by Amber Stuart
He had wandered into a culling, half a dozen with guns versus a Camo migratory party. Men against mostly women and children. That hadn't seemed fair to Cord. So he'd evened the odds. Still, it only took one sneaky bastard hiding in the bushes with a handgun to bring him down.
And now? Now he was finally at an end.
Cord's eyelids fluttered open. A small out of focus figure hovered above him, reminding him of that time he'd awakened to find Hope's dazzling eyes staring down at him.
His eyes finally focused and Cord wept at the sight. A young boy with dark hair, wearing his old Corps shirt studied him. At least he had gone to heaven.
"Danny," he rasped. "It's me. Your papa."
The boy's lips moved as he mimicked Cord's. "Pah…pah pah."
"Yes," he sobbed. "Papa. Where's your mother?" he asked, anxious yet hesitant to see his wife again.
A frown marred his young features. After a moment of pursing his lips, he turned away and ran out of Cord's line of sight.
"Danny!" he called as he reached for his long-dead son.
Cord pushed himself onto all fours and forced himself to his feet. He stumbled through the flap of what he now saw to be a tent and out into the middle of a Camo village.
Everyone stopped and stared, he at them, and they at him.
"This ain't heaven."
"Pah pah!" the boy called before trotting away again.
Cord continued his chase, dodging between startled Camo villagers and into a much larger, more elaborate tent. He didn't care that he was naked. All he cared about was catching the boy who looked so much like his son. So much that it hurt.
He skidded to a halt when confronted by two burly males with spears. Habit had him reaching for guns that weren't there and he cursed.
The two males stepped back though, allowing him passage further into the tent. Behind them stood the male he had seen three years ago with Hope. Jealousy burned inside him and he would have stopped to fight him if the boy hadn't reappeared.
"Danny."
The boy lifted his arms over his head and the Camo scooped him up, depositing him on his hip.
Cord hissed without thinking and the Camo glared at him. Then he turned on his heel and beckoned for Cord to follow.
He is here.
I do not want him to see me like this.
He has seen his son.
Good. He will take care of him.
He will want to see you.
No.
The choice is not yours, little one.
Cord stumbled at the sight of Hope laid out on a raised pallet. Camo blood leaked from her naked, bullet-riddled body.
"No," he gasped.
He shoved aside anyone that got in his way. His eyes took in every wound and he knew. She had healed him. She was dying slowly from what was supposed to kill him.
Without thought for himself or anything else, he grabbed her hand and placed it on his chest. He had gained more scars since their parting, both emotional and physical ones, but he didn't think he could live through this. Not losing her again, this time forever.
"Hope," he pleaded. "Take it."
No.
He seems rather intent, little one.
Stop him. Please.
With a nod, he sent his orders and the alien was pulled away from her.
Thank you.
I do not know why I indulge your selfish requests.
I am not selfish.
No? You are ready to leave your son in this life while you escape to the next.
He will have—
A broken alien who has tried to leave for the next life? Perhaps your son will not be far behind you.
How dare—
"Pah pah," the boy said interrupting their communication and the anguished expletives of his alien father.
Cord tried to lunge for the male who was obviously in charge. He was keeping him from Hope—from the boy who might be his son—from living. Everything was his fault. If he hadn't been there, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe Hope hadn't used him. Maybe he would have been worth saving.
Now though, now he wasn't worth anything. The harsh reality hit him and he slackened. The Camo he had been grappling with allowed him to collapse on the floor. Let him be the sorry excuse for a man that he had allowed himself to become. As if they knew how pathetic he was, and that he still loved the woman but she was meant for someone else. Someone who had everything that Cord had once stupidly thought he could have.
He looked longingly at the Camo who held the boy, who had the woman he loved more than life itself. The woman he would do anything for, even if he had to walk away again.
"Please help her," he begged.
After handing the boy to an attendant he ordered the alien outside. He watched as they dragged him away.
He wants you to live and I cannot believe that I agree with him.
She was too weak to argue and unable to push him away as he took her hand and let her body sup from his essence.
No…
Cord was dumped on the ground. He tried to jump to his feet and force his way back in but was knocked aside as several Camo rushed past him into the tent. More followed, pushing him away.
The whole village must have shoved him aside as they came and went. He was pushed onto a stool and was made to understand he was to stay there. The boy who he had mistaken for Danny joined him. The resemblance was uncanny. He had the same hair and facial features as Danny, but the eyes were different. When he looked at him he saw Hope's eyes.
Cord let the boy climb on his knee, each openly staring at the other. He let him tug on his beard, which he now realized was in dire need of a trim. Perhaps he would shave.
Little hands explored Cord's hairy face. Fingers traced his shaggy eyebrows and then touched the little wisps of hair on his face. They were probably the first ones he'd ever seen. The Camo were hairless.
"Eyebrows."
The boy opened and closed his mouth, trying to form the sounds.
Cord repeated the word, more slowly this time and enunciated each syllable.
"Pah pah eye bow."
"Yeah, Papa eyebrow," Cord amended, amazed at how quickly he was picking up speaking.
They looked up when more people left the big tent. No one had left the area after coming out. They squeezed themselves into every space, trying not to get too close to him.
One female tried to take the boy from him but he hissed at her. She hissed back before running away. The boy hissed at her too.
"Good boy," he said. "They ain't taking you away."
The chief appeared at the tent flap and every bald Camo head swiveled. Cord placed the boy back on his feet and stood. A small hand wiggled its way into his and he held it as tightly as he dared while they waited for Hope.
The Camo who were crowded before him parted, allowing Cord and the boy to join the guy in charge when he beckoned. Movement in the tent behind him caught his attention. The boy let go of his hand and ran forward. He thrust his short spindly arms out and squealed as his mother picked him up and swung him around.
Cord sagged in relief. She was alive. He closed his eyes and thanked whatever god it was they prayed to here. They hadn't let her die. Instead, each of them had sacrificed a little of their life for her.
I told you not to, she said.
He smiled. Each and every one of them owe you their lives, if not for themselves, then for loved ones.
That does not make it right for you to go against my wishes.
Let me put it in a way you will understand. If you had died because of him, they would have killed him.
Hope stilled. She cast a worried glance at the male she had thought would be her consort. He stood there in all his naked glory, a little worse for wear since she had last seen him so intimately, but still the only one she would have given everything for.
Maybe you are right to have done what you did, she finally admitted. I only
wanted him to live.
And you did not want to live without him.
She looked away, unable to focus on anyone except the one who had kept her going after her consort had walked away. Her son.
I may not have found someone to share this life or the next with, but I can see that I was wrong about him.
About my consort?
Yes. He chose to fight for our people and it would have killed him. He was ready to give up his life for you, but I stopped him.
Why? she asked. I would have thought I was more important to you than he was.
It would not have been the right thing to do. You would never have forgiven me and I am sure you would have left the tribe.
Perhaps, she agreed. There is hope for you yet.
If you and he are to stay with the tribe—
You are letting an alien live among us?
I have allowed your son to live, have I not?
Yes. For that, I thank you.
If you and he are to stay with the tribe, you must correct his opinion of me.
Of you?
He believes I am your consort.
Why would he think that?
I may have given him that impression at—
The cave. Why did you do such a thing?
I did not think he was worthy of you.
And now you do?
And now I do. You might also want to clothe him. His appearance is scaring the females of the tribe.
Hope looked at those still assembled. I do not think the females are afraid of him, she said, indicating their admiring glances. The males, however, may be jealous.
Cord waited while Hope communicated nonverbally with the tribe chief. He wanted to know what would happen now. Would he be allowed to at least see his son?
He watched Hope glare at the chief before she and his son approached them. Camo villagers jostled for a better position to watch and he hissed at a few for the hell of it.
"He got a name?"
Silence greeted him. He had even missed her silence.
Cord pointed at himself, "Cord," he said before pointing at her, "Hope." This time he pointed at the boy.
The boy darted away between the legs of the assembled Camo. Cord tried to follow him, but Hope placed a hand on his forearm, halting him. It wasn't long before his son came back with something in his hand. He held it up and unfurled his fingers so Cord could see.
Cord picked up the small leaf and looked at it. He pointed between the boy and the leaf. "Leaf?"
Hope smiled.
"Leaf," he said again. "That's smart."
"Lif,” Leaf tried, garbling the foreign sounds in his mouth.
Cord pointed again, this time at the male who had usurped him. He watched as Hope picked up a stick and drew figures in the dirt. He didn't want to see Camo erotic artwork but he forced himself to keep looking.
First she drew two figures. She pointed to one then herself, to another and him, and then added a line between them. Another line, this one horizontal ended with a third smaller figure, which she indicated was Leaf. He nodded to show he understood her stick figure family tree.
Hope nodded and moved back so she could add more. Another stick figure next to the one that represented her and two more above and—
"He's your brother?" Cord exploded. He swore and belatedly covered Leaf's ears so he wouldn't learn any of his uncivilized language. All this time he had thought she had belonged to another Camo. He kicked the dirt with his bare foot and kept his cursing internal.
He advanced on Hope's brother and fisted his hands, ready to take out his years of frustration on the person responsible for keeping him from Hope.
No one moved.
They wanted to, Cord could see that. Their leader was about to be pummeled, by an alien, but they remained in place.
He sighed and lowered his fists. How could he fight her brother? He should have done it years ago. Fought for Hope.
The woman he had regretted leaving touched his shoulder. He turned and gathered her up in his arms and kissed her. Crut the audience. He had missed this. Missed her. Wanted her. Needed her. He wasn't giving her up now. Nor would he his son.
By the time they had come up for air the rest of the Camo had vacated the area, leaving them alone. Even Leaf was missing. Cord panicked but Hope caressed his bristled cheek and smiled toward the large tent.
He looked over her shoulder and saw the boy peeping out at them before someone took his hand and led him away, allowing them some much needed privacy. Hope laced her fingers through his and tugged him toward the tent next door. It wasn't as large as the chief's but it outrivaled the other Camo tents in the camp. It was her home, he realized. Perhaps their home, because he wasn't leaving her again. Wherever she and their son went, he would go.
But that was the future. Right now he had three years to catch up on, and he intended to make up for it by being there and making love to her whenever she was up to it. She was, after all, going to be the death of him.
THE END
THE MORPH
By
JC ANDRIJESKI
1
A SCREAM IN AN ALLEY
I, MEANING ME, Dakota Mayumi Reyes, was running, full-out, for my life.
It hadn’t happened often in my twenty-six-odd years, so yeah, I wasn’t loving it.
I ran down the fog-wet street, controlling my breaths the way my boxing coach, Becks, taught me. I knew it might be helping me a little, but I also knew I was distracting myself from the fact that I was pretty much screwed regardless, since the psycho was catching up to me.
Bastard was faster than I'd planned for.
That meant he was faster than Irene told me he'd be, too.
In fact, even as I tore down the alleyway in my super-grip boots, I found myself thinking I’d need to have a few words with that girl, as soon as I got back to the office... assuming I got back to the office at all, and didn't get stabbed or shot when this guy finally caught up with me. That stunt I'd pulled back in his car had been carefully designed to enrage him, of course.
I mean, I needed him to go there, right? Otherwise, how would I get him to show his true colors? So we worked it all out, me and Irene and with input from the client... coming up with a carefully crafted routine guaranteed to push all of his little, sociopathic buttons.
Unfortunately, I’d gotten a little too good at that part of my job.
So yeah, it worked.
I further compounded the problem by hitting the guy in the chest when he tried to pull his trademark “date-rape after multiple, anti-female threats” maneuver... not a real hit, of course, but a regular-old, “hands off me, buddy, or I’ll scream” hit, like any normal girl might do.
The client specifically warned me, more than once, that this douche really didn't like it when we chicas fought back.
So, yeah, I made a point of breaking that little rule, too.
And then, when he don’t look quite pissed off enough, and kept trying with the bully me into sex bit, I made a point of breaking it again, that time hitting him a little harder.
Oh, yeah... and in the face.
He really didn’t like that. But again, yeah, that was kind of the point.
Anyway, I was on the clock by then, since the whole bar thing took longer than I’d hoped. Hitting him (rather than screaming or begging for mercy or whatever else might eventually annoy him) seemed like the most efficient way to provoke the guy.
Well, at the time.
That part worked like a charm, really... better than I'd expected, even after scoping this dude for a solid three weeks. I’d watched him long enough to have his basic M.O. down pat. Thinking back on it, I probably should have used the car itself as the hot zone... but I knew the cops could be unreliable with any situation that might be construed as a date gone wrong, or worse, a girl tease who changed her mind at the last minute.
Frankly, I hadn’t wanted to take that chance.
&
nbsp; Most of the cops I’d worked with in this town were pretty cool, and some even respected what I did for a living. One guy, Frankie, even bought me drinks after a few of my cases panned out with the jerkoffs behind bars.
But yeah, there was a range of sensitivity with the men in blue, just like with all people. Some of them liked to give their girlfriends or wives a good smack now and then, too, so thought I was one of those feminazi dykes for even giving those women an alternative.
And yeah, okay... some thought what I did bordered on illegal.
Some maybe thought it was illegal, in the spirit sense, maybe, since I was pretty careful to toe the line in terms of the letter. After all, I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t colluding with the cops, either. So while what I did could be construed as a kind of entrapment... it wasn’t actually entrapment, in terms of the kind that could get a case thrown out of court.
But yeah, some of those cops knew me, sure.
Some of the judges in town knew me, too.
Some liked me fine, even approved of what I did, like I said.
Another group, however, would gladly look the other way if they saw me running down a blind alley in the middle of the night... even with a psycho three times my size panting after me, screaming he was going to kill me.
So yeah, I knew if I skirted too close to that line, they might not play ball at all.
Worse, they might refuse to take the guy in.
Because of that and a lot of other reasons, I was careful to only do things any regular girl might do, when trying to get the guy to let me go. I’d never been a cop myself, so I figured I didn’t have to follow every single one of their little rules, especially since I didn’t wear a gun.
The flip side of that, of course, was that I was pretty much risking my ass every time I took on one of these nutjob cases.
