by L. S. O'Dea
Glick pulled down one of the rolled up packages and opened it, staring at the hand. His stomach tightened in anticipation but this had been a survivor of the poison, like him. It would’ve been him if it hadn’t been for Bumpers.
Bumpers picked it up and chomped down on a finger, crunching as he chewed. “Not bad.” He handed it back, his blue eyes daring Glick to refuse.
Glick nodded. He had to do this. He nibbled on the tip of a thumb. The flesh was cold and dry but it was food. He took another bite and another. Bumpers uncovered a leg and buried his face in the limb. Glick tossed the last piece of the hand into his mouth.
“Have some,” muttered Bumpers around a mouthful of food as he shoved the leg toward Glick.
The hand had been pretty darn good, but not fleshy enough. He tore into the leg, relishing the thick, juicy meat.
After a few minutes, Bumpers pulled it away. “We have to stop. Save some for later.”
Glick’s stomach rumbled and his mind protested but his friend was right. They had no idea when, if ever, there’d be more food.
“The others need to eat too.” Bumpers stared up into the bush.
“Speckles...”
“We won’t tell him who it was. We’ll say his clutch-mates were already too white,” said Bumpers.
Glick stared at the leg. Lying to each other wasn’t good but they really had no choice. “I don’t know if he’ll believe us.” He poked the meat, wanting to eat it. “Maybe, if we clean it off the bone.”
“That’s a great idea.” Bumpers grabbed a fresh leaf from the bush and sat, digging his claws into the flesh. He placed the meat onto the leaf. “We can say the Guards dropped some food and we found it before it went bad.”
“Yeah. That should work.” Glick sat next to him, sinking his hands into the moist flesh. He didn’t care if the story worked or not. At least this way, he’d get to lick his fingers and he and Bumpers would share the bones.
CHAPTER 5: Scottsmoor
“Was that Viola I saw going into your house yesterday afternoon?” Scottsmoor knew it was. He knew everything there was to know about Professor Conguise’s daughter.
“Yes.” The professor opened the Phasmatodea folder, bending his head and displaying his thick gray hair.
Scottsmoor couldn’t help but touch his own thinning, brown hair. “Is she home for break already?” If she were, it was earlier than the university had posted. He usually knew exactly when she’d be home from school. Viola was young, smart and attractive. He needed to seize every opportunity he could to be around her. Marrying Conguise’s daughter would be the best thing that ever happened to his career.
“No. Just a short visit.” Conguise looked down at the papers. “How did the extermination of the Phasmatodea nymphs go? If any survived the poisoning they should’ve hatched by now, correct?”
“Yes. They hatched late yesterday.” He understood that the professor was extremely busy and didn’t have time to chat, which was another reason he needed to become part of Conguise’s family. The professor was the only one with whom he could talk. The other scientists didn’t like him. They were jealous of his intelligence and success.
“How many survived?”
“None.” Scottsmoor smirked. They’d killed every last one of those nasty, little creatures.
“You said some hatched.”
“There were a few who made it out of the ground but they wouldn’t have survived long.”
“Wouldn’t have?”
Scottsmoor fought not to shiver. It seemed the temperature in the room dropped with the professor’s tone. “I had the Guards watching and spraying the nymphs as they surfaced.”
“You killed the ones who survived?”
“Yes. You said the enclosures were getting too crowded and that only the offspring of the original hosts should be allowed to live.”
“I know what I said,”—Conguise leaned forward—“but you were told to saturate the soil with chemicals so toxic that nothing should’ve survived. Did you do that or were you remiss in your duties?”
“We did that.” He tried to keep his voice calm but he wasn’t a novice. He shouldn’t have to explain himself. “Nothing in that enclosure except a few bushes survived and those barely did.”
“The improved serviceberry bushes?”
“Yes, and as hardy as they are most of them died too. Only the ones along the perimeter survived.”
“Did you spray along the perimeter?”
“Of course.” But probably not as well as the rest of the cage. “The Phasmatodeas don’t lay eggs over there anyway.”
“And yet, some survived.”
“None hatched near the walls. None.” He was the expert on the Brush-Men. He didn’t deserve to be questioned like this.
“Let me see if I understand this. You sprayed the enclosure, killing almost everything and yet some Phasmatodeas hatched.” Conguise leaned back, tapping his long fingers on the desk. “However, instead of capturing them and studying them, you blasted them with more poison.”
His outburst froze on his tongue.
“You are a scientist, correct?”
“Yes.” His entire body deflated. “We’ll collect the bodies and analyze them.”
Conguise’s fingers stilled. “Good, but it was a novice mistake.”
He shifted on his seat. Scientists on Level Five didn’t make many mistakes. If they did, they were gone and not fired. They’d become dinner for one of the things they’d created. His breakfast sat in his stomach like a rock. He didn’t want to be fed to the Brush-Men. They’d tear him apart, chewing into his body and ripping off hunks of flesh and bone until he died of exsanguination.
“You are one of my top scientists. Only you have succeeded in creating breeding pairs with viable offspring.” Conguise’s face relaxed a little, his lips twitching at the corners. “Perhaps, you were even a little too successful.”
Sweat ran down Scottsmoor’s back but he smiled. “Thank you, sir and I’m sorry. I still have room to learn and appreciate your guidance.”
Conguise tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.
“When we spray the other enclosure I’ll make sure to capture any survivors.”
“Good.” Conguise jotted something down on the report. “Get back to me about the abnormalities you discover on the carcasses and begin neutralizing the soil in preparation to house the existing Phasmatodeas. They’ll need to be moved soon after they drop their eggs.”
“Of course, sir.” That was obvious. He hadn’t started here yesterday.
Conguise closed the envelope and opened another one. It was time to go over the Plated-Pressers. Scottsmoor was not eager to begin this conversation. That project was impossible. The giant, claw-like hands of the transformed creature were extremely powerful, but there was no way to make the armor that grew on their bodies light enough not to crush the bones of the hosts.
“I have a new project for you.”
“Really, sir?” That was excellent news.
“Yes.” Conguise had a smug expression on his face. “I want you to turn over your notes on the Testusteons to Parson.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He was more than happy to be rid of the Plated-Pressers.
Parson was the new Almighty at the lab. Even though Scottsmoor had hinted that he’d gladly take over the River-Men project after Ableson’s accident, Conguise had given it to Parson.
“I’m quite pleased with your work.” The professor tapped the papers on his desk with his pencil.
“Thank you, sir.” Praise from Conguise was seldom.
“You have proven your ability to transform creatures into a new species and to make them functional breeders.”
He sat up straighter. None of the other scientists had been able to produce any viable offspring, not even Crackderr, who was older and much more experienced.
“I’d like to task your abilities.”
“I’m ready, sir.” He could barely sit still.
&nbs
p; “I’m going to transfer you from the projects that create new species to those that enhance the host.”
“Excellent, sir. I’ll swap notes with Parson today and get to work on the River-Men—”
“The River-Men?” Conguise’s patrician nose wrinkled.
“I...I mean the Crochimorea, sir.” He’d goofed in his excitement. The professor hated when anyone used the common names of his creations.
“Yes. Well, you won’t be taking over that project.” The professor’s mouth was still pinched as if there were a vile taste on his tongue. “Parson is doing an excellent job. Actually, I’d like you to talk with him about the progress he’s made.”
He barely kept from sneering. Parson was his subordinate. He didn’t need lessons from him.
“A scientist’s purpose is to learn and enhance society. There’s no room for ego.”
“I understand, sir.” Like Conguise could talk. The professor had an ego the size of this building. Of course, the Almighty was a genius and deserved to be treated as such, but so was he.
“I understand that ego often goes with our jobs but when necessary, we need to put it aside,” said Conguise.
“I’ll talk to Parson, sir and be happy with any information he’s willing to share.” None of them shared shit. Their jobs, their lives, depended on results.
“Good.” Conguise looked down at the papers on his desk. “We’re starting a new experiment.”
“We?”
Conguise’s blue eyes met his. “I often discuss projects with Crackderr.”
Crackderr was a crony of Conguise’s and the second in command.
“I wasn’t aware of that, sir. I know he’s in charge when you’re out but I didn’t realize that you sought his advice.” Perhaps one day, Conguise would seek his counsel. To be able to chat and discuss science with such a brilliant mind was the stuff of his dreams.
“I wouldn’t call it seeking his advice so much as bouncing ideas off him.”
“Ah. Of course.” That made more sense.
The professor tapped his fingers on his desk and studied Scottsmoor. After several moments, he seemed to come to some decision. “I’m going to speak frankly with you.”
Something big was coming. Again, he had to force himself not to fidget like a boy waiting on a treat.
“Viola will be graduating soon and after that, it won’t be long before she settles down.”
“Your daughter is seeing someone, sir?” That was just his luck.
“No. Not yet. She’s going to focus on her career, but you know young women.”
He didn’t, not really. He was shy, short and thin—not exactly the kind of Almighty who attracted women by the droves or even by the trickle. He’d only been on one date in his thirty-five years.
“Soon, she’ll be married and having children.” Conguise’s eyes took on a wistful look. “I do look forward to grandchildren.”
“They are a blessing, sir.” Especially, if the children were his.
“Yes.” Conguise blinked. “Anyway, when that happens I won’t be spending as much time in the lab.”
“You’ll be retiring?” He didn’t want to work for Crackderr. The Almighty was cantankerous and stupid...Okay, the other scientist wasn’t stupid but he wasn’t as smart as the professor or himself. Of course, he had no choice. No one quit Level Five and no one was fired. If they didn’t produce, they disappeared.
“Semi-retirement.”
“Of course.” That was better...somewhat.
“But I will need someone to run this place while I’m gone.” Conguise’s blue eyes locked with his
“Me, sir?” He touched his chest. His heart was pounding so fast it might explode. This couldn’t be happening. He had to have misunderstood.
“Perhaps.”
“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” He almost jumped from his seat. “I’ll make you proud.” He was gushing but he couldn’t stop.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Of course.” He settled back on his chair, his happiness dulled but not squashed. If it were a competition Conguise wanted, he’d win.
“But, I have been impressed with your work and would like to see if you can succeed in the enhancement experiments.”
“I shall, sir.” If that meant being Conguise’s right hand and possibly taking over the lab one day, he’d succeed no matter what he had to do.
“We shall see.” Conguise’s gaze dropped to the files on his desk. “I’d like you to get specimens and begin the process of enhancing Servants or Guards with DNA from Rattus Norvegicus.”
“Rats?” His voice squeaked. He was not fond of the sneaky, little vermin.
“Yes, Scottsmoor. Rats.”
“Okay, but why?” He wanted to pull the words back but they were out there, hanging between them and making Conguise’s blue eyes turn ice cold.
“Does it matter?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Of course not.”
The tension in Conguise’s face eased. “I suppose it’s all right. If you were to be promoted, we’d need an open avenue for discussion.”
This was his dream come true.
“As you know, those from across the sea will come one day.”
“Yes, sir and we must be prepared.” He’d heard this his entire life. Those who’d tried to kill them by releasing the Great Death would eventually come back to finish the job.
“You’ve heard me speak on this topic numerous times. The only way we’ll survive is if we embrace biological warfare.”
“Yes, sir. I understand that. The Crochimoreas will be formidable weapons as will the other creatures here.”
“But they will be more effective if we can control them.”
“I know, sir.” That was his and everyone’s one main failure. Not one of these creations obeyed.
“We need to succeed in enhancing a Guard or Servant not transforming them. Then, they’ll do our bidding as they do now.”
“I agree, but why rats?”
“Many are not fond of the creatures but they’re smart, resourceful and deadly.”
The professor had a point. Suddenly, he was much more interested in this project.
“Hand over your notes on the Testusteons and speak to Parson before starting the serum for the Rattus Norvegicus project.” Conguise closed the folder. “Don’t forget. I want results on the necropsy on the Phasmatodeas.”
“I’ll do that right away, sir.” He stood. “Thank you for this opportunity and I won’t let you down.”
“I expect you will, but hope you won’t.” The professor was already looking at another folder.
Scottsmoor headed for the door.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Scottsmoor stopped. Conguise was looking at him with an almost fatherly expression on his face.
“Viola won’t be home much this visit so don’t bother making up an excuse to stop by.”
“I don’t...” By the look on the professor’s face, there was no reason to lie. “Of course. Sorry, if I’ve disturbed you in the past.”
“Nonsense. I was young once too.” Conguise smiled. “Plus, you’ve reminded me that I need to start preparing the menu for the dinner party I’m having when she’s home on break.” He grabbed a small notebook from his pocket, opened it and scribbled something.
He’d love to go to the dinner party—excellent food, superior company and conversations.
“Is there something else?” Conguise glanced up at him.
“No. Nothing, sir.” He turned and left. Apparently, he wasn’t on the guest list but perhaps if he could prove himself between now and then he’d get an invite.
CHAPTER 6: Scottsmoor
“I need the two of you to gather the remains of the Brush-Men that survived the hatching.” Scottsmoor had collected Topper and Stink on his way to the lab.
“The remains?” asked Stink.
“Yes. The carcasses. You know, their tiny, little bodies.” He didn’t have time to deal with these id
iots.
The Brush-Men in the other cage were watching them. Bright eyes stared out from the foliage, almost calling for them to come forward and investigate. Of course, that’d be a death sentence. Scottsmoor tore his gaze away, breaking the connection.
“I don’t think there’s anything left,” said Stink.
“Of course, there is.” These were two of the laziest Guards. However, they were cautious and that was a necessity, especially in here. All the creatures on Level Five were dangerous but some of the Brush-Men were so tiny that the possibility of escape was extremely high.
“Ah...I don’t see any,” said Stink.
“I don’t want to hear it. Get in there and find them. You sprayed them. You should remember where they are.” Scottsmoor headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Stink.
Scottsmoor sent him a dirty look and the Guard ducked his head. “Put the specimens on the table for when I return.”
“Of course, sir,” said Topper, tugging on Stink’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get this done.”
CHAPTER 7: Glick
“They’re back.” Glick peeked from behind a leaf as the Guards entered the cage. He wanted to jump from the bush and kill them but he was too little. They were all too little.
“I wish we could figure out how to open the door that separates the cages.” Speckles squatted next to him, staring into the other enclosure. “I’d love to see those Guards torn apart for what they did to Rocky and the others.”
“We’ll try to figure out how to do that later, but right now, we need to stay hidden until the Guards leave,” said Bumpers.
“And we need to whisper.” Flea took Bumpers’ hand. “Guards have excellent hearing.”
“How do you know that?” asked Bumpers.
“She’s right.” Glick had no idea how he knew, but he did. “Think about it.”
Bumpers frowned as he and Flea moved closer to Glick. “They aren’t as fast as us and can’t see in the dark as well as we could...can.” He looked at the others. “How do I know this?”
“I don’t know.” Glick stared at his hands, familiar and yet strange. “I think...we were something else before...before we were this.”