by David Wood
Jakob’s stomach soured like acid had just been poured down his throat. His mind and body were still recovering from the Stalker’s assault, not to mention the destruction of his childhood home. “You want to go out there?”
“To the church,” Ella said. “Quietly.”
By default, Jakob looked to his father for the final say. He knew what his father had done for a living before becoming a farmer. If someone had a better plan for this situation, it would be him. Jakob’s stomach felt like it would melt away when his father answered, “Sounds like a plan. Backpacks, the handgun and shotgun. Anything that makes noise, leave it behind.” He demonstrated by reaching into his shirt and removing his dog tags.
Jakob checked himself, finding only the carabineer he kept clipped to his belt loop, a childhood habit turned fashion statement. He unclipped it and put it on the seat. There were two backpacks inside the cab. The third, packed for Ella and Anne was still in the truck bed.
“We’ll open just one door,” Peter said, looking back at Jakob and Anne. “So you two will have to climb over the seat. They both nodded. “If it comes at us, you guys get under the truck.” Two more nods.
Peter looked at Ella, and she gave him a nod. Moving slowly, he put his hand on the door handle and gently pulled. With his other hand, he held the door tightly so it wouldn’t clunk open. The latch pulled away with the tiniest of thumps, but everyone in the truck froze, slowly turning to see if the Echo had noticed. Its head was turned away from them, rotating slowly. When Peter pushed the door open a crack, another trumpet blast of echolocation pulsed through the air, freezing them again.
Jakob had done nothing but sit still, but his heart was pounding like he was running a race. Adrenaline surged anew, narrowing his vision, heightening his senses and boosting his anxiety. When the sound fell away, his father resumed opening the door, seemingly unfazed. How men like him went to war and came back with their humanity intact, Jakob had no idea. He didn’t think he had that kind of strength. But here were Ella and Anne, who had endured horrors of their own, and they still seemed normal. Of course, he’d known them for less than 24 hours, and a good portion of that time was spent asleep, but they were more well-adjusted than a lot of people he knew before the ExoGen apocalypse.
Peter slid out of his seat, his boots hitting the pavement without a sound. Ella followed, crawling across the front seat like she was moving through honey. When she reached the pavement, she leaned back in, lifted the shotgun out by the barrel and waved at Anne to follow. The girl moved with surprising grace and unbelievable silence, testing each handhold and foot placement before fully committing, keeping three points of contact at all times. She looked like a spider. Like a predator.
This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this, Jakob thought, and he was suddenly struck by the realization that despite being a strong, fast and smart teenage boy, he was the weak link in the quartet. Of all of them, he’d never had to fight for his survival before. Well, once, but never before and not since.
Had Jakob’s eyes been closed, he would never have known that Anne had left. She slipped out of the car, moved to the rear wheel and crouched down, disappearing from view. When it was his turn, he reached up and grabbed the back of the front seat. The leather creaked in his shaking hand.
Peter leaned into the cab. “Just move slow. Take your time. Think about each movement. We’re not in a rush.”
Jakob got his feet under him and lifted his body up. The seat squeaked under his hand again. How did Anne do this so quietly? he wondered, and then he remembered how light she had felt in his arms the night before. She was a wiry little kid and probably malnourished, while Jakob had eaten well and weighed one sixty—just twenty-five pounds shy of his father.
“Just like that,” Peter said. “One foot at a time. Distribute the—”
Jakob froze. His father was looking past him, through the passenger’s side, at the Echo. “What?”
Peter raised an open palm. Wait.
The trumpet blast was so powerful that Jakob flinched, nearly losing his grip on the seat. His father put a hand on his back, steadying him, eyes never leaving the window.
Peter turned his hand around and waved Jakob on, uttering just a single word. “Faster.”
Three points of contact, Jakob told himself. Stay quiet. Move faster!
He heard the Echo’s clomping lower jaw sending pulses of noise toward them, and he tried to stop for each, but failed for most. When he found himself fully in the front seat, he felt a measure of relief. The rest was easy. But it was then that he saw fear creep into his father’s eyes. Jakob knew the man wasn’t worried about himself.
He’s worried about me.
Jakob chanced a look back. The Echo was just a hundred feet away now, approaching slowly, its long forelimbs crunching into the bed of cabbage with each step, its gait awkward but menacing. He spun forward just as the thing unleashed another trumpet blast. The sound hurt his ears, making him flinch again, and as he reached forward, his hand missed the seat.
Jakob sucked in a breath as he sprawled forward, out of the truck, his face rushing toward the pavement.
His arms blasted with pain as what felt like two pit bulls clamped down on his shoulders. He nearly shouted, but didn’t. Instead, he snapped to a stop, his face just inches from the pavement. His father had caught him by the shoulders. Peter lowered Jakob’s hands to the pavement, until he was supporting his own weight. When his father let go, Jakob remained rooted in place.
He looked under the truck, his view of the Echo upside down. He could only see its smooth, black limbs, but they weren’t moving.
It heard me, he thought. It’s looking for us, but the truck has it confused.
A sudden tug on Jakob’s waist nearly caused him to shout out again. He pictured the Echo’s long arm reaching over the truck, the spear-like tip punching through his gut. But it was just his father, lifting him out of the truck and giving him the world’s first apocalyptic wedgie.
The Echo let out a series of loud jaw snaps. Peter stopped moving, holding Jakob’s rear end off the ground. The boy’s face burned with embarrassment, but this was the life of the weakest link. I practically rang the dinner bell. This is what I get. And it was a price he would gladly pay if it meant none of them got eaten. But as his father lowered him to the ground and the Echo took another stride forward, he didn’t think all of them would make it out of this alive. And since Ella and Peter were fighters, and Anne was a little girl—and protected—he thought that someone would be him.
Back on solid ground, Jakob looked for Anne and found her missing. He turned toward the church and found Anne and Ella—her backpack over her shoulders—already crab walking in their weird, totally silent way, in clear view to anything with eyes, but invisible to the Echo.
Peter ducked next to him and motioned for the cabbage with his head.
Jakob shook his head. He couldn’t climb over a seat without making noise, how could he crawl across and open field of densely packed cabbage? It was a death sentence.
Peter took Jakob’s chin in his hand and burrowed into the boy’s mind with his stern eyes, telling him that if he didn’t move now, they were both going to die. And he was right. So Jakob carefully stepped toward the cabbage, leaned out over it and planted his hands onto one of the green balls, palming it like he might a basketball. The vegetation, growing larger and denser than the former non-GMO variety ever could, was firm, holding his weight with ease. He brought his foot forward, stepping on another plant with equal success.
I can do this, he told himself, freezing when a trumpet blast sounded out from just behind the truck. He flinched, but remained rooted in place, a frozen object unmoving in the Echo’s auditory gaze.
That was when Anne slipped, and fell forward. He saw the movement during the height of the Echo’s cry. It was subtle. Barely anything.
But it was enough.
She’d been seen.
Chapter 19
The Ec
ho galloped around the truck. Its long forelimbs gave it the appearance of a running, short-legged man with forearm crutches, the legs moving triple-time to keep up with the longer gaited arms. It moved with frantic urgency, its rib cage flexing with each hurried breath. But it didn’t charge after Anne. Instead, it stopped next to the truck, turning its head back and forth, listening.
It lost her, Peter thought.
For that brief moment, the Echo had registered the girl’s sudden movement, but she was invisible once more, wisely lying still on the bed of cabbage.
While the Echo might not be smart enough to remember where it detected the movement, it understood that it was not alone. It can smell us, Peter realized, watching the big nose twitch. But it’s not like a bloodhound. It can’t get a direction from smell alone. It’s dependant on its hearing for that. For now. Until it adapts.
He understood the Echo’s evolution. Most creature would run away from something as large and deadly as this. Other Apexes might attack. Either way, its prey would be moving and making noise. It wasn’t accustomed to the silent treatment.
When the Echo stepped forward, what they believed was its elbow, landed just a foot away from his crouched form. It had two wide feet tipped with four digits, each with short black claws. But it was the hands that held his attention. At the end of the long black arms, what he thought was the elbow, was actually a wrist. Four fingers sprouted from the joint, each sporting long talons, but it was the thumb that was pointed upward, forming the four-foot-long, black spear tip.
The Echo breathed deeply through its nose, smelling them, but not targeting them. It exhaled and clomped its jaws shut. Peter tried to imagine what the thing could see when the sound bounced back. Could it see their shapes? He thought so, but there hadn’t been people in this part of the world—in most of the world—for so long, it might not recognize them as living things by shape alone.
A trumpet blast nearly sent Peter’s hands to his ears, but that was the kind of reaction the monster was looking for. When the sound faded down to a rumble in the Echo’s chest, Peter’s ears continued to ring.
Thankfully, no one reacted to the sound. But their luck would eventually run out. Ella was frozen in place, her hands and feet holding her body above the cabbage bed, but she couldn’t hold that position indefinitely. Her arms were bent and the muscles in her chest would eventually cramp. He thought he detected a quiver in her arms already, the strength wavering. She had become a hardened woman, tough and resourceful, but she’d been through hell and was no doubt in severe pain from the wounds on her stomach. He’d stitched them as best he could, but he wasn’t a doctor. Too much strain and the stitches would give.
He glanced to his side, not moving his head. Jakob was on his knees, seated and still. He could stay there for hours if needed. Anne, too. The girl lay atop the cabbage. Her low profile might not even register with the Echo’s auditory sight. He evaluated himself next. His legs were starting to burn from the crouched position, but he could hold the pose for another hour before needing to shift, and then he could inch himself down without making a sound.
It’s going to find Ella, he decided. There was no avoiding it. And she was smart enough to realize it, too. He tried to picture what she’d do, what he’d do. She’s going to run. Put distance between herself and Anne. Sacrifice herself so her child can live. That’s what he would do.
But that’s not what she did.
Not even close.
Peter watched in silence as Ella lifted the fingers of her right hand, bending them up. During the silence between jaw snaps, Anne turned her head toward her mother, watching. Ella moved the digits just a few times, and he saw Anne give the slightest of nods. They were communicating, but what were they saying?
He deciphered part of the message when Ella rapidly stabbed her index finger toward the church twice. She’s telling her to run for the church. But why? That will just get her killed.
Unless the thing was preoccupied.
Realizing what was coming, Peter risked turning his head toward Jakob, making eye contact. He mouthed the words, “Get ready. Run for the church.” Jakob looked horrified by the suggestion, but gave a nod. When Peter looked back to Ella, she was already counting down with her fingers, lowering one at a time. Peter held up three fingers and quickly lowered one, letting Jakob know about the countdown. He mirrored Ella’s finger drop, down to one, but was still surprised by what came next.
“Now!” Ella shouted. The sound instantly drew the Echo’s attention. It trumpeted in response, lunging toward Ella, straight through the path Jakob would take toward the church. The monster wasn’t the only one in motion, though. Anne got to her feet and bolted for the church.
The girl’s movement during the trumpet blast registered with the Echo. Perhaps finally recognizing the flight of prey, it turned its attention and body toward Anne, kicking up a confetti of green cabbage leaves as its claws hacked through the plants.
But the next sound, a shk-chk followed by an explosion, changed everything. Buckshot struck the side of the Echo’s head, punching small holes in its ears, but doing no real damage. It did, however, get the Echo’s attention. It trumpeted again, straight toward Ella, who was standing on her feet, clutching the shotgun. The monster veered away from Anne, heading toward the larger prey that had caused it pain.
Peter snapped his finger at Jakob and pointed toward Anne and the church. “Go!”
Jakob looked mortified, remaining locked in place, unable to move. Peter was frustrated by his son’s inaction, but he couldn’t blame the boy. This was too much.
The shotgun roared again, pulling Peter’s attention back to the action. The Echo flinched as the cloud of metal pellets struck it, head on, but it didn’t slow. The creature’s tightly packed, coarse fur and thick, leathery skin shielded it from the brunt of the weapon’s lethal force. The pellets would hurt, but they wouldn’t kill with anything short of a point blank shot—and Ella didn’t have time to pump the weapon again.
Moving like a gunslinger, Peter drew his handgun and squeezed off three rounds at the Echo’s head. The first round missed, but the second round struck the side of its head, ricocheting off the skull, but carving a red line that sprayed blood. The third round punched a clean hole through the left ear, close to the base. The effect was minimal, causing the Echo to shake its head, but the slight distraction was all Ella needed. She dived to the side just as the Echo thrust one of its spear thumbs forward, impaling a head of cabbage.
When Ella hit the cabbage floor, she shouted in pain, attempting to roll over and fire. But she was slowed, and when she made it onto her back, the spreading deep red on her stomach revealed the source of her pain. The wounds had opened and were bleeding through the bandage and her shirt.
Without thought, Peter charged, stepping up onto the unsteady cabbage crop and firing his weapon. The bullets punched against the Echo’s back as it raised an arm, long thumb poised to stab Ella. If the rounds hurt the Echo, the creature didn’t show it, flinching with each impact, but not reacting.
Bullets can’t solve all problems, Peter thought, remembering the words of a drill instructor and dropping the gun. Sometimes you need to use a knife. He drew the blade from the sheath on his belt. It was sharpened to a microscopic edge, capable of cutting most anything. He threw himself at the Echo’s back, putting all the energy he could muster into the blow.
There was a moment of resistance and then the blade sank, all four inches slipping into the monster’s back, driving between two of the monstrous ribs pushing up against the taut skin. The Echo trumpeted again, but this time, higher pitched, expressing pain. The thumb-spear still stabbed toward Ella, but the aim was off as the creature spun around with such force that Peter, knife in hand, was flung away. He landed on the cabbage beside Ella. Incensed, the Echo raised both arms, aiming its long thumbs at the pair. Ella fired another shot, but this time the Echo didn’t even flinch. The pain in its back blinded it to the irritating shotgun blast. This close, P
eter could see the pellets lodged in the Echo’s thick skin. Some simply fell away. But all were useless.
“Put it against the skin!” Peter shouted. “Point blank!”
But even as he spoke the words, the Echo, standing above them like an executioner, thrust the twin javelins down, its aim unwavering.
Chapter 20
Ella closed her eyes. After all this time, fighting through the new wilds of an ExoGenetic America, she had finally met her match—an oversized Apex bat with spear thumbs. She had survived worse. The Stalkers, with their large numbers, were worse. But things had changed. She and Anne were no longer alone, and as she waited for death, she wondered if stopping at Peter’s biodome and enlisting his help had been the right choice. If she hadn’t, Peter and his son would still be safe and fed, while she and Anne...
Part of her would have liked to think they would have made it this far and silently crossed the distance without trouble, but she knew it wasn’t true. When Peter found her the night before, she’d been on her last leg. And she wasn’t feeling much better now. If not for the truck carrying them the distance, she didn’t think she would have made it more than a few miles before collapsing.
Either way, she decided, I was going to die. The problem she had was that she’d also sentenced Peter and his son to die with her. Anne might survive the day. Maybe even a few days. But eventually, the girl would be caught, and would die horribly. The image of her daughter being chewed pulled a scream from her lips, as she watched the black spear thrust toward her already bleeding gut. But the sound of her voice was blotted out by the cacophonous staccato roar of something more powerful than the shotgun’s blast or the Echo’s sonar cry.
Ella’s eyes blinked open as the Echo arched its back, pulling the spear up and away from her belly. Holes opened up in its chest as its inside burst outward, showering her and Peter in gore. Large bullets punched through the body like a swarm of savage bees, buzzing through flesh and slaying the beast. As the already dead Echo fell to its knees, the bullets continued to tear at it, tracing a line up its chest and to its face, which opened up and disgorged a mass of white, red and gray material. It wasn’t until this very visible sign of defeat that the bullets stopped flying.