Walter tucked the buffalo in against his chest and stared out the window. Trask watched him for a moment then flicked her eyes to her screen. As soon as she was focused on the budget report, he spoke again.
“Was he one of Mistress Katherine’s?”
She kept her eyes on her work this time. “Yes.”
Walter watched her work. One thumb pet his buffalo’s authentic fur.
Rain fell and leaves tapped on the window.
Walter peeked up at Trask. “So she named him.”
“Yes.” Trask exploded in her gentle Southern way. She set both hands on her desk, piercing Walter with her full attention.
He pet the toy. “And human will occurs when the electrical signals in our brains experience Gamma wave frequencies?”
Her body didn’t move. But her eyes flashed to the empty space over his right shoulder. Gamma waves seemed little involved in her response.
“Yes.”
Walter sat up and placed his buffalo between the coffee cup filled with sticks of black jack gum and his hand carved Newton’s Cradle. He lifted two spheres. “It occurs to me that might have something to do with why she named him Gamma Subject.”
Trask’s eyes darted to Walter’s and then to the hand holding the balls of the perpetual noise toy. “Thank you, Walter.”
He set the balls gently back into place and picked up his pen. “Not at all.”
Trask closed the window displaying her report. “I think this arrangement is going to be more useful than I originally thought.”
A knock at the door interrupted the bonding moment.
Trask stood and swept through the privacy screen. Walter began scrawling notes in his physician quality scribble.
“Yes?”
Trask opened the door to an older man with a neatly trimmed if overly fashionable gunslinger mustache and no hair. She found him straightening his impeccably starched uniform. A pallor of embarrassment and fear paled his skin but he reported in a clear, confident voice.
“Subject One Four Two appears to have terminated his training prematurely. Ma’am.”
On the far side of the curtain, Walter sat up straighter in his chair. A smile wrinkled one cheek.
“Did I hear you right?”
“In the courtyard just now, Ma’am, during Exercise. They’re waiting on your attendance at the autopsy in D wing.”
Trask said nothing else. She left the security agent in the hall to retrieve her briefcase and a Dictaphone from the desk.
Walter stood as she returned. He flung his backpack over one shoulder and trotted out through the privacy curtains with her. “I’ll just go see how my folks are doing after Exercise.”
Trask let him pass, her lips tight and her scars glowing white again. Walter stopped. He twitched her bangs into place and held the door.
Trask’s heels echoed sharply in the corridor, followed by the security agent’s hesitant steps. Walter’s face broke into a full and joyful smile watching them hurry away. He headed for an elevator in the other direction.
The Director brushed a stray crumb from his chin. He buzzed for his secretary to retrieve the lunch plates. Combining the Consortium’s Biotech Research divisions was proving to have been an excellent idea. He felt certain the animosity would provide results in time as well as his ongoing lunchtime entertainment. With an unexpected sense of disappointment he switched to the array of feeds from a certain highly-decorated five star general’s not-so-secret love pad where five high placed military leaders stood around a three dimensional live feed of Colorado’s El Paso County.
Chapter Nine
Golden sunlight bathed Laylea’s belly. The fur of her chest waved as a blessed breath of wind blew through the cockpit. The puppy dropped her jaw and licked at the air, four paws thrown out to the sides, tail buried in the folds of blue fabric beneath her.
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” The dad laughed. Droplets of cold water soaked into her fur where he tucked teddy lizard in beside her.
She shot a breath through her lips and teeth, all the response she could muster.
Clark had popped the doors the instant the plane rolled to a safe stop in the clearing. He unknotted the paisley bandanna around his neck and wrapped his hand up in it before reaching over to shove the plastic bag of clothes out through the right side door. Dribbles of half-digested kibble fell to the floor in the process. Clark scooped it all up in the handkerchief and tossed that out his own door.
“Thank goodness your belly is so teensy, little girl.” He hovered over Laylea and laid a warm palm on the abused muscles of her stomach.
She lifted her head to lick at the hand and her tail popped out, slapping the bolster that had kept her from tumbling around the tossing cockpit. The little rat tail curled right up into her belly at the memory.
“Come on. We’ll get you some fresh air and grass. You’ll feel better.”
Laylea dropped her head back. She pffed at him doubtfully but he gently rolled her over and lifted her to his chest.
Laylea’s protest turned into a bark of alarm. An old man stood at the door. He rested a weathered brown hand in the window, holding the door open. The puppy inhaled short, sharp sniffs to get his scent. Under the cloying scent of lavender soap, she smelled sharper chemicals. When he opened his mouth she jerked her head back and growled deep in her throat. His breath smelled like the plastic bin in the kitchen.
“Hello, Captain. Looks like you flew right through the heart of that little squall.” As bad as his oral hygiene seemed to be, the man’s voice was so musical Laylea’s growl stuttered. “We’re lucky the rain never reached us. We’ll have a dry powwow.”
White hair curled out of the man’s ears. Laylea followed his gaze and saw that the plane rested in a large field. Low brush and tall grass littered the ground for a hundred yards beyond the nose of the plane to a forest that climbed away to the clouds. Six spots of color broke the vista of mossy trees, a village of tents with more hermits watching them. Smoke rose from the fire crackling near the last tent. It obscured a figure bent low over a large stewpot. Laylea could see a difference in the air over the pot where smoke gave way to steam.
A heady scent thick with browning meats and burning wood wafted into the cockpit. Laylea twisted in Clark’s arms. She continued to growl at the stranger, warning him that she would defend her pack. But her fierceness was mitigated by her searching nose. It was hard to keep up a growl and investigative sniffing at the same time. If this stranger had brought them food, he might be safe.
Clark clipped the long lead onto her collar and climbed out of the plane, unfazed by the stranger or the amazing smells. “I’m glad we made it to the powwow, Ahab.” He held a hand out to the old man. “See, he’s okay, LG. Everyone here,” he glanced over at the new people arriving at the plane, “is okay. I trust them.”
Ahab shook Clark’s hand, showing it was empty of weapons. Or food.
“Hey Maggie.” Clark nodded at a woman with fiery curls bursting from her head in a cloud.
Ahab reached out and scratched Laylea’s ears without asking permission. He had rough fingers that felt good on her fur though, so she didn’t object.
“You’ve acquired a co-pilot.” A scar on Ahab’s hand caught at Laylea’s ears.
Clark laughed, “A temporary one, alas. Think the Disneys’ girl could keep LG here occupied while we unload the plane and divvy up your goods?”
The old man sent a stone-faced teenage boy back to the encampment. “She’ll be here in a moment.”
The redhead paused with her hand out when she saw how small Laylea was. “This one looks hardly old enough to be away from her mother. But she’s flying with you?”
Laylea shoved her nose into the scent of lavender and pine. She leaned in as Maggie set to massaging her velvet ears.
Clark grinned. “I wouldn’t share her story any more than I would share yours, Maggie.”
“A mystery woman, eh? Maybe she should stay up here with us.”
“Th
at might be something I was thinking.” Clark handed the puppy to Maggie and turned to unload the plane. “But right now, let’s get the work done. I want a taste of whatever it is Abuela is cooking.”
Laylea sniffed the freckled woman’s face and snagged a lock of curls to chew on.
The teenager returned accompanied by a younger boy with less serious looks but matching brown eyes. They trotted over in as close to a run as they could manage through the calf-high grass. Following at a more chaotic pace, three lighter brown kids joined them from the tents. The matching set of boys, just a few years older than Bailey, fought with each other as their older sister hurried them along. This girl had long black hair tamed into two fuzzy braids hanging down her shoulders. She’d woven silver ribbons into the plaits and the fabric caught the bright sunlight each time she turned to yell at her little brothers.
Ahab directed the boys to take things from Clark as he emptied the plane while the big sister hustled over to Maggie and Laylea to meet the puppy.
Maggie introduced them. “Flo, LG. LG, Flo.”
Laylea’s twitchy nose pulled her nearly out of the woman’s arms.
The girl smelled like heaven. Laylea sniffed onions, carrots, potatoes, and cheese. She willingly let Flo run her fingers through her fur. Laylea twisted her head around when the braids bounced off her back. The girl had tucked her nose into Laylea’s neck.
“Mmm, you smell like heaven.” She kissed the puppy’s head. “You can call me Flower if you want to.”
“You’re not a Dithney!” A bouncing little blond girl ran up and stood on tiptoe to see Laylea. “I’m a Dithney. You can call me Mickey!”
Maggie set her on the ground to meet Mickey. Laylea looked to the back of the plane where Flower relieved one of the boys of his overly ambitious armload. She saw Clark watching her. He nodded encouragement so she led Mickey around the vomit filled handkerchief to underneath the nose of the plane where they played while the others worked.
The plane quickly emptied. A few secret compartments revealed their treasures. And then Clark locked up the doors and took Laylea’s leash from Mickey who had it tangled around her.
Laylea focused when her new friend led them over to the temporary village. Mickey took them directly to the source of the smells. Led by her nose, Laylea pulled toward the food, tumbling ahead of Clark and Mickey and straining at the very end of her long leash.
Waves of eye stinging air washed over her, hotter than Woodford’s belly after a sunlit nap. A tongue of fire tried to draw her in. She yelped and tumbled rump over reason before gaining her feet to race back to the dad.
“Como está?” Laylea’s head whipped back around at the rich craggy voice that croaked out of the old woman commanding the fire. She pronounced her words very differently from the family.
“How’s tricks, Bela?” Clark smoothed Laylea’s hackles but he didn’t scoop her into his chest.
Mickey ran right up beside the fire with no fear. She tugged on the cook’s jacket.
“That’th Elgy.” Mickey pronounced her words differently too, but it was more like she was trying to sound like Clark but couldn’t work it out. Laylea barked. She couldn’t talk like Clark either.
“LG is looking for a home, Bela.” Flower joined them, handing her grandmother a brown paper bag. “Don’t worry. Feranda already said no. Captain, they’re starting. You might want to go head off some fist fights.”
Clark chanted, “I will, not,” but then his eyes cleared and he handed Laylea’s leash to the teenager. “LG needs some dinner. She left her breakfast on the cockpit floor. No human food.” He pulled a small baggie of kibble from one of his many pockets. Laylea sang. “This is hers. But her stomach is a little off. Mickey,” he crouched down to hand the baggie to the little girl, “can you find a bowl and ask Bela for a dribble of broth?”
Mickey held the baggie carefully with both hands, her eyes wide. She bobbed her head slowly up and down and walked with exaggerated care over to the old woman.
“I’ll keep an eye on them, Captain.” Flower dropped to the ground beside Laylea and set the puppy on her chest.
“Thanks.” Clark took a deep breath. He ran his knuckles over the rapidly healing bruise on his cheek. The swelling was gone and Laylea could barely see the one finger of green dulled with dark yellow. She turned her attention to the girl blowing in her face as the dad walked away to the small crowd of loud voices gathered around the supplies.
When the disputes were settled and nearly everyone had paid Clark, six small piles of things stood in the clearing between the plane and the tents. One for each of the families plus two for the men who most fit Sher’s designation of hermit. Flower and Mickey were called away to help their families move the goods to their tents.
Bela wouldn’t give Laylea anything from the stewpot so she tottered over to find Mickey in her tent, playing with the small green bound book Sher had given Clark at the last minute. She pounced on her playmate’s foot and the two tumbled all over the tent. Mickey grabbed for her ears. Laylea dodged away. She tripped over the book and rolled into a set of ankles.
“Careful there, LG.” Mickey’s mom crouched to set the puppy on her feet again. “You are a tiny little thing, aren’t you? Think you could make it out here in the wild?”
The woman’s voice trailed off. Her hand left Laylea’s ears to flip over the green book still lying on the floor of the tent.
“David.” She turned to Mickey’s dad.
“Call me Donald, babe.” The man continued reorganizing their packs.
“Donald.” She growled between her teeth. “Mickey took Hardknock’s book.”
“Minnie.” The man bit off his words. Laylea cringed at his sudden sour smell. “How do you know it’s Hardknock’s?”
She pointed at the three men still standing where the piles had been lain out. “He’s yelling at the Captain for forgetting it. Won’t pay him for anything else.”
Donald stopped his work. Fear poured off of him. “We can’t return it.”
“We can’t return it,” Minnie agreed. “He’ll kill us for taking it.”
“We have to return it.” The dad spit a harsh word. He muttered it three more times. “We have to return it.”
“Yeah.” Minnie looked over her shoulder at her daughter. “But how?”
Minnie and Donald argued, trying to come up with ways to return the book. The tent grew cold. Laylea tripped away from Mickey, who had frozen in the face of her parents’ anger. She tilted her head at the book. She shoved it with her nose. It wasn’t very heavy or very thick. But it took her a few tries to get her teeth around one corner.
None of the family noticed her leave the tent. She ran down to the far side of the encampment and batted the book around in the field until she was playing just a stone’s throw from the argument between Clark, a craggy wild-haired man, and a bald hermit who smelled like soap.
“You can’t expect me to pay when you don’t even do your job.” The wild man’s voice cracked.
“I’m sorry, Hardknock.” Clark held his tone even, controlled. “I can check the plane again.”
“No.” The pock-faced man ran a hand down his beard. He slunk towards a rucksack sitting alone in the middle of the trio. “I’m taking my stuff and leaving.”
“You can’t leave until you’ve paid the Captain, Hardknock.” The bald guy stood tall with his feet spread.
Laylea stood up to see this man better. His skin was dark, deeper in a way than Michelle’s at the mom’s clinic. He wore pants like Clark’s, covered in pockets but his single pocket black t-shirt didn’t hide his muscles the way Clark’s button-downs did. He also had a silver pen stuck in his breast pocket.
Laylea took a step forward to smell the man and tripped over the book.
Hardknock noticed. The hermit dove at the ground and yanked a fist-sized hunk of obsidian from the grass at Clark’s feet. Clark stepped back but Laylea saw his hands come up, stiff as blades. He relaxed when Hardknock threw the rock away
. But his muscles tensed again at Laylea’s fearful yip.
She’d run away when he released the rock so Hardknock missed her. But he hit the book. An edge scraped along the cover. The sound of the rip sliced through the thick air.
Laylea tripped and rolled to a stop in the grass. She looked to Clark for directions but Clark was conferring with the bald hermit. Nobody breathed except Donald and Ahab, hurrying toward them from the tents.
Laylea’s ears twitched when the wild hermit inhaled. He breathed out, “I’m gonna kill that dog.”
She was still looking to Clark when the steel toe of Hardknock’s boot crunched into her side.
Laylea yelped over and over as she rolled, some from the pain, some from the memory of the sickly sweet man dropping her on that same hip. She curled up, protecting her now twice injured haunch. Her foot had gone numb and she licked at it while her eyes darted from side to side, trying to keep up with the fight high above her.
The dad and the dark hermit grabbed Hardknock. They struggled. Hardknock screamed curses.
Clark caught another blow to his bruised cheek but he grabbed the hermit’s wrist on the follow-through and twisted it, stretching the arm out and folding his hand back. Hardknock tried to turn into the stressed shoulder but the bald one had wrapped an arm around his other shoulder and braced a hand on the back of Hardknock’s neck.
He whispered into the man’s ear, “I don’t want to say it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Hardknock relaxed. He stopped fighting. “I lost my mind.”
“You’re okay?”
He repeated, “I lost my mind.”
“Okay.” Clark let up the pressure on his arm. He untwisted the hand, the elbow and lowered the arm before he released it. “Try to remember, I will not—”
Hardknock looked into Clark’s eyes. “I lost my mind and I will not ever find it again.”
He pulled a gun, flipped off the safety, and aimed at Laylea.
A thunderous boom cracked the air.
Chapter Ten
Laylea’s cries filled the world. Her hip burned. Her nose stung. And she couldn’t hear her own voice over the ringing in her ears. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest. She leaped up to run away. But fell as her left leg failed to take her weight. Crying louder, she dug her tiny claws into the dirt and tried to drag herself away.
WereHuman - The Witch's Daughter: Consortium Battle book 1 (Wyrdos) Page 7
