Love Bug

by Goodhue, H. E.

  “Understood, sir,” Ortiz nodded. “Should I ready the ERC recruitment centers to assist in your efforts, sir? Perhaps have them draw up a list of the most eligible candidates?”

  “That won’t be necessary, Captain,” Eldritch answered. “I have already compiled a list of the candidates I would like from powerful families.”

  “Powerful families, sir?” Ortiz asked. “With all due respect, Mr. Eldritch, the lower classes have greater numbers and more suitable dispositions, sir. Would it not make more sense to draw from there?”

  “Eventually, Captain, yes it will,” Eldritch agreed. “But what we’re looking for now is support, and what better way to ensure that those who matter fall in line than to win over their children? By enlisting the privileged children, we all but ensure the support of their families.”

  “But, sir, why bother?” Ortiz asked.

  “What do you mean, Captain?” Eldritch snapped.

  “Couldn’t you just activate their Em-Paks in a similar fashion to ours, sir?” Ortiz asked. Eldritch didn’t like that the Captain was aware of what had been done to him and his men, but figured that it really didn’t matter what he knew so long as he was subservient.

  “Yes,” Eldritch answered. “I guess I could, but where’s the challenge in that, Captain? That simply wouldn’t be fun.”

  -37-

  Samuel led the way through the woods, using his small wrist computer to guide them towards the Red camp.

  “Does anyone else think it’s stupid that we’re actually walking towards the Reds?” Xander complained from the rear of the line.

  “Do you honestly think that we care about what you think?” Cora growled over her shoulder.

  “Xander,” Samuel said calmly, “there’s many things about life that make a lot more sense once your Em-Pak is removed.”

  “Oh, I bet,” Xander laughed sarcastically. “Because once you don’t have an Em-Pak your life is considerably shorter.”

  “And yet here I am,” Samuel shrugged, unfazed by his grandson’s nastiness.

  “About that,” Xander began. “How come you never tried to come back to the cities? Sure, you can claim that the ERC would kill you, but if citizens saw you, they would side with you. You’re like a god to most citizens.”

  “Perhaps,” Samuel mused, “but it was too risky. The citizens have become reliant upon Em-Paks and the ERC. Anything threatening that would be destroyed, even me. Just because they bow to my picture does not mean that they would still love the man.”

  “Um, okay,” Xander grunted and fell silent.

  “Samuel,” Cora asked, suddenly interested in the conversation. “I hate to say this, but Xander does have a point. How come you never tried to reach us? We’re your family.”

  “I did,” Samuel said. A cloud of sadness passed over his eyes. “I really did try to find a way, but the ERC monitors everything. All my attempts were dead ends. It was frustrating, but all I could do was keep tabs on you through the school computers. Contacting you would have exposed me to the ERC and possibly put you and Xander at risk.”

  “What about our father?” Cora asked. “Did they tell him you were alive?”

  “No,” Samuel shook his head. “My son believes that I am dead, but I’m not sure that knowledge of my continued existence would have made much of a difference to him. Sam was always such a driven boy, so focused. Now I see that those characteristics were his undoing. I once admired my boy for being able to ignore those things that didn’t seem to matter, and focus completely on what he wanted, but now I see how that and his Em-Pak made him weak.”

  “Weak?” Xander snapped. “I can’t believe that you would actually call him weak. Look at you, old man. You’re nothing, an outlaw. A ghost at best. Who are you to judge my father? My father is a great man.”

  “But is he a great father?” Samuel retorted.

  “His greatness is judged by his deeds, not his children,” Xander argued. “Who cares about what kind of father he is.”

  “He should have,” Cora added.

  “Oh, shut up,” Xander waved dismissively. “You are completely insufferable since your Em-Pak was removed.”

  “She’s right, Xander,” Samuel said, stopping on the trail. “Every man should be judged by his children. All of a man’s accomplishments pale compared to how he raises his children. Being a parent is the most important thing a person can ever undertake. I only wish I had done better.”

  Xander made a rude noise. “Please. The two of you are ridiculous. How can you not see the importance in what our father did? He was insuring the future, making sure that we had a future.”

  “No,” Cora answered. “He was making sure that I had a future, Xander. I was the one that father was grooming to enter politics to ultimately head the ERC. When did he ever do anything for your future? You were a Plan-B at best.”

  “Shut up, Cora!” Xander’s voice lost its ferocity as his Em-Pak pinged loudly, erasing his anger. “Father had plans for me. He would have been able to focus on them more if you weren’t such a problem, such a disappointment.”

  “I’d gladly disappoint him and his plans,” Cora smiled. “I want nothing to do with his plans for my life. Father was, and still is, a monster.”

  Xander’s hands shot forward and shoved his sister. Cora stumbled a few steps forward, but Samuel caught her and steadied her.

  “Enough,” Samuel said calmly, but firmly.

  “Oh, no it’s not,” Cora grinned, a look of anger flaring in her eyes. “This has been coming for a long time. I’m sick of Xander’s tantrums. It’s time for baby to have a time out.” Cora lunged forward, striking Xander in the face. He tumbled to the ground in a cloud of red dust.

  Xander coughed, the dust filling his lungs.

  “Get up,” Cora growled. “Get up right now!”

  Xander coughed a few more times, playing up the impact of the dust while grabbing a handful of it from the path. He sprang to his feet, throwing the dirt into Cora’s eyes before he dove forward, driving his head into her gut.

  Cora grunted loudly and fell to the ground where Xander pinned her shoulders beneath his knees. Cora’s eyes were wild and angry. Xander’s were empty and cold.

  “I said enough!” Samuel shouted as he pulled the two siblings apart. Cora snarled and lunged at Xander, but Samuel had her firmly by the collar of her jacket. Xander stood rail straight, a look of equal parts disdain and indifference etched into his dirty face.

  Cora opened her mouth to shout something unkind, and continue the fight, because it had felt good, felt justified, but the sound of leaves rustling under foot and the dry snap of a branch silenced her. All three stood still listening to the sounds of the forest.

  A Red sprang from the nearby bushes. It was a boy, not much older than Cora was, but his face was twisted into a mask of rage and feral hunger. Row upon row of pointed teeth gnashed together as the boy loped forward. He stood slightly stooped, a rusted hatchet held in his right hand, his left empty, but tipped in wickedly sharp nails.

  “Samuel?” Cora whispered.

  “Get behind me,” Samuel said through his teeth. He released Cora and Xander, who did as their grandfather commanded. A look of deep sadness was in Samuel’s eyes.

  Cora was worried. Worried about the Red and if there were more, but more concerned about how her elderly grandfather was going to handle the Red. There was no way Samuel could win against the boy in a fight. Samuel was old and walked with a slight limp. The Red was young; his body was lean and muscled, trembling with the promise of violence.

  The Red leapt forward, hatchet raised high overhead, a feral scream rumbling from his young throat. Samuel barely moved, just shifting his weight and bringing his right arm forward. He held his arm straight, his hand flexed and fingers splayed and pointing upward. A loud hiss filled the air as a small cloud burst from Samuel’s jacket sleeve. The Red howled in pain. He stopped midair, as if colliding with some unseen wall and collapsed to the ground in a tangled heap.
r />   Samuel slowly walked forward and checked the Red. He wasn’t moving. The boy was dead.

  “Come on,” Samuel said, a look of remorse upon his face. “We need to get moving before more Reds show up. The noise will draw more.”

  “What did you do?” Cora gasped as she stepped forward to look at the Red. Countless tiny holes riddled his body and face like ruby freckles, each trailing its own thin, crooked line of blood.

  Samuel slid back the sleeve of his jacket, revealing a small cylindrical container. Four black nylon straps held it in place on his wrist and forearm. A small lever was on the front of the canister, just within the reach of Samuel’s thumb, but far enough back that no one would see it within his sleeve. “A simple device, really nothing more than small metal BB’s packed together in front of a small container of compressed gas. When I pull the lever, it punctures the air canister and launches the BB’s. Very similar to a shotgun, but silent,” Samuel said as he turned his wrist over, exposing the weapon. He ejected the empty air canister, loaded another and refilled the BB’s. “I take no pleasure in having invented it and even less in having to use it, but I will do whatever is required to keep you children safe and save your friend.” Two more of the weapons were in Samuel’s bag, but he prolonged giving them to his grandchildren, worrying about arming them and feeling guilty for having to do so.

  “Why feel sorry for this…this thing?” Xander asked as he toed the body of the Red. “It was going to kill us and you killed it first. There’s no shame in that.”

  “He was a boy, Xander,” Cora replied. “Not much older than you or me. It could have been you or me!”

  “I could have been you. I have an Em-Pak, so it’s never going to be me,” Xander shrugged as he kicked some dust onto the Red’s body. “It was a Red, that’s all. Samuel simply put down a rabid animal. There’s no reason to feel remorseful over that.”

  “I’m sad because he was a child,” Samuel replied, his words strained and raw. “And if the Em-Paks had been used properly, he probably would still be alive. His death, countless deaths are on my hands.”

  “But it’s the ERC’s fault, Samuel,” Cora protested, but he waved his hand and continued down the path. It was clear that Samuel had already convicted himself of countless murders.

  Cora watched the weight of Samuel’s words press down upon him. Most days, he seemed so at peace, but now she could see the internal battle that was silently plaguing her grandfather, slowly killing him. Cora suddenly found herself worrying that maybe Samuel had accompanied them for reasons beyond the rescue of Remmy.

  “Here,” Samuel offered, looking even sadder, if that were possible. He held out two of the guns. One for Xander. One for Cora. “And this is perhaps the part I enjoy the least, but you need to be safe. I am just saddened by the fact that my grandchildren have to exist in a world where weapons are required to keep them safe, a world that I helped create.”

  -38-

  The lead Red child, a little boy, leapt from the dusty, trampled ground. Remmy instinctively swung his arm up to stop the boy from burying his razor-like teeth in his neck, but screamed in agony as the flesh of his arm shredded between the Red’s powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Remmy’s screams were lost beneath the joyful cheers and taunts of the surrounding Reds.

  The Red snarled and clamped its tiny jaws down harder onto Remmy’s arm. Blood pooled around the edges of his lips before trailing off the sides. The boy snarled, causing the blood to burble and froth around his mouth.

  “Get off! Get off!” Remmy screamed as he felt the Red’s slender neck twist from one side to the other in an attempt to flay flesh from the bone. Pain made Remmy’s head swim, but he refused to give in, controlled his breathing and demanded that his mind focus. There were still two more Reds to worry about.

  Taking a deep breath, Remmy prepared himself to do what he needed to. He didn’t want to hurt these children, even if they were Reds and trying to kill him, but he would need to do something. Remmy jammed the tapered end of the club into an open corner of the young Red’s mouth. The tiny teeth bore into the tough wood. Remmy twisted the club sideways creating space and loosening the Red’s grip. Feeling the vicious bite lessen a tiny bit, Remmy spun his arm, allowing the Red’s body weight to pull him away. The child’s bite finally broke and his small frame was sent pin wheeling across the arena where it collided with the side of one of the rusted buses. A loud thunk echoed off the side of the bus as the Red’s small head smashed into the side. The boy fell to the ground and didn’t get up. The crowd erupted with cheers. Remmy was happy the Red was off his arm, no longer tearing into his flesh, but still found himself hoping that the child had only been knocked unconscious, not killed.

  The remaining Red children came at Remmy as a pair. He prepared to face them, but at the last minute, they split from one another, coming around from Remmy’s sides. The two children launched themselves, jaws wide, for the back of Remmy’s legs – they were going tear out the back of his knees and cripple him.

  There was only time to deal with one of the Reds. Remmy chose the larger of the two, a girl, maybe eight years old at the most. Dropping his shoulder and swinging the club in a powerful upward arc, Remmy connected with the girl’s chin. He felt the vibrations of his attack reverberate through the length of the club. His stomach churned, revolted by what he had just done.

  The girl tumbled to the ground. A loud, bloody hack gurgled from the back of her throat as she spat shards of broken teeth onto the ground. She tried to right herself, but listed to the side and fell over. Remmy’s attack had shaken her, but she would be back in the fight soon enough.

  The last Red, a filthy wiry boy, who was so grimy Remmy couldn’t even begin to predict his age, crashed into the side of Remmy’s leg with the force of a small truck. Remmy’s leg buckled underneath his weight and he fell to the ground. The Red clambered up Remmy’s body, stopping at his stomach.

  A wicked smirk spread across the boy’s face as he reared his head back, exposing teeth that belonged in the mouth of a sea dwelling nightmare, not a child. The soft flesh of Remmy’s stomach beckoned to the Red, calling for him to split it wide and peel it from Remmy’s ribs.

  Remmy rolled sideways. The Red lost his grip and tumbled with Remmy’s rolling body. Remmy suddenly found himself pinning the boy to the ground with no idea of what to do next.

  “Kill him!” someone shrieked from the edge of the arena. Remmy figured they were calling for his death, but as he looked up, he saw that it was Jessica. Jessica was screaming for Remmy to kill the boy. “Do it Remmy! Do it!” Hatch sat beside Jessica, a bemused smile on her face, but no real reaction to the events unfolding before her.

  The young Red thrashed wildly under Remmy’s grip. The blood from Remmy’s bite wound spattered across the boy’s dirty face, adding to the streaks of red paint that peeked out from underneath grime. The Red’s teeth clacked together with bone rattling force. Remmy had to fight the urge to jump back each time the boy’s teeth connected with the other rows.

  The Reds on the edges of the arena began to grow bored. Screams and jeers were launched from the sides. Some threatened to join in, to finish what the children couldn’t. Remmy glanced to the sides, were they really going to enter the arena? Was that allowed? Allowed? Remmy almost laughed. There were no rules. The Reds could do whatever they wanted.

  Dropping his bloodied forearm onto the young Red’s slender neck, Remmy pushed down, pressing against his windpipe and cutting off his air. The child might be a monster, but he still needed to breathe and Remmy was going to take that from him.

  The Red thrashed with a renewed vigor as he felt his air supply being cut off. His eyes bulged and thin tendrils of blood began to curl towards his dilated pupils from the corners of his eyes. The child stopped moving.

  Remmy jumped to his feet, remembering that the girl was still a threat, but she had collapsed to the ground, evidently crumbling under the violence of Remmy’s attack. Remmy had won. He felt relieved to be alive. H
e felt completely disgusted with himself. But he didn’t feel angry.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” Remmy shouted as he eyed the other Reds. He had won, but he hadn’t changed. Remmy could only think of one way he was getting out of the arena – on dinner plates. “Are we done? Let’s get this over with!”

  “Done?” a gruff voice barked, the words sounding as if they were dragged across sandpaper and shards of glass. “Oh, no food,” Tam grinned, “we aren’t done at all.” He pulled a wicked looking axe from behind his back and spun it at his side.

  “Tam!” a wild voice commanded. Notes of something wild, yet feminine painted the words with strange tones. Remmy could hear that the voice had once been beautiful, something made for songs, the kind of voice that could lull children to sleep simply through words, foregoing the trickery of nursery rhymes. Now it spoke of nothing but violence and pain.

  Tam froze in his tracks, the axe held at half ready. Hatch had risen from her seat causing the other Reds to become silent. “What are you doing, Tam? The boy won. You know the rules!”

  “He hasn’t changed,” Tam protested, “hasn’t become one of us. He’s food.”

  “He won, Tam!” Hatch growled. Remmy was surprised to see Tam actually step back a few steps, startled by the ferocity in Hatch’s voice.

  “I have the right to redeem myself,” Tam yelled, though with slightly less force than before. He pointed to his crooked, bruised nose. “I have a right to challenge him.”

  Hatch paused for a moment mulling over what Tam had said. What Remmy didn’t realize is that there were rules and Hatch, being the chief, was responsible for interrupting them as she saw fit.

  Jessica leapt up and tapped Hatch on the shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. She whispered something into Hatch’s ear that spread a wide toothy grin across both of their faces. Remmy found no comfort in Jessica’s intercession.