded in the dash. All they had to do was turn it on and drive away. Part of him wished it were anybody’s truck but Joan’s. The other part was glad the key was right where it was.

  He crabbed back.

  “It’s there. We’re all set,” he said.

  “We’ll have to risk it,” Donna said. “John goes first then Rachel. Eddie, then me. Go.”

  John crouched along the side of the truck, opened the door gently, and slipped into the driver’s seat. He quietly closed the door just until the catch engaged with a slight click. Rachel followed up and slipped in the rear door behind him. She left the door open for Donna and Eddie and scooted over to the far side to make room. Eddie was next and slid up into the truck without making a sound.

  “Piece of cake,” Donna whispered to herself. She started toward the open door.

  She didn’t see the insect launch itself from the soft green stalk just a meter away. Compelled by the warm flesh at the base of Donna’s neck, its strong back legs sent it from its perch toward the target like a shot. Donna felt the insect hit her collar, but she was quite used to that particular sensation and ignored it. When the insect clamored onto her neck and sunk its spiky legs deep, Donna froze and winced. She went to her knees with the pain, and with a snarl, reached up to pull the offending thing off. Her fingers found the insect’s slick, leathery form stuck to her neck like a barnacle. She knew what it was by touch. She’d removed a dozen of them, but in the clinic, with a good anesthetic and surgical tools. Her heart pounded. She also knew it had to come off—right now. She gripped it as tight as she could with her fingertips. The insect started to drive its pointed snout into the thick bundle of veins just under the surface. Donna squeezed and pulled.

  The insect retaliated with a squirt of alkaline liquid from the tips of each of its six pointed legs.

  Donna felt the searing flame on her neck. It quickly spread over her entire face and neck. She saw bright lights bursting before her eyes. The sound started like the high-pitched groan of a little girl hurt, then grew to a deep, guttural resonation that would not be contained. Unable to suppress it, Donna opened her mouth and howled.

  “What the . . . ?" John asked in disbelief and opened the door to look. He saw Donna on her knees leaning against the truck, her hand splayed open, framing the dark spot on her neck. He slipped out of the truck and went to her side. “What is it?"

  Donna couldn’t speak. She sucked another gulp of air and roared again—a sound part growl, part moan.

  “Shit!” John said. He looked around nervously for someone— soldiers, security, anybody—to catch them any second.

  Rachel and Eddie clamored out of the truck to help. Rachel rested her hands on Donna’s shoulder and head and examined the insect, now seemingly stitched to her neck. “Christ, it’s a pepper bug,” she said. “It’s on good. We gotta get her outta here.”

  They helped her to her feet, her body pain-stiffened and her head cocked to one side. She stopped howling, her eyes and mouth now pinched tight.

  “Where?” John asked.

  “To the clinic, I guess. Maybe there’s something left we can use,” Rachel said.

  Holding Donna between them, they started in the direction of the clinic.

  The voice behind them stopped them cold.

  “Bring her inside,” Joan said.

  John turned to confront the voice, his hand taking a grip on the rifle slung over his shoulder. He noticed that Eddie stood there stiffly, facing the other direction.

  “Well c’mon,” Joan said. “We’re being eaten alive out here. You too, Eddie,” she smiled. “Get your butt inside.” Joan turned and double-timed it up to the shelter’s door.

  She held the door open for them as they came in, whacking at some of the larger bugs that tried to follow along. Sheepishly, Eddie walked in. Joan slapped a large beetle off his shoulder and mashed it with her boot.

  “Hey,” she said to him. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Yeah,” Eddie said, not meeting her eyes

  “We have some things to talk about, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “C’mon.” She guided him inside with her hand lightly on his back. He moved as easily as a feather. It seemed to her he weighed nothing at all.

  They moved Donna into the kitchen and sat her down. Joan turned up the lights. When she looked at the thing on Donna’s neck, she could see a thin line of blood running out from under it and down into her clothes. The blood had gathered in a fist-sized blot on her shoulder.

  “Rachel,” Donna said weakly. “You’ll have to do it. It’s easy. For you, it’s easy.” She tried to smile.

  “What’s the procedure?”

  “Pull the long, back legs off with your fingers.”

  Donna’s voice was so weak and low, Rachel had to lean in to hear her.

  “Okay.”

  “Use some clippers or scissors to nip the head off at the thorax,” she continued in a weak voice.

  “Okay.”

  “After you get the head severed, nip off each leg about a centimeter from the body.”

  “Got it.”

  “After that the legs will slip right out. The head will come out if you work it around a little.” She looked at Joan. “You’re uh . . . ?” she asked.

  “Joan Thomas. You treated a couple of my kids on your first day here.”

  “Joan?” Donna asked. “Do you have any antiseptic?”

  “Sure. Lots.”

  “We’ll need it.”

  “I’ll get it. I’ve got some little wire cutters, too. Would those work?”

  "Sure."

  A few minutes later, Rachel finished taping a clean white bandage over the rows of wounds on Donna’s neck. Donna was clearly relieved and was on the very verge of smiling. “Those little bastards are horrible,” she said.

  “So I take it you all escaped from that brig they set up down the road,” Joan said. “That took some doing. I like that. They say you three are murdering outlaws.”

  Donna and John exchanged looks. “What if they’re right?” John asked.

  “Seems to me you’ve killed the right ones, that’s what,” Joan said.

  “There are no right ones,” Rachel said.

  “Yes there are,” Donna said in a tired voice.

  “No, there aren’t,” Rachel repeated.

  “Cut it out,” John said in a calm voice. “Look, Joan. You could get in a lot of trouble by helping us like this. You know that, don’t you?”

  Joan laughed a brief, loud laugh. “I’d say you’ve got that reversed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. You definitely have that backwards,” she said, her tone taking a deadly serious turn.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we’re taking our lives and the planet back, that’s why."

  “Who is?”

  “Let’s just say it’s the ones at the ass-end of the food chain. You, too. In fact, the four of you are at the dog’s ass-end.”

  “So how are you gonna pull off this insurrection?” Donna asked.

  “God, I like the sound of that——insurrection—don’t you?” Joan asked with a half-mad conspiratorial smile.

  “Yeah, we’re revolutionaries. Real big time. So how?”

  Joan smiled a warped smile. “We�
�ve got a surprise for Mr. Jacob No Name.”

  “What kind of surprise?” Donna asked, intrigued by this determined, though maybe slightly deranged, woman.

  Joan sniffed, then looked from one to the other as if she were keeping some incredible secret and unsure whether or not to tell it to these relative strangers. She thought it over. It was so cool. She had to show it off.

  “I’ll show you,” she said.

  She got up from the table and headed down the hall. She returned a minute later with the nuke attached to its carrying strap. She dropped it onto the table with a loud thump.

  “Is that what I think it is?” John asked.

  “Not if you think it’s a big bird’s egg,” Joan said. She took her hand off it and the device rolled over. John nervously grabbed it, and then eased it over until it rested on the strap. Joan took the detonator out of an upper pocket and held it up.

  “This is the gizmo that sets it off,” she said. “I’ve got it all programmed and ready to go. What do you think?”

  “What is it?” Rachel asked nervously.

  “It’s a nuclear bomb,” John said.

  Rachel swallowed and crossed her arms. Eddie sat down with a concerned look, his hands between his knees.

  Donna rested her chin in her fist and knitted her brow at it. She could almost feel the energy inside the thing, pushing and snarling to get out, like some raging demon. The exterior of the device was covered with neat rows of printed instructions and big red and yellow labels that wrapped perfectly around its curved form. The warnings seemed superfluous. Why have warnings at all on a nuclear bomb? The surface was dark gray, smooth, with a texture of satin. It was actually quite attractive, like a piece of sculpture. She could imagine it being on display somewhere. She imagined, too, the title, printed on a white card affixed to the corner of the pedestal: Proto-nuclear Exploding Device. The artist’s name would be Commonwealth Armed Forces.

  “Where did you get it?” Donna asked, more casually than she was feeling.

  Joan sniffed again and hesitated. She’d told them this much; even showed it to them. What did she have to lose?

  “I stole it,” she said with a quick glance at Eddie.

  “From the Council’s hired hands?” Donna asked.

  “The Council is the hired hands,” John added with sarcasm.