by Sara King
She cocked her head and blinked as if that hadn’t occurred to her.
“Meanwhile, you destroyed what little protein supply we had in the form of their eggs and reduced the genetic diversity by half,” Slade snapped, pressing his advantage. “You’ve bottlenecked us, and it’s only the first generation!”
“People were going to die,” Rat said. Because that made everything better.
At that point, Slade stopped trying to argue, because it was as pointless as trying to debate a stick of wood. Instead, he began counting down the number of minutes in his head until Tuesday started. He’d already planned out his sweet, sweet revenge, but as he sat there, waiting, he kept finding ways to tinker with it. For instance: Did he want her to apologize on her knees or on all fours? Both of them had their benefits…
“What are you doing?” Rat asked eventually, sounding somewhat suspicious. “You’re not normally this quiet.”
“I’m getting even,” Slade said absently. From either position, her copious begging was nice. He then began to plot out what she would wear for her day of retribution, mentally stripping her down and fitting various thongs, brassieres, stockings, miniskirts, and leather on her supple body, examining the garments from all sides and poses as he determined the merits of each.
Unfortunately, that display devolved into other types of displays, and suddenly Slade was quite thoroughly distracted.
“Are you pole-dancing in your head again?” Rat demanded, startling him. “You get this weird look on your face when you’re pole-dancing.”
“No,” Slade said. She was pole-dancing. He needed, he decided, to rig a pole for her personal use this Tuesday—which was approximately two minutes away. She would force the Guild to march again and leave his contraption behind on Wednesday, but until then, Tuesday, his day, would be a day of rest and entertainment. He began plotting out the schematics of the device as he watched her do a spinning straddle down into a box splits.
“He’s lying,” Tyson said, flicking a cleaned chicken bone at him across the fire. The big blond reached for another of Slade’s chicken legs.
“You’re lying,” Rat agreed.
“What size gloves do you wear?” Slade asked distractedly, trying to gauge the best dimensions of the pole. He watched Rat do a Stag down to a Rainbow Marchenko, then her sweaty body swiveled from a Closed Inside Leg Hang into a Chopsticks.
Rat squinted at him. “Large women’s, medium men’s.”
“So approximately eight, eight and a half inch circumference around the palm?” he asked, mentally adjusting the pole circumference to more closely match her ideal grip size.
“Don’t give him any more information,” Tyson said.
This time, the Congie’s suspicion was palpable. “I don’t know the scale in inches.”
But Slade already had everything he needed. At 12:00:01 a.m., he jumped to his feet and kicked the high heels into the fire. “Tell the flock I’ll be back in an hour or two! I need to scout out some supplies!”
Rat squinted at him. “It’s Monday. You have to call them your ‘groupies’ or your ‘gang’ or your ‘followers’ on Monday.”
Slade paused to grin at her. “And that, my booted badass, is where you’d be wrong.”
Tyson, who had become their official time-keeping judge, glanced down at his watch, one of the old mechanical wind-ups that hadn’t been destroyed by the EMP. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “How the hell do you do that?”
Slade blew them a kiss, then skipped off towards the tent for something warmer to wear, visions of pole-dancing Congies twisting in his head.
He had just finished getting dressed and had started digging through his things beside his bed when he heard someone open the flap and come inside behind him.
“I need to organize a search party,” Slade told his minion without looking up. “We’re looking for a metal pole and welding equipment, and we only have a few hours.”
“Listen, you crazy nutbag,” an obviously upset man said, “I’m not a killer—they put me away for something I didn’t do—but the camp got together and I drew the short straw. It’s time for some new leadership.”
Slade held up a dildo and eyed it. He’d spent several hours modifying it a few days back, cannibalizing the power source on one of Tyson’s guns and hiding the evidence in the woods while the big man—and everyone else—was sleeping. As far as Tyson knew, he’d just ‘lost’ it somewhere along the line. For Slade, though, it had just been one more way to pass time that he wished he didn’t have.
Insomnia. Along with the severe, mind-crushing headaches that seemed to be getting worse regardless of how much gum Slade chewed, insomnia was one of the many unfortunate side-effects of being completely brilliant. He was lucky if he got three hours a night, which gave him four hours more than most people every day in which he had to amuse himself or utterly lose his mind. “The pole needs to be about forty-five to fifty millimeters in diameter, with either a chrome or a titanium-gold finish.”
“Sorry I gotta do this to you, man. Real sorry. I mean, maybe I did stab a few people in my younger days, but none of them died, you know? Even the paralyzed kid lived. So believe me when I tell you I’m a good guy, and this is really hard.”
“About ten to twelve feet tall would be ideal, because we’re going to be planting it three to four feet in the ground for stability.” He swiveled to face the man. “For the welding equipment, you can skip the arc welder. This little baby can do up to two hundred and thirty volts without breaking a sweat, so all I really need is some scrap metal and jumper cables. I’m sure there’s a handyman’s garage around here that probably has something like that.”
The man—Slade recognized him as Jimmy—slowly glanced at the big phallic object in Slade’s hand. He blinked like a bovid, then said, “I must have missed something.”
“Oh, you did,” Slade said helpfully. Slade made the super-secret series of clockwise-counterclockwise twists needed to turn on his device.
With the last click, tent-wide arcs of blue-white energy began crackling from the device and dancing across every surface inside the tent with the same ear-piercing sizzle as an electric chair mid-fry. The man with the gun started to scream, even though the energy was dancing harmlessly across his body and shooting out his fingertips and toes.
Slade had been trying to improve upon the Tesla Coil, but he’d gotten sidetracked by how much fun it was going to be to totally blow Rat’s mind when she was least expecting it. As a result, his little device hadn’t really had much of a purpose except to make his hair stand on end and the room snap and course with lightning. As the man was screaming, Slade reached out and took his gun.
“See,” Slade said, having to shout to be heard above the sizzle of electrons as he brought the device right up close to his face, so the blinding blue-white arcs were dancing across his features. He could feel electricity coruscating through his hair, licking every surface of his body. He took a step forward, the eardrum-shattering electric crackle blotting out all other sound in the world. “I was planning on saving it for Rat, since my lady love doesn’t yet appreciate my genius, but I might as well try it on you first. Would you like to experience the oral or rectal version?” He reached for the other guy, surrounded by the stink of ozone.
Shrieking, the man stumbled backwards until he fell on his ass on the tent floor.
Seeing Slade lit up like the epicenter of the Electron Apocalypse above him, the man’s blue eyes widened until there was nothing but whites all around, then, screaming, scrabbled up from the ground and dove out of the tent. He was still screaming as he stumbled down the hill, back into the main camp. Outside, heavy boots were running towards the tent flap from the scene of their crime at the fireside. “What in the ever-lovin’ fu—” Slade saw a shadow as one of his thugs reached for the flap.
Slade switched the device off and the tent immediately returned to total serenity and silence.
Tyson lifted the flap, revealing both him and Rat star
ing in the entryway to the now-dark tent, looking in at him suspiciously.
“Hello,” Slade said. He grinned, showing them his teeth, which he had taken to bleaching because he was having to find new and interesting ways to amuse himself at night.
“It looked like the Apocalypse just took place inside your tent,” Tyson informed him, panting and disheveled.
“Oh really?” Slade frowned and glanced around him. “When?”
“Just now,” Tyson snapped. “You can’t tell us you didn’t see that lights show just now. My retinas still hurt.”
“Oh?” Slade asked. Come to think of it, his retinas were somewhat seared. He was having to look at Tyson sideways, because, by putting the device so close to his face, he now had purple after-images lanced through his vision. Or was that because one of the bolts had danced across his eyeballs? He hoped the damage wasn’t permanent. “A lights show? Is the aurora out?” He cocked his head to look at the sky over their shoulders.
Tyson narrowed his eyes.
“Where did you get the gun?” Rat demanded.
“From that guy,” Slade said, gesturing at the man who was still screaming somewhere deeper in camp. The other two, who apparently hadn’t heard the man screaming over the crackling sizzle of electricity, gave each other a confused look and glanced out at the camp behind them.
“You want it?” Slade offered. After all, he owed Tyson a gun. He held it out.
Tyson made no move to take it. “What did you do?”
“Is that a dildo?” Rat demanded. Her eyes had migrated to the big obelisk-shaped device in his other hand. “What are you doing in here with a gigantic dildo?
“With another man,” Tyson added, raising a brow.
“Nothing.” Anymore. Slade carefully tucked the dildo into the front pocket of his new flannel shirt, but was dissatisfied with the way it stuck out ridiculously—it had to be a big dildo to hold a plasma pistol’s power core—and shoved it into the cargo pocket of his shorts, instead.
“Sam, cut the bullshit, what did you do?” Tyson growled.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Slade said. He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Who’s up for a scavenging run?”
His thugs just continued to stare at him. Sighing deeply, Slade brushed past them, into the main campsite, preparing to pluck voluntolds from his flock.
Except his flock was packing, putting their gear and equipment into their backpacks and filtering out into the darkness in little groups.
“Huh,” Slade said.
Rat and Tyson came to stand beside him, watching the exodus.
“Was wondering when that would happen,” Tyson said. “With all those crazy ultimatums you’ve been making lately.”
“They were her ultimatums,” Slade muttered. “Guys, aren’t you going to stop my minions from leaving?!” He gestured for them to descend upon the unfaithful with their thuggish vengeance.
Rat yawned and went back to the fire to sharpen her knife.
“Rat,” Slade hissed. “They’re leaving. The workforce of our new society is leaving.”
Rat ignored him.
Slade considered telling her to go get them, since it was Tuesday, but then shrugged. They’d be back. Or at least half of them would. If they were lucky.
Still standing at Slade’s side on the ridge, Tyson said, “What was the light in the tent, Sam?”
“Nothing,” Slade said. “You up to go scavenging with me?”
“What for?” Tyson asked.
“It’s Tuesday, so I need to find a good pole and it’s going to be too heavy for me to carry back on my own,” Slade said.
Tyson gave him a blank look.
“For Rat to dance on!” Slade cried, disgusted that he had to explain himself.
Tyson’s face cleared. “It’s midnight,” he said. Then, depressingly, he dumped the second meager offering his neurons had managed to process into the conversation, following that first obvious statement up with another: “I hear those huge lizards hunt by heat signatures. You should wait until daylight.”
“That’s seven hours from now!” Slade cried. He refused to waste seven good hours of his day huddling in the dark because of a gigantic alien lizard. “Rat!” he shouted. “Get over here! We’re going scavenging!”
“It’s just past midnight,” she called back, sounding bored. “You should wait until it’s light out. Less chance the kreenit will track you in daylight.”
Slade, who had become over-exposed to thuggish small-mindedness in the last few weeks, had to contain the urge to prance in frustration. “Opinion noted and disregarded. Now let’s go! We’re wasting time!”
“Better do as he says,” Tyson said. “He gets something in his head, he doesn’t let it go for weeks.” Glancing back at Slade’s forehead with a thoughtful look, Tyson continued, “It kinda gets stuck in there, like magnets lodged in a cat’s intestines.”
“Besides,” Slade said, ignoring the jab, “as I mentioned before, it’s Tuesday. You have to do what I say on Tuesday, and I say we’re off to hunt down a good striptease pole.”
Rat rolled her eyes and got to her feet, shoving the monomolecular blade into its sheath. “You’re the Prime. Today. Which way we going?”
Slade, who had been doing reconnaissance in his head while talking to them, said, “There’s going to be a good pole in a suburban basement that way.” He gestured to the west.
Tyson glanced at Rat, then back at him. “How do you know that?” He sounded unnerved, like Slade had said he was going to die in two and a half days.
“I’m guessing,” Slade said. “It’s a guess, Tyson. Nobody can know something like that.” And then, before they could waste his processing capacity with more useless vocalizations, he started into the forest, heading in the direction of the closest town.
#
“Sam, you’ll need a flashlight!” Rat called after her ka-par slave’s retreating back. Unlike herself, Sam’s eyes hadn’t been augmented by the Congressional Ground Force to better see—and kill—its enemies in the dark.
Sam either ignored her or didn’t hear her, which was just as common. Sighing, Rat picked up another couple flashlights and tucked them into her vest pockets. She watched Sam go for a moment before asking Tyson, “You gonna follow him?”
“Debating,” the big blond said. He cocked his head at Rat. “You?”
Rat supposed that if she let Sam go off alone, it would solve her dilemma of when to kill him. “Same.”
Tyson grunted with a nod, still watching him. “Know what you mean.”
“Yeah,” Rat said. She crossed her arms, staring off into the darkness, still trying to decide.
Long minutes passed.
“He’s gonna die out there,” Tyson pointed out, after Sam’s back had disappeared amidst the bushes and he hadn’t come back whimpering about poison ivy or bugs.
“Yep,” Rat agreed.
“I’d miss his omelets,” Tyson said.
Strangely, Rat felt the same way. “Yeah.”
Neither of them made any effort to move.
“Is the sex good?” Tyson finally asked.
“Phenomenal,” Rat said.
Tyson chuckled. “Thought so.” Another pause. “Think he’d ever swing for schlong?”
Rat considered. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”
Tyson grunted. Together they continued to watch the forest where their Fearless Leader had disappeared. Then, “Mind if I try?”
“Go for it,” Rat said. She didn’t plan to let him live much longer, anyway.
Tyson grunted again, though he looked interested. “Think I’d have to drug him?” The big man sounded as if he were only half joking.
“Nah,” Rat said. “Sam said drugs don’t work on him. Probably the Huouyt hybrid thing.”
Tyson sighed. “I was working up to asking when you showed up. You know he totally fell for you, right?”
Rat actually felt a little guilty. “I gathered.”
Tyson nodded and they fell into another silence.
“We should probably go save him,” Rat said.
“Probably.”
They continued to stand there in contemplation. Then, heaving a huge sigh, Tyson shrugged his rifle over his shoulder and, shaking his head, started down the hill after Sam.
Rat, who was the only one of the three who could see in the dark, grabbed her own rifle and went after them. She could wait another week to fulfill her obligation to Mekkval and kill Sam. She was, surprisingly, enjoying Sam…
#
Slade realized he had walked into a kreenit’s feeding grounds around the same time he stepped on a digested pile of Human bones. It took him a moment to realize they were whole Human bones. Because the alien lizards swallowed people whole. Because they were big enough to do that.
Slade spent several moments staring down at the pile of bones, calculating the size of the creature responsible, and the time elapsed since the turd’s gestation.
It was still steaming. That wasn’t good.
A few feet away, someone started screaming—a horrible sound that ended in a wet rip—and big feet started thundering towards him through the total darkness. He vaguely saw a set of jaws go wide, sharklike rows of triangular black teeth like an unholy saw rushing towards him in the darkness.
Because he was a resourceful man, Gorthrak the Destroyer calmly pulled out his lightning weapon as the ancient evil dragon—no, a tarasque—descended upon him…
#
Sam’s thin, feminine scream was unmistakable even from this distance, followed by the enraged roar of a kreenit.
“Oh shit, do you hear that?” Tyson cried, breaking into a run.
Rat did hear it, and a lump of dread was coalescing in her gut. Dread, and guilt, because she knew Sam was already dead. She put on speed, following Tyson at a lope.
About three seconds later, the dark forest ahead of them burst into an overwhelming array of sizzling electricity that made them both gasp and stagger, blind from the forked after-images seared into their retinas.
