Inhuman

by Kat Falls

  I’d never been to a Titan labyrinth park. The company closed their theme parks in the West to focus their efforts on building and maintaining the quarantine line. And all the parks in the East had been long since abandoned.

  I set aside the newspaper and glanced up to find Everson turned in his seat, watching me. He ducked his face to consult the yellow pad in his hands. “I have a question….” He flipped a page and then another, and finally looked up with a sigh. “I can’t remember what it was.”

  “Well, we’ll be here all night,” I said lightly.

  “Yeah, about that … Thanks. I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you.”

  I stiffened. “I didn’t force you to come. Just the opposite. I told you to go back to Arsenal.”

  “That wasn’t sarcasm,” he said, smiling. He leaned back against the desk and propped himself on an elbow. “I’ve wanted to see the Feral Zone for I don’t know how long, but it always seemed like this impossible thing. Like something I’d do someday … maybe. But you? You just showed up on Arsenal and did it — crossed the bridge. And knocked out anyone who tried to stop you,” he added ruefully, though throughout the rest of it, his expression seemed … admiring?

  That couldn’t be right. He was not only a line guard, but the line guard who’d disapproved of me putting my dad’s well-being over the rest of the country’s.

  “Same thing in Moline,” he went on. “I was excited to get that far — to finally see stage two ferals up close — and I wouldn’t have gone any farther if you hadn’t hijacked our jeep and” — he swept his hand forward — “blazed the way.”

  He was different in the Feral Zone. Warmer, more relaxed. Or maybe this side of him only came out when his guard fatigues came off. Whatever the reason, I liked this new version of him. “So … you’re thanking me for being a bad influence?” I asked with amusement.

  “The worst,” he agreed with a straight face, though his eyes held a smile. He then turned his chair back to the desk and his attention to the list.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, hoping I didn’t come off breathless. Though that’s I how I felt — like my chest had been pumped full of bubbles. And all because Everson had made me sound bold in his take on the events. In reality, I’d been stymied and scared. But why let facts get in the way of a good feeling?

  I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen to see what I could scrounge up foodwise. The cabinets held dishes and glasses that were neat but dusty. The sliding doors on the opposite wall probably hid the pantry — the most likely place to find preserved food. As I crossed the kitchen, my flashlight beam glinted off cans stacked on the floor beside a long board. I plucked one up. Peaches.

  I rifled through the drawers and found what I guessed was a can opener, though I’d never used such an old-fashioned tool in my life. I even figured out how to operate it without having to ask for help. The peaches didn’t look spoiled. I picked up a fork and speared a chunk. It smelled like heaven and tasted even better.

  On my second bite, I considered the cans on the floor and the board beside to them. A pantry shelf maybe? But why would someone remove it? With the can of peaches in hand, I slid open the pantry door. Yahtzee! Shelves lined with dry goods filled the shallow space. Boxes, jars, cans … a sealed tin of baking mix looked especially promising.

  I stepped back to check out the bottom shelf, but it was missing. In its place lay a small, hairy creature in stained overalls. He was curled on his side with his back to me, shivering. His silver fur gleamed in the flashlight’s beam.

  I stumbled back with a gasp, right into the pile of cans, sending them every which way. The noise startled the little manimal into action. He leapt to his feet, only to slam into the shelves above. Cans and boxes tumbled across the floor. A bag landed on his head and burst open with a poof of white.

  The flour-covered creature tore past me. His hunched body and long arms looked powerful, though he only came up to my chest. When he flew through the swinging door into the dining room, I sagged against the counter. His body was simian — like the chimpacabra — but his frantic escape had come off as pathetic, not scary. Not that I was taking any chances. I waited for the boys to show up, which they did in under a minute. Everson slammed through the swinging door with a “What happened?” just as Rafe clattered down the back stairs, ax in hand.

  I exhaled slowly. “We’ve got company.”

  Finding the ape-person was easy enough. He was crouched in a corner of the living room with his back to us. Where he wasn’t streaked with flour, his fur appeared to be a fuzzy silver gray. With his forehead pressed into the wall, the little guy seemed to think that we couldn’t see him, and that made him a lot less scary to me.

  Rafe made a face. “What is that doing in here?”

  “He was hiding in the pantry,” I explained.

  Everson panned his flashlight down the manimal. When the beam got to the overalls, Everson’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

  “He’s human,” I whispered. Everson looked unconvinced, which I got. Even though the manimal was barely four feet tall, he was as barrel-chested as an ape. But I was sure that he had human DNA as well. “Hey,” I called softly. “We won’t hurt you.”

  The little manimal covered his head with his arms.

  I gestured to Rafe to put the ax away, but he just tucked it behind his back. I still had the can of peaches in my hand, which gave me an idea. Moving closer, I set the can on the floor with a thunk so that the manimal would know it was there.

  “You’re wasting food on him?” Rafe demanded.

  “Shh!” I took a step back.

  At first the manimal didn’t move, but curiosity must have gotten the better of him because he peeked under one arm to see what I’d left. “Go ahead,” I coaxed. “They’re peaches. You’ll like them.”

  He looked from me back to the open can and slowly inched around until he was facing me. He crept forward, not quite on all fours, but leaning heavily on his knuckles. He sniffed the can, bent, and dipped in his tongue. That was all it took. He snatched up the peaches, quickly turned away from me, and drained the can. Once he’d licked out every drop, he looked back at us.

  “What’s your name?” Everson asked.

  Instead of replying, he crept toward me, his eyes averted.

  “Hi,” I said. He crouched swiftly, his back to my legs — near me, but not touching. A show of trust?

  Rafe rolled his eyes.

  “My name …” a husky little voice said. I froze and looked down at the manimal’s fuzzy head. He kept his face lowered as if that made talking easier. “… is Cosmo.” His words came out oddly and strained, but intelligible. He swallowed and tried again. “My name — is — Cosmo.”

  Moving cautiously, I circled to face him. “My name is Lane.” I crouched and gently offered him my hand. “Lane.”

  Slowly, he extended one long finger. He poked my hand and then snatched his own away.

  Well, it was a start.

  “You … think I am — I’m” — he patted his head hard with both hands — “an animal.”

  “ ’Cause you are,” Rafe said.

  “I don’t.” I smiled when he parted his elbows to steal a glance at me. His eyes were a beautiful sky blue and his face was smooth and pale, but mostly he resembled a small ape. “Are you still hungry?”

  He dropped his hands to look at me.

  Rafe started to protest, and Everson elbowed him in the ribs. Rafe scowled, but he closed his mouth.

  “Let’s go see what else is in the pantry.” This time when I held out my hand, Cosmo slipped his long fingers into mine.

  “He’s not staying here tonight,” Rafe snapped. “He could turn while we’re sleeping.”

  I ignored him and led Cosmo from the living room. Behind us, Everson said, “What’s your problem? Shove a dresser in front of your door if you’re scared.”

  “If a feral wants in, a dresser won’t stop it.” Rafe’s voice turned bitter. “They’re hop
ped up on adrenaline. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, silky? This is just a field trip for you.”

  “Yeah, trying to help get a cure for the virus that wiped out half of America, that’s a field trip.”

  I let the kitchen door swing shut, blocking out their argument.

  We ate by candlelight at the dining room table, feasting on peach pancakes that I’d cooked using an iron skillet over a tin can filled with embers from the fire.

  “How do you know how to do this?” Everson asked, sounding impressed.

  “Bush skills.” Seeing his confusion, I added, “My dad made me take all these crazy survivalist classes.”

  “What do you mean crazy? Survival skills are important,” Rafe scolded. “Knowing how to find shelter and clean water, that can mean the difference between life and death.”

  “Not in the West,” I told him. “They were a waste of time.”

  He scowled. “Mack lived through the plague. He’s trying to prepare you in case there’s another outbreak and things get ugly again. You should thank him.”

  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Everson asked Rafe, obviously trying to change the subject.

  “Get the photo and get out.”

  Everson studied him. “Have you ever been to Chicago?”

  “Yeah, lots of times. I haven’t been inside the compound, but that’s only the downtown area.”

  “Is Director Spurling’s house in the downtown area?” I asked.

  “No,” Rafe said. “Just north of it. But we’ll have plenty of other problems to worry about. Mack says the area is crawling with guys in leather aprons.”

  “Handlers,” Cosmo said softly.

  The three of us looked at him.

  “How do you know what they’re called?” Rafe demanded.

  “I was born in the king’s castle.”

  “In Chicago?” Everson asked.

  When Cosmo nodded, Rafe frowned. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because we didn’t ask him.” I touched Cosmo’s arm. The pale gray fuzz was softer than chick down. “You lived in a castle with a king?”

  “In the basement,” he said. “Then the handlers said I was too big to stay in my mom’s pen, so they moved me to the farm. I took care of the chickens,” he said proudly. “I brought eggs to my mom in the kitchen every day.”

  “Why’d you leave Chicago?” Everson asked.

  “You can’t guess?” Rafe reached for the canteen. “They kicked him out when he got infected.”

  “Ignore him,” I told Cosmo. “He’s awful to everyone.”

  “Not if they’re human.” Rafe tipped back his head to drink, but the canteen was dry. I’d used the water to make the pancakes, which I now realized might not have been such a good idea.

  Cosmo pulled a ratty dish towel from the front pocket of his overalls and scrunched it up under his chin. “That wasn’t why,” he said softly. “Mom was making a cake and I licked the spoon. A handler saw. He took me to Omar.”

  “Who’s Omar?” Everson asked.

  “The head handler.”

  “And this Omar made you leave Chicago just for licking a spoon?” The thought made my insides churn.

  Cosmo shook his head. “Omar said I was a dirty animal. He put me in the … zoo.” He choked out the word as if it were the ninth ring of hell. “With the scary people.”

  Everson leaned forward in his seat. “What scary people?”

  “Ferals,” Rafe said, and Cosmo nodded.

  “How did you get out?” I asked.

  “Mom stole the master key from Omar. She snuck me outside the fence and told me to run away as far as I could.”

  “Heck of a plan.” Rafe tipped back in his chair. “Come on, was it really so bad in the zoo? You had a roof over your head. They fed you….”

  “Shut up,” I said, and seriously considered kicking his chair over.

  “What, I can’t ask an honest question? He can handle it.”

  Cosmo bobbed his head. “I’m okay.”

  “You’ve got food and a fire. That’s better than okay,” Rafe told him, making a circle with his index finger and thumb. “You’re A-okay.”

  “Cosmo,” Everson said, a crease in his brow. “How old are you?”

  “Eight,” he said into his scrap of a security blanket.

  I wished I had heard him wrong. “Eight years old?”

  Even Rafe looked shocked. He thunked his chair legs down. “Why didn’t your mom leave with you?”

  “She said the queen would send the handlers after her, but nobody would look for me.”

  Rafe frowned as if he didn’t quite believe that answer. Did he think Cosmo’s mother didn’t go with him because he was infected? What kind of mother would do that? Then again, what kind of people would put an eight-year-old in a zoo?

  “Who’s the king?” Everson asked.

  Cosmo lowered his brow, obviously confused by the question. “The king.”

  Rafe shot Everson an irritated look. “What do you care?”

  “I want to know how Chicago ended up with a king,” Everson snapped back.

  “I can tell you,” Rafe said. “The guy was military — the person left in charge of the compound when everyone headed west. He had the guns, the men, and total authority. After ten or fifteen years went by and no word from the West, he gave himself a promotion.”

  “Is that a fact or a guess?” I asked.

  “A guess based on the dozen other compounds I’ve visited, which is more than most people in the zone. Some places set up fair-square governments. Like Moline, where people have a say in how things get done. But plenty of other compounds let the person with the most guns take over. The guy in Chicago just gave himself a fancy title to go with the job.”

  Everson turned to Cosmo. “Is he right?”

  The little manimal shrugged.

  “Of course I’m right.” Rafe got to his feet. “I can figure stuff out without checking my compass. Like the fact the fire is going out.” He headed upstairs with the ax.

  Somewhere in the night, a beast lifted its voice to greet the moon — too guttural to be a wolf. I got to my feet. “Guess we can leave the pans and dirty plates in the sink.” We could leave it all on the table for that matter. We’d be gone in the morning and there was no one else around. Still, Everson and I stacked the plates and took them into the kitchen. Old habits died hard. Cosmo stuffed his dish towel down the front of his overalls and followed with the glasses.

  Everson watched the little guy concentrating as he placed them on the counter. “How long have you been like this, Cosmo?”

  “Always.” Cosmo headed back into the dining room.

  “One of his parents must have been infected,” Everson mused.

  That made me think of something that Rafe had said earlier. I pushed through the swinging kitchen door. Rafe came down the front stairs with an armload of wood — pieces of a chair maybe.

  “Were you born with animal DNA?” I asked Cosmo as he carefully lifted the last two glasses.

  He looked up with his big blue eyes. “I was supposed to have white fur.”

  “What?”

  “It was supposed to be like my mom’s, but I came out wrong.”

  “Did your mom say that?” I asked, trying to keep my anger from showing.

  “No, the queen.”

  Rafe dropped the wood on the floor. “What did she expect? You’re an ape-boy. Why would you have white fur?”

  I glared at him as he tossed a chair leg onto the fire and sent up a shower of sparks.

  “My mom isn’t an ape,” Cosmo said, looking cross. “She’s part arctic fox.”

  “Oh, that’s why your hair is so light,” I said, stroking his silvery head. And now that I was looking for it, I could see a smidge of fox in his features.

  “Is your father the ape?” Everson asked.

  Cosmo shrugged self-consciously. I guess he didn’t know who or what his dad was. I turned to Rafe. “If the parents have Ferae,
then the offspring are immune, right? They can’t be infected, and they can’t infect anyone.”

  Rafe gave me a disgruntled look but he nodded.

  “So Cosmo won’t go feral, right?” I pressed. “It’s fine if he sleeps inside the cottage with us.” I didn’t wait for Rafe to answer. I turned to Cosmo and smiled. “Why don’t you go pick out which bed you want?”

  He eyed Rafe warily and pointed to the kitchen. “I sleep in there.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “We’re here if a feral breaks in.”

  “Have you ever slept in a bed, Cosmo?” Everson asked.

  Cosmo dropped the glasses he’d been holding and ran back into the kitchen, shaking his head as he went.

  “Nice going. You hurt his feelings,” Rafe said with a smirk.

  I started for the kitchen but Everson strode past me and disappeared through the swinging door.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as Rafe slung a couple of canteens over his shoulder.

  “Going to the lake,” he said, as if it were obvious. “We need water.” He caught my look of horror. “I’ll boil it.”

  “No, the weevlings! And the rogue feral?”

  He gestured to the ax he’d tucked into his belt. “Not my first road trip.”

  He shouldn’t be the one to go; I’d used up the water. “Can’t we get it in the morning?”

  “It’ll take me ten minutes.” He shoved the couch aside enough to crack open the door. “Then I’ll check the garage for a jack.” He paused in the doorway. “Unless you want to go skinny-dipping. I’d risk being out at night for that.”