by L. S. O'Dea
“Maybe, I should go.”
“No. I’m fine.” He dropped to the next branch, going a little slower. “I’ve got this.” He smiled at his friend who was frowning down at him.
He turned and kept going, moving as fast as he could. It wasn’t easy. The wood was slippery and some parts were brittle. His feet slid off the branches more times than he could count, his hands and claws the only thing saving him from a fall. The farther down he went, the harder it became to breath. The gas from the poison in the soil sat heavy in the air, making it thick and pungent.
As soon as he was out of sight of the others he stopped, resting against the trunk of the bush. He took small gasps, trying to find oxygen in the thick fumes. He shifted, so he was concealed by the leaves, not that there was anyone around to see him. The room was dark. The Guards and Almighty had left for the day, but the need to stay out of sight was in his blood.
He closed his eyes, giving himself another moment of rest before moving again. His fingers were numb from the cold, barely able to grasp the branches. His muscles protested every move, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fail. Bumpers was counting on him. They all were.
He paused on the branch above their food—the bodies of what would’ve been their friends. The soil below was dark and wet. Small puddles littered the enclosure. The smell from the water and poison made his eyes burn. The scent more noxious the closer he got to the ground. He grabbed a leaf that held some water and dumped it on his face, clearing his eyes and skin from the burn of the chemicals.
He moved around the trunk, searching the leaves for their food but there was nothing. They’d hidden five pods. There had to be a sign of them somewhere. Even if the force of the water from the hose moved them, it wouldn’t have caused them to disappear. He started circling the bush again. There was a pile of leaves in a puddle on the ground. It was half unwrapped, a dark torso peeking out from between the green.
That packet was gone. They couldn’t eat anything that was soaking in the contaminated water. If they’d all fallen...He went around the bush again, this time focusing on the ground, but only the one bundle rested in the dirt. He leaned his forehead against the trunk, saying a silent thanks to fate.
The other pods had to be here somewhere. He moved slower, studying every leaf and branch as he made his way around the plant. There it was...one of the bundles of flesh. His mouth watered. He was so hungry his stomach felt concave.
He moved toward it as if pulled by a string. His hands skimmed over the soft petals, ready to unwrap, but Bumpers wouldn’t grab the first packet he found. Bumpers would find them all. Make sure they were safe.
Glick took a step back, wiping the drool from his mouth. The other three bundles had to be around here. The sooner he found them, the sooner he’d get to eat. He moved a section of leaves aside and there were two of them. One was safely tucked in the small branches but the other dangled on the tip of a leaf. He hurried over, his feet sliding on the wet wood. He steadied himself on a larger branch and grabbed the pod of food, wedging it closer to the base of the bush until it was secure.
He had one more to go. He climbed through the plant, looking at everything and finally found it. It was safe, pressed close to the trunk, but the wrappings were coming undone. There was no reason to fix it. He was supposed to take some up to the others anyway.
He pulled the leaves away from the flesh. There were only two hands. They’d packed more than that into the package. He glanced down. Two arms and a calf rested in the dirt, turning white. So much meat wasted. He stared at the hands. It wasn’t enough for the four of them, but he didn’t want to take any from another package. Maybe, he could salvage some flesh from the torso that’d fallen. It was in the water, but it was also still protected by the leaves.
He crawled through the branches until he was directly over the body. It was mostly a dark brown color. Only where the water had leaked into the leaf was the flesh turning white. He needed to save what he could. That’s what Bumpers would do.
He lowered himself until he was on the last limb. He wrapped leaves around his feet. He grasped the base of the bush and slid downward. His toe, covered by the leaf, hit the dirt and sunk in a little. He slowly put his weight down on the soles of his feet. He waited a moment, making sure he was balanced in the deep mud. If he fell in that soil, he was a goner. He took one step toward the body and then another. The mud sucking and pulling at the leaves with every step.
He stopped at the edge of the puddle that surrounded the torso. It didn’t look too deep but he wasn’t going to wade into it without being sure. He bent studying the water. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. It looked like water, flat and glassy. His gaze skimmed over the body. The white ash was flaking off the lower section of the torso and disintegrating, causing the body to sink into the puddle. If he waited too long, it’d all be gone. He was going to have to go through the water. He started to straighten when his foot slipped and he swayed. He stretched out his arms to steady himself, the tip of his longest finger dipping into the puddle.
He screamed, lurching upward. He shook his hand. He wanted to stick it in the water, cool it, but that’d be the worst thing he could do. He raised his hand, stopping himself one second before sticking his finger into his mouth.
He didn’t know what to do or where to go to get away from this pain. He stumbled toward the only safety he knew. He grabbed onto the bush with his uninjured hand and climbed. He made it a few inches before his claws slipped free and he slid down. His injured hand, hitting branches and sending more fire through his body. He tried again and again, climbing up and sliding back down, but each time, he managed to stay a little farther up the plant.
He finally crawled onto a branch that was thick enough to support him. He leaned against the trunk, wheezing and coughing. He grabbed a leaf that had drops of water sticking to its surface. He trailed his hand across it. Cool, soothing wetness floated around his fingers, washing away some of the sting.
The sound of clacking drew his gaze. His scream had captured the attention of the others. They stood at the glass peering into the darkness and searching for him. He pressed closer to the trunk of the bush. They may be like him, but he didn’t trust them. They weren’t looking for him because they wanted to help. They were hunting.
CHAPTER 11: Glick
“Glick, Glick. Are you okay?” Bumpers crashed through the foliage.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He felt like an idiot for screaming. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“What happened?” Bumpers dropped to his knees by Glick’s side. “We heard your scream and...”
“We lost food. The biggest package. Gone. All of it.” He pointed toward the ground.
“But, are you okay?”
“Yeah, but the food—”
“You didn’t scream because of that. Did you?” Bumpers tried not to smile.
“No. I didn’t scream because of that. Although, it’s a better reason than this.” He held up his hand. The burn hurt, but starvation killed.
“What happened?” Bumpers grabbed his wrist and studied his fingers. The tip of one was completely white.
“I thought I could save some of the flesh.” He shrugged. “I was wrong.” Once again, he’d failed.
“The food did this to you?” Bumpers dropped his hand.
“No, the water. I lost my balance.”
“You need to be more careful.” Bumpers stood.
“I know.” He’d wanted to be a hero by saving their food. Instead, he’d lost part of his finger.
“What about the other packages?” Bumpers grabbed Glick’s arm and helped him to his feet.
“They’re safe. Follow me.” He shoved through the brush. “One was barely hanging in the tree. I had to tangle it back up.” He pulled one of the hands from the leaf that was partially unwrapped. “Most fell out, but I thought we should take what’s in here first.”
“Good idea.” Bumpers grabbed a loose leaf before removing the other hand from the
package. He sat and began tearing the flesh from the bone.
Glick sat down next to him, denuding the hand he held. “It’s softer than before.” He dropped a hunk of skin onto the leaf.
“It’s rotting. It won’t last forever but that’s not our problem.” After Bumpers tore the last piece of meat from the hand he held, he began to lick and chew on the bones.
“No. We’ll be done with it long before it goes bad.” Glick scraped a small amount of flesh from the palm onto the leaf and began cleaning the bone with his teeth. It was cold and bloody, and delicious.
They both bit into the hands, using their tongues to ferret out the last pieces of flesh before chomping down on the bones.
When the hands were gone, Bumpers rolled up the leaf and stood. “Let’s go.”
They climbed the bush and went home. Flea and Speckles sat up as they entered the camp, eyes bright with hope and hunger.
“Here.” Bumpers handed them the leaf.
Speckles opened it, stuffing food into his mouth.
“Aren’t you two going to have any?” asked Flea as she chewed on some skin.
“No thanks. We ate before we came back.” Bumpers stretched out and closed his eyes.
“Glick?” Flea looked at him.
He wanted more, needed more but Bumpers wasn’t eating anything else so neither would he. He shook his head, not strong enough to tempt his conviction with words.
The two finished every last bit of flesh and then licked the leaf clean. Flea crawled across the branch and curled up by Bumpers. Speckles stretched out on a smaller branch across from them.
“How much do we have left?” Flea’s voice was soft, drifting toward sleep.
“Enough for now,” said Bumpers.
“What about later?” asked Speckles.
“We’ll figure something out.” Bumpers’ eyes met Glick’s in the dark.
If they didn’t, they’d die very soon.
CHAPTER 12: Scottsmoor
Scottsmoor hurried into the Brush-Men lab. Today was going to be interesting. It was feeding time. Before the poisoning, they’d lure the Brush-Men to one side of the enclosure and lock the doors. The Guards would shove the Servants into the other side, slip out of the cage and open the doors. The Servants’ deaths had been fast and brutal.
However, once they’d poisoned the enclosure he’d had to convert his method. The easiest had been to gas the Brush-Men and render them temporarily unconscious. The Guards would force the Servants inside the cage. At first, the Servants would avoid going anywhere near the Brush-Men as they tried to escape. When the little ones woke, the Servants had to defend themselves or be chewed to death by tiny bites. They’d been brutal in their killing of the little Brush-Men, stomping, kicking and sometimes even tearing the creatures apart with their hands. However, the tide of battle changed when the larger ones stirred.
He chuckled, remembering the horror on the Servants’ faces as the original hosts, the largest of the Brush-Men, came for them. It was hilarious. The Servants would try and climb the bushes and the walls, but the Brush-Men always caught them.
Topper and Stink entered the lab.
“Ready for us to turn on the gas?” Topper moved to the lever on the wall.
“No. We aren’t feeding them like that. Not anymore.”
“What? Why?” Stink looked to Topper as if the other Guard had the answer.
“Because I said so.” More accurately, because Conguise had found out and hadn’t been happy about the toxicity of the gas and the multiple deaths of the small Brush-Men.
“Okay.” Topper dropped his hand but stayed by the lever. “We can’t open the doors. They’ll escape. Those little ones are fast.”
“I know that.” He was the expert on these creatures.
“Then, how are we gonna feed em?”
He pointed upward. “We’re going to drop the Servants inside.” He smiled at the confused look on the Guards’ faces. “Go get five Servants.”
“Yes, sir.” The two Guards hurried toward the door. They were always excited about feedings but this one promised to be extra fun.
“Oh, and bring whatever help you need.” The damn Servants fought when they saw what was waiting for them. He wasn’t going to be responsible for any escapes be it creature or food.
“Yes, sir,” repeated Topper as the two slipped out the door.
They returned a few moments later with eight additional Guards and five Servants. The Brush-Men immediately moved to the door between the cages. They must remember that was how they used to be fed. They didn’t seem to remember the gas, perhaps because they were unconscious when the food was put into the cage.
“Sir, how exactly are we going to do this?” asked Topper.
“Get the ladders and I’ll explain.” He’d gotten this idea from Ableson. The other scientist had let him watch the video of the feeding of the River-Men. Dropping Servants into the tank was genius.
Topper and one of the other Guards positioned two ladders against the enclosure before turning back to him for instructions. Apparently, it wasn’t obvious that they should climb the ladders.
“Get up there.”
Topper started climbing.
“With the Servants.” Araldo, he swore it’d be easier to do this himself.
The Guards shoved and dragged the Servants toward the cage. All the Brush-Men moved closer to the door, eyes wide and mouths open, except the two original hosts. They’d gone to the center of the cage and were looking upward at where the top of the cage split.
Sometimes, he swore they understood him and refused to obey out of spite. He’d wanted to kill them and start with two new hosts, but the professor wouldn’t allow it. A successful breeding pair was invaluable to the program.
A feisty, older Servant managed to get away from the Guard who held him, but Stink stopped the Servant before he could slip through the doorway.
“Tie them up and carry them if you have to.” He was done with this nonsense.
One of the Guards retrieved rope from the closet. It took several more minutes but eventually, after many scratches and bites from the Servants, the Guards managed to subdue all of them.
“Carry them up.”
The larger Guards tossed the trussed up Servants over their shoulders and climbed the ladders.
When they were all on top of the cage, Topper peered down. “Now what?”
“See the crack on the floor?” Scottsmoor moved to the wall.
“Yeah,” said Stink.
“I’d stay away from it.” He pressed a button. “It’s going to open.”
The Guards stumbled backward, pulling the captive Servants with them.
The top of the cage slid open, leaving a gaping hole between safety and death. He pressed the button again, stopping it from opening all the way. “Throw them in.”
“Should we untie them?” asked Stink.
“Only if you want to risk falling in yourself.” He’d never understand Guards. Their stupidity was incomprehensible.
“Don’t want that,” muttered Topper.
“Then, I’d suggest you do as I said and toss them into the enclosure.”
Topper and the other Guards moved forward. The Servants screamed and fought but there was nothing they could do.
“Come on. Take it easy,” said Topper.
“No. Please. Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this,” begged the Servant in his grasp.
Scottsmoor shook his head. He had no respect for these creatures. Death was upon them and all they could do was weep and plead for mercy that was obviously not coming.
“Sorry, but I do.” Topper shoved the Servant.
The male screamed as he fell. He was quickly followed by his companions. The first two were the luckiest. As soon as they landed the larger Brush-Men were upon them. They were dead in an instant. The others, especially the last one, took longer. The bigger Brush-Men were busy fighting over the carcasses of the first four which left the last victim for the smaller creatur
es. It was brutal. The little ones swarmed the Servant, tearing into him with tiny hands and sharp teeth as he screamed and ran. He hit the glass, slamming into it with his shoulder again and again, but it was designed to withstand stronger creatures than him. Finally, the Brush-Men took him down at the knees and his screams turned to gurgles before he too fell silent.
The Guards stared through the opening, a few of them wiping their lips. Scottsmoor pressed the button, closing their window and turned back to his desk. He had no desire to see them feed. It was uncivilized. He enjoyed watching the kill because it varied each time, but their feeding habits never changed. He’d studied them during the early days of this project and saw no reason to continue to do so.
“Put the ladders away. Then, saturate the soil in the other enclosure with neutralizer again and bring me samples.” It was the same routine. One day spray water, the next neutralizer, but if he didn’t state every step, the Guards wouldn’t do the work.
“Again?” Stink dropped from the ladder.
“Yes, again. If you don’t like it, you can feed them instead.” He pressed a button that opened the vent between the cages. The air in the dead enclosure was no longer pungent.
“We just fed—”
“He meant using you for the food,” said Laddie, one of the other Guards.
“Oh. No.” Stink’s face paled. “I like doing it. I do. I just thought that maybe the ground is wet enough, but we’ll do it.” He hurried to the closet and strapped on the container of neutralizer. “See. Ready to go.”
“Good.” The Guard had better stop questioning him. He was the Almighty. He knew when the ground would be ready for seed, not the idiot of a Guard.
He left for the rat-lab. His vermin had been delivered today. It was time to prepare the serum. As soon as that was ready, he’d choose his hosts. His step lightened with anticipation. A new project with new possibilities. It was exactly what he needed.
CHAPTER 13: Glick