by Jake Bible
“I’ve never seen them do that,” Jude says. “Cooties tend to stay back from the bug hounds or they’ll get their throats ripped out.”
“Good call on their part,” Milo says. “Cooties aren’t known for their thinking skills, but they do know how to survive. I agree with the kid, Hoag. You’re probably just seeing things. The Sicklands will totally mess with your head.”
“I’m a trained GenSOF operator, Milo,” Hoagie snaps. “I know what I am observing. There. Are. Cooties. With. The. Bug. Hounds.”
Milo takes a second look and his frown deepens. “Maybe…”
“No maybe about it, man,” Hoagie says. “The cooties are running with the hounds.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jude says, pointing towards a formation of huge rocks a few meters ahead. “The bunker’s in there. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be locked down. This bunker should have aux power and a surveillance system. We can watch the pack when we’re safely inside. Once they give up and move on we can take off for the next rendezvous point.”
“You still think your dad is going to catch up with us?” Milo asks, his voice less than confident. “We’ve been flushed from three bolt holes and two bunkers. Even if he and the rest got out of Control, they are going to have a shitty time tracking us down.”
“My dad will find us,” Jude says with a confidence that Milo’s voice lacks. “I’m making it pretty easy to track us down.”
“Maybe that’s the reason we can’t shake these fucking sick mutts,” Hoagie says then laughs. “Hey, I like that. Sick mutts. That’s what we’ll call them from now on. No need to insult our bug hounds by calling the sick mutts the same thing.”
“That’s not half bad,” Milo chuckles.
“I like that,” Jude says, smiling. “Sick mutts.”
“Well I’ll be dipped in StatSolution and tickled pink,” Hoagie replies. “We actually all agree on something.”
“Here it is,” Jude says as they get to the rock formation. “Ajax! Hold!”
The lead bug hound pulling the sled comes to an abrupt halt and the rest of the bug hounds follow suit. The large dogs instantly turn and fan out, their leads stretching taught as they take up protective stances around the three humans. Drool drips from their hairy jowls as their black tongues loll from their panting mouths. Their jet black eyes are lost in their jet black fur so that it looks as if six large, hairy shadows are standing in the grey dirt.
“Give me a couple minutes,” Jude says. “Be ready to move fast when I give the all clear.”
Milo starts to respond then stops as he focuses on the oncoming pack of sick mutts. “Hey kid?”
“What?” Jude asks as he starts to climb up over the first large rock.
“Not trying to gang up on you here, but I think Hoag was right,” Milo says. “There’s cooties in with those mutts.”
Jude turns and squints into the ever present gloom. “Shit. Not good.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Hoagie smirks. He points at Jude. “That’s one big I told you fucking so.” Then points at Milo. “And one for you too. You can both kiss my GenSOF ass.”
“Get us inside, kid,” Milo says. He flicks his wrist and his static baton snaps into rifle mode. “We can cover this spot for only so long.”
“Now we’re talking,” Hoagie says, bringing his own rifle up. “Won’t be as easy without targeting, but we don’t need it with a pack that big.”
“I hear ya there,” Milo says as he sights down the barrel. He grins, ready for the fight, if need be. Then the grin slips from his face. “Hoag? You seeing what I’m seeing?”
“That the pack is growing?” Hoagie asks. “Because, yeah, I’m seeing that.”
“They were hiding their numbers,” Milo says as the sick mutt pack gets closer and starts to spread out.
Several of the bug hounds begin to growl, the sound so low that Milo feels it in his bones more than hears it.
“I’m going to let the pups loose,” Milo says, slinging his rifle as he hurries to the bug hounds and unhooks them from the sled. “You need to get up, Hoag. We can’t take on all those sick mutts.”
“And cooties,” Hoagie says. “Don’t forget there are cooties.”
“I doubt you’ll ever let me forget it,” Milo says.
Hoagie snaps his rifle back into a baton then shoves it into his belt. Painfully, he stands up from the sled, a steady moan escaping his lips as he puts his weight on his still-healing legs. He takes a couple deep breaths, but it does nothing for the pain.
“Man, I wish Worm was here to jack me up on some endorphins,” Hoagie gasps as he takes a couple tentative steps.
Milo hands him a crutch then gets busy grabbing up as many supplies as he can carry from the sled. Hoagie takes the crutch then cautiously makes his way across the pocked and pitted ground to the rocks.
“You’re going to have to climb up,” Jude says, his face appearing from the top of the closest rock. “Bunker is open, but there’s no ground entrance.”
“This day just keeps getting better,” Hoagie says. “Care for some help?”
“Ajax! Zeus!” Jude calls. “Get the dogs inside!”
Two of the bug hounds split from the pack then turn and yip at the others. The rest of the bug hounds bark their replies then follow the lead hounds as they jump from short ledge to short ledge and scramble their bulks up onto the rocks.
The far off sounds of sick mutts baying and barking reaches everyone’s ears and the bug hounds’ growls intensify. Jude braces himself against the rock he is on and reaches down for Hoagie’s hand.
“Just grab on. Kick your toes into the depressions right there,” Jude says. “You’re too heavy for me to pull all the way up. Your legs will have to take some of the weight.”
“I hope this bunker has some booze in it,” Hoagie says. “And I’m not just saying that to keep my bacterial load in check. I’m gonna need to get shit-faced and sleep for a week after this.”
“I hear that,” Milo says he drops the gear by the bottom of the rock and helps shove Hoagie up. He catches a heel to his chin and stumbles back, his hand rubbing at the sore spot.
“Dammit, Hoag,” Milo says. “Watch those gimp legs of yours.”
“Quit whining and bring the gear, bitch,” Hoagie says as he gets to the top of the rock and collapses next to Jude. “Come on, man. Snap snap.”
“Asshole,” Milo chuckles.
“Toss some up,” Jude says, his hands out.
Milo starts throwing what he can up to Jude, who sets everything next to Hoagie. Hoagie just lies there, leaning back on his elbows as he watches the sick mutts and company get closer.
“Five minutes, tops,” Hoagie says.
Milo looks over his shoulder and swears.
“We’ll have to leave the rest of the gear,” Milo says as he scrambles up the side of the rock. “Take us in, kid.”
“Gladly,” Jude says and grabs up as much gear as he can carry and carefully makes his way down an incline and into a space between two of the large rocks. “Follow me.”
6
The looks on the members of Management’s faces are pretty much how Dr. Charter imagined they’d be if she was ever forced to reveal her findings. She wanted more time to make sure the looks were one of stunned belief, not the looks of suspicion and suspected madness.
“That… You… Not…” Dr. Sheffield stutters.
“My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Lopez says. “You expect us to believe that the bacteria that plagues the Sicklands has somehow become, what? Sentient?”
“Not sentient exactly,” Dr. Charter says. “But perhaps connected. Like the hive mind of an insect species, yet on a cellular level.”
Dr. Whittaker clears his throat and starts to speak then just shakes his head.
“But…how?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “How could this even be possible? Bacteria have never shown any hint at intercommunication. They can work symbiotically with other organisms, but only on a basic level.”
> “Bacteria act,” Dr. Lopez says. “They do not talk. They do not communicate. Bacteria do not orchestrate with each other to plan the overthrow of the human race. You have lost your mind, Dr. Charter. I, of course, knew it was bound to happen, but still—”
“You what?” Dr. Charter snaps. “What the hell does that mean, Dr. Lopez? You expected me to lose my mind?”
“You have always been the least stable member of Management,” Dr. Lopez replies. “Even Dr. DeBeers, despite her current setback, has been infinitely more reliable than you.”
“Why would you compare me to her?” Dr. Charter growls. “Because I’m a woman? Fuck you, Shamus.”
“How dare you!” Dr. Lopez yells, his fat rolls shaking uncontrollably under his chin. “You profane charlatan!”
“Doctors, please,” Dr. Whittaker sighs. “Let us not devolve into name calling. It is not like Dr. Charter has betrayed us. She has merely been conducting her own scientific investigation based on a hunch. We all must admit that many a discovery has been started by this very same process.”
“That is not one hundred percent true, doctor,” Dr. Benz says.
“Well, of course it is,” Dr. Whittaker frowns. “Look at Newton alone. He was—”
“No, no, I mean it is not one hundred percent correct that Dr. Charter has not betrayed us,” Dr. Benz says. “She has been betraying us for some time now. Haven’t you, April?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Dr. Charter responds, head held up, back straight, defiant of Dr. Benz’s accusation. “I have been loyal to Control since I started here.”
“Okay, that may well be true,” Dr. Benz says. “So, perhaps, betrayal is not the right term. Dually loyal? Playing all sides?”
“I play no sides,” Dr. Charter insists. “Unlike you, Richard, I do not see this as a game. There is no cat, there is no mouse. Our work here in Control will either save the human race or destroy it. There is only one side I am on and that would be the saving the human race side.” Dr. Charter leans forward, her hands firmly pressed against the surface of the circular table they all sit at in the musty-smelling subterranean level below the Control dome. “But, since you are so pitifully trying to deflect here, Richard, maybe you should tell us who the real betrayer is in Management.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dr. Benz replies, licking his lips nervously.
“Yes, Richard, you do,” Dr. Charter says.
“Dr. Charter, please refer to Dr. Benz properly,” Dr. Lopez says. “It is disrespectful to keep calling him Richard. This is a formal proceeding, after all.”
“Is it?” Dr. Charter asks. “Is it a formal proceeding? Then I would like to formally accuse Dr. Benz of being responsible for what I have found.”
“Dr. Charter, you must be joking,” Dr. Sheffield sputters. “There is no way under the Static God’s watch that Dr. Benz could have anything to do with your silly hunch. Which, for the record, I would like to state I do not believe in at all. It is merely a hunch. And one you have yet to show any evidence truly exists.”
“Then let me show you the evidence,” Dr. Charter says, her eyes on Dr. Benz.
She stands up and walks to a small cart a few feet away. The cart holds several boxes of bulky video tapes as well as a player and monitor. Dr. Charter grabs a tape and slides it into the player then sits back down as the monitor hums to life.
“It’s as if we are in the Dark Ages,” Dr. Lopez mutters, but quickly quiets down as the tape begins to play.
There are more than a few gasps from the other doctors. All except Dr. Benz.
“That is me you see there,” Dr. Charter says. “I am almost nine months pregnant. I will give birth to a healthy child three weeks after the date this tape was recorded.”
“Where are you?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “Is that a…cave?”
“It is,” Dr. Charter nods. “It is one of the many hidden GenWreck bunkers out in the Sicklands. The man recording this tape would have become my husband, if it was allowed. Unfortunately, he became a fugitive from Control and the Clean Nation instead. I was only able to hold my son for six hours before I was sent back here, ending my fictional sabbatical to Caldicott City.”
“That was where you were?” Dr. Whittaker asks. “In the Sicklands and not in Caldicott City? I remember that time, though. You actually had quite a bit of research you brought back with you. How did you manage that?”
“I did studies on the GenWrecks and the nature of the bacteria in the Sicklands,” Dr. Charter replies. “Some of that data is the basis for Dr. Benz’s special project that none of us should know about.”
“You may be taking more credit than you are due,” Dr. Benz says.
“Secret project?” Dr. Sheffield asks. “Dr. Benz seems to have nothing but scorn for our own projects, or beliefs, so I would love to hear what he is hiding.”
“We assume he is hiding something,” Dr. Lopez snorts.
“Don’t laugh, Shamus,” Dr. Charter says. “This involves your work as well.” She points to Dr. Sheffield. “And your theory of the Other. It is all tied together now, thanks to Dr. Benz.”
“You are about to step over a ledge you cannot step back from, April,” Dr. Benz says. “Be very careful.”
Dr. Charter gets up and takes out the current tape, replacing it with a different one. The video feed begins to play, showing a view of the Sicklands.
“What you are seeing here is some footage I captured only two weeks ago without the GenWreck Coffin Squad knowing,” Dr. Charter says. “Using the Morganfeld 325 orb bot as my eyes, I was able to observe some strange behavior from some of Dr. Lopez’s mutated canines.”
“My what?” Dr. Lopez exclaims. “You have no authority to interfere with my work!”
“Just watch, Shamus,” Dr. Charter says.
“Morganfeld 325? You have been controlling that nuisance?” Dr. Whittaker asks.
“Again, I needed tech that was not part of Control’s systems and protocols,” Dr. Charter responds. “A decommissioned orb bot was the perfect solution.”
“The chaos that little thing has caused…” Dr. Sheffield sighs.
Dr. Charter merely smiles and points to the monitor. The video image is grainy and dark, but a pack of Sicklands bug hounds can be made out on the screen. They slowly emerge from behind a pile of boulders, their matted fur slick against their bodies. Foamy drool drips from their mouths as they hunker low, stalking the GenWreck squad before them.
“Now, watch the two on the left,” Dr. Charter says. “They circle around and come at the squad, their eyes completely focused on the GenWrecks.”
“You see all this and don’t try to warn the GenWrecks?” Dr. Whittaker asks.
“I embedded the orb with the squad to observe only,” Dr. Charter says. “Mainly to observe Sergeant Crouch. But, even if I had wanted to interact and warn the squad, there was no need. These are GenSOF trained operators. Mutated bug hounds, no matter how good they are, cannot sneak up on a trained squad.”
The video image shows the pack of sick mutts getting closer and closer. Then there are a series of static bursts that light up the feed. The view pulls back so the image is of the entire scene. The canines try to scatter and surround the GenWrecks, but they just end up divided into two groups. The two sick mutts on the left have their backs to most of what’s happening as they attack Blaze, who has been separated from the rest of the squad.
The doctors lean in, engrossed by the battle. They spend their days going over numbers and statistics, data and protocols, so seeing action of the sort displayed before them is more than entertaining, it is pure, unadulterated stimulation.
Blaze raises his rifle and fires at the sick mutts, but they both dodge the blasts and come in at him fast. He’s able to skirt their attack, but is soon backed up against a boulder, no avenue for escape. Almost off screen is a shadow that raises a rifle and fires. Both of the sick mutts, with their torn and nasty ears flat against their heads in aggression, dodge the static bl
asts at the last minute.
Dr. Charter gets up and pauses the video. Drs. Lopez and Sheffield both groan with disapproval.
“We’ll watch more,” Dr. Charter grins. “In fact, you are welcome to stay down here and watch all of these at your leisure.”
“We should have digital copies made for each of us,” Dr. Sheffield suggests.
“No,” Dr. Charter insists. “No digital copies. These stay out of the system. If it even gets a hint that we may be on to it then we could lose our advantage.”
“The Other?” Dr. Whittaker asks.
“The Other,” Dr. Charter nods.
Dr. Benz begins to say something, but Dr. Charter stops him with an accusatory finger.
“I wouldn’t, Richard,” Dr. Charter says. “You just listen.”
Dr. Benz nods his head for her to continue.
Dr. Charter slowly rewinds the tape then plays it forward, frame by frame.
“The canines show zero indication that they have been alerted to the danger of the static blasts coming at them,” Dr. Charter points out. “Their ears do not move, which they would if another canine had barked a warning. They are not looking at each other, both completely focused on Sergeant Crouch. And neither of them move until the very last possible split-second.”
“They could feel the static charge of the blast,” Dr. Lopez suggests. “Animals, especially canines, are very sensitive to energetic discharges. I have bred the canines to be susceptible to electrical stimulation as part of my project.”
“Yes, but you have not implemented your project yet, have you?” Dr. Charter asks.
“No, of course not,” Dr. Lopez says. “Especially after the setback from several weeks ago. I am still reeling from the unnecessary slaughter of my canines. That Jersey Cale woman will need to be punished severely when she is finally captured.”
“I believe we are well past that,” Dr. Charter says. “But I do sympathize with your frustration.”
“Wait…” Dr. Lopez mutters. “If you control the Morganfeld 325 then you led Ms. Cale to my canines, didn’t you?”