Hatch

by Kenneth Oppel

  Morning now, light slanting through grimy windows.

  Seth had slept poorly, woken in the middle of the night by the pain of his new leg feathers poking through. He couldn’t help wondering if eating all that bug meat had somehow hastened the feathers. Maybe the more cryptogenic protein he took into himself, the faster his body changed into what he was meant to be.

  He’d wiped away the blood, and when he’d finally fallen back to sleep, he’d been woken again by Darren’s hollering. His entire head had crusted over, and they’d all helped him clear away the scaly skin. His new skin was incredibly smooth and already had a faint pattern on it. After that, Seth had managed maybe an hour’s more sleep, but without the flying dreams he’d hoped for. His own nightmares had crowded them out.

  He was haunted by what had happened in the superstore. The bug on the ceiling was scary, but not as scary as the way people had looked at him. That little kid he’d saved. The mother he’d accidentally cut. The cops. Their horror. Their hatred.

  “We need to get going,” Esta said when the others were stirring.

  “Where?” Charles asked.

  “As far away as possible,” she answered. “They’re going to keep looking for us.”

  “I want to try for home,” Siena said.

  Seth looked at her, startled, even though she’d talked about it before. “Quebec City’s a long way.”

  “I don’t expect you guys to come,” she replied.

  —Let her go, Esta said to him. She’s only going to slow us down.

  “It’s too dangerous, especially alone,” Seth said to Siena. “We’ve got to stick together. We have a much better chance that way. There’s only five of us as it is.”

  The idea of their already small group getting smaller filled him with true sadness. The entire world hated and wanted to kill him. These people, in this room, were some of the only ones who didn’t.

  “I still think we should go to Deadman’s Island,” said Charles.

  “Agreed,” Darren said.

  “No,” said Esta.

  “Who made you leader?” Darren asked.

  “She’s right,” Seth said. “Your face is on TV. They’re looking for you, for all of us. You saw what happened at the superstore. I saved that freakin’ kid from getting eaten, and he and his mom started screaming at me! That cop shot at me! You think it’s going to be different anywhere else?”

  “So what about Anaya and Petra and the rest of them?” Charles said. “What’s happened to them?”

  “I don’t know! And I don’t care!”

  They’d left him; they were as much to blame as Dr. Weber. He was finished with people leaving him behind. For all he knew, Dr. Weber could be continuing Ritter’s work, just on Pearson’s army base. Or maybe Esta was right, and the helicopters hadn’t even taken the kids to Deadman’s Island.

  “We’re not going back there,” he said.

  “We don’t need your permission,” Darren said.

  Seth saw the other boy’s tail twitch impatiently against the fabric of his pants. Esta’s chin tilted up ever so slightly, eyes hooded like a falcon’s. He worried she might strike with sound. And as much as he disliked Darren, he didn’t want that. They needed everyone they could get right now.

  “Okay,” he said, trying to step things back, “right now, we need to move or we’re going to get caught.”

  “We passed a car lot,” Charles said.

  “You know how to steal a car?” Darren asked him, turning his aggressive gaze to Charles.

  “No, but there’s probably keys there.”

  “You saw the roads outside the Spray Zones,” Siena said. “We wouldn’t get far. Walking’s the only way.”

  “Water,” Seth said. “We’re on the coast. We get a boat, we could really move.”

  Darren was nodding. “We had a boat back home. I can drive one.”

  Seth turned on the GPS—saw the battery light flashing red—and found their blue dot. He zoomed out. There were lots of islands.

  “Maybe one of these,” he said, pointing. “A good place to hide.”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s even towns on some of those places,” Charles said. “How’re we supposed to get food if there’s no stores?”

  “There’s other kinds of food,” Seth told him.

  Darren looked at him, confused, then said, “Oh, right. Bugs, you mean. That’s not going to work for me.”

  “There’s berries from the vines,” Seth added. “They’re good.”

  “You guys can go full-out alien all you like,” said Darren. “Go crazy. But I need human food.”

  “I know how to fish,” Charles said.

  “Okay, so we have a plan, then,” said Seth, looking at Siena. “Get to the water, find a boat. Stay together, stay safe.”

  The sudden trilling sound was so strange and unexpected, it took him a second to figure out it came from a cell phone. He homed in on Siena. Her face blazed with guilt, but also hope, as she dragged a mobile from her pocket.

  “Where’d you get that?” Esta demanded.

  Siena glanced at the screen and moved her thumb to accept the call.

  “Don’t!” Esta shouted, too late.

  “Dad?” Siena said, her voice breaking as she lifted the phone to her ear. And then her face became very still and pale. “Who is this?”

  Esta snatched the phone from her and whipped it against the wall.

  “That wasn’t my dad,” Siena hiccuped through sudden tears.

  “Who was it?” Seth asked.

  “Some woman asking where I am and who I’m with.”

  “They’ve got your parents under arrest—don’t you get it?” Esta said. “That was probably the army calling!”

  “I just want to go home,” Siena said, barely audible.

  Gently, Seth asked, “How long have you had that phone?”

  “It was in that minivan, jammed between the seats. Last night I called home when you guys were asleep. There was no answer, so I left a message.”

  “Can they trace it?” Darren asked worriedly. “In the movies they can do all sorts of crazy crap.”

  “Definitely,” said Charles. “They’ll know exactly where we are. Right now.”

  “We’re leaving,” said Esta.

  She looked at Siena so fiercely that Seth was afraid she might hurt her.

  —Don’t, he told her.

  “I’m sorry,” Siena murmured. “I don’t think I can run anymore. It really hurts.”

  “You can run,” said Seth. “Come on.” He held out his hand to her. “We need you. Stronger together, remember?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  DR. WEBER PLACED A fluid-filled syringe on the tray.

  “It’s untested,” she told Anaya and her dad.

  Inside that syringe, Anaya knew, was the chemical that Terra had drawn in her mind. She turned to her sleeping mother in the hospital bed. A tube across her face hissed oxygen into her nostrils, but her breathing was still a labored rattle. Other tubes were connected to her arms and hands, keeping her hydrated, feeding her drugs that, so far, weren’t helping.

  “You’re sure it’s actually an antiviral?” Dad asked Dr. Weber.

  “It shares definite similarities, but it’s not one that’s ever been created.”

  “If we do nothing, what’s the prognosis?” Dad asked.

  “Her oxygen saturation is getting very low. We’d need to intubate her soon.”

  “What’s that mean?” Anaya asked.

  “Hook her up to a machine that does her breathing for her.”

  Anaya still couldn’t believe how much Mom had deteriorated overnight. From a slight fever to a cough to shortness of breath to unconsciousness.

  “And then what?” she asked bluntly, feeling her throat tighten. “Will she die?”

  “It’s likely.”

  “Dad, we should give her the drug!”

  He looked at her searchingly. “You trust this . . . Terra? She actually told you it was medicine?�
��

  “She didn’t say that word, but yes, it was definitely something to help Mom.” She knew how unsatisfying this sounded. “And yes, I do trust her, absolutely. Dad, Mom needs this!”

  Dad rubbed hard at the center of his forehead. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

  “All right,” Dr. Weber said. “I don’t know the ideal concentration, but I’ve made my best guess.” She slotted the syringe into a valve on the IV line and started it dripping.

  Anaya looked at Mom’s lovely face. She wanted her rapid breathing to smooth out. She wanted her fast, skippy heartbeat to slow. She wanted Mom to open her eyes.

  “YOU MADE A ZOO for them?” Petra said, staring through the wide observation window in bewilderment.

  Inside the biodome was a little world that she hoped she’d never have to enter. Black grass grew tall alongside a big pond, slick with cryptogenic water lilies. Her skin crawled as she watched mosquito birds flit through the pollen-speckled air. A water lily arched its swanlike neck and blasted acid-coated seeds at the mosquito birds. One plunged into the pond. Water lilies serenely swirled over the top of it, to eat it.

  The biodome wasn’t on the army base itself but a short trip by van to the Vancouver Aquarium in Stanley Park. The whole park was now a military Spray Zone. Right before the world went to pieces, the aquarium had finished a new biodome: a giant golf ball that was supposed to showcase all kinds of exciting new animals. And now it did, thanks to Dr. Weber and her team—only the animals weren’t from Earth.

  “This is incredible,” said Mr. Riggs. “You’ve re-created an entire ecosystem for them.”

  Dr. Weber nodded. She looked exhausted. It was no wonder, Petra thought, working on so many things at once, including the new treatment she’d just given Mrs. Riggs. That’s where Anaya was right now, at her bedside, waiting. Mr. Riggs would’ve been there, too, but Dr. Weber had asked him specially to come.

  “We thought it would be the best way to study the new insect species,” Dr. Weber said. “And they all seem to be thriving.”

  Petra believed it. Everything in the biodome looked terrifyingly alive. Black vines snaked everywhere, even onto the observation window. Dr. Weber pressed a button on a console, and the reinforced glass was misted with herbicide. Immediately the vines recoiled and began to yellow.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Petra’s mother, who’d insisted on coming along. After what had happened in the harbor, Petra doubted Mom would ever let her out of her sight again. “What if what’s in there gets out?”

  “The biodome’s completely sealed,” said Dr. Weber. “And someone’s here monitoring it around the clock.”

  “Are there worms in there?” Petra asked nervously.

  “No,” Dr. Weber said. “They’re too destructive. They’d bore right through the walls. But we’ve managed to collect quite a few other species.”

  “You mean there’s new bugs in there?”

  “We’re starting to see variations of the original three specimens that rained down. I brought you here because you’re the only one who’s seen an aquatic species. Take a good look in there and tell me if you see anything similar.”

  Peering inside, Petra frowned. “Those aren’t eggs, are they?”

  Clustered on the ground were several baseball-sized objects.

  Dr. Weber nodded. “A lot bigger than the ones that first fell, aren’t they?”

  “How’d they get so big?”

  “They’re evolving, every time they lay eggs. It makes it very hard to predict what’s coming next. I’m trying to see if there’s any logical progression.”

  Petra gasped as a yellow tongue splashed around one of the eggs and snatched it through the air. The tongue and egg disappeared inside the mouth of a creature she hadn’t even noticed, it was so well camouflaged. It clung to a thick stalk of black grass and looked a bit like an ugly, headless armadillo.

  “What the heck’s that?” she cried.

  “Did the underwater bugs look anything like it?” Dr. Weber asked her.

  “No, not at all.”

  As she watched it chew dopily on the egg, the black grass rustled. At first she thought the tall stalks were actually moving, actually walking, but then she realized she was seeing very long, skinny legs. And on top of those legs was a narrow body with a bulgy-eyed head and a set of pincers. They plunged down, impaled the armadillo thing, and cut it clean in half.

  “I wish I hadn’t seen that,” murmured Petra.

  The stilt creature stepped out from the excellent cover of the black grass and started ripping into its kill.

  “Familiar?” Dr. Weber asked her.

  “The ones I saw underwater were definitely long and skinny, but no pincers.”

  “Legs or fins?” Dr. Weber prompted.

  “Legs. I think.”

  “How many?”

  “Couldn’t tell.”

  The stilt-legged thing lifted its head and seemed to stare in their direction.

  “Can it hear us?” asked Petra’s mom.

  “I don’t know,” said Dr. Weber.

  Petra instinctively took a step back. The creature took a step forward—and staggered into a hole that hadn’t been there a second ago. A pit plant’s fleshy lips closed around two of the bug’s legs. After a lengthy struggle, the bug yanked out the stumps of its acid-melted legs and scuttled back into the grass.

  “It’s great that they all get along so well,” Petra said.

  But truly, it was very satisfying that these cryptogenic bugs and plants also ate each other.

  “As I said, it’s a complete ecosystem,” Dr. Weber remarked.

  “Which seemed to be their plan from the start,” Mr. Riggs commented.

  “First the plants, then the animals,” Petra said.

  “You think the actual cryptogens eat all this stuff themselves?” her mom asked, glancing over at her.

  Petra felt a throb of guilt. Yes, she’d eaten the egg. It revolted her that she’d been designed to eat the same food as the swimmer cryptogens—designed—but it was totally out of her control.

  “What we’re seeing,” Dr. Weber said, nodding at the biodome, “is the way the cryptogens want our entire world.”

  “Including the atmosphere,” Mr. Riggs said. “You must be noticing some pretty major atmospheric changes in there.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” Dr. Weber said, handing him a printout. “These plants exhale different gases from Earth plants.”

  Petra remembered the rotten-egg smell rising from the water lilies on the eco-reserve.

  “Definitely,” Mr. Riggs said, his eyes skimming the chemicals listed on the piece of paper. “We’re not quite at toxic levels for humans, but getting there. Unless we get these plants under control, we’re going to see serious global changes.”

  “How serious?” Petra wanted to know, alarmed by the look that passed between Mr. Riggs and Dr. Weber.

  “I can run some models and timelines for the kinds of changes we might expect,” he said.

  “Seems like we’ve got more pressing problems right now,” Petra’s mother said, staring into the biodome.

  “True,” admitted Dr. Weber wearily. “We have no idea how many other new species are out there, or what’s coming next.”

  Petra looked at the shadows under Dr. Weber’s eyes and felt a flood of sympathy.

  “But you’re going to figure out a way to kill them,” Petra said, hoping to hear something reassuring back.

  “It’s slow-going,” Dr. Weber said. “I think I’ve isolated the agent in your blood that’s toxic to the bugs. But I’m not having much success keeping it alive.”

  “You will,” Petra said.

  “And after that we need to culture it. And create a delivery medium so we can spray it onto the bugs.”

  “Sounds pretty straightforward to me,” Petra said, trying to lighten the mood. It did sound like an overwhelming task.

  “Piece of cake,” said Dr. Weber, chuckling as she
rubbed her eyes. “And then all we need to do is produce tons of this stuff worldwide. If these bugs are as fast at reproducing as I think, we’ll need a lot of pesticide.”

  “UP AHEAD WE HANG a left, cross over the highway, and then we should hit water.”

  Seth turned off the GPS to save the battery. They were moving along an industrial road at a slow jog—the fastest pace Siena could handle with her broken collarbone. The buildings had thinned out, and between them Seth could see the highway, running through a valley.

  A little farther on, they reached an intersection. To the left was the bridge that would take them over the highway—and west to the coast.

  “I can smell the water,” Darren said, and he seemed almost excited. “We’re pretty close.”

  Starting across the bridge, Seth looked down at the eerily silent highway. He made out some exposed pit plants, waiting for more food. Their vines grew across the road, over abandoned cars and trucks, hungrily seeking.

  “Hear that?” Esta asked him.

  Seth made out the faraway sound of engines. Motorbike engines.

  “Getting closer,” Siena said.

  They were halfway across the bridge, and terribly exposed, but Seth wasn’t sure which way the bikes were coming from. Down along the highway, or higher up on some nearby road? The answer came with the flash of motorcycles between warehouses on the industrial strip they’d left behind.

  Seth started running. When he whipped a look over his shoulder, he saw four police motorcycles with the same long sonar arms that he’d seen on the bikes near the superstore. They turned onto the bridge and came straight at them.

  He tried to send a blast of sound at the helmeted drivers, but it wasn’t working. Maybe they were going too fast, or he was too scared. He ran all out. Two bikes blasted past and, at the far end of the bridge, skidded around to face them.