Anodyne Eyes

by Milt Mays

  She wiped her cheeks, savagely, like they were acid and she had to smack them off before they burned a hole in her face. “I don’t know. Jabril said something.”

  “What? What did he say?”

  “How could food do this? It’s not possible. What could she know, anyhow? Was he talking about knowing the bad foods were created by me and Alex? Those foods were created by a damn mistake. We should have destroyed the mistake as soon as we knew.”

  She ground the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and her voice was a whimper. “I have destroyed my own daughter with my stupid research. What will she think of us?” She stared again at the wall of the camper, her eyes brimming and pleading. “Have I lost her?”

  She stood from the rickety, folding chair and swiped at her eyes again with the back of her hand. “I don’t have time for this.” She began rummaging around the camper: drawers, cabinets, closets, throwing out clothes, paper plates, silverware. “I know there’s one here somewhere. He always kept it for an emergency.”

  Dan closed the laptop and moved it to the couch, sliding an edge under Sam to protect it from her rampage.

  Rachel slammed her folding chair closed, tossed it behind her and with her right hand lifted the mattress edge that Jeff was on.

  Dan grabbed her arm. She whipped an elbow into his jaw. He staggered back. “Rachel, stop it. You’re going to hurt Jeff.”

  Jeff muttered and groaned.

  “See!” he said.

  She ignored him, leaned into the mattress, holding the edge up with her right hip and lifting up the plywood support underneath, using the finger hole in the plywood. She squinted into the darkness below. “Finally.”

  Pulling the plywood a few inches higher, she winced but snaked her left hand down and pulled up a 12-gauge shotgun, laid it on the floor and cried out, “Shit that hurts.” She rubbed her left shoulder then reached in twice more for two boxes of shells. He recognized the Cabela’s boxes: one of 00 buckshot shells and one of Accutip Sabot slugs. Six year ago, he and Fred had been in the Yukon chasing some Russian asshole through grizzly country. Never had to use the Sabot slug for the bears, but one sure put a hole in that big Russian’s chest. Good thing, too. The guy had been almost as big as a bear and hyped up on ’roids and meth. Even after the slug, he’d kept coming. Fred probably didn’t need the other slug. And after he used it, identifying the guy’s face was impossible.

  The mattress slapped down as she stood and bent to retrieve the boxes. She put both boxes on the mattress and opened them, then cradled the shotgun in her left arm and with her right started loading shells: slugs alternating with 00 buckshot. The sound of the well-oiled shotgun was distinctive as ever. Ka-shak, Ka-shak, Ka-shak, Ka-shak. One more would put one in the chamber.

  He rubbed his jaw. “You didn’t have to hit me. I could have helped you.”

  She glanced at him, stern frown softening. “Sorry.” She dumped each box of shells into her cargo pants pocket with her right hand, while trapping the shotgun between her left arm and ribs. Her jaw muscles tightened and one eye twitched at the pain she must be having from her injured left arm.

  She walked into him, bumping him back. “Could you move, please?”

  He realized he was sitting in the path to the back door. “Yeah. Sure.” He fumbled the folding chair closed, stood and let her sidle past him.

  “You work on the computer stuff. Or not. I understand if you want to get Jeff help.”

  The door banged shut before he could answer. He looked at where she’d been, a mother who was going after a monster, probably worse than a grizzly, to save her daughter and husband. Not unlike Marci, who had saved him from depression and raised Adam. But Marci didn’t even know Jeff was alive. He looked at Jeff’s back. Marci didn’t even know he was alive. Son of a bitch.

  If she did, what would she do? Would she stay here and help Rachel? Probably not.

  He leaned down and finger-raked scattered spoons and forks and plates and clothes off the floor and put them into drawers. Then, he closed cabinets and drawers and grabbed Rachel’s already folded chair from the floor and put it into the closet. Unfolding his chair, he sat and pulled out the laptop from under Sam, put it back on the bed and opened it. The screen still showed the page about Alexis. He wanted to go through each file, starting with Jeff, and figure this whole thing out.

  Behind the laptop, Jeff was lying on his side, breathing, but still too fast. Way too fast. There was no time to go through the files. He had to get Jeff help. Had to get him back to Marci.

  Marci didn’t really know Rachel, true, yet she would want Dan to help her if she knew Rachel was trying to save her husband and daughter. Wouldn’t she? That was the right thing to do. Not to mention Rachel might be keeping GMO foods from killing millions.

  Jeff rolled onto his back. There was a dark, chocolate-colored crust around his lips, reminding Dan of when Jeff was three and had leftover chocolate icing on his lips from his birthday cake. But this was not chocolate icing.

  A tear, bright red as a ruby catching sun, ran down Jeff’s temple, disappearing into his sideburn.

  When Rachel had exited the camper, Dan was thinking hard about helping her. He was. That was his plan. The computer screen showed the Jabril controls.

  He looked at his son. How far did he have to drive to get help? Would Jeff be dead before they got there? Jeff would die right here if Dan didn’t leave.

  He stared at the door, then back at the computer screen, at the blinking controls that could take Jabril down.

  Chapter 65

  Jabril grabbed the back of Alex’s jacket and pulled him across the white linoleum, lifting him up enough to lean his back against the cabinets below the sink. The soldier Alexis had killed lay to the right of Alex, on his back, blank eyes staring at the ceiling.

  What Rachel had said about the General controlling him was like remembering a particular chapter from a book he’d read years ago: fresh, but old. The fresh part made him angry enough to try and remove the smooth disk behind his left ear and stuff the whole thing into the General’s brain, after first cutting out his eye with a claw.

  He looked at Alex. She said he wanted to help me. But he never did. Never. So for now, Jabril would obey the direction from the controller. After that, he would change to the form he loved, rip out that disk and do exactly what he wanted, feel exactly what he wanted to feel in order to decide if Rachel and Alexis and Alex should die.

  Jabril opened the fridge, found the syringe he knew would be there. It held amber liquid and was the size of a veterinarian’s cow syringe he’d seen as a boy, the needle as thick as a spaghetti noodle. If this worked, control from the General would be over.

  He glanced up at Alexis. She stood on the north side of the island, inspecting his every move. He would save some of the syringe for her. The foods could wear off anytime and then she would be against him. The surface brain controller behind her right ear was malfunctioning, so all he had were the foods. The way she was looking at him and the needle and Alex, it may not be long before they wore off.

  He got the feeling she might snap if she saw him inject Alex.

  “Alexis,” he said it tenderly, “please go and watch the broken wall. If Rachel comes back, let me know.”

  She narrowed her gaze and tweaked her head sideways, then turned around and walked to the nook. She stopped and stood, feet apart, arms at her side, facing the break in the wall.

  He quickly found the vein in Alex’s arm and stuck the needle in. Alex’s head snapped up as he grabbed Jabril’s syringe hand, then pulled the needle out, a tiny red rivulet coming from the hole in his arm. “I’ve never really liked needles.”

  Alex’s grip tightened, hard and fast. Jabril almost dropped the syringe. He concentrated on changing his form, but something was wrong. He was too weak. He would never be able to take out the mind-control device. Alex would kill him.

  “Daddy, don’t. You’re hurting him.” Alexis had returned and was standing with one leg on e
ither side of the dead soldier, peering down at them. Her voice was sweet honey, like a child of ten.

  Alex looked at her and his grip slackened. “You know who this is?”

  Even in his human form, Jabril was very quick. He slipped his wrist from Alex’s grip and jabbed the needle down into Alex’s thigh, his thumb pushing down on the plunger.

  Alex swatted the syringe away and gripped Jabril around the neck. “What was in that?”

  Suddenly Alexis had her father pinned on his back, lying right next to the dead soldier. She had her knees on his chest, claws from her hand poised at his throat. “You can’t hurt him. He will save you.” Her voice was no longer sweet and pure, but a guttural animal sound.

  Jabril scrambled to his feet and looked for the syringe. This help from her would not last long. He winced at the thought, but he must inject her with at least half the syringe. He reached up to his hair to rub the area, relieve that damn ache. More pain. Much more. He dropped his hand, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. Where was that syringe?

  It lay angled on the floor at the southeast entrance from the computer room. He took a step toward the syringe and heard the conversation behind him, and his heart swelled with joy.

  “Alexis,” her father said, “Jabril will kill us all: your mother, me, Jeff, anyone who gets in his way.”

  “No, he won’t. He will help us. Can’t you feel it? The power? We’re better than the others. We can start a new world. The food helped me understand. We have the power to change everything. No more guns, because we don’t need them. We have our own weapons. But, even so, I’ve seen things in my head, the way to change the DNA of everyone so they cannot do bad things. The foods did that. I want more.”

  She paused. Jabril quickened his pace, thinking if only he could rewind what she’d said and play it back for Rachel. Then have them watch him enjoy Alexis. What a lovely parting thought for both of them.

  Alexis continued, “I want to love, not hate. You will, too. Eat them. The injection will—”

  But her words stopped and Jabril heard a scuffling sound. He reached and grabbed the syringe. There was about three-quarters of the liquid left. Alex would need more. Jabril turned around and tensed.

  Alex stood beside his daughter, holding each of her wrists in his hands. He turned his head and glared at Jabril. “Look what you’ve done to her. My daughter. My own daughter is against me.”

  “Daddy, don’t. You’re hurting me. You never liked what I am, did you? Always thought I should be more human. Wanted me to stay away from them. Afraid I might hurt someone. Is that why you and Mommy changed my DNA?”

  Alex looked stunned and turned his unbelieving gaze to Alexis. “No. I always loved you for who you were. You are the b—”

  Alex stopped midsentence and froze.

  Jabril relaxed and moved closer. What injection had gotten into Alex must have taken effect. Another two steps and Jabril could finish the injections. Strength and heightened senses were returning. His tongue touched a sharp fang.

  Alexis’s gaze played on Jabril. And he saw doubt in her eyes.

  Jabril moved, syringe raised. One more step.

  Chapter 66

  Rachel plowed into the room, taking in Alex, Alexis and Jabril, rage and determination surging. She cocked the shotgun, her finger on the trigger.

  Alex was poised as she’d seen him many times, ready to strike, like a mime on the street, and the recipient was to be Jabril: That much was clear. Then Alex glanced up at her entrance, frowned at the Ka-Shak—what was wrong with that, anyhow? She was only trying to help—and then he squinted and smiled at Alexis smiling and watching both parents. Her smile could warm even the coldest heart, cheer the deepest depression. Who could avoid being entranced by the flickering apple-green eyes? Not Alex. It had been that way since she was born. Whenever she looked at him, he gazed back. He’d always told Rachel that Alexis’s loving gaze made him believe in himself as a father.

  In another beat, Rachel realized why the Ka-Shak of cocking the shotgun had caused him to frown. It allowed Jabril’s attack.

  It was a quick one-two-three: one—Jabril’s downward jab of a syringe into Alex in the shoulder, two—remove needle, twist, and three—a sideways jab into Alexis’s butt. All over in less than a second. If only she could have played it through her mind like all those movies where the hero understands exactly what he will do an instant before he does it. But this wasn’t the movies and she apparently was not a hero. She raised the twin barrels at Jabril. But there was no way. It was not going to happen. If she fired at that range, with Jabril that close to Alex and Alexis, she would kill them all. She had forgotten which she loaded first, the slug or the buckshot. If it was buckshot, it would scatter enough to kill Alex or Alexis.

  Alex jumped on Jabril. They rolled on the ground and Alexis swatted and punched Alex, each slap and crunch making Rachel want to cry.

  And suddenly all three stood side by side. Alex stood on Jabril’s right, shoulder to shoulder, his downcast eyes and pursed lips as apologetic as Rachel had ever seen him. Alexis appeared the same on Jabril’s left. They were like bookends of a bad dream.

  Jabril smiled at Rachel. “You see. We are three now. You cannot stop us. Give me the sequences.”

  She tried to send thoughts to Dan. Make him sleep. Make it happen. Now!

  “Rachel,” Alex said, “Honey, please give him the codes. We have to help him. The world will be better. I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. But give him the codes.”

  If she stepped in closer, even the buckshot would be tight enough to hit only Jabril, blow his damn head off and not hurt the other two. She started walking forward, shotgun raised.

  #

  Dan looked at the computer screen: Jabril’s control knob. All he had to do was move the “Sleep” control slash to the right. He could still help Rachel. One click, a move of the finger on the touch pad and Jabril should fall asleep. He could do that first, then leave. Rachel would be able to handle things then, right?

  Jeff’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at Dan. “Hey, Dad. How are you?”

  “I’m . . . okay.” He could feel his whole head turn to stone. Couldn’t say anything else. Felt his eyes want to blink but couldn’t. Stared straight ahead at his son, his alive son, his talking son.

  “Where’s Alexis?”

  Dan wanted to help. Wanted to talk. Wanted to do anything but stand there like an ice sculpture of Dan Trotter, cold and devoid of emotion and thoughts. If only Jeff had a chainsaw, he could cut the outer ice and Dan could move again, think again. Or maybe Jeff should take a long hard whack with the saw and lop Dan’s head off. It was useless anyhow.

  Jeff sat up, shook his head as if bugs were on his forehead, blinked once, frowned at the IV in his hand and ran his tongue over his lips, bringing it in and out of his mouth, as if tasting something. He took his other hand and wet his fingers on his tongue and scrubbed at his lips, then looked at the fingers. “Oh, yeah. Now I remember. The GMO foods. Guess I got sick.”

  He looked at Dan again. “Hey, Dad. I’m okay. Really. I feel good.”

  Whenever Jeff had hurt himself as a boy, playing basketball or stumbling when hiking, Dan had done the same thing—lost it. He was no good at dealing with either of his children in pain, but especially Jeff. He would clam up, freeze. Maybe Jabril had special animal DNA. But Dan? He obviously had plant or worm DNA that clicked on with stress. His kids and Marci knew, though. They knew the right stimulus to get rid of the plant: “I’m okay, Dad, really.”

  Dan relaxed, felt his face regain plasticity, animation, humanity. “Thank God. I thought you were bleeding more. You had a tear just now with blood in it.”

  Jeff swung his legs over the side of the bed, almost toppling the laptop. “You got a piece of tape or a big Band-Aid or something? I’m taking this IV out. I gotta pee like a racehorse, too. Where’s the john?”

  Dan snatched the laptop out of the way and closed it. He stepped across to the bed where Sam lay a
nd shoved the laptop under Sam’s body. “Yeah. I think there’s duct tape in this drawer. And we can use a piece of paper towel. It’s clean.”

  He helped Jeff remove the IV and place a piece of duct tape over a square of paper towel at the oozing hole. Then he pointed Jeff to the bathroom, listened to the patter of his pee and sighed deeply. Jeff was alive and better. Water ran in the sink.

  Jeff’s question about Alexis bored in. Shit!

  He grabbed the laptop, looked for a chair, then realized in his hurry with Jeff he had folded up the chair and tossed it on the bed. He went down on one knee, sat the computer on Jeff’s bed, and opened it. The screen flickered on to the control tabs for Jabril. He clicked on the “Sleep” control slash and pulled his finger over the mouse pad, making the slash go to the farthest right. That should take care of Jabril. He should go to sleep. At least Dan had done something right.

  #

  Rachel’s aim was steady, her finger on the trigger, Jabril separated enough from Alex and Alexis to risk a shot. Then Jabril fainted.

  Alex and Alexis caught him by either arm, their bodies leaning into his.

  No clear shot.

  “No!” She shouted. Bad timing, Dan.

  Alexis looked at her. “You did this, didn’t you?” Her voice had lost the gentle creaminess and taken on a grating growl. Those lovely green eyes had changed to a menacing orange. Fangs protruded from between her lips. She pointed one clawed index finger at Rachel. “You did this! You hate me! That’s why you changed my gene. You hate me!” If robots could yell angrily, Rachel imagined they would sound friendly compared to this. Ants crawled up her spine. This was her daughter. The one she had carried for eight-and-a-half months, the one she had taught to spell c-a-t, the one she had cried with when their pet turtle had died. This was her only child. Now she was . . .

  “Alexis,” Alex said, “Come on. She’s your mom. Okay? Let’s take Jabril to a chair. Let him rest.”

  Alexis turned that evil orange gaze on her father. “I knew you would side with her. You’re not worthy to be one of us. You’re too weak.”