by Platt, Sean
Boricio looked at the soon-to-be-dead thing pretending to be his Morning Rose, looking at him with her artificial loving eyes, and that sad smile she sometimes had when he fell into one his darker moods that he couldn’t explain.
“You’re healed.” She tried to smile, but Boricio saw right through it. He flinched and pulled back on her way to a hug.
“You … stay the fuck away from me.”
She stopped, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Boricio swallowed, trying to keep his rage from making him do something stupid.
He cast his eyes around the room, taking inventory of all the shit he could use to send this monster into oblivion. He could gouge Its eyes and puncture Its throat with the pen on his nightstand. A brush on the dresser could be snapped in half and used as a blade. He could shatter the mirror and use its shards to slice the alien wide.
But the fucker didn’t deserve anything so pleasant, and Boricio longed to take his time, snaking his fingers into Its throat, then choking the fucker dead with his bare hands.
“I remember,” he said staring into the alien’s widening eyes.
He leaped on the creature, hands around Its neck, falling on top of it, straddling Rose’s body, staring into her eyes as he choked the impostor.
“Wait!” Rose’s voice cried out in a rasping gasp.
Boricio loosened his grip, just enough to tease it with mercy. “What?”
“I’m still in here, Boricio! It’s me, Rose!”
“Bullshit!” Boricio screamed, squeezing tighter.
“I am!” it insisted again. “We’re both in here. Just like with Luca. We can coexist with them, Boricio.”
“Stop it!” He pushed his fingers harder into her flesh, not wanting to know what the hell she, It, meant about Luca.
Rose’s eyes welled with tears as she vented an anemic, “Please.”
Boricio closed his eyes.
He couldn’t look his old Rose in the eyes as he killed her.
No, not a her, It!
He kept squeezing, tight, telling himself that his Morning Rose would prefer death to this corruption of body and soul.
But even as Boricio thought it, a large part of him longed for his Rose so much to maybe believe there was something left of her in the puppet. Maybe the alien was telling the truth. And maybe she could have her body back again.
No.
There’s nothing left of my Rosebud.
Don’t believe its lies.
She tried to say something.
“Die,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut, despite their will to open. “Fucking die.”
“Stop!” a voice yelled.
Boricio looked up, saw the old man, Art, aiming a shotgun at his head. “Get off of her.”
Boricio looked down at Rose’s face, her crying eyes, and couldn’t help but feel like a monster. Another part of him felt like he was being worked by the alien, being made to feel guilty. Using his love for her against him.
“Let go of her or I will kill you,” Art said.
Boricio let go, slowly, then stood, eyes on the old fucker, trying to figure the best way to get his gun.
The thing that wasn’t Rose stood, swallowing, wiping tears from her eyes, still playing victim.
Art turned to It. “What do you want me to do? Shoot him?”
“No,” It said. “Please, leave us alone.”
“He just tried to kill you.”
“I said leave us!”
Art shrank back like a dog being scolded then gave It the shotgun.
It took the weapon, training it on Boricio until the door shut and they were back to being alone.
It lowered the gun, meeting his eyes.
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“Well, I do want to kill you,” Boricio said. No reason to pretend, or try and outsmart an alien. This would only end with one of them dying.
“I wasn’t lying when I said she’s in here.”
“So, who am I talking to now, Rose or the alien? You said ‘she’s in here,’ meaning you were pretending to be her before.”
“No, now we are one. She and I. But the Rose you love is still in here. We’ve done nothing to her.”
“Yeah, is that so? Well, how about you just get out of her body. Find someone else to live in.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. But I have another proposal. Why don’t you join us?”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He chuckled. “Boricio is the quarterback, and he aint’ throwing for Team Nasty-Ass Alien Goo!”
Not Rose smiled. Boricio wasn’t sure if it was some part of her smiling or if the alien was a condescending cunt. Boricio had had enough artificial mirth, of fuckers looking down at him like he was half-retard. People always thought they were better than him and smiled when, in fact, they were writing him off.
But nobody writes Boricio off. No. Body.
“Please, Boricio, don’t you want more than this? I know you. I know you’re so much better than most of these filthy, lazy, and supremely ignorant humans. You realized this early. That’s why you culled them from the planet.”
“OK, you can stop blowing smoke up my dirthole, because I wasn’t doing anyone no favors by killin’ folks. That was all about me. No need to shine shit and tell me it’s gold.”
“Perhaps, but still you know what I say is true. We can change humanity, once and for all, evolve it into what it was meant to be.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Boricio asked, eager to bitch slap the foreplay and get back to killing this fucking thing.
“All species evolve. Humans evolved. We, our species, are evolving. We can evolve together, create something new from the best of our species.”
“I saw what your species did on ole Bizarro Earth, so forgive me if that don’t exactly sound like a roomful of titties.”
“We have changed. Though I should warn you that there is another force out there, trying to do what we did to that other world.”
“What do you mean ‘another force?’”
“Our species is a collective, operating as one. But we’ve since split, parts of us wanting to seize power for itself, disagreeing with our notions of how to evolve your species. They want to enslave most of you, use you as nothing more than fuel.”
“Let me get this straight, E.T. — you’re claiming to be this great, advanced alien species working as a collective and wanting to evolve us. Yet your own fucking species is subject to the same whims as ours, wanting to gobble more than its share of the pie?”
“I never said we were perfect. But together we can be as close as possible. We can offer you power, Boricio. We can cure your kind’s diseases. We can allow you to live forever. Just say yes.”
He looked at the shotgun, again trained on him.
“So join the Dark Side or die, right, Darth?”
He met Its eyes, but Not Rose refused to flinch.
It nodded.
Boricio clenched his fists, glared It in the eyes, and said, “I got an idea. How ‘bout we play of game of rock, paper, you’re dead. You first!”
* * * *
CHAPTER 11 — THOMAS ACEVEDO
“You’re really going to do this?” Marina asked, pestering him as if he had chosen his path, or worse, was deluded.
“The vessel has to die. There is no other way.” Acevedo continued loading up on weapons from the agents’ van. He had an assault rifle, a pistol, and four of the weird-looking grenades, which he hoped were explosive. Once Acevedo ended the vessel, he’d have to burn the alien before it could leave the host and infect another. There were two more in there with the vessel, Acevedo had seen in his vision. One, a woman named Rose, who was strong and maybe the smartest of the aliens. Then there was an old man, Art, who was still new to infection and had not yet worked out his abilities. He would be the easiest to kill, and Rose the toughest. Luca was probably the most powerful, even if he didn’t yet know it. But if Acevedo only had a single shot, he’d have to take out
the boy. He was the one in the dreams, after all.
It all revolved around Luca.
Without Luca, the prophecy failed, and the world would be safe. At least, that’s what his visions kept swearing.
Yeah, but what if the visions aren’t real? What if he is just a boy?
Acevedo shook his head to silence the doubt he couldn’t afford. That was why Marina couldn’t come with him. Sure, he could use the backup, but couldn’t afford to have her doubts as infection.
He had to stay strong and keep his mind clear of the alien influence.
Marina, still cuffed to the back seat, begged, “At least set me free before you go. If something happens to you, I’m screwed.”
“I don’t have anything to set you free.”
“Use that mind thing you did on yours.”
“Sorry, Marina. I don’t have time. But don’t worry, I will return.”
“But what if you don’t come back? I’ll be stuck here with no way to get help. If one of our enemies doesn’t kill me, the sun will bake me once it gets hotter.”
Acevedo crawled into the back, close enough to assure her, but not so close that she might be able to strike out in anger. “Listen, Marina. I promise I’ll be back. And if not, well, you’ll have bigger things to worry about than a hot van.”
“Please,” she cried out as Acevedo slid open the side panel door and hopped out into dawn.
He looked back at Marina and shushed her with a finger to his lips. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes or less.”
The priest softly closed the door, despite her begging.
He looked down the street where Luca and the others were staying, assuming his visions were true.
A low fog clung to the ground, obscuring all but the closest two houses, giving him an advantage upon entry. Of course, if they sensed him and were dreaming of him as he had been of them, the advantage was theirs. Marina would die in the van.
But Acevedo couldn’t worry about her now.
He had to find and kill Luca Harding.
* * * *
CHAPTER 12 — LUCA HARDING
Luca stared at himself in the mirror, mouth agape, barely able to believe the changes.
It looked like he’d aged nearly a decade.
And yet Luca felt only partly surprised. because some of the other Luca’s memories, as well as memories of the people the other Luca had saved, were swirling through his head more frequently. They weren’t solid enough that he could make sense of them and assemble a narrative of everything that happened to each of the survivors, but he saw the other Luca age in the memories, both from the boy’s viewpoint as well as others’. He also saw the other Luca die, shot by his friend, Will, and then return. The other version of himself had continued to age until he seemed ancient.
Is this what’s going to happen to me? Will I get older each time I do this?
Possibly, The Darkness said inside him, not exactly a comfort. “But perhaps we can change that. I am working on a way to halt the aging within your body’s chemistry. Perhaps I can return your youth.”
No. I don’t want to be young any more. I need to be older, bigger, stronger. I need to be ready for what’s coming.
Art stood beside him in the bathroom, unable to stop staring either. He seemed caught somewhere between awe at the change and disappointment in what he’d done.
Luca wondered if Art was onto him — if he knew of his betrayal. And if so, would he try to kill him?
“Why did you heal him, kid?”
Luca didn’t shrink from the old man’s stare.
“Because it wasn’t right.”
“What wasn’t right?”
“To lie to him like that. To use his love for Rose to trick him into joining us. I know you wanted to either infect him or kill him.”
Art’s fuzzy eyebrows rose. “And how do you know that?”
“Because I’m not as dumb as people think. I pay attention.”
“Hey, kid, I never said you were dumb. Far from it. And I’ll agree that yes, I didn’t want to give Boricio a vial, but that’s because I’m concerned for our safety.”
Luca was about to call Art on all of his lies. To let the old man know he wasn’t fooling him.
But Luca’s Darkness said to keep his mouth shut. “Sometimes it’s better to play a bit dumber than you are if you want people to make mistakes.”
Luca decided to play along with Art, even if playing nice to a liar made him sick to his stomach. “I understand, Mr. Art. You were looking out for us. And I’m sorry to go behind your back like I did. But Boricio is like a brother to me. Or at least the other version of him was. He is capable of goodness. I’ve seen it.”
Art looked at Luca as if gears were turning in his head, trying to decide how to best deal with the boy. Luca considered using The Darkness to spy on Art’s thoughts, then reconsidered. Though he couldn’t be certain, Luca was pretty sure if he tried to read Art’s mind while looking at the man, he would figure Luca out. Art would know he’d been made, and at that point would have nothing to lose by killing the boy, or all of them.
Art smiled and put a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Why don’t we see if we can find you some clothes that’ll fit, eh?”
“Thank you,” Luca said.
Art led him down the hall to one of the guest rooms he’d not yet been in. The room was smaller than the others, filled with racks like you’d see in a store, with clothes hanging in neat rows.
“What’s all this?”
“Rose asked me to gather clothes. Different sizes and sexes to fit our growing group, since some of the people, like myself, may not have had time to pack their bags before leaving their old lives.”
“Wow, she really thought ahead.” Luca looked at the variety and sizes.
Art pulled out a black hoodie and some dark-blue jeans. Both looked like they belonged to a college kid.
“Wanna try these on?” Art asked holding them up.
They looked too large and baggy, but it was better than a shirt that made him look like the Incredible Hulk without the big green muscles.
“OK.”
Art handed him the clothes and a belt. “You might need this.”
“What about shoes? Did you get shoes?”
Art sighed. “That’s one thing I didn’t have time to pick up yet. Plus, we figured the people would probably have shoes. We do have underwear, though. Check the dresser, and you’ll probably find a pack. I’d say you look like a men’s small, maybe medium? There are some socks in there, too, that should fit you.”
“Thanks,” Luca repeated.
He looked down at his feet, still bare from when he was sleeping. They were larger and had a few tufts of dark hair, mostly on the toes.
Art left the room so that Luca could change.
He stripped from his shredded apparel and couldn’t help but notice that among the areas to grow — both size and hair — was downstairs. Luca felt a flush of embarrassment, like he was looking at someone else naked, and quickly put on a pair of well-fitting red boxers.
He slid on the jeans, which were too baggy and longer than his size, then slid on a belt. He slipped the notch through the last hole, which pulled the belt as tight as it would go. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but would do for the moment. Luca rolled up his pant legs, making light-blue cuffs that reminded him of how his dad had dressed for a Halloween party when he said he was going as some guy from the '50s that Luca had never heard of.
Luca wondered which father that was, his or the other Luca’s. He couldn’t place the memory in time, so he couldn’t be certain if it was before or after the car accident that took his family from him.
He slid on the black hoodie, also baggy, just like most older kids seemed to wear them. Luca didn’t feel too stupid as he stared in the mirror at the late-teen, early-twenties version of himself.
Luca lifted the jacket to see his abs, admiring his physique. He wasn’t built, but there was definitely more muscle than he remembered having in his younge
r self. He wondered how strong he could get if he started lifting weights, and how long it would take to get into good fighting shape.
The past few weeks had shown him that he no longer had time for a childhood. He had to prepare for what was coming by getting as smart and strong as possible. While Luca supposed some might lament the loss of a decade, those people weren’t children, and didn’t know how badly most kids wanted to be adults. And those people didn’t know that a war unlike any other was already on its way.
It was time to put his childhood in the closet where it belonged, and Luca was fine with that.
Suddenly, a gunshot thundered downstairs.
* * * *
CHAPTER 13 — EDWARD KEENAN
Ed followed the tracker to his van parked on a suburban street in Highland Park.
He killed the stolen motorcycle’s engine and pulled the Mossberg from his back, where he’d slid the shotgun between his shirt and jacket like a makeshift scabbard.
Fog was hanging too low and thick to spot the van. But Ed could see it blipping on his Guardsman watch’s interface as he approached, gun drawn.
His heart raced as he moved closer, hoping that whoever was inside, whoever had taken the van, wasn’t also lying in wait to attack him. He needed to take care of whoever took the van, secure the vials, and make sure that Acevedo and Marina were safe.
But the closer he got to the van and saw its dark shape taking form in the fog, he grew ever more certain that he was about to discover a bloodbath. He’d find Acevedo and Marina slaughtered, and the perpetrator gone. Ed hoped that whoever took the van didn’t know about the vials, and they were still safely hidden in the glove compartment. If not, then he’d need to figure out another way to find the vials. Maybe call back to Black Island and see if Paola could help.
Ed was about ten feet from the van when he saw through the broken windshield that no one was in the front seats.
OK, let’s check the back.