by Pam Godwin
Shea pulled in a sharp breath. Her body swayed, as if the wind was rocking her, but there was no disturbance in the air, nothing blowing the hair from my face.
Would she pass out? Elaine’s first encounter resulted in a convulsion of spasms, eyes rolling back in her head, and a dramatic collapse on the ground.
I held the aphid immobile, thoroughly pissing it off, given the hissing snarls and clawing buzz in my stomach. Shea watched it, locked in a stunned, unblinking stance, the carbine forgotten in her grip as the barrel dipped toward the ground.
Her gaze shifted toward mine, and her eyes bugged out. “Your…your…”
“Black eyes?” I gave her a small smile. “My pupils dilate when I’m controlling them. It’s normal.”
“That can’t be your pupils.” Her chest heaved. “There’s no whites in your eyes. That’s…that’s not normal, girl.”
I had to give her credit. She didn’t put a bullet in my head and run away. Instead, she lifted the carbine and retrained it on the aphid.
Something tickled my arm and the back of my leg. Fucking flies. I slapped at them, too slow to squash them.
“Jesus, you described what they looked like.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, rattled and reedy. “But nothing could’ve prepared me for this, you know?” Her finger trembled on the trigger. “And what in the name of God is that smell?”
“Some bang of odour off the buggie.” Roark grinned, but the vigilant way he watched the aphid over her shoulder was anything but amused. “The smelly cunt doesn’t shower. It feasts on blood and death. And I bet the dirty growler between her legs is leaking some rotten fanny farts.”
“Roark.” I gave him a disgusted glare.
“That thing is female?” Shea’s chocolate complexion took on a grayish hue. “How can you tell?”
Good question. Not a scrap of clothes on the aphid’s dome-shaped body. No distinguishing characteristics either, like remnants of hair, tattoos, or ear piercings. Genitalia were among the first things to recede in mutation, followed by lips and fingers. But there was a small trace of her human life.
I pointed to the bulging chest. “See the two hanging lumps of flesh?”
Shea cocked her head and wrinkled her nose. “Tits?”
I shrugged. “Silicone implants.”
“An insect with a boob job.” She let out a strained laugh. “Now I’ve seen it all.” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “Can they reproduce?”
“No.” Jesse shifted behind me, his fingers tightening beneath my breast. “Dr. Nealy studied their physiology. They don’t have working reproductive organs.”
In two years, I’d never seen aphids mating. Never encountered a baby bug. They were driven to do one thing: Feed. And if they devoured every mammal on the planet, what then? If their adaptable bodies couldn’t starve, would they just wander the earth in an eternal stupor, unable to feed, unable to die?
The aphid pulled on our connection, testing its strength. As long as Jesse stayed put, I had an inexhaustible energy supply to hold it.
I turned my chin toward Jesse. “Do you feel an energy drain?”
“No, darlin’. I feel you. Like a subtle vibration beneath my hands, but nothing threatening.”
Roark and Michio had said similar things before. Evidently, they didn’t run out of power the way I did.
The bug seemed to realize my control over it was endless, throwing back its head and releasing a thunderous buzz that resonated through the clearing like a million wasp wings. Tubular parts writhed in its throat, flinging strings of black snot as its hooked hands clawed at the ground.
Shea watched in open-mouthed horror. “Do they feed on each other?”
Oh, how I wished they did. “Mutated blood is poisonous to aphids and nymphs. It kills them, and I guess they instinctively know this, because I’ve never seen them turn on each other.”
“But if I had bitten a human, I would’ve turned into that,” she mumbled to herself.
If she’d turned into that, she would’ve been beyond saving. Nymphs could only bite once, the bite instantly turning them into aphids.
I sent a silent thanks to her dead husband for keeping her locked up for two years. We needed her. Mankind needed her.
She confronted this creature remarkably well and would make a hell of a fighter. Shoulders now squared, chin up, she planted her sneakers stubbornly in the dirt. It was hard to believe only a week ago her body had undergone a drastic transformation, reforming bones into human ribs and dissolving tubular mouthparts designed for piercing and sucking blood.
The ashen tint of her brown skin and the bags under her eyes were the only hints that she wasn’t at full health.
I nodded to Roark. “It’s time.”
Shea glanced between me and the agitated aphid and tucked the butt of the carbine tight against her shoulder. “I want to kill it.”
Roark moved to her side, scrutinizing the way she held the gun, the pull of his brows drawing worried lines around his eyes. I knew his concern. The boom of the carbine could draw attention, and he could kill the bug quietly.
“Let her do it,” Jesse said from behind me. “Who knows when we’ll have another controlled environment like this?”
A stretch of silence passed between Jesse and Roark, some kind of wordless communication that involved glaring and swatting at flies, and ended with Roark turning away to touch Shea’s arm. “Bit of advice. Ye can blow a hole in its nappy arse and it’ll keep on walking like John fecking Wayne. Gotta hit the brain, eh?”
She nodded, chin quivering. “Got it.”
Jesse moved his mouth to my ear, his breath sending shivers down my neck. “Doing okay?”
I couldn’t sense other aphids and didn’t feel any wavering strain from the commands I was pushing. “Super.”
He traced a finger over my shoulder blade. “Some of your spots are fading. But here—” He touched the top of my spine. “And here.” His finger circled an area beneath my shoulder. “These are new.”
The canvas on my back morphed every time I communicated with aphids. Freaky as hell, but I should be thankful I hadn’t grown antennas and an exoskeleton shell.
Shea slowly inhaled, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet zipped off into the forest, missing its mark by several feet. She adjusted her stance and missed three more times, taking raspy breaths between each trigger pull. “Son of a bitch.”
I held the aphid’s body as stiffly as possible, preventing it from dodging or moving. It was damned disgruntled about that, its screeches pitching into ear-splitting war cries.
Shea’s nervousness was expected. She’d never shot a gun, and her target was far more intimidating than the paper outlines I’d practiced on with Joel.
Roark tightened his hand around the sword. “Put some bitch in it.” His voice was teasing despite the tick in his jaw.
“I’m trying, alright?” She blew out a stream of air, stirring the black curls around her face.
I recognized the determination in her eyes. The same kind of ferocity I felt every time I slayed a monster. It wasn’t hard to reach that level of brutality. All I needed was a flash of memory, of aphids gathered around Joel’s body, the tendons in his neck taut with pain, his lips pulled away from his gums, his eyes bulging like porcelain orbs, mutating.
“Shea,” I said, quietly. “One of these things killed your husband.” Pain flashed across her face, but I kept going. “Jackson traveled a long ass way to gather clothes and food for you, and a mutation just like this one stabbed its suckers into his neck and drained his life.”
A noise gurgled in her throat, and her lips disappeared between her teeth. Her transformation happened in seconds. Her chest rose, her shoulders rolled back, and her arms locked in place, steadying the gun.
Then the bullets flew. She hit trees, riddled the ground, and grazed the aphid’s limbs. Lead found its torso, ripping a squeal from its gaped jaw. She squeezed the trigger over and over, and finally, a bullet pierced through its sk
ull.
The body jerked then dropped to the ground, unmoving. The vibrations inside me snapped, disintegrating with its life.
She didn’t let up, spraying bullets at limbs and guts as it lay in a pile of peppered flesh.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Roark grabbed her elbow. “Stall the balls, Annie Oakley. You’ll use up all the ammo.”
She stopped, but the report of booms continued. Multiple shots fired, off in the distance, echoed across the field.
Georges and Tallis. Oh fuck, no. I bit my lip hard, hard enough to jerk me into action. Contracting my stomach, I choked all the energy there and sent it out, across the field, in the direction of the noise.
I was met with…nothing. “I don’t feel aphids. They must be out of range.”
Jesse’s heat vanished from my back. In the next breath, he sprinted away, bow in hand, shoulder muscles flexing in the glare of the sun.
My heart raced, as did my mind, imploding with concern for Georges and Tallis. I yanked on my shirt and spun toward Roark.
His body was poised to bolt after Jesse, but his teeth were clamped in frustration. “Can’t leave ye two alone.”
“Stay with Shea.” I caught Shea’s eye, and she tossed me the carbine.
The muscles in his chest flexed. “Evie—”
“Not arguing this.” I exchanged the magazine in the carbine with a full one on my belt and took off after Jesse, sprinting through tall grass, the exposed skin on my arms baking in the unforgiving heat.
Halfway across the field, I felt them. Dozens of pulsing beacons, wild and menacing. The pauses between the rifle booms stretched longer and longer, until silence weighted the air.
The closer I got, the faster I ran. Maybe it was my super speed kicking in. Maybe it was the fear building in my gut. I passed Jesse’s sprint, his shout chasing me into the valley, where I skidded to a stop, lungs burning, and adrenaline surging through my blood.
At the bottom of a shallow hill, a throng of aphids corralled Tallis and Georges. They swung their rifles like swords, evidently out of bullets. Out of time.
Jesse slammed into my back, ripping my shirt to my neck. “Stop them.”
They were what…a thousand yards away? It would take another sixty seconds to cover the distance, and the bugs were out of range of bullets and arrows. Could I even telepathically reach that far?
I gave Jesse a weak nod and broadcasted Leave with every ounce of energy I could suck from him.
Standing outside of the cluster was one massive bug. It towered over the others, its scaly green back shimmering in the sunlight as it watched the swarm close in, shrinking the circle around Tallis and Georges. It produced a sound so foreign, so spine-tinglingly potent I felt it in my bones. My first thought was that it was left out, rejected from the group. Then it swung its pupil-less glare at me and cocked its head.
I couldn’t see it so much as feel it. Intelligence. Control. Authority.
I shivered. “Jesse.” My voice wavered, my stomach twisting with dread. “That’s their leader.” The commander of their army.
He pressed his chest against my back, our flesh sliding with sweat, his arms wrapping me in a skin cocoon.
White-hot energy jolted through me, and I frantically pulled on it, casting my order over and over, until it ripped from my throat. “Leave. Go. Run!”
A wave rippled through the swarm, and green bodies scattered in all directions. But not without their meal. Tallis and Georges went down, their arms flailing in wild panic. I watched, helpless and terrified, as mouthparts speared through their chests.
“Noooo!” Jesse shouted.
Instinctively, I broke away from his embrace, my heart pounding as fast as my feet. I bolted toward the hill, scrambling to get to them, stumbling and throwing myself forward again.
A hand grabbed the back of my shirt, and Jesse yanked me against him with a strength I couldn’t match.
“You can’t save them. You can’t…” His breaths labored, his voice low and pained. “It’s too late.”
I buckled at the waist, consumed with denial and horror, as Georges and Tallis’ bodies were dragged away.
“No,” I screamed, jerking against his arms. “We can still reach them.”
But we couldn’t. Two aphids slammed into each other, hissing and smacking claws as if fighting over Georges’ limp body. Tallis was already gone, carried into the woods in a frenzied feeding.
Bile burned through my chest, and my hands went to my mouth. I swallowed it back, drowning in helplessness. I failed them. I knew the distance was too far to command the mob. I should’ve run down there immediately, shooting and killing the old-fashioned way, the goddamned reliable way, instead of relying on my bullshit superpower.
“Jesse. I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” His arms tightened around me, his mouth pressing hard against my neck, letting me know he was there. When his breaths slowed, he said blankly, “The bugs know we’re here. They’ll be back.”
And Georges and Tallis would be with them. Mutated. Hungry. No longer human. They had been Jesse’s friends. Companions long before the virus. I knew what that loss felt like. It changed something in the brain, gnawing at hope and injecting a sickly kind of indifference. It made a person abandon her heart, trading it for apathy, to avoid future pain.
But Jesse still had connections to his prior life. He still had the Lakota, if and when we ever made it back to the mountains.
I pulled in a shuddering breath and turned in his arms. “Jesse, I’m… God, I’m so sorry. I’m here…whatever you need.” My throat closed up, my voice reedy and choked as I touched the taut lines of his face. “I… Just tell me what to do.”
His shoulders lifted in a barely noticeable shrug, his complexion pale, and his eyes a dull shade of copper as he stared at the macabre scene behind me. “We leave tonight.”
We didn’t leave that night. Shea had put up a brave front with her first aphid, but the walk there and the stress from seeing it resulted in fever, chills, and a headache so blinding she couldn’t open her eyes. As daylight faded into the horizon, Roark carried her to the animal clinic and tucked her into a swathe of blankets.
My heart did a little flip. The downturn in her health wasn’t something my heart should be flipping over, but it gave us a reason to stay. Jesse needed a full night’s rest, and I needed one more night of hope.
Hope that Michio would return.
After some persistence on my part and a few impatient glares from Roark, Shea reluctantly choked down three Vienna sausages.
Desperate times called for canned meats. It was an easy meal, already cooked and packed with protein, and Shea’s husband had collected a pantry full of dented, peeling cans of sausages, oysters, corned beef, tuna, and the ones missing labels? Canned surprise.
Jesse slipped outside with the remaining sausages and a stale bag of peanuts while Roark and I shared a can of deviled ham and a bottle of Irish whiskey. As I swallowed down the last bite, I thought of Darwin. If he were here, he would’ve planted himself in front of me, staring at the can of shit and licking his chops. God, I missed him.
After dinner, I changed into the yoga pants and tank top I’d borrowed from Shea. Then I moved to the mattress to check on her, relieved to find her face cool to the touch and her breathing relaxed in sleep.
Another relief was the sound of thunder rattling through the walls. Rain would keep the aphids away, and maybe, just maybe we would all be able to sleep tonight.
I stepped over Roark’s massive body, where he stretched out on the floor beside Shea’s mattress, his eyes closed. Quietly, I grabbed the carbine and tiptoed outside to look for Jesse.
Lightning crackled across the black sky, illuminating Jesse’s slumped form and watchful eyes beneath the eave of the animal clinic. The downpour pelted the cracked soil that surrounded the concrete patio, and the wind splattered drops against my face.
Shutting the door behind me, I filled my lungs with the musty-earth scen
t of damp ground, content to stand there all night and soak in the safety of moisture.
Until a sting pricked my arm. I smacked it, smearing blood on my bicep. “Ugh. How the hell do mosquitoes fly in the rain?”
Tucked in a dry area against the building, Jesse stared out into the blackness of the storm. “They ride the raindrops for a fraction of a second then their water-resistant bodies shake off the moisture. Barely disturbs their flight path.”
Thank fuck aphids couldn’t do that. Rainwater was toxic to them, shriveling their bodies into a deathly fungus. But where did aphids find shelter? Did some perish and dissolve into the ground? Or did they have an instinctual sense of approaching storms and burrow like other rain-fearing species?
I held my face skyward, letting the droplets pepper my cheeks. “This is one of the few times I really feel safe, you know?”
He bent his legs, draping his arms over his knees, and rested his head against the building. “We should be traveling right now.”
“Maybe it’ll still be raining when we leave tomorrow.” I studied his expression, and my heart sank.
Defeat slouched his body, and pain etched his eyes. He needed sleep, but if his mind was as crammed with as many worries as mine, rest would not come easy.
Did he want to be alone with his thoughts? He seemed to prefer isolation, but then again, he was a tough one to read.
I gestured to the dry patch of concrete beside him. “Mind if I join you?”
He scooted over a couple inches and pulled a cigarette from the pouch at his hip. I set the carbine by the door and dropped beside him.
Huddled together, we shared the smoke and a few moments of wordless solitude, listening to the steady patter of rain. He drew puffs off the cigarette with the ease of a practiced addict, though I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him smoke.
I finished the rest and flicked it into the rain. “Where do we go now?”
His shrug rubbed his shoulder against mine, and I savored the warmth of his skin. But the physical contact made me want things. Things he wouldn’t give.