by Bill Olver
The next onslaught came at night. We woke to chimps screaming. The creatures were coming at the fence from several directions thrashing through the stickery underbrush despite tearing the clothing and skin.
“That’s Mr. and Mrs. Claxton.” When they found out about us, they’d brought pie and welcomed us because they were taught to love their neighbors no matter what.
I shot them through a blur of tears.
Same with the family who spat whenever we passed.
On and on through the night. By the light of day, I left Chantal to guard the perimeter and I scavenged every gun and bit of ammunition I could find from their homes. And I brought Lincoln, the Claxton’s Golden Retriever, and from another neighbor two Collies and their flock of sheep.
Chantal shook her head. ”All we need are more mouths to feed.”
“I couldn’t leave Lincoln,” I said. “And the Collies never did us any harm. The sheep will feed the chimps…”
Chantal nodded.
“The zombies are not eating the animals,” I realized.
Chantal raised one brow.
I didn’t know what that meant and we didn’t have anyone to ask. The net had only lasted a few hours.
Worse, we didn’t have time to figure it out.
Lincoln’s bark alerted us to visitors. He and the two Collies established routine patrol of the premises without any prodding. They needed a job to do and soon enough, the herding dogs would have no flock.
Nothing happened when the first one touched the fence. Chantal ran for the generator as I ratcheted the shotgun and fired.
The power wasn’t coming on.
By the time I was done, I had a bruise on my shoulder from the back-lash and I could practically taste the stench. Bless the dogs, they’d taken down some of our attackers, because there would have been no way for both of us to have gotten them all.
“Good job,” I said to Lincoln and his two pals, whom I’d dubbed Harriet Tubman and Rosa Parks. I checked them over and found no bites.
“We’re down to coins and gravel,” Chantal said.
“I could go further…”
She shook her head. “With this many here, you think you’d be safe?”
“I could drive the Range Rover and see if the Wal-Mart’s still got stock.”
“People closer to town have probably already looted the store,” Chantal reminded me. “We have gas for one trip. We can’t waste it.”
We couldn’t sleep. One of us watched for invaders while the other broke glassware and whatever else sharp was available to fit in the guns.
Chantal looked at me and after five years of being with her I knew what she was thinking. Time to end it. We euthanize the chimps and dogs and use whatever was left on ourselves.
I glanced up just in time to see a ragged man stagger through the gates. The shotgun was so heavy, I almost couldn’t lift it, but I got him just before he reached Chantal.
“Rocks,” I said, unable to give up on the life we’d made and the woman I loved. “We’ll get rocks and sling them at them.”
Who let the chimps out? I don’t know the answer to that one. Was it one of the dogs, who were all a bit too clever with latches, or had the apes just pulled a Houdini? The next time we were attacked, the chimps set up a howl from the depths of Hell.
One of the show biz chimps was driving his little car full of baby chimps straight toward the creatures. They got out, swarmed the invaders and literally busted heads. The average male chimp is three to four times stronger than a man. The creatures were toast.
The chimps used rocks like their forebears did to crack nuts on the creature’s heads. They’d leap from the trees onto the attacker’s shoulders and simply pound their brains into pulp. Some tripped their prey and used heavy sticks to beat them.
I’d never been so proud—even if I was a peace-loving tree-hugging Mom.
Chantal and I embraced for the first time since the attacks, dancing around like a pair of drunk kids. The chimps joined us giving each other hugs and high fives.
“We did it! We did it!” I heard the mechanical voice from the iPad.
I don’t think we would have heard the helicopter if the animals hadn’t set up a fuss. I started to run for the shotgun and realized that no way could any of the zombies fly that kind of complicated apparatus.
Instead, I ran to a clearing, waving and screaming for help. I normally abhorred civilization, but I’d seriously give it a try if it meant safety for me and mine.
The chopper landed, sending dogs and chimps into a frenzy.
“We’re here to scout out and see if there are any normals left,” the female pilot said, once she’d landed and the blades of her craft stopped turning.
“We’re not infected,” I said. Chantal merely nodded, too exhausted to speak.
“I see your animals defended you,” the pilot continued. “We’ve got some amazing footage from the air.”
One of the babies with an iPad walked up to the pilot and busily typed. “Hello flying lady.”
“Hello, fighting monkey,” she replied back.
“Banana, please?” the chimp baby asked, making big eyes at the pilot.
“You certainly deserve one.”
I glanced at Chantal. After all our work, what we’d probably get known for was the Zombie Fighting Chimps. On the other hand, we survived and there were too many others who didn’t.
We have a new contract now with the US Army. Neither of us particularly like breeding chimp soldiers to work with their canine units, but the dogs and chimps are happy to have a job to do. Both species work together better than most humans. We’ve been promised they’ll have Kevlar suits if they actually go into battle against armed opponents. They all seem to enjoy their work helping to fight off the creatures who’ve gathered in hard-to-reach places.
The wisest among them have said they want to save their “people.” Who’d have thought our primitive forebears could possess such a lofty goal?
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Born on Friday 13, Rebecca McFarland Kyle (Evolution Happens) developed an early love for the unusual and black cats. She currently lives between the Smoky and Cumberland mountains with her husband and four cats. She has three young adult novels and a Weird West novel currently in the works.
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MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DO
by Frank R. Sjodin
[Personal Journal of Dr. Joyden standard date {classified}]
I’m made an emergency landing on a nature reserve, fourth planet from Interrdis, after surviving an attack from a bounty hunter. It may sound adventurous, but the event invoked more ire than excitement. Our limited communication has made it clear that his target is the Ice Princess.
Autopilot put us down gently on the Peacock continent, beneath a canopy of untouched rainforest. Reserve energy is insufficient to power any repair automatons if I want to keep our defenses running, and I can’t rely heavily on solar or wind due to the massive local flora. Defense comes first. I plan to hide among the heavy foliage for as long as it takes to repair our engines and return to space. If we must remain for an extended period, the rainforest provides a suitable locale for my experiment. No equipment has been damaged, nor has my prize specimen. After all the professional and legal risks I took breaking her out of Orion’s Zoo, I took every precaution to insure her safety.
I lost track of the renegade during atmospheric entry. After witnessing his performance firsthand and reading copious reports on his ship, I must assume he has survived his emergency landing and still poses a serious threat.
His ID was obscured from my scanners, but upon analysis of the combat data and running his vocal pattern through a database, I’ve made a strong hypothesis concerning his identity. I believe him to be one Nameless Shane, primary aliases Gunlock and Cocksure. His ship’s performance matches documented reports of outlaw craft Crimson Katana, Chisum Tail and Saint George, all of which tag to his various alter-egos.
He’s known best for gun-slinging and unparalleled ship-to-ship combat, as I discovered firsthand.
Had I known what to expect, I would have concentrated my first volley to cripple his weaponry rather than sensors. Ace pilots aided by sensors can rarely hit a lone cloaked missile at close range, especially when surprised. He eliminated three, targeting with his naked eyes.
A bounty hunter of his reputation is doubtless equipped with probes and scan equipment independent of his ship, as well as alternate transportation.
To prepare for his imminent attacks, I amplified our force-field to handle gunship fire, and launched a perpetual rotation of sixteen security drones. Our remaining energy is consumed primarily by powering Anastasia’s arctic chamber.
After assessing damage, I estimate that repairs may take several weeks. Considering that reserve energy can maintain our defenses for six months, I have decided to accelerating the experiment and proceed while here.
The rainforest provides sufficient contrast to Anastasia’s natural habitat to provide the mental catalyst for the next phase. I’ve linked the security drones with the data gathering program running in her quarters, so nothing will be lost when she is moved outside. There will be an immense quantity of new variables to factor in, however, the most dangerous of which will be Nameless Shane.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
[Hunter’s Log #4]
This’s been the best hunt in years. Dr. Neuro-bio-loco’s giving me a bigger challenge than the Boziori Bosses, but it’s a game of wits and will, not sharpshooting and firepower. Been awhile since I kept a log, but I’ll want to remember the details of this hunt later.
The wily bastard gave me a run in space! Only ‘cuz I underestimated him. Put up surrender protocols, then hit me with shadow missiles while I came in for docking! I anticipated his second volley and shot ‘em down between us, and we both took some of that blast. Then my engine caved. I scored a few hits on him, we both went down, and I lost him.
Probes ran wide recon on the upper atmosphere for three days before I made a guess to which land mass he put down on. I didn’t put out too many ground probes, since I figured he’d be fuzzing and logging probe frequencies. I sent ‘em where I didn’t think he’d be, to throw him off if he picked ‘em up on a wide scan. I went in myself to search where I guessed he’d most likely hid up.
The planet’s gorgeous, but legwork here is rough. Humidity fucks with the hoverbike, cloud and tree cover cut out most solar power, and it rains every day. Hostile wildlife’s everywhere, but my shootin’ handles the predators. The bugs ain’t as bad as on populated worlds, since they ain’t mutated or adapted to humans, but the swarms are big as skyclouds. I only got a week’s worth of immuno-amplifier, so I spend a lot of time on full-suit seal.
One good thing is I got no law, civvies, or urban trash to get in my way, and I must say I prefer the pains of nature to the shit of humanity. The animals aren’t exactly peaceful, they treat me like any threat. But animals fight for survival, not for hate. Even if they survive on cunning instead of strength, there’s no money or politics, just competition. When you kill an acid-spitting lizard you can eat him for lunch. I’ve brought in men who did worse to children, then watched judges and juries set ‘em free. None of that shit out here in the wild.
Take for example the apes. I been watchin’ ‘em eat, fuck, and fight. They share food and mates sometimes willingly, sometimes by force, just like people. But when one starts taking too much, claiming all the best grub or pussy, the others club him to death. Sometimes the females even gang up against a male who takes too many by force. The biggest, meanest, smartest brutes raid other tribes, but only when they can get others to follow ‘em. Apes got no real leaders, no long-term goals, don’t build nothin’. The smart ones realize the leaders are temporary, and the dumb ones die young. But hell, they got plenty of different stuff to eat, horny females, and monkey whelps. They got a better life than most of civilized humanity!
One group has been tailin’ me. First they tried scaring me off their turf, till I blasted a few. Then they let me pass with plenty space. They been following me about a day behind, unaware that I can see ‘em with my binocs. Every couple days one of ‘em approaches and tries to communicate. Some beat their chests or toss clubs at me, and I send ‘em packing with live fire. Others leave fruit when they think I’m asleep, then hide and watch if I eat it. When I kill a big predator I leave a bit of cooked meat behind for ‘em, just for fun. They throw these crazy monkey orgies when they find it. It’s a hell of a show!
Anyways, I’d been doing legwork for six days when I found my prey. Doc was expecting probes, had no idea I’d hunt on foot. His security drones gave him away, just like I hoped, and I ran a basic snatch and hack job on one of ‘em. I ripped his crash coordinates from it, stuffed it with eight grams of C-nite, and sent it home for suicide and sabotage. I never heard the explosion but I saw smoke the next day.
That didn’t manage to take out the force-field, so I been camped outside the crash site for a week. Doc set up a few wind generators within his field, and comes out every day with his prize specimen to taunt me. He talks to her in sign language, but keeps a shock-collar on her. She stares through the field at the local apes, and they, well, go ape for her. I guess to an ape white fur and green eyes equates to sex goddess. They learned real fast about the force-field, but test it every day.
I tried negotiating with the doc, but he tends to unload bullets and grenades every time he has a guess at my location. Communicating tends to give me away. One day he gave me a speech about the strength of his force-field and caliber of his guns, but all the firepower in the galaxy won’t make him a fighter. He knows it, too. He ain’t hardly put a scratch on my suit. Course, I haven’t done much more damage to his ship since he wised up about drones. They got complex self-destruct program traps now. His defensive programing is wicked. One blew after I was sure I’d bypassed counter-measures, and I damn near lost an arm. I dropped any hack plans after that.
So it’s a siege. Least I got apes bringing me food. Wish I could train ‘em and take ‘em with me, they make good company. Now I get why so many hunters still use hounds.
They gimme ideas sometimes, like I tried using gifts to draw the Ice Princess out of the force-field, but her collar keeps her in. To try getting’ some new ideas for a plan, I lit up a few spliffs of deep zen three and recorded this log. I’ll get a new plan soon, meanwhile I’m harassing the doc enough to slow his repairs. If his engine gets running before my auto-repair bots patch up Saint George, I may loose him for good. Course, if I get my ship up first I can ground-pound his force-field, I’ll just have to be ginger so I don’t accidentally roast the Ice Princess. That’d piss me off almost as much as it would the apes.
[Personal Journal of Dr. Joyden standard date {classified}]
The experiment has become so enticing that I’m spending less time repairing the engines and more time observing Anastasia’s interactions with indigenous primates. I’ll spare you the scientific details, as they can be found in my daily reports.
Basically, Anastasia is changing the way she thinks about the world, herself, and others. The changes appear to be permanent, and only one dose has been administered. Unfortunately, this means that until further experiments are conducted, it cannot be assumed that the drugs are the predominant cause of change. Still, behavior and brainwave alterations are unmistakable. Her sign language skills have not improved notably, but her body language accent has altered significantly.
Her brainwave patterns no longer contain the unique similarities to brain patterns observed in both advanced simians and underdeveloped human children—the reason I specifically needed her for the experiment. However, her brainwaves are neither conforming to a human pattern nor one in sync with patterns recorded from the local apes she is so enamored with. She is producing completely new brainwaves, undecipherable without further research.
The indigenous primates obsess over her, and much like the bounty hunter b
esieging us, are constantly attempting to lure her away. The intentions and methods of the apes vary greatly from Shane’s tactics, but both result in constant frustrations.
Our renegade friend has had little success since his drone attack, which heavily damaged our engine core. Whenever I take Anastasia outside the ship, he and I play a game of cat-and-mouse. At first, I became suspicious whenever he approached the force-field, fearing he was setting up field-disrupting devices. I doubt at this point he has any, however. I believe his only motive is bluffing to cause psychological distress and stall my repairs. Perhaps he has reinforcements on the way, or has put into motion some other plan requiring time. I’ve taken aggressive measures to ensure that he’s under more stress than I am. One-way shielding allows me to fire on him without risking return fire, and ammunition remains plentiful.
The plans of the apes are much clearer and in fact more disruptive than Nameless Shane. The force-field is set to a frequency allowing most audible vibrations to cross it, so we hear the apes every morning. At sunrise, they launch stones, shouts, wood, and feces at the force-field for hours. During the afternoons, when I observe Anastasia’s behavior in the jungle, several large males flock to the edge of the barrier to engage in courtship displays. She immediately developed an interest. Thankfully her shock-collar is set to keep her from exiting the force-field, and I carry a remote activator as well, should her frustrations turn aggressive. She often throws tantrums when I tell her she cannot cross the barrier to join her suitors.
Male apes have also been leaving her gifts of food and simple found tools. This has connected to some element of her native ape-society, and resulted in her preferring males who leave gifts over those with elaborate mating displays. Shane actually tried this tactic as well, though I responded to his offering of grilled meat with bullets. It is possible that the apes picked up the idea of offering food from him, though I have no evidence supporting this.