SNAFU: Unnatural Selection

by Christopher Golden

  They crept forward. At the cavern entrance, their backs against the rock, Alcouffe motioned to Taine that he should look first, pointing two fingers to his eyes, and back to the entrance.

  Of course. Taine was expendable. Still, he may as well find out what they were up against. He took a breath, raised his weapon, and eased into the grotto.

  Cripes. The cavern wasn’t man-made. Wreathed with rocky outcrops, it was hung with the same hairy crabs that had burst from Benoit’s mother’s stomach. Like fairy lights at the mall at Christmas, they were hanging from the walls, the roof, squeezed into cracks in the rocks, everywhere. The ground though, was littered in rubble, a mound rising in the centre, stark against a green background… Bones. Heaps of them, like waste from an abattoir. Taine identified a few skulls: rodents, dogs, sheep, horses, and human....

  “Well?” Alcouffe whispered when Taine had eased back into the tunnel.

  “It’s a nursery of those crab things.”

  “How many? Are they moving?”

  “Millions of them. They’re moving – but not scuttling about – just waving their spines in the air like seaweed. And there’s—”

  Alcouffe cut him off. “The dragon, McKenna. Did you see it?”

  Taine shook his head, but even as he did a low hiss came from inside the cavern. Taine’s blood ran cold. It was in there? How had he not seen it? Putting a finger to his lips, he slipped into the cavern again. Careful not to disturb the crabs, he took cover behind a boulder and peered out.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected the dragon to look like. More story-bookish. Or like a dinosaur. Something bigger anyway. Instead, the peluda resembled a large shaggy goat, but with a long muscular neck, and a smooth snake-like head and tail. It looked like some kind of bizarre genetic experiment gone wrong. Bent over a bone, it was gnawing at a piece of gristle still clinging to the shaft. It must have been hidden in the crags at the back of the cave. The dragon hissed, and even from a distance the stench was nauseating.

  Behind Taine, a safety clicked off. There was a crunch of gravel.

  The dragon dropped the bone, snapping its snake-head around to follow the sound. Taine checked the crabs, expecting them to be surging from the walls. They remained where they were, apparently disinterested.

  “Merde!” someone cursed.

  Taine risked a glance back. Alcouffe hadn’t waited. Tatou was now on the other side of the entrance, but, just inside the cavern, Rossi was sprawled on the ground – tripped over a bone. Why hadn’t Alcouffe waited for Taine’s intel? Did he already know what they were up against?

  The peluda hissed again, and Taine swung to face it. His throat tightened. The dragon’s shaggy hair had stiffened into needle-like spines, almost doubling the creature’s size, like a cat with its hackles raised. The black barbs glinted, Taine’s night vision goggles capturing every speck of light.

  Taine raised his rifle. He sighted a spot low on the creature’s chest. But Alcouffe was dashing across the gap to cover the downed man. Taine cursed. As Rossi scrambled to his feet, Alcouffe raised his Sig pistol and fired.

  The bullet glanced off the creature, ricocheting into the walls and sending a shower of crabs to the ground. The crabs scurried back to the walls. The peluda remained unharmed.

  Taine could have cried. What was that saying? Déjà vu all over again. The dragon’s spines had deflected the bullet. They would’ve been better off bringing the gendarmes’ riot shields.

  The highly pissed peluda thundered towards Alcouffe, its clawed lizard feet crushing bones as it hurtled across the cavern. It opened its snake jaw wide and hissed. Taine gagged at the smell.

  “Tirez, tirez,” Alcouffe commanded as a volley of spines rained around him. “Shoot!” The gendarmes opened fire. Rossi sprinted for cover.

  Taine fired, and fired again. Tatou did the same from his side. For all the good it did. The FAMAS wasn’t any more effective than the Sig. Bullets pinged everywhere, but nothing was penetrating those spines. They were like a palisade surrounding a Māori pā site.

  Unperturbed by their barrage of fire, the peluda swung its hairless tail over its head, thrusting a tail spike as thick as a table leg, and driving it deep into Rossi’s jugular. Upright, the gendarme jerked to a stop. The peluda wrenched its spike out. Rossi fell face down and didn’t get up, black blood pumping from his neck.

  Advancing into the cavern using the rocks for cover, Alcouffe and his men were firing again: Alcouffe and Tatou on the far side, Thierry and Bruno at Taine’s back, Le Cannu, with the grenade launcher, out wide. Lompech was running deep, taking advantage of the distraction to skirt the edge of the cavern, dodging the rain of crabs and rock.

  “Lompech, you have a plan?” Taine yelled over the firing.

  “The legends say the tail is vulnerable.” Lompech ducked behind some rocks as a bullet skimmed by his head. “I thought I’d see if there was any truth to it.”

  Taine jumped up. Sometimes there was truth in legends. “Coming with you. And watch out – vulnerable or not, that tail is deadly.”

  Taine was scrambling across the bones when Le Cannu dropped to one knee and grabbed Rossi by the jacket, intending to pull his body out of the cavern. But Rossi was built like a rugby prop, and Le Cannu like a halfback, so he only managed to drag the body a few metres when the dragon spat a jet of black saliva, hitting him square in the chest and throwing him backwards. The gendarme yelped. His uniform was sizzling, smoke rising as the fabric disintegrated.

  What the hell? Was the monster was spitting Napalm now?

  Leaving Rossi, Le Cannu was scrambling backwards, trying to get out of range of that spitting, steaming maw.

  Seeing the danger, Lompech hooted and threw stones that plinked into the rubble. It worked: the peluda swung to face the threat at the rear of the cavern.

  Taine leaped then, sliding towards Le Cannu like a batter in one-day cricket match, ducking his head to avoid the swing of that tail. He drew his knife and lowered his arm. Le Cannu’s eyes went wide as Taine sliced upwards, laying open Le Cannu’s clothing from waist to neck. A blackened wound covered his chest and stomach.

  “Take it off!” Taine shouted. He mimed taking off the jacket. There was no need for charades: Le Cannu had dropped the grenade launcher and was already shrugging off his coat. Taine grabbed his free arm and dragged him to the cavern entrance.

  Alcouffe and his men had also retreated to the tunnels. Realising their firepower was a waste of time, they were hurriedly fitting bayonets to their FAMAS assault rifles.

  “Lompech!”

  “I am okay!”

  Like bread in a toaster, the butcher’s son had wedged himself between two large rocks at the back of the cave, sheltering from the hail of spines. The dragon twisted and thrashed, whipping its tail to get at him.

  “Alcouffe!” Taine shouted across the cavern entrance. “Lompech is going to get himself jabbed.”

  “Yes, but he can wait: the beast’s tail is free.”

  Alcouffe signalled to the Frenchmen, who charged at the creature, their bayonets raised. Taine noted that Alcouffe hadn’t bothered to include him in his orders. Or to tell him about the tail’s supposed weakness. With no time to fix his bayonet, Taine drew his knife and followed.

  Alcouffe’s men moved forward, spread out in a semi-circle behind the creature. Suddenly, Bruno darted in and took a jab at the hairless tail. As soon as he drew back, Tatou stabbed at it. The dragon spat acid. Thierry leapt out of the way.

  So, that was the plan. They were a wolf pack, worrying their prey. Le Cannu had stepped in to take his turn, when the dragon snapped its muscular hairless tail sideways, picking up Bruno in the sweeping movement. Like a cow flicking away flies, the creature slapped the gendarme against its flank, the erect spines shooting through his body. Impaling him.

  Eyes wide, Bruno grunted. He looked down at his torso, the spines tethering him to the peluda’s side, like a fly to sticky paper. Before anyone could react, the tail whipped back, this time p
icking up Tatou and flinging him across the cavern. Stunned, Tatou hit the wall, grated down its crabbed surface, the skin on his neck dripping like redcurrant jam.

  There was no time to mourn. The tail was whipping around again, and this time Alcouffe was its target. But Alcouffe’s eyes were still fixed on Tatou. In a second, the lieutenant would be sleeping on a bed of nails.

  Shit.

  Le Cannu’s grenade launcher! It was on the floor. Taine threw himself on the ground surfing though the bones to snatch up the launcher with one hand. He swung it low, taking Alcouffe out by the legs. Alcouffe tumbled to the ground, the peluda’s tail skimming over his head and relieving him of his helmet.

  “Merde!”

  Taine was already on his feet, slashing at the tail as it passed. He thrust deep. The dragon screamed. Blood spurted. It turned its snake-head to Taine, staring at him through slitted eyes. It opened its maw.

  Taine raised the grenade launcher, and shoved the barrel deep into the dragon’s gullet. Suddenly, he was pushed from behind. Someone shouldering him, adding their weight to the scrum.

  “No! Get clear!” Taine shouted. He didn’t dare fire. Not without risking the life of the man behind him. He’d have to choke the beast. He rammed the launcher in deeper. The creature gagged, the reek overwhelming, but instead of succumbing, the jaws opened wider.

  Taine remembered the horse skulls. Please no. Don’t let it be able to detach its lower jaw like a snake. The peluda’s jaws belched, opening further. The beast twisted, the deadly spines on its flanks just half a pace away.

  Choking it wouldn’t work. Taine had to shoot. He might die, the man behind him too, but he had to take the risk. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  Lompech loomed into view.

  Damn it.

  He was in the line of fire. If Taine fired now, Lompech was mincemeat.

  “Move! Out of the way!” Taine yelled. His body was shaking with fatigue, his boots slipping underfoot. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. Lompech or no, he had to fire. There was no other way.

  He squeezed…

  There was a wet crunch of steel on bone. The dragon shuddered and went limp. Lompech had driven his bayonet into the animal’s brain. “C’est fini,” he said.

  Panting, Taine released his grip on the trigger. He withdrew the launcher, blood and drool dribbling from the barrel, and let the creature’s head drop to the ground.

  Le Cannu helped Thierry to his feet. Alcouffe put his helmet back on.

  On the side of the dead beast, Bruno’s grin was macabre.

  * * *

  The radio crackled.

  “Godefroi?”

  “Taine, thank God you’re okay. It’s me, Jules.”

  “Not everyone is okay, Jules.” Against the wall, Tatou’s body was close to bursting.

  Taine heard her gasp over the static. “I’m at the town hall. The butcher and his wife are here.” She spoke in a whisper.

  “Lompech is fine, but we lost some of the others. The spines infected them. We still have a nursery of hairy crabs to deal with, but things are quiet at the moment.”

  “Taine…” She broke off. “Taine, about the spines. Sandrine and I might have discovered something. I went back to the café. Remember the can of Coke that spilled on the stones? The puddle had dried, but the crab was still squeezed in a crack. It wasn’t dead, just stunned, because I took it back to the lab and after a while it recovered. Weak acids, like Coke, appear to anaesthetise them. Which is good because it gives us time to irrigate and cauterise a wound before the maggots can take hold.”

  Too late for Tatou though.

  Taine kicked at the smouldering remains of Le Cannu’s jacket. “The big one – the dragon – spat acid.”

  “Spat it?”

  “Spat it, sprayed it.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “What is?”

  “In the animal kingdom, if you’re going to go to all the trouble of making chemicals then it makes sense to use them.”

  “It was a defence mechanism?”

  “Maybe. But in the last five hundred years? How many predators do you think a cave-dwelling dragon has?”

  Taine stooped to pick up his knife. “Good point.” There was a pause. “Jules?”

  “Did you say the crabs had been quiet?”

  “Yep. They’ve been hanging about on the walls, minding their own business. Unless you touch them. Then, they’re not so friendly.”

  “Hang on…” There was chatter on the line. When she came back, Jules said, “Taine you have to get out of there. Get everyone out now.”

  “But the dragon’s dead, Jules. We killed it.”

  “Taine! Please get out. The dragon’s acid might be what’s kept the crab in hibernation. The way a queen ant emits a chemical to let worker ants know whether to raise princesses or drones. Without the acid’s calming effect, Sandrine and I… we think it will trigger the next phase of the peludas’ life cycle. The adult phase.”

  Taine’s stomach curdled. He glanced around the cavern. While he’d been talking to Jules, the crabs had been sluicing off the walls, dropping to the ground. Thousands, possibly millions of them were on the move: each one with a full set of deadly spines, each one, if properly nourished, capable of growing into a full-sized dragon. The peluda were hatching. And the only food source available was…

  “Taine, we used a Bunsen burner—”

  “Gotta go.”

  “—fire kills them.”

  Taine was already shouting to the remaining men. “Fall back. Out of the caves!” He hoped the urgency told everyone what they needed to know.

  Thierry stooped to pick up Rossi’s body, dragging him into the tunnels, the dead man’s boots scraping the grit.

  Lompech hesitated, looking first at Bruno and Tatou.

  “Leave them!” Alcouffe yanked Lompech towards the tunnels by his sleeve.

  Taine was only steps behind, Le Cannu alongside him, when the peluda’s severed tail whiplashed involuntarily, upsetting the mound of bones. Both Taine and Le Cannu jumped, Taine landing on the other side of the cairn, but Le Cannu wasn’t so lucky; a human skull rolled into his path. Prepared for a first jump, the gendarme hadn’t expected a second. He stepped on the skull, his ankle turning with a crack. Off balance, he careered into the wall, slipping sideways. His soldier reflexes kicked in and he rolled away from the wall, but not before the tiny creatures had grazed the length of his body, barbs sticking in his side like a pins in a pincushion.

  Taine was closing the distance to him when Le Cannu raised his gun. Aiming at Taine. Taine stopped short. A spine had pierced Le Cannu’s eye. Larvae were swarming into the socket, the tissue bulging so the man’s eye was merely a slit. Raising his chin, Le Cannu pointed to the grenade launcher. “Give.” He was calm. He knew he was dead. “Grenade launcher,” he said softly. He lifted a finger to the ceiling of the cave.

  Taine handed him the launcher. He tapped two fingers to his watch. “One minute.”

  Le Cannu waved him off. A white grub crawled out of his eye and down his cheek. “Allez, vite!”

  “Where’s Pascal?” Alcouffe demanded when Taine caught up.

  “The spikes got him,” Taine said, noting the clench of the lieutenant’s jaw. “He’s going to blow the cave.”

  Alcouffe nodded. “We’d better move out then.”

  Lompech led since Tatou was dead. Taine counted his steps. Four minutes. No explosion. Le Cannu must have been eaten before he could bring the ceiling down, the poor bastard. Alcouffe must have come to the same conclusion, because seconds later he called a halt. Taine felt the sweat cool on his neck. He would have to go back.

  “I’ll come with you,” Lompech said, but Taine shook his head. “Go on,” he said. “Help Thierry with Rossi. I’ve got this.”

  “Yes, let the New Zealander do it,” Alcouffe barked. He moved off.

  Lompech glared at Alcouffe’s back, then turned to Taine. “Whatever happens, I will make su
re the lieutenant keeps his word.”

  They shook hands and the butcher’s son turned and ran, leaving Taine alone.

  Taine sprinted back along the tunnel. He didn’t make it as far as the cavern, the night vision goggles revealing a mass of crabs pouring through into the tunnel in a sea of movement. In places, the wave of creepy-crawlies was as high as his knees. The grenade launcher was out. There was no way of getting back to the retrieve it. He’d have to use the M67s. Is that why Alcouffe had given him the grenades? To make it easy to pin all this on the crazed Kiwi and keep the paperwork clean.

  You have done some crazy shit lately, McKenna.

  Taine ran his eyes over the ceiling, checking for the spot most likely to bring the roof down. La Ferté-Bernard was built above this labyrinth. What if he destroyed the entire town? He’d have to risk it. There was no other option. That seething mass could not be allowed to leave the caves. Taine spied a deep crack in the stones. That should do the trick.

  He pulled the pin on the grenade, hurled it, then threw himself into an adjacent layby.

  The explosion roared through the tunnels, rattling his bones. Debris and rocks collapsed, filling the tunnel with dust and noise. Taine held his breath waiting for the crush that would break his back and bury him alive. It didn’t come.

  When the rumble subsided, Taine raised his head. He’d sealed the tunnel and the town hadn’t caved in on top of him!

  He got up and checked the cave-in for cracks. Nothing. The wall of boulders was solid, and apart from a half dozen crabs which he crushed underfoot, the legend of the peluda was buried behind it. Blowing out hard, Taine turned to make the climb back to the surface. Hopefully, the way out wasn’t blocked.

  Out of nowhere, a crab dropped from the ceiling, landing on his gloveless hand.

  Damn it. Missed one.

  Quickly, Taine brushed the creature off, stomping on it with his boot.

  No, no, no.