The Book of Apex: Volume 1 of Apex Magazine

by Jason Sizemore

  He was on an open plain. Even if Madison hadn’t described the place when they landed, the strong breeze and unfiltered sunlight should have told him.

  Whatever had killed her was probably still in line of sight. Penn grabbed for Cody’s harness. They had to get inside.

  Halfway to his feet, Penn stopped. What if the thing hadn’t spotted him because he was kneeling? He listened, trying to hear anything past the sound of his own heart and the wind. It carried nothing but scent: moist, verdant moss; the heavy under notes of loam and stone; when the wind shifted and flicked to come from in front of him, it brought the harsh sharp smell of urine mixed with blood.

  The thing would be there.

  Or perhaps not. Cody had not shied away. Maybe Madison lay ahead and Penn was about to abandon her.

  He rubbed his thumb over the leather grip on Cody’s harness. He would trust his dog. If she hesitated, even a little, they would go back to the ship.

  “Cody, forward,” he whispered, still half-crouched. His good dog led him smoothly ahead. Through her harness he felt no hesitation.

  He sniffed, searching for where the scent was strongest. “Left,” he whispered.

  What could have done this? Not a musk lion—despite the ruff that gave them their name, they were no bigger than a capuchin monkey. The survey reports had said that there weren’t any larger predators on this planet.

  They had gone eleven paces when Cody slowed, then stopped. No matter in which direction the wind blew, the hard ammonia smell of urine stayed in Penn’s nostrils. He crouched again, braced this time for what his hands might find.

  He patted across the soft moss until he touched cloth, coarse twill, Madison’s trousers. Her leg beneath was warm. Penn followed the line of her thigh up. The material was soaked. Blood? His hands followed the topography of her body, sinking into valleys of savagery. Gashes carved out of her hip. When his hand touched the broken end of a rib, it moved.

  A shallow gasp.

  “Praise the saints. Hold on, Madison.” Penn pulled his shirt off and wrapped it around her. The wind moved over his bare torso like dozens of tiny cold fingers.

  He tied the sleeves around her chest and slid both hands under her. He fixed the location of the ship in his mind. All he had to do was retrace his steps.

  Eleven paces, then turn slightly and take nine more. He could do this.

  Penn pushed to his feet. Clutching Madison to his chest, he turned to his right. That was far enough. Wasn’t it?

  He slid his foot forward over the spongy ground. One. Setting his weight, he stepped again. Two. Wait. He had been crouching when he came this way, so his stride had been shorter. He wanted Cody’s grip in his hand. She would take him back to the ship. Penn licked his lips. It was a decent-sized ship and he hadn’t gone that far. Worst case scenario, he’d run into the side of it and have to follow it around to the ramp.

  The spreading dampness in the shirt wrapped around Madison reminded him that there were other far worse scenarios. He had to take the shortest path back the ship.

  Cody pressed against his left leg and Penn staggered a half-step to the right. He cursed and tried to correct for the misstep, but Cody was in his way. Fool dog was so used to working position that she wouldn’t—

  No. Fool man couldn’t realize that she was herding him. His throat tightened. He would have cried if he’d owned a working set of tear ducts. “Good dog.”

  Her tail beat against the back of his leg.

  “Take me home, Cody.”

  With her warm body pressed against his leg, Penn felt his way over the uneven ground. His arms burned under the strain of holding Madison. She had not made a sound and only that single gasped breath had told him that she was still alive.

  His ankle twisted under him and Penn went down. His hip caught against Cody. As his knees jarred against the ground, Penn lost his grip on Madison. Pitching forward, one hand slammed into the moss, the other against Madison’s leg.

  She did not make a sound.

  Holding his breath, Penn laid his head on her chest. Praying for a heartbeat he stayed bent over her, counting senselessly in his head as if the numbers might help. She lay under his ear without stirring. At one hundred and twenty-seven Penn sat up.

  He pressed his hands against his face, digging his fingernails into his forehead. Madison was dead and he had no idea what had killed her. But, by God, he would have it found and shot. And as for the survey team that had somehow managed to miss a giant predator, every credit in his account would go to suing them to penury.

  Cody put a paw on his knee and whined. Penn dropped his hands to reach for his dog. He gathered her to him, burying his fingers in her warm fur. She licked his face.

  “Thanks, lady.” Fondling her ears, Penn said, “Let’s get back to the ship.”

  Gritting his teeth, he picked Madison up again. His right ankle sent a stab of pain up his leg, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave Madison’s body out here for the thing. Cody took her place by his side and herded him back to the ship.

  Every step jammed an ice pick into his ankle, but Penn Would Not Leave Madison. When his foot hit the bottom of the ramp, he almost fell again but caught himself with his good leg.

  The ramp had never seemed so steep. At any moment Penn expected the thing to come charging out of nowhere and clamp its jaws around him. Or mandibles. Or whatever it had. Someone would pay for this.

  The floor flattened out as Penn entered the airlock, and then he crossed the threshold into the ship. The altar bell chimed as if it were a prayer for Madison’s soul. He had brought the stink of blood and shit into the boarding area with him, almost obliterating the scent of the musk lions. At least they had stopped yipping so he could hear the cleansing chime.

  Without asking, his mind replayed the boarding chimes. Once: Madison had come in to set down the cage. Twice: She had gone back outside. Thrice…. She had never come back inside.

  Cold sweat suddenly coated his bare torso. Penn swallowed. “Cody, go to my lab.”

  The scent of dead skunk, vomit and blood swept down the corridor from the bridge. With it, a sound like sand blowing across steel.

  By his side, Cody growled.

  They’d have to pass that corridor to get to his lab. No time. “Cody. Outside!”

  She pressed harder against his side. Penn kicked her, desperate for her to flee. “Outside!”

  The hissing came faster. Penn turned back the way he had come. Two steps and he tripped over Cody. He and Madison landed in a spatter of oily fur scented with sweet musk. The hissing became the sound of a thousand nails scraping across a blackboard.

  Penn rolled over, pulling Madison’s body on top of him. He screamed wordlessly. Moist, hot and rank with death, the thing’s breath blasted him.

  Madison’s body was yanked out of his grasp. Cody snarled then barreled past him.

  “Cody! No.” Flailing, searching for anything he could use as a weapon, Penn got to his feet.

  Everything in the boarding area was permanently bolted down. Except—

  The fire extinguisher. Where was that?

  Snarling and a roar like a steam train came from behind him. He had to get Cody away from that thing. Penn slid his hand across the wall to the right of the door until he found the cylinder bolted to the wall. Panting, he yanked the extinguisher free of its holder and fumbled for the nozzle.

  Thumps sounded against the corridor’s sides and Cody barked and snarled.

  Staggering forward, Penn shoved the nozzle against the thing and squeezed, blasting it with freezing CO2. The cold air billowed around his hands. With a cry like a bandsaw, the thing jerked back.

  “Cody! Let’s go. Go!”

  The blast of cold air stopped as the canister emptied. Penn swung the extinguisher wildly, praying that he wouldn’t hit his dog.

  With a thud, it connected with something. Cody was still growling, so Penn hit the thing again. Bashing it with one hand, he waved the other, searching for Cody whe
re her growling was loudest. He touched a tuft of bristles so sharp they stung. Penn jerked his hand away.

  “C’mon, lady. Leave it!” He had to get her away. Again he reached and his fingers sank into a wet, viscous mass. The creature screamed in rage and yanked back.

  Then, soft familiar fur. He didn’t know what part of Cody he’d grabbed. “On duty! On duty!”

  He hauled backwards, falling as she suddenly moved to his side. Pushing back, he slid toward the boarding door and slammed into the wall.

  “No!” He’d gotten turned around. Which way was the door? Cody would know. “Outside! Cody, outside.”

  The extinguisher shuddered in his hand and twisted away. Half crawling, he followed his dog.

  His right calf went hot with pain. A flash of anguish painted his brain and a detached part thought, This must be what ‘white’ means.

  Yelling, Penn kicked with his free leg. He struck something unyielding. He kicked again.

  The thing loosened its grip on his leg. Penn jerked free, feeling his flesh rend on the thing’s teeth. Falling, he felt the airlock threshold under his knees. The altar bell chimed as he crossed. Penn let go of Cody’s harness to push himself up.

  Cody barked. Her voice was hard and savage.

  Penn slapped the door sensor. An eternity passed before it hissed shut. With a dull thud, it impacted on the thing. And then the damn safety made the door slide open. Cody’s claws scraped the floor as she lunged toward the opening.

  “Cody, stay!”

  Penn threw himself on her and tried to get between Cody and the door. He slapped again at the control. She squirmed to get past him, snapping at the thing. “No! Fool dog!” He scrabbled to grab her by the scruff and threw her away from the door.

  Teeth scraped his shoulder as he turned with the throw. Penn spun, shoving with both arms against a surface that was covered in bone and bristle.

  Behind him, Cody yelped as she struck the far side of the airlock’s wall. With strength he didn’t know he had, Penn yelled, “On duty. Stay! STAY!”

  The inner door of the airlock hissed shut, sealing off the smell of corpses, musk lion and the salty tang of Madison.

  Penn swayed for a moment, expecting the thing to still be in front of him. He heard nothing but the wind from outside. He reached for the airlock door and slid his hand down the unyielding surface.

  “My God.” With a trembling hand, Penn wiped the sweat and blood from his face. “Cody. Cody, we’re safe.”

  Penn steadied himself against the wall and sank to a crouch. “Come here you wonderful dog.”

  He waited for the tick, tick, tick of her claws to come to him. The wind dried the sweat on his back, chilling him. “Cody?”

  He swallowed, remembering the yelp she had made when she’d hit the wall. “Cody, come here lady.” Penn crawled forward, patting the floor with his hand.

  Her claws ticked on the steel, moving away from him.

  “Cody? Where you going?” Penn held his hand out, beckoning her.

  She backed away again, leather harness creaking. Maybe she wanted him to get out of the airlock. Penn pushed to his feet and stepped forward, reaching for her harness.

  Cody ran.

  Outside, her claws scraped against the boarding ramp as she almost slid down it. Careening forward, Penn chased her. He didn’t know what was behind them but, if it was enough to scare Cody, he would be dead if he stayed.

  At the bottom of the ramp, he fell, knees mashing through the moss to the rocks beneath. The wind filled his hearing and he strained for some hint of Cody. To his right, a faint creak of leather skipped through the space in the breeze. Penn got to his feet and staggered toward it. He cursed every time his weight came down on his right foot. It threatened to fold under him.

  “Cody?”

  She huffed, not a bark, but a warning. She was more to his left. He followed the sound, sniffing.

  “What’s the matter, lady?” He inhaled deeply, trying to catch a whiff of where she was. The stench of the thing burned his nostrils. His bowels contracted as slow understanding seeped down. She was afraid of him. He smelled like the thing and he had hit her. Kicked her even. No wonder she wouldn’t come. He’d told her to stay away from him.

  The ground gave way. His ankle exploded with fresh pain and Penn pitched forward. The land rolled him over, carrying him down a shallow slope. He stopped on his back. For a moment, the wind did not fill his ears with its rush.

  Beyond the shelter of the small hollow, Penn heard a hissing like a thousand fingers scraping across steel. Another one. Why had he thought that there would only be one on the planet? His heart kicked wildly at his ribs. He had to get back to the airlock. He could hide in there until help came.

  Except—the fall. He’d gotten turned around. He didn’t know where the ship was.

  Penn sat up carefully, and the hissing disappeared into the rush of wind. The thing could be anywhere.

  Sinking back down so he could hear again, Penn shivered. The hissing was louder. Penn sniffed the air, searching for the scent of dog. He whispered, “Cody? On duty. On duty...”

  The Limb Knitter

  Steven Francis Murphy

  With a spade in one hand and a burlap sack in the other, the Limb Knitter dug for trench tubers in the Beaten Zone as the early morning rain gave way to a foggy Western dawn. Down on her belly in the mud between the Invaders to her South and Forces Velaysia to her North, she found the pickings pretty slim. She gave up poking at the mud for a moment and looked toward her lines.

  Spring filled the lower elevations on the southern face of the Canarus Ranges, sowing the valleys and slopes behind the trenches in emerald foliage. From the gates of the mountain redoubts of Forces Velaysia, the Limb Knitter caught sight of the Brigades Invalid, on the march with their machines to stiffen the mere flesh and bone Frontists of the Brigades Defender along the Southern Front. Mixed in amid the rusty, black bipeds were the Invalid Harvesters, their bodies whitewashed to prevent friendly fire and their backs burdened with empty harvest drums.

  No more trench tubers for a while, the Knitter told herself. Her two stomachs rumbled in agreement. She was sick of digging for the tasteless, decayed bits anyway.

  The Knitter could see all of this through the morning fog, but her true prey, Frontist Delauchen Severis was only human. Shivering under his poncho, he could see no further than the insectile, maggot-blown corpses of crucified Invaders on the reserve slope of the trenches.

  You look miserable, Delauchen, the Limb Knitter thought.

  He was jittery too. The Limb Knitter’s prey jumped every time he heard her spade bite into the soil.

  She watched him collect his weapon and begin the long crawl out of the Beaten Zone toward the forward trenches of the Southern Front. The Knitter put her spade away, still hungry, and crawled behind him, slow and steady.

  Only when he was safe in the flooded trenches did he remove his rusty brain bucket and scratch madly at his greasy, matted hair. The Limb Knitter eased up to the trench with envy deep in her chest. She could just hear their conversation.

  “Morning, grouch,” his conflict spouse, Thalia Vetraslev said. She gave him a peck on the lips. “See anything out there?”

  “No,” he said, avoiding her eyes, as was his nature. “Not a damned thing. Just thought I heard some Knitters digging about.”

  “I’ll get chow,” the Knitter heard Thalia say.

  Delauchen started to snore while still on his feet.

  Thalia thumped him in the shoulder. “Hey, did you hear me, Delauchen? I’m going for chow.”

  He jerked awake, “Yes, sorry. I think I need sleep more than food.”

  “You’ll want your tea,” she said. “I know how you are.”

  It must be nice to have someone, the Knitter thought. She watched Thalia head eastward to join a line of male and female Frontists headed for the bombproof kitchens. Thalia was big-boned and had wide hips which formed her short, pear-shaped frame. When the Frontist wave
d back at Delauchen, it was possible to see the vanilla-scented ointment that covered the albino patches of skin on the right side of her face.

  The Knitter’s Mark.

  Delauchen waved back to Thalia and plopped himself down on a pinewood ammo box. Her peers avoided her and others with the same albino patches as if they might catch something. It was just a lack of melanin that caused the discoloration. The Master Knitter still hadn’t solved that problem. But it didn’t matter if they stayed away from the likes of her.

  Thing is, Knitter’s Mark or not, Delauchen didn’t let anyone get too close to him either.

  When he was sure she was out of sight, Delauchen reached for a tar canvas satchel and pulled out a worn spiral pad of rice paper. He settled into his spot, kicking loose a few rocks, which rolled down into a brackish shell hole.

  Draw something beautiful, the Knitter thought, sliding forward a bit closer.

  Here is why the Knitter waited all night: she enjoyed this part the most, the mornings when Delauchen would draw something. Maybe he would sketch a collection of empty ration canisters or barring that, he might do his dirty left hand again. Sometimes, as a joke, he liked to hold his thumb out and sketch that. And every so often, on good mornings when both were in high spirits, Thalia would let Delauchen sketch her face in the hopes that perhaps she could finally catch those evasive brown eyes of his.

  The Limb Knitter eased up closer still, almost to the point where the top of her slouch hat was visible. But Delauchen didn’t pick up a charcoal stick or turn to a smooth, crème sheet of nude paper. Instead, he turned to an old sketch and stared at it.

  No, she thought. Draw something. You don’t have much time. The rank, randy scent of the Invaders grew in the hours before an attack. It was enough to make the Knitter gag. Humans were spared due to their own limited senses, perhaps for the better, or maybe for the worse.

  The Knitter moved closer, shifting loose a few bits of dirt and rock.

  Charcoal rubbings and lines gave the woman in the sketch a pudgy nose. Dark curls brushed against her bare shoulders, pulled back to show off her ears. Sharp dimples flanked her close-lipped smile. Her eyebrows were feather-fine yet overemphasized above a pair of flat, almond-shaped eyes.