by Pam Godwin
Exhale. Squeeze. The carbine’s telescoping stock tapped my shoulder. I rocked with it, settled in a zone, wrapped in the caress of gun powder. When the bugs moved toward me, Michio fought them. With his hands, his spiked cane, his musculature and speed impossible to follow. Goddamn. He was as fast and strong as the aphids. Was he injecting steroids?
Sweat dripped into my eyes, and I backed my finger off the trigger, afraid I’d pop him. He thrust a thumb, plucked an eye out of one. Then he tumbled away, his arms just smears through space as he fell on the next. The bulbous head canted, hung by sinews with a glazed stare.
He leapt again, twisted mid-air. Another blur. He’d always been limber. But that fast?
Soon, Michio stood alone among the fallen creatures, chin tucked against the rise of his chest. Black blood splattered around his flickering eyes. Christ, he was the deadliest creature of them all.
Maybe he’d somehow imbued some of my speed? A side-effect of being intimate?
The ricochet of weapons ceased. Moments passed, strained and breathy. Did we kill them all? I didn’t feel them.
I squinted, blinking through the gunk on my face and the glare of the sun.
Movement near the woods drew my focus. Tallis and Georges jogged toward us, seemingly unharmed. I released a breath, and the air awoke with the buzz of grasshoppers and the drift of loam. A turkey vulture flew low, perched on a severed head. Several bodies away, Roark stooped on his sword.
I stumbled to my feet and half-sprinted, half-limped to his side. A river of blood painted his temple, and my heart rate slammed into overdrive.
“A bite, Roark? No!” I grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled his head closer.
He swatted at me, a sword-sharp glint in his eye. “Bollocks, love. ‘Twas the wanker’s claws.”
My muscles loosened, and my pulse slowed down. I shook out my hands and surveyed the carnage.
Jesse bent over a mound of bodies, collecting his arrows, electricity sparking in his gaze. That gaze was aimed at me, or more specifically my body, likely inspecting it for injury.
“I’m still alive.” I raised my chin. “And so are you. A thank you will do.”
Jesse straightened and barked a mirthless laugh. “Hardly. Where my head’s at, darlin’, throwing you over my knee and welting your ass doesn’t begin to cover it.”
My breath caught. That was…unexpected. And tantalizing. His tone might’ve been teasing, but there was a claim there. He wanted to deliver that punishment, and the reason had nothing to do with me getting out of that truck.
Okay, maybe that was just hopeful imagination, but I couldn’t stop the twitch in my lips. “Promise?”
His eyes flared, consuming me in molten copper. Then he looked at Michio, the moment gone. “And you. You were supposed to keep her—”
“Go back where you came from,” a shaky voice bellowed across the field. “There’s nothing here for you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, but all I got was a fume of rotten blood. Coughing, I turned toward the direction of the voice, a crumbling building.
A man and his rifle peeked over the ledge of the roof. “I…me and my friends don’t have anything you want. Get on outta here.”
More men? I doubted it. This motherfucker released a swarm of aphids on us. Why? Because he was alone.
My feet moved forward, my lips parting to speak, but Jesse’s hand clamped over my mouth. Then he shoved me behind him.
Standing in front of me, he eclipsed my view. “We have something you want, Mr…”
A pause, then “Amos. Just Amos.”
Jesse inclined his head. “Amos, we can help your nymph.”
“No, sir,” he yelled. “Ain’t seen one o’ dem since the virus. Go on now.”
I poked Jesse’s tailbone. “He’s lying.”
He lowered his chin, lips peeled back. “Shh.” He hooked his arm behind him, pressing the back of a hand against my spine and holding me against him. “We found your friend. He was collecting clothes and food for her.”
“You found Jackson?” Amos’ voice pitched with worry.
Shit. This wouldn’t go over well.
Jesse raised a hand to shade his eyes. “Did Jackson drive a white Chevy? With the safari logo on the side?”
“Where is he? Whaddya do to him?”
Roark leaned around Michio and whispered to Jesse, “If he doesn't stop arsing around with all the questions, I'll climb up there and fuck him off the roof myself.”
Jesse ignored him. “We found your guy in West Virginia.” His knuckles pressed against my lower back, his thumb rubbing restlessly over the skin beneath my tank top. “He was turned, Amos. I’m sorry. But he would’ve wanted us to help his girl.”
A heavy quiet drifted over the field. When Amos finally spoke, it was choked. “You can’t do nothing for the girl.”
Relief rushed over me. We found the nymph. I buried my smile in Jesse’s t-shirt, the wet cotton clinging to his spine. Strange how much I liked the feel of his sweat melding with mine. But that didn’t stop me from digging my nails into his hips to remind him not to screw this up.
He uncurled my fingers and pulled my arms around his waist, holding my hands against the stone slabs of his abs. “We have a cure for nymphs.”
“Bullshit. Ain’t no cure.”
“You’re outnumbered, Amos. And your guard dogs are dead.” Jesse gestured at the battlefield and thickened his drawl. “Come on down from there, and we’ll talk like civilized folk.”
Silence. I peered around Jesse’s arm just as Amos and his rifle disappeared from view. A few moments later, he walked, barrel raised, from behind the building. A blue flannel shirt and grimy work pants hung from his wiry frame. His mocha complexion was wrinkle-free, but silver peppered his unkempt hair.
“Lemme see what ya hiding.” He jerked his gun toward Jesse from ten feet away. “I wanna see its face.”
Jesse tensed, his arms holding mine against his stomach. My cheek rested against his back, and I had an errant thought about how well our bodies fit together. The curve of his spine cradled my breasts. His muscular ass fit perfectly against the dip of my pelvis. He was hard where I was soft, and if I stood on tip-toes, I could— Focus, Evie.
I tried to untangle my arms from his hold. “He’s not going to shoot me. I’ll go slowly.” I waited for him to release me and stepped around, hands up.
Amos wet his gaping lips. “What is this?”
“See? We have our own girl.” Jesse’s voice was calm, charming even, but his fingers wrapped around my wrist in a death grip. “We’re not here to steal yours. We just want to help her.”
Amos wobbled the rifle’s aim at my face. “This…this is a trick.”
It was in moments like this when I desperately missed Darwin, his loyal protection, and his ability to sense a person’s intentions. I would’ve looked to him now for signs of distrust or indifference toward this man.
“She carries the cure.” Michio clutched my other hand, his frame moving in to block half of mine. “She can cure your nymph.”
“No.” Amos shook his head and angled his neck to look at me. “Ain’t no woman survived. It’s one o’ dem sex-changers.”
Wow. I’d been called everything from Satan’s whore to an undeveloped nymph, but sex-changer was a new one.
A few feet away, Roark’s hand moved to the pommel of his sword. Evidently, he was as offended as I was.
“A transvestite?” Michio’s jaw tightened, and the cords in his neck strained. “Not possible. They lacked the testosterone needed to survive the virus.”
“So did women.” Amos pointed at me, and spit flew from his mouth. “It’s a nymph then. Explains how it moved like those damned bugs.”
My molars ground together. “Call me an it one more time and you’ll find out just how well I move like the damned bugs.”
Michio’s arm slipped around my shoulders, his voice low. “You’re not helping.”
Like I cared. What did Amos need to
see? Anatomic proof? No way was I stripping.
“Where are your friends?” Michio nodded at the buildings.
“It’s just me.” Amos seemed distracted, his eyes wild and locked on me.
Curling my finger, I gave him a come-hither gesture. “Look for yourself.” I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. It felt childish, and I wanted to retract it immediately. But how else could I prove I wasn’t a nymph?
Michio held up his hand at the other man. “Not another step until you get that gun out of her face.”
Amos lowered the rifle, the stock rattling in his clutch as he crept forward like an injured aphid. When he stopped an arm’s length away, I fought a squirm under his scrutiny and kept my tongue out. Around me, my guardians shifted with the same unease.
Finally, he stepped back and rubbed his head. “I don’t know. Can’t see nothing, but I ain’t no doctor.”
“C’mere, Evie.” Michio gripped the back of my thighs, lifting me up his body until our lips were the same height.
I glimpsed a mischievous spark in his eyes right before his mouth fell over mine. I tilted my head and opened for him, giving him what he wanted. My fingers dug into his shoulders as our tongues slid together, licking and swirling. He was proving a point, but his kiss wasn’t softened or moderated. He attacked my mouth, grazing my lips with some really sharp teeth.
Ow. Was that a bite? Jesus, I tasted blood.
He jerked back, eyes widening, but his shock didn’t last long. His hands clenched on my thighs, and he dove back for my mouth, his breaths quickening and his tongue plunging deeper, hungrier, tingling every cell in my body.
When he broke the kiss, my head reeled. Sweet mother. I licked my wet, throbbing lips.
He set me down, holding me upright against his side. “You kiss your nymph like that?”
“No, sir.” Amos gaped, his voice awe-struck. “How’s this possible?”
I touched my mouth and pulled my hand away to find a smear of red on my finger. Crazy.
Michio tightened his hold. “She’s special, Amos. You won’t harm her.”
Amos shook his head and continued his cagey perusal over my thighs, my chest, my face, back to my chest.
I cleared my throat. “The nymph?”
“Yes”—he swallowed—“ma’am.”
The pause on ma’am bristled. Distrust noted.
His bushy eyebrows crawled together as he turned. “This way.”
Long fingernails, jagged and yellow, dragged over the rungs of the cage, stripping what was left of the paint. Swaths of pink satin hung from a cadaverous body, and dark skin stretched like translucent paper over the joints of the skeletal arms. And the moans. The disturbing lament penetrated my bones and made them ache.
What was that guy in the safari truck thinking with the nail polish and the hair ties? Seriously, was he going to sit here and paint its talons? It would thank him by opening its mouthparts and stabbing him into an aphid. Maybe, he was just being hopeful. Hopeful for a cure.
I leaned against Roark, who hadn’t moved from the entrance of what appeared to be an animal clinic. Dented steel tables, dust-covered sinks, empty refrigerators, and a wall of cages crammed the space. If there had once been an antiseptic smell, it was now smothered in mildew and neglect.
Michio and Jesse checked the closet and cabinets—For dead bodies? Bogeymen? A stash of weapons? I didn’t blame them for being cautious.
The nymph rolled its head back and stretched its jaw. Thin tubular appendages squirmed past its lips, sliding around a longer, spear-like tentacle. The fleshy mouthparts grasped at the air, reaching with urgency.
It was a ghastly sight, but I could still make out remnants of the human woman. Long eyelashes fluttered as it screamed. It swatted at the tangle of black hair in its face. And it seemed to recognize Amos, its tiny pupils tracking his movements as he entered the room.
But the creature’s chemical resonance was what rooted me in the doorway. Whether it was the physical nearness or some emotional association through our shared link, the strange frequency waving from it twisted my stomach to the point of pain.
I turned to poke my head outside and fill my lungs with fresh air. Tallis and Georges patrolled opposite ends of the reserve, which spread over the grassy plain, encircled by scrubby woodland. I didn’t sense aphids and felt confident we were safe. For now anyway.
The din of winged insects and chattering birds drifted in from the sprawling valley. The landscape was scenic under the blaze of the sun, blooming in a hundred shades of overgrown. Rustic wood fences corralled the property, but huge sections had collapsed beneath the creeping, flowering arms of Mother Nature.
If we succeeded in saving the human race, what would the world look like in several hundred years? Would the land mammals be gone, eaten? What about the birds and the insects and the critters that were too small for the aphids to care about? Would they flourish? Or perish because of a ripple in the food chain?
I swallowed those thoughts and shifted back toward the room.
Amos assumed a chin-up, chest-out pose in front of the nymph’s cage. “This is Shea, Jackson’s wife.” Legs spread, he angled the rifle at the concrete floor in a tight grip. “I worked the grounds here with them…you know, before…” He glared at each of us and settled on me. “You sure Jackson is turned?”
I stepped away from the doorway. “We found a newly-mutated aphid in his truck.”
Roark’s arm hooked around my waist, stopping me. Thank God, because the sonority of the nymph’s fear and confusion barreled through me, wobbling my knees.
“Your friend, Jackson?” Michio picked through the cluttered drawers, tossing back empty pill bottles and setting aside gauze and bandages. “He wore a silver belt buckle?”
Amos nodded, his brown eyes closing for a moment then flicking open. “Two years we been feeding her blood from deer, vermin, pig when we have it. As long as we kept her fed, she ain’t got worse.” He peeked at the nymph and returned to us. “She ain’t got better either.”
Smart that they knew to cage it before it bit one of them.
Michio dropped the duffel bag he’d retrieved from our truck. “When I inject the nymph with Evie’s blood, it’ll reverse the mutation.”
The nymph swayed side to side, crouched behind Amos. Its clawed hand swiped at him through the bars, missing his backside. Amos knew exactly how far away to safely stand, and his distance seemed to infuriate the creature as it curled back its lips in a spit-soaked screech.
My insides flinched, the connection between us crushing my airway. It felt like a pair of hands gripping my organs and smashing them together. They shook me until the nymph’s screams bled through my veins and became my own. “Enough!”
The nymph fell silent, its head whipping in my direction, followed by every other head in the room.
Roark wrapped both arms around me, his mouth at my ear. “Breathe.”
He inhaled, exhaled, slowly, evenly, setting the pace.
As I matched his breaths, my pulse returned to normal and my insides contracted and loosened. After a few minutes, the nymph slouched against the back wall, its chest rising and falling in sync with ours. Could it sense my emotions the way I sensed its desperation? Really fucking eerie.
Amos glanced between the nymph and me, his expression perplexed, but he didn’t budge from his protective stance. “Show me how it works on one o’ dem bugs first.” He jerked his chin toward the doorway. “Bring back a live one, prove your cure, and I’ll consider it.”
Seriously? We didn’t have time for this. Would it always be this tedious, having to explain, negotiate, and plead for a nymph’s life? Too bad we couldn’t record the healing of one and let the footage do the explaining. But that would require a charged battery. Maybe we could raid a Best Buy.
Michio squatted, removed a dart gun from the bag, and passed it to Jesse. “The cure doesn’t work on aphids, Amos.”
I rested against Roark’s chest. “My blood is poisonous to
an aphid. One drop and their heart explodes.” I spread out my fingers, imitating fireworks.
Michio’s brow arched.
“What?” I said too much?
Maybe he didn’t want Amos to know I could explode hearts.
I wished I could use blood-dipped bullets in fights. Not that I wanted to be blooded before battle, but exploding aphids would be wicked. I’d tested the idea on Jesse’s spears. It worked while the blood was fresh and wet. But bullets were a no go, because the blood burned off when the gun was fired.
Michio tossed Jesse a plastic-wrapped syringe and a hypodermic. Evidently, Jesse would be drawing my blood while Michio dealt with Amos.
Michio held out his hand to the cagey man. “You don’t need the rifle.”
Amos stared down at his gun, his eyes burning holes into it. Lines grooved his forehead, and his finger tapped on the trigger guard. Then he looked at Michio and handed it over.
Releasing a breath, I followed Roark into the room and sat on the edge of a steel table. Michio explained his medical degree and qualifications in molecular biology and genetics. He quickly brushed over what we knew of the Drone, the monster’s religious motivation for creating the virus, and how we killed him in Iceland.
Amos set his lips in a straight line, determined to distrust everything he said. “You’ve been overseas?” His tone was dry, mocking.
Michio dug through his bag, nodding. “None of us are from here. I was in Japan when the virus hit. Jesse and Georges were in France, though Jesse’s from the States. Tallis’ was in Australia. Father Molony’s from Ireland.” He gave me a sad smile. “Evie lived in Missouri.”
Amos narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Geez, weren’t our diverse accents proof enough? I glanced at Roark beside me, who simply shrugged.
“You don’t have to believe me.” Michio rested a forearm on one knee. “In fact, it’s good that you’re questioning us. Suspicion will keep your guard up. After we cure your nymph, it’ll be your responsibility to look after her, and part of that role is protecting her from men who might be hiding their intent.”
Maybe it was a bit highhanded of Michio to expect Amos to care for her. But we couldn’t bring the women with us. They wouldn’t just slow us down. We didn’t know what we’d face down the road. What if we were attacked and every woman we’d saved was killed? Separating them and tucking them away with good men was best way to ensure future generations.
