Alien Taste

by Wen Spencer

  There was a loud boom and the concrete between Ukiah and Coyote smoked. Behind Ukiah, Rennie chambered another shell into the shotgun. “We need to talk, Coyote.”

  The man lifted his eyes briefly to Rennie. “I told you to kill him where he stood. If you don’t have the heart for it, I’ll do it gladly.”

  “You might be wrong about this. Or you might be right. He might be what you fear. If he is, we’ll do what you plan. But I think you’re wrong. The Pack should decide.”

  “I’m not wrong. He must be killed. There is no deciding, there is only doing.”

  “We say there is,” Rennie snapped and was immediately echoed by Bear and Hellena. A growling agreement rippled through the others as well.

  Rennie is for not killing me? There’s a chance?

  Coyote circled Ukiah, and Rennie moved at the same time—keeping the helpless boy between them. “What is the question here? Is there any question that he’s the one? Is there?’

  Apparently not; the Pack remained silent. A spark of hope that had lit with Rennie’s apparent mutiny was quickly dying. They are all madmen.

  “You know as well as I that Prime didn’t want to make this child in the first place.” Coyote continued, his voice a deep rumble. “You know he planned to destroy it while it still was growing in its mother’s womb. You know that he thought it would be killed when he blew up the ship.”

  So his father was a madman too.

  “I know. I know,” Rennie agreed. “But do you know what strikes me most about our Prime? He was an asshole. He panicked easily, he acted without thinking, and he never thought things the whole way through. Look at the mess he’s made of us. On the one hand, here, we’ve got honest concern, a possible monster is in our midst and we should kill it before it spawns. On the other hand, the Pack is all that is left of Prime, and that makes us the boy’s father. Prime assumed that his child would be a monster—but was he right?”

  Coyote waved Rennie’s argument away. “The possible dangers outweigh the chance we might be wrong.”

  “What danger? He’s been in this city for three years that we know of. Three years under our noses. What has he done? Nothing!”

  “You offer this as proof?”

  “No, I don’t.” They continued to circle Ukiah slowly as he lay sprawled in the dirt. “This I offer as proof. He knew what we came for. He read us right away, and he knew. You could feel his terror. Did he beg for mercy for himself? Did he plead for his life? No. All he cared about was the safety of his partner. You know what Hex would have done! You’ve seen his work from here to Oregon. There’s no Ontongard in the boy. You’re wrong about this child.”

  “Boy! Child! You know how old he is.”

  “Look at him! Just look!” Rennie cried, pointing at Ukiah with a stiff angry finger. “He’s a boy, a teenager maybe, but not an adult. He’s still gangly limbed and smooth-skinned. It will be years before he reaches his true height and weight. He’s just a boy. A Pack cub! I know what Prime expected to crawl out of that girl’s womb. I’ve had nightmares about it since I joined the Pack. But this isn’t it.”

  Ukiah cringed inside at the image Rennie was painting. What are they talking about? Just as he thought he understood them, the conversation would cant at some odd angle.

  “I can’t allow him to live.” That was clear enough. “He will not leave this place alive.”

  “Coyote!” Hellena was equally adamant. “You harm him against our will and we’ll tear you apart. We can feel his fear, and we will not let you hurt him.”

  “You are my Get!”

  There, the conversation tilted again.

  “And there are days,” she growled in return, “I would gladly tear your throat out for that alone.”

  “So you’re willing to risk everything on the smell of a cub’s fear?”

  “First and foremost, he’s Pack,” Rennie started. “We’ll test him like any other new Pack member. If he passes, he lives. If he fails, he dies. It’s the way the Pack has always been.”

  There was a roar of approval for this plan. Coyote growled, then nodded. “So be it. Hellena, you’re best at this. You do it.”

  Hellena handed her shotgun to Rennie and walked to Ukiah, sprawled helplessly on the floor. He watched her come, trying not to show the fear skittering inside. She caught him by the shoulders and righted him back onto his knees. For a moment he thought she was going to undo his handcuffs, but she left his hands locked behind his back.

  Sure that he was stable, Hellena cupped his chin with her right hand, cocking his head back to look up at her.

  “Take a deep breath,” she commanded, brushing his bangs out of his eyes with her left hand. Her dark eyes locked with his, her dark hair spilling forward as she looked down at him. “Again.”

  Together they took a breath and released it. He felt a slight tickling on his forehead, as if a spider had landed there. He thought for a moment it might be her left hand, but it was cupping the back of his head.

  “Now, this is going to hurt.”

  It was all the warning he got. The tickling point became a knifepoint of pain that lanced into him. He screamed and bucked, but she held him firmly, her eyes locked on his. He couldn’t shut his eyes. He couldn’t look away. The knifepoint reached bottom and twisted and . . .

  . . . it was late summer, the stars sharp and clear as they ran down an elk. He ran easily behind the alpha male. He had no tooth or claw to take down the buck, but he could herd it as well as . . .

  . . . he was faint with hunger but the grizzly still was at the foot of the tree. Currently it had overturned a rock bigger than his whole body, and was foraging for ants under it . . .

  . . . Mom Jo gasped, her breath turning to clouds in the cold. “Oh my God, it’s a boy! Jesus, he’s naked.” . . .

  . . . “Ukiah!” Mom Lara clearly was between anger and laughter. “Where are your clothes? It’s snowing out there. Get in the house. We wear clothes outside. No, no no, you only do that in the potty” . . .

  His mind was a television with a billion channels. Flip. Flip. Flip. Memory after memory. Those dark eyes locked on his were gone. The room was gone. Reality was his memories, as if he was living that moment over again. He felt the sharp pain of Crazy Joe Gary’s bullet again. He burned in rage as a wolverine stole his dinner. His life went forward and back, moving at a furious rate.

  He could sense the Pack, distant, watching, somehow reliving these memories with him. Vaguely he realized that the woman was searching for something, could sense in a moment that she hadn’t found it and would flick away the unwanted memory, pulling up another.

  . . . Cally’s face appeared, framed by the window in his bedroom. She was crying and lifted up a still furry body. “Miss Pretty Lightfoot is sick!” . . .

  Ukiah’s heart jerked at the memory of that day. He expected to flick to the next memory, but they stayed on this one.

  He rubbed at bleary eyes to focus on his sister’s beloved pet. Obviously it had tried to corner around a stone wall at high speed and failed. Part of its scalp and skull had been lifted away, as if by a rough-toothed rasp. Its tongue protruded through its sharp teeth, and its eyes were dull. “Oh Cally, I’m sorry. Miss Pretty Lightfoot is dead.”

  “Dead?” She looked at the rabbit, puzzled. “She has batteries? Can you get her new batteries?”

  “No, no, pumpkin. Bunnies don’t have batteries.” What a day to be stuck baby-sitting. Why couldn’t his moms be here? Oh yes, they went to the hospital for—but the thought aborted, avoided completely. “Miss Pretty Lightfoot is like Miss Marker, your Sunday School teacher. Do you remember, she died and we buried her at church?”

  Cally stared to cry. “I don’t want to bury Miss Pretty Lightfoot and never see her again.”

  He closed his eyes hard on the thought of never seeing Mom Lara again. No. No. Things will be fine. What to do about the damn rabbit? “Pumpkin,” he tried again, this time trying something he’d overheard at church. “Cally, if we don’t bury M
iss Pretty Lightfoot, how is she going to go live with God? You want her to be happy, and what would be happier than to be with God?”

  It stopped his sister in midscream. “She won’t go to heaven if we don’t bury her?”

  Ukiah winced and tried to imagine all the ways this conversation could go wrong. “Wouldn’t you be upset if one person said you could go but someone else wouldn’t let you?”

  Cally was a study in serious thought. “We should bury Miss Pretty Lightfoot. Can we do a funeral? Pray and sing and then have cake and punch afterwards?”

  He was puzzled about the cake and punch until he remembered that was how the Sunday School teacher’s funeral had gone. “Sure, pumpkin.”

  So they dug a hole in Mom Lara’s rose garden using a shovel and garden trowel. They emptied the last of the oatmeal into a plastic sandwich bag and used the round container as the coffin. Cally demanded that some of Mom Lara’s prize roses be picked and put in with Miss Pretty Lightfoot. Ukiah complied, sure that this once his mothers would only want Cally to be happy.

  They knelt together in the freshly spaded earth. Cally pressed her hands together and intoned like Reverend Brown, “Now we pray.” Ukiah mimicked her pose, intending only to sit silent beside her. Instead he found himself praying silently with intensity that amazed him. “God, let Mom Lara be okay. Let them get out the tumor that’s making her so sick and let her come home. I don’t want her to leave us. I don’t want Mom Jo to cry. I don’t want Cally hurt. Please, God, don’t let her die.”

  . . . And he was kneeling on the cold concrete of the huge warehouse, tears running down his cheeks. Hellena held him still in the vise grip but her eyes no longer were locked with his. She was looking at Rennie, some silent communication going between them. Rennie glanced about the ring of the silent watchers, collecting the unspoken vote.

  “The boy,” Rennie turned to Coyote, “lives. He’s part of the Pack. We won’t let you harm him.”

  The eyes of the Pack turned toward Coyote, cold determination almost like a wall between them and him.

  Coyote’s gaze swept over them, disapproving. “So be it. Be warned, I don’t think Hex can corrupt a Pack member, but this one, this one he would try very hard indeed to corrupt.”

  He walked across the warehouse and out the door. Hellena released her vise grip, stepping forward to support Ukiah with her body as he sagged wearily forward. It was gray outside instead of dark, he suddenly realized, and remembered that sometime during the night there had been a thunderstorm. The search through his memories had taken hours.

  I’m going to live?

  Rennie shook out tight muscles and yawned widely, cracking his jawbone joint and his neck. “Damn cold bastard.”

  “Do you think he’ll do anything behind our back?” Hellena murmured, still intent on the closed door.

  Rennie considered it for a minute. “No. I think if he wasn’t truly convinced of the boy, he would have taken us all on. He saw that I was right, but he won’t admit it.” He came to hug Hellena, towering over her. He looked down at Ukiah leaning exhausted against her.

  I’m going to live?

  Rennie nodded and handed off his shotgun to Bear. “Thanks for the backup.”

  “You walk the edge, Rennie.” Bear muttered, shaking his head. “Watch you don’t fall.”

  “Don’t wake the sleepers.” Rennie patted him on the shoulder.

  “Don’t wake the sleepers.” Bear headed out the door, following Coyote.

  Rennie flashed an amused grin at Ukiah. “How do you feel? Can you talk yet?”

  Ukiah wet his mouth and tried. “Um, yeah, I can talk. I feel like shit.”

  “How about your legs? They work yet?”

  “Maybe.” Ukiah managed to stand, but it was obvious he wouldn’t stay that way.

  “Nope, not quite.” Rennie caught him, steadied him long enough to undo the cuffs. Then, with another practiced yank, he had Ukiah in a fireman’s carry. “Since you managed to stand, I’d say the gas will wear off shortly.”

  He carried Ukiah easily out to the car. Rain still beaded on the finish, and puddles reflected the light. Rennie opened the passenger door with his free hand and dropped Ukiah into the passenger seat. The Pack leader tucked in his feet, fastened his seat belt and shut the door. A growing sense of relief was washing through him as Rennie got in and started the engine. They’re not going to kill me. He’s actually going to take me home.

  That relief was enough for several minutes. He leaned against the glass, okay with the silence. When Rennie turned onto the parkway, heading for downtown, instead of crossing through Squirrel Hill to reach Shadyside, Ukiah shifted uneasily. Maybe he’s not taking me home.

  Rennie glanced at him. “I’m assuming the FBI will be watching your office. Their missing agent has them riled as hornets with a broken nest. I’m dropping you on the bus line downtown. You can catch a bus or call your partner.”

  Unbidden came the memory of Wil Trace’s face. A wife and three children. Ukiah sighed and glanced at Rennie. “Did you take the FBI agent?”

  Rennie shook his head. “We’re the obvious bad guys, aren’t we? The Pack isn’t what it looks like, though. We’re the heroes in a war—a long, hard, bitter war.”

  “Against who?”

  “Someone a lot better at covering their asses than us. FBI doesn’t have a file on them, doesn’t have a clue. They’ve taken the FBI agent, but we don’t know why. They’re up to something, something big. All we do know is that Janet Haze was part of it, but she’s vanished.”

  “Who are they?”

  Rennie glanced over at him, then shook his head. “You need to stay out of this war. In many ways, you’re the goose that lays the golden eggs. If the other side found out about you, they wouldn’t rest until they had you. You might think the Pack is harsh, but remember this. I had compassion enough to leave your partner alive. The Ontongard would have put your hands around a gun and made you blow out his brains just for fun.”

  “How can I avoid them if you don’t tell me who they are?”

  “I can’t because I don’t know. They change their names, they hide in shadows, and the only time we interact is to kill each other. I can’t tell you who, but you’ll know them.”

  “How?”

  “When your hackles rise, and you get caught between running from or tearing the throat out of a person, you’ll know—he’s one of them.”

  Rennie pulled to a stop beside the Steel Plaza T-station. He reached over, undid Ukiah’s seat beat, and opened the door. Ukiah half expected a shove next and slid out under his own power. His legs were still wobbly, and he clung to the door.

  “That’s it? You’re not going to explain anything that just happened? Who the hell was Prime, other than my father? Who was my mother? Is she dead? What kind of monster did you expect me to be? How did Hellena do that memory thing, and why did you decide to let me live?”

  “I would tell you, boy, but sometimes it’s a mercy not to know. What was done to your mother”—Rennie shook his head—“it’s not a good thing for someone to know about themselves. Go on, go back to your life, and stay clear of everything that touched Janet Haze’s life.”

  Ukiah stepped back, teetering until he caught hold of a bus stop sign. “You’ve got to tell me more.”

  Rennie looked at him, long and hard. “I don’t know if I can explain. I’ve never had to. Usually when you join the Pack, you receive the Pack memory. You’re Pack but you’re not. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Call your partner and go home. Don’t wake the sleepers!”

  The sedan leaped forward, the passenger door slamming shut. Ukiah watched it go until it vanished and then glanced around. A public phone stood only a dozen feet away. Feeling like a toddler, Ukiah let go of the bus stop sign and staggered to the phone.

  Max answered his phone on the first ring. “Bennett.”

  “Max, it’s me.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Downtown, outside the Steel Plaza T-St
ation, on Sixth Avenue.”

  “You safe?”

  “Yes, I’m safe.”

  “Hold on, I’m on the parkway heading into town. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  It was nearly to the exact minute when the Hummer slammed to a stop beside the bus stop. Max leaned over and opened the passenger door. Ukiah climbed shakily in.

  “Are you okay?” Max regarded him worriedly.

  “All things considered—yeah.” He slammed the door closed and slumped into the seat.

  Max found first gear, swung the Hummer back around, and started down Sixth Avenue again—only much slower. “How did you get away from the Pack?”

  “They let me go.”

  Max glanced at him in surprise. “Just like that?”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Hell no, but—” Max glanced at him and something went unsaid, something rooted in the kidnapping, borne of fear and desperation. Max veered away from it, and Ukiah was glad. Things were too raw and painful from those moments. “I just can’t believe they went through all that just to talk to you.”

  Ukiah gave a dry laugh. This is what true relief feels like. What he had felt before was the lessening of terror. “Oh, I guess you could call it talking.” If your idea of a discussion includes an ax, shotguns, and a debate on whether the prodigal son should be cut up and served for dinner instead of the calf.

  “What the hell did you talk about?”

  “It was a slight family disagreement that they wanted to settle.”

  “Family disagreement? Wait a minute! It was the name they twigged on first. Do you mean that it was the Pack that lost you in Oregon? Is that what all this insanity is about?”

  “Yes. I think. They claimed that my father had been part of the Pack, a man called Prime. I don’t know how they could be sure I was his son, but they were dead sure.”

  “I don’t get it. If that’s true, why did they come to kill you?”

  How did he know? Oh yes, the headcam. “Do what you want to me but not here, not in front of him . . . finish this wherever.” “This was supposed to be a slash, not a grab . . .” Oh the joys of modern technology.