Earthweeds

by Rod Little

  Ken's shoe was still clamped in the first lizard's mouth – the animal chewed it apart with the zeal of a starving man entered in a pie-eating contest – but Ken was free. He scrambled to his feet again and ran on one sock and one shoe toward the others.

  “Start the van!” Sam yelled. “Start it!”

  By now over a hundred lizards teemed into the streets from side alleys, burrows, and open garages. One scrambled out from underneath a rusted car. Ken was surrounded, and the first lizard dropped his shoe and bit down on his ankle. He fumbled for the gun at his belt.

  This all happened within seconds. The group watched helplessly, as their friend was dragged down.

  “Go!” Ken yelled, then turned and fired a gun at the lizard on his foot.

  The others fired their weapons into the melee. Bullets and arrows took down lizard after lizard, but more kept coming. It was a swarm of black death. The boys backed into the van, and Jason revved the engine.

  “What do I do?” he yelled. He didn't know if he should hit the escape pedal, or back up to try to get Ken. But backing up meant backing into hundreds of angry jaws.

  Desperate, Sam shot an electric bolt into the crowd of reptiles. It sent a couple rolling, but couldn't stop them all; it barely made a dent in their ranks. He tried, but couldn't put a force-field around Ken. There wasn't much Sam could do at this distance; he wasn't used to using his powers this way.

  The throng of lizards devoured Ken. Hundreds jumped on top, and now their friend couldn't even be found. All they could see was a mob of lizards massing on the road, and a pool of blood forming around them. Tails lashed back and forth in excitement, furor. They tore into Ken wildly, and some of them now turned their attention back to the van.

  Over three hundred creatures now streamed into the street, and more joined in the distance. Jason hit the gas pedal, and the van pulled away, spitting gravel from its wheels. Shane closed the back doors and lost his balance from the forward momentum; he fell backward on a stack of bullets. Both he and his brother were stunned. They all were.

  “Dammit!” Jason said. “Dammit!”

  Those words were all he could say, and that was about all Sam could think. The unthinkable had just happened, and it wasn't over yet.

  Up ahead only a couple lizards had made it this far and tried to block the way. The van sped past them, and ran over the tail of one unlucky beast. In the rear view mirror, Jason watched a sea of black fill the streets. It looked like a flood of dark water, a bubbling tsunami. It consumed Ken and came roiling after them to sweep them away, too.

  Jason sped up to 60 mph, a risky move on this rocky stretch of the road. The dragons were fast, but ran out of breath quickly; they couldn't follow for more than three or four minutes. Eventually they stopped, breathing heavily, and glared longingly at their fleeing prey. By the time the van reached the first bend, there were no more lizards following in the rear-view mirror.

  Sam and Shane watched the town disappear, a dark writhing mass of chaos still moving in its streets. Ken was back there. His body was, anyway. Winded, all the creatures lurked at the edge of town and snapped at each other. Their pursuit had petered out, but not their rage.

  “We're okay now,” Shane said.

  Sam slumped against the back door of the van. His words were barely audible. “No. We're not.”

  Chapter 17

  At age nine, Sam had childlike suspicions about his father, and his brother shared some of them. Soren Jayden Summer was a secretive man. Though he was a caring soul who always made time for his sons, he rarely discussed his work, and often lied about it. Never saying exactly what his job was, he gave the impression that he worked for a pharmaceutical company. A laboratory of sorts was built into the basement of their home, strictly forbidden to the boys; but Sam got an illicit glimpse of it on more than one occasion. His father seemed to be cataloging thousands of plants, bugs and soil samples. The best explanation was the search for a new drug somewhere in the deep forest.

  For years Sam fantasized that his dad was a secret agent for the government. Then he came up with the idea that the man had taken one of his own experiments, a secret new drug, that caused new abilities in humans, and that was why Sam had inherited the sparking ability. Another theory was that pills had been slipped into the boy's morning cereal, and that he was the experiment. But as he got older, Sam realized these were ridiculous ideas. All of his theories until his teens had been fantastic and ludicrous – the product of so many sci-fi books, movies and Star Trek reruns that he enjoyed with his brother.

  “We're all born different,” Shane used to tell him. “Some people are strong, some are missing a leg, or blind. Some are tall. Everyone is different. You can spark up. It's just you. Don't be thinking too much about it, Sammy.”

  That was the final theory they accepted by age thirteen. Dad wasn't a mad scientist; he was just a man who worked for a drug company. He hadn't created any “spark” drug.

  But back when he was nine, Sam remembered a singular day when the basement door had been left ajar. His dad had run downstairs in a hurry and forgot to lock it. Sam crept down the steps, as he had done once before, except this time he got more than a passing glimpse of test vials and computer screens. This time he saw a strange object, copper color and cylindrical. It looked a bit like the tire pump he used on his bike. His dad touched it and ribbons of light flared orange on both sides. Sam watched his father extend a glass vial to the cylinder, after which a small opening appeared and accepted the vial. The lights changed color to blue, then purple. Though he knew nothing about this mechanism, Sam got the impression it was testing the contents of the tiny glass container.

  Just then his father noticed Sam and became extraordinarily angry, sending his son running back upstairs. That was the only time Sam had every seen real anger in his father's eyes. The man was furious, and later questioned Sam about what he had seen. Sensing this was a real problem, Sam lied and said he had seen nothing. In a few days the event passed, and his dad was back to normal, carefree again. He took the boys fishing, and made as if Sam's transgression had never happened.

  But Sam never forgot that day, and a small part of him always wondered what his father was up to. Shane convinced him to shake it off.

  “Dad makes a good amount of money,” his brother told him. “Enough to keep us happy. You don't get money for nothin' in the way the world works. Whatever he does, he does it for us.”

  Shane was okay with the notion their father was plundering the forest for a drug that would be over-priced down the line. If that indeed was his job. Sam was not so okay with it.

  Very different, his mother was an open book. She was happy in her role as the mom of the house, almost to the extent of a 50s television show. When she wasn't baking or cleaning, she was planning picnics or outings for the family. Her only flaw was that she complained incessantly about small details: Sam's hair was too shaggy, Shane didn't wear a jacket in the rain, Dad shouldn't ride a motorcycle, and a plethora of concern for every minutia that might threaten their safety. Looking back, Sam realized this was all part of her umbrella of concern.

  “You don't need hair like Mr. Wham or The Bon Jovis,” she used to say. That sent both boys howling on the floor in laughter. “It's not Mr. Wham, mom, and I'm not a big fan.” Mom would roll her eyes and claim her preference for The Partridge Family or David Gates of Bread. One day Sam looked them up on the internet, and pointed out that Mom's pop singer had longer hair than his. “You're not a pop singer,” Mom would always reply. “Get a hair cut. Be like your brother.”

  These were fond memories, despite concerns over Dad's job. He could scarcely recall a day when Mom didn't wear an apron.

  When his parents died, so did his misgivings. The only thing he could remember now, was that he missed both of them greatly. He especially missed talking with his mom.

  Some days more than others.

  ✽✽✽

  A heavy mood suffocated every corner of the van on the long ride b
ack to the lodge. They drove in silence. Sam thought about the dead businessman's rolled-up note, back by the lake. It seemed so long ago.

  I saved another bullet in my pocket for you.

  He wanted to say something, but found no words. After a minute he gave up and kept quiet. Sam didn't want to be the first to speak after the loss of their friend. How would they tell Tina? And if Lily asks: “Where's Ken?” Would it be enough to say: he's gone, and not coming back? Sam wished somebody would speak. The silence of the lonely road at dusk made it harder to stifle the memory of Ken's screams.

  Ten minutes and six miles later, Jason slowed the van. He thought he detected movement on the road ahead. A shadow cast by something taller than a creature crossed into the road. Jason took his foot off the gas pedal and let the van roll to a full stop.

  “Guys,” he said. “Get up here. What do you think?” He pointed up ahead at a figure a dozen yards in front of the van. It looked like a boy with a dog.

  A young Asian man in his early twenties came out of the bush and walked along the roadside grass. Stepping into the headlights, they could see how tired and worn he appeared. He shouldered a tattered backpack, and held a crooked stick in his hand. A big cat walked next to him, not a dog. It looked like a mountain lion, a puma or cougar, but – like the cougar they'd seen the day before – it didn't seem to be hostile. The powerful cat walked next to the young man in the docile way a dog might follow a boy.

  “A trick?” Jason asked.

  “He doesn't look like a Dexter goon,” Shane said. “He doesn't look too good, either. A big wind could blow him over.”

  “Looks banged up.”

  “Maybe he escaped from Dexter.”

  “It could still be a trap.”

  Shane shifted in his seat. “Let's find out.”

  He slid the side door open and stepped out of the van alone. With his bow drawn and ready, he took several steps toward the young man and halted.

  “Hey. Stop where you are. Who are you?”

  The young Asian man put a hand up. “Easy. I'm not armed.”

  “Where are you from?” Shane kept his weapon aimed at the man's feet. He could hear Sam and Jason whispering behind him, and the click of Jason's rifle being cocked.

  “You're the first person I've seen in two weeks, maybe longer,” the young stranger said. “My plane crashed up in the mountains. I... I'm just trying to get rescued.” He looked back at them, then to fill the awkward silence, added: “My name is Bohai Chen. I'm not armed.”

  Shane studied him for a moment. The guy seemed genuinely confused by their reaction to him. He seemed to have expected a warmer reception, as if meeting before the end of the world.

  “I've been walking... looking for help,” Bohai said in a thin, weary voice. He looked drained, spent, as he added, “Seeking rescue.”

  Shane lowered his weapon and relaxed. “Rescue? Who do you expect to rescue you?”

  “I don't know. Rangers? Cops?”

  “There's no one left. You know there's no rescue crews left, right? The cities are... empty. Sort of. Do you know what's happened?”

  “No. But I guess something's not right,” Bohai said. He looked down at the cougar waiting patiently next to him. “Something went wrong I guess. I thought someone would come to the crash site by now. But... anyway, I saw a big lizard. That didn't seem right.” He stopped talking, realizing how ridiculous his rambling words must sound. Subconsciously his right hand ran through his strong black hair, pushing it back in a nervous gesture. It was getting too long, he thought.

  “It isn't right. But it's true,” Shane said. “We've seen lots of them.”

  Sam and Jason got out of the van, and Bohai told them about his plane crash and his days wandering through the woods. On another day, it might have been an unbelievable story. Shane summed him up quickly, and didn't think this guy was with Dexter. He looked like hell, torn and scratched, but his story made sense.

  “Come on,” he said. “You can come back with us.”

  When they got back in the van, the big cat made as if to jump inside, and Shane stopped him.

  “He's safe, I promise,” Bohai assured them. “He comes with me. I want him to.”

  It was close quarters in the back of the van, loaded with supplies and now a 200-pound cat. Sam watched the great feline, but it didn't care; it closed its eyes with indifference and went to sleep. Bohai looked relieved. At long last, he had been rescued.

  Chapter 18

  The scene inside the Peak Castle Lodge was soaked with drama, and was, at first, confusing and chaotic. It was an emotional moment. Despite the reality that the group had already lost most of the world, today's loss of Ken struck them hard and deep. It felt more personal, more real.

  While Camila attended to Bohai's wounds, Tina broke down and wailed at the news of her boyfriend's death. Everyone had questions about Ken, about Bohai and the lion, and about what to do next. Mark and Lily watched through small round eyes; they watched as the level of anxiety climbed like the scream of a woman on fire and bounced off the walls of the lodge. Eventually Lily also started to sob.

  The cougar slept in the shade on the far side of the courtyard, giving the humans room to get used to him. Snowball did not seem concerned about the bigger cat, but was agitated by the flurry of human activity and hid under the lobby couch. Both cats knew how and when to practice the fine art of discretion.

  Sam coped by keeping his hands busy; he started the task of unloading the van, careful with the guns and ammo. He stacked some of the weapons inside the lobby, and some in the watchtower. Meanwhile, Shane, Camila and Lucy tried to console Tina. Lucy was no stranger to loss; for the first time the former rock star was actually helpful. Pain, she understood.

  “Come help me, Mark,” Sam suggested. He wanted to distract the kid. “Give me a hand outside.”

  Mark helped him move the food and toiletries into the kitchen and pantry. It took several trips, but his small arms were capable. Though he strained with the bigger boxes, the kid refused to complain or rest. Sam admired his strength of spirit. In times of turmoil, kids often rebounded faster than adults. This boy seemed especially resilient.

  After Bohai's wounds were doused in iodine and bandaged up, he ate some carrot slices, then helped Sam and Mark. He was tired, but felt alive. He only half believed the story he had been told about the creatures mutated from humans, even with confirmation of strange happenings from the cougar. He didn't want to believe. For sure, something was wrong with the world, but the stories these people were telling him seemed almost too far out. The stories he was hearing from the animals were even more far-fetched, but animals didn't lie or exaggerate.

  “Quite a fort you've got here. I'm looking forward to a bed.”

  “We're trying,” Sam said. “Where are you from, originally?”

  “Before here? Canada. I came here to study at CMU.”

  “I mean...”

  “I know what you mean,” Bohai said. This was not his first time answering that question, but something in him refused to answer it directly. “My parents are Chinese. Taiwanese.”

  “Just wondering, it doesn't matter.”

  “If it didn't matter, why ask it?”

  “You're right. I was hoping for a Korean.”

  Bohai laughed. There was something he instantly liked about Sam. He couldn't pin it down, but there was something honest and natural about the guy.

  “So, I hear you're the other freak,” Bohai said. When Sam shot him a dark look – not quite offended, but not quite welcomed, either – he immediately cast a disarming smile. “I didn't mean that the way it came out. I'm the freak of my own home town. And I heard you're different, too. You can do things. Strange things, with electricity.”

  “Yeah. Sort-of. Who told you that?”

  Bohai didn't answer. “I have... different abilities, too.”

  “Which are...?”

  “Sometimes I can understand animals. Some animals. Not all of them.”
/>   “You talk to animals?” Sam snickered.

  “No,” Bohai said patiently. “Not talk. Communicate. I understand them. And they empathize with me.”

  “Really?” Clearly Sam didn't believe him.

  “Come here,” Bohai walked out to the courtyard.

  Sam told Mark to keep unloading the van, then followed Bohai to a large tree in the side yard. Bohai reached down in the grass and picked up one seed. He held it in his hand and looked up. A sparrow lighted on his palm and ate the seed. It stayed there and chirped without any concern for the boys.

  “They tell me you can knock a lizard off its feet, with a shock.”

  “This little one told you that?” Sam snickered again.

  “Not this one. Others told me.”

  "So, why is it that you can talk to animals?" Sam asked bluntly. "Why you?"

  Bohai shrugged. "Why can Pavarotti sing, and Rembrandt paint? Figure that one out, and get back to me. We've all got our talents, right?"

  “I guess so. And what does the big cat tell you?” Sam teased, but he was starting to believe. And he was actually feeling relieved that he might not be the only different one here.

  “He told me a lot of things,” Bohai said. “But that's not the real news. The most interesting thing I've been told this week is from a different source, out there.”

  The sparrow flew off, and Bohai reached up into the tree. He extended his hand, and two baby tree spiders crawled down the branch and over his hand. One crawled around his knuckles and into his palm.

  “It's what these little guys have been telling me,” Bohai said with a serious stare that chilled Sam. “What they told me this morning. That's what's really interesting.”