Rutger

by Cari Silverwood

  She grimaced. Her? She’d brought them reasons to come here, to seek out the Big Daddy vehicle but the star was a stretch.

  They were all stars, she decided later, while watching everyone who’d been called by Willow gather around, after they broke their fast. This first meal at dusk should not get the breakfast label. It irked her and needed a new name like brupper or dinfast.

  Willow clapped her hands together. “Time for a small meeting. Sit please, my chosen ones.” They laughed at that. She waited until everyone found a chair and sat. This area must have been a waiting area of sorts, as there were innumerable soft sofas and pretty wrought iron chairs, though all of them suffered from layers of dirt and mold. There was even hair on one sofa. Long fair, zigzag hair that she saw Vincent brush away. As it fell, she saw that it was clearly over a foot long. Nanodogs? What else.

  This wide thoroughfare had once been a sheltered arcade. Shops to one side, these seats, bus stops. Past the kerb was a roadway bare of vehicles, spotted with chunks of concrete that’d dropped from above, long ago when the buildings shook. A few desiccated bodies. Nothing dangerous, though any Safety and Health organization would be frowning and writing out citations by the dozens.

  Nothing dangerous, yet.

  Nanodogs were possible here.

  Oops. Everyone waited for her. She plonked her butt between Rutger and Vargr on a blue floral couch, completing the circle.

  “I aim to get to the bottom of this, Cyn.” Their leader leaned forward with her hands clasped between her knees while she eyed each of them, one after the other, before circling back to Cyn. “Imagine this as an episode of House and that you have the most unimaginable disease.”

  She squinted at Willow. A joke? House would discover she had an allergy to the apocalypse or something and prescribe ten ccs of mouse bites, or werewolf blood, or something equally bizarre.

  “Me? My sight returned. I am well.”

  “I know. But you were not for a while. You’ve been lame, had headaches, all sorts of odd things, then you recover. Vincent was the one who came up with the best theory.”

  Vincent opened his mouth to speak.

  Oh ye gods. She almost facepalmed and definitely groaned softly.

  “Cyn,” Willow began sternly, “I may have almost had you executed. You may be a dangerous loose cannon, at times, however, you are also the reason we are here. None of us can forget that. You will sit still and listen.”

  “Not really. Big Daddy is why we are here, the research vehicle—”

  “You will sit still and listen.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. Rutger chuckled, and Vargr snorted, obviously delighted by her being chastised. She tamped down her normal ornery response and swallowed. “Yes ma’am. I will shut up now.”

  “Good.” Willow sent her an almost straight-lipped smile that barely reached her eyes. “I was truthful. You are the only one who has escaped from the Top, or who has killed a Ghoul Lord, and the only one who has ever shown any ability to manipulate the Lure. Little Mo followed you for a reason, and we will get to Big Daddy and find out the whys to all of this, as well as hopefully find out a lot more about the nanite experiment we were subjected to. However, now…”

  Well, that was what she’d been telling herself all this time. Just, she guessed she’d had her own doubts. Still did.

  Willow slapped her thighs. “Keep going, Vincent.”

  “I talked to several people after Willow asked me this. I’m no doctor either, but when someone’s body can heal anything…” He stared straight at Cyn. “I get itchy when I hear they’ve gone lame and blind for no reason and then healed. Blind for no visible reason? When a biotechie feels nothing wrong inside you, to me it says that maybe whatever is injuring you is invisible to her, maybe it’s hurting you over and over, and then you’re healing that damage. Yes?”

  Her mouth fell slightly open. “Keep going.” Her mind was trying to dig up possibilities.

  “Vargr and Rutger said the headaches began after you killed the Ghoul Lord. One of those who guarded you back then said you had what seemed to be many wounds, tiny ones, for a short time after they arrested you that day.”

  She felt a chill run down her, the blood leaving her face, as she realized where this was heading.

  “I think maybe you have bits of Ghoul Lord inside you, and that is why Willow cannot see them. She can’t test this on anyone else. It’s just a theory.”

  A terrible, horrible dark theory. Yeah, one of those.

  “Okay.” She reached out to either side, and both her males held a hand. Then she took that deep breath she needed before trying to think up answers to what he’d said. There was nothing sensible, though. How did you pull something from her that no one could feel or see? Was he right?

  “If it’s unfeelable… and we know of no drugs to use…” She frowned. Why didn’t her nanites kill it off?

  “Wait. Before you go off worrying, Maura has an idea also. Maura?” Willow turned to her.

  “Hi, Cyn.”

  “Hi. You look good, girl.” Calling her girl was kinda silly, but she did look good. She smiled wryly. Maura was probably healthier than she was.

  Her white hair had been neatly cropped since they’d last spoken. She and Locke had been off doing the dirty far more than necessary, but that was all fine and fun. It wasn’t that she’d neglected her human, as if she could own Maura, but she did feel wrong for not seeking her out.

  “So, do you think I have GL in me?” Tentacles in me. Ugh. The fuckers. She’d kill it with fire if she had to. “Do you have a solution?”

  “I think you do have something from it inside you, yes. It’s the one solution that makes sense. I’m sorry, Cyn.” She clasped her hands together before her and rested her chin on them. “A solution though? I don’t have an exact one. A precise one. I have worked on nanites a lot in the past, and I’m not sure it is they that cure you. Rather it’s more likely whatever DNA you were given is boosting your immune system. That genetic material however is not inside your head anymore, according to Willow. Or very little of it is. That makes me go ah-hah.”

  “A good ah-hah?”

  “Sort of.”

  Both her guys tensed, and Vargr sat forward. “Go on.”

  Maura straightened. “If we can get the nanites and the genetic material they carry into your head area, they might augment your healing there. Assuming the symptoms and nanite scarcity mean the GL has migrated there. Your blindness, according to Vincent, makes it sound as if you suffered from some brain or optic nerve damage?”

  “Yes.” He agreed. “The limping and the headaches could also be purely from neurological damage. It ties together.”

  Tentacles were in her head. Fuuuuck. “So you can do this? Inject more of them up here?” She freed her hand from Rutger and tapped her head.

  “No.” Maura twisted her mouth. “Not here, anyway, but get me to Big Daddy, and maybe we can grow some new nanites from your blood. Maybe we can inject them into your CNS. Or, and this is a bigger maybe, I might be able to get some chemical indicators that Willow can detect to stick to the GL material that has probably migrated to your brain? And then she might be able to destroy it.”

  “Lots of ifs and maybes.”

  “Yes.” Maura nodded. “But as long as you keep healing the damage, we have a good chance. It gives us time.”

  The alleged damage. They didn’t know for sure.

  “Time.” As long as this was all correct, she had a chance.

  As long as they even found Big Daddy. And so she likely had GL tentacles, or fragments of them, growing in her brain… wriggling. She shivered. If they were wrong about this, she might be doomed? Worry about what is in front of you, remember? She pushed to her feet, bringing Rutger and Vargr with her.

  “I feel this is a good time to say thank you, to all of you.” Because I might not be around much longer. However I will be nauseatingly positive and cheerful. “We’re going to get to this Big Daddy, you know. With people like you,
that is a given. We will succeed.”

  They had risen along with her, and she let her gaze drift around the circle. “You’re all fucking awesome.”

  They didn’t cheer or carry on as if this were a celebratory party after a sports match, but they did approach her to say a few words. The first one to offer their hand was Vincent, and she moved to take it, then hesitated. Tentacle wrigglers, what if…

  He zeroed in on his hand where it almost touched hers and she withdrew a smidgen then looked at him. He’d think she was rejecting him, maybe, but she was torn by the revelation that she might infect others.

  She’d held his hand before so he’d get the message, wouldn’t he? It’s not you, it’s me.

  “I’m sorry…” she began. “What if I—”

  He grabbed her hand and shook it. “If you were going to do that, you would’ve already. I’ve got worse things to think about than that, anyway. So shut up and shake hands.”

  “Oh.”

  Though the others had observed the exchange, none of them stepped away. They hugged her or shook her hand. It was strange to feel this almost daring inclusiveness, but she’d take it any day over being alone—with tentacle wrigglers inside her brain or without.

  Yay team.

  Go to Big Daddy. Grow nanites. Fix me. All the ducks were in a row.

  Nothing was ever this simple.

  Chapter 15

  The surviving rippers dragged themselves to the foot of his body swathe within which his nine brains swam about like fruit pieces in jelly—very bloody fruit pieces. He was still wondering if one could have too many brains. Were there drawbacks? Each one he’d added made his intelligence scramble to a new peak, made his thoughts faster, gave him more data to use in his attack on the remaining humans below. The only problem so far was that he’d become slower to move.

  A bag of brains.

  One of them had popped out that thought. He was not sure which it was as they’d merged in a way. Still separate, but their thoughts came from nowhere in particular.

  A tissue, a tissue, we all fall down.

  Which one was that? He figuratively scowled then did a search, and none of them appeared to be the culprit. Some were not all there in the head and were probably damaged. He should do an inventory, somehow, and discard the sillier ones. When he’d had fewer it had been easier to tell them apart.

  But back to the problem at hand. Lazily he dragged his fat tentacles about him, drawing random squiggles through the dust, dirt, and human remains that clotted and clogged this Top story. The sun blazed down upon the glorious landscape. Fewer and fewer humans dwelled, and the Ghoul Lords grew fatter. All around him the squat domes of blossoming queens prodded the sky, almost ready to erupt.

  He especially had grown fatter. Half his genetic material had been destroyed, but he’d proved he could flourish nevertheless.

  The rippers had brought him enough information of their foray into humanland that he could tell the beasters were located in the lower parts of the buildings and somewhat distant horizontally also. He would shift his body bulk to above their current location. The problem became, what to do about the depths they had travelled to? He would not venture that deep, and his skinsuit followers would probably not either.

  Though he’d been considering rewarding some of the best followers with a brain or two, that would reveal his methods. He was loath to show the other Ghoul Lords how humans could be more than food, more than temporary brain boosts.

  They were RAM to his ROM.

  They were beautiful new drawers to put files in. Whole alphabetized filing cabinets. New beads on the abacus.

  So many metaphors, so little time.

  The queens would launch in a few months, and he wanted this revenge of his done. Before that happened, he wanted to taste her bones, her blood, her gristle, listen to her squeals as he drove his tentacles inside her cunt, her brain, and her stomach, so he could wriggle them about and mush her internal organs. Nom nom nom. He also had ideas about inveigling himself into the queue as a donor to a queen.

  Maybe more and better brains, much smarter brains, would let him put the dots on the eyes of that plan?

  More brains, yes, but whose? How did one tell how smart they were before dissecting them from their human?

  One of those he’d already caught and engulfed chose to interrupt his thoughts. It postulated this:

  If the humans are residing too low, then they must be attracted higher. Any fisherman worth his rod knows how to draw a fish toward his hook. Make a pretty lure, of course, and trawl the depths.

  Avidex slid his triangular teeth together in a gruesome approximation of a human smile.

  Oh yesss.

  Chapter 16

  The convoy had rearranged itself to venture into the Rad Zone and added a bit of fanciness—the truck that Maura was to live inside for a few days. It was a big shiny red truck with chrome bumpers and writing on the side. LARRY’S PARTIES: Book now! There were balloons too. Cyn was tempted.

  The old tires had been inflated and seemed to be holding. If they burst, the truck would have to run on the rims.

  They trudged in a ragged column across this uneven terrain. The ting and rattle of equipment, murmur of voices, and the crunch of tires and beaster feet merged into a surreal gothic orchestral theme. Moonlight strained down through the gaps.

  Every footfall made the dust from the collapsed buildings fall from above or drift upward. They’d had to find and don surgical masks before the march could continue. Willow had attempted to get Toother to wear cloth over his mouth, but he’d shaken and pawed it off then huffed at her indignantly, and that had stirred up more frigging dust.

  The new plan was for this part of the journey to be completed in one go with zero stops—to minimize exposure to radiation and, hopefully, any encounters with creatures of the unknown variety. Currently, Toother was harnessed to the truck and drawing it, but they’d switch to towing it by beaster power when it seemed best.

  Cyn ambled beside Rutger. Vargr had gone scouting along with a few other wing-soldiers. The open spaces here made flying an asset.

  Huge buttresses of semi-destroyed building supports rose above, sketching out lacework arches and jagged spears where buildings should be—diabolically teetering towers of barely there concrete and steel. Pieces could drop onto their heads at any random moment.

  She kinda hoped not.

  There was beauty in this vast, doddery scenery. The Balrog from LOTR would’ve been delighted with the décor. Gandalf would find his spells nicely set off by the shadows and gloom.

  She’d no longer thought the darkness oppressive, because it was no longer true darkness—there were telltale signs her eyes weren’t using daylight even if her brain was happy to pretend. The blue in the motes drifting off Rutger, in the shimmering on beaster limbs, horns, and eyes, it decorated the gloom like pretty baubles.

  One could light up a Christmas tree with their blues. She sighed. Why’d she have to recall Christmas? The longing for the past hit hard at times. The oddest things could set her off.

  And yet she could not recall who had given her presents. The tree, yes, the ornaments, the squeal of children as they ran about. Nothing more. How uglier would reminiscing be to those who remembered it all? She glanced across at Rutger.

  God-monster, her horned behemoth who punched walls when what he called post nanite tension got to him. Her lover. No matter how big and strong one might be, feelings existed. Everyone hurt.

  She must stop pitying herself. They were alive at a time when almost no one else was.

  By midnight on this first day she was coughing and limping, and her vision had blurred.

  Hunched over, with her head ready to self-combust or something, trying to recover from a bout of coughing, she heard Willow approach, saw the stomp of her rather delicate blue boots as she drew closer.

  “Hi.” She peered from beneath her brow, the mask shifting on her nose. The damn thing was barely doing its job. Masks were less a
nd less effective with time. Harder to breathe through too.

  “You’re going in the truck with Maura. No questions. Just do it.”

  “I could swat you like a mosquito, and you know it.” Cyn straightened, wobbled, caught herself. So many aches.

  “Hah! Then you’d fall over. In!”

  “Give me back my gun then. I need to feel like I’m useful.” And dangerous.

  The strain showed on Willow’s face, in her eyes, even though she was still. “I can’t. Not yet. There are more than enough soldiers to defend us. I’m sorry, Cyn.” Then she spun and walked away.

  They still didn’t trust her?

  “I understand the why.” Rutger scratched his jaw. “Willow is pretty stubborn. Like you.” He grinned. “Come. Or I will stuff you in the truck with my boot on your butt. You know she’s right.”

  She grumbled, procrastinating on taking that first step.

  “You think you can walk all the way? Like this? You’ll slow us down.”

  Fuck. “Okay.”

  She walked to the truck, trying not to stomp, or to limp.

  It was true, just agonizing to hear after being the hero who killed a Ghoul Lord, after swinging from buildings by her fingertips. Make that anti-hero, for she still wasn’t allowed her gun—her pretty gold-embossed pistol that’d put big holes in Thing.

  With a flourish and a grin, Rutger opened the truck door and ushered her in.

  Maura leaned forward in the back seat, looking out at her and clearly startled.

  “Cyn?

  “That’s me.” As she climbed the chrome step to enter the truck, she spotted the back of her hand then her wrist, and the red miniature scales that’d developed. Which led her to what else was growing inside her: tentacles.

  Her rising goosebumps weren’t visible to Rutger, thank god. She scrambled in and saluted him, let him shut the door.

  “Hope I didn’t let in too much dust?” Cyn dragged off the mask.

  “Some.” She shrugged. “I thought about wearing a mask, but it gets hard to breathe in here anyway.”

  “Yes, I bet.”