Animalis

by John Peter Jones

  Deep in Jax’s subconscious, where his life decisions had been affected, loomed the constant news updates about militant Animalis attacks. Bombings, maulings, and even gunfights in which humans were killed. Were the Animalis smart enough to organize and execute these plans themselves, or were they being led by a human-run terrorist organization, or had the creation of the Animalis been more complex—ticking genetic time bombs to serve some unknown cause?

  “They’re not animals, they’re weapons!” Jax had often heard his dad say, usually followed by a curse. “Expecting them to behave is going to get people killed. Round them up, tag them all, neuter the whole lot of them; we have to have absolute control over them.” His father had rubbed his replacement arm whenever he talked about the Animalis.

  While Jax’s subconscious mind sorted through the information, his conscious mind was running through scenarios of the rat attacking him. When the rat crashed through the glass of his helmet and bit into his face, he had to correct his imagination: No, it’ll go for my stomach, not my face. He re-imagined the rat coming out of the hole, staring at him with evil, bloodthirsty eyes, then scurrying toward him across the floor with frightening speed. He slowed down the action as the mouth of the rat widened to bite into his stomach. To avoid blasting a hole through the wall with his rifle, he could drop his elbow down on the snout instead—Maybe a move Gillian would try—or he could float back into the air to match the line of the rat’s head, then wrap his arms around it like an alligator wrestler. Or kick its throat hard enough—

  A movement from the hole brought Jax’s mind back to reality. Nothing had come out, but Jax could see a large tube undulating back and forth near the opening. Just keep it away from Hank, Jax kept telling himself. It was an old pink tube, covered in some kind of rusty-brown crud, and short, thick, wiry hairs. And spidery blue veins—pulsing.

  The tail.

  Leathery pink skin covered in splotches of freckles. The undulating stopped for a moment, then the tail slid away from the opening.

  Jax could feel his heartbeat jump.

  The blackness shifted, and the eyes of the rat now stared out at him. Yellow, feral eyes that seemed to glow with the reflection of the light.

  It’ll stay in its hiding hole, Jax told himself, but his muscles were tightening for a fight.

  The lights flickered and came back on. Jax risked looking into the cockpit to check on Hank.

  “Got it. Computer is entering recovery mode,” Hank said. His voice had come from the cockpit and Jax’s helmet speakers.

  “Hurry it up. The rat started moving—WOW!” Jax verbally leaped when he had turned back to watch the hole. A streak of vapor flared on Jax’s helmet; it was right in front of him, nearly bumping its chest against the tip of Jax’s rifle.

  Up close, the Animalis looked surreal. In gravity, it would have stood upright at about four and a half feet tall. It was like a human, but the proportions were all wrong: head was too big, arms too short, legs too thick, spine too long. And yet every feature had the same design language as a human’s.

  The hands had opposable thumbs, and supposedly they could manipulate any tool that human hands could. It was the strange, animalistic details that made it seem alien: thick knuckles, bulbous fingertips, and pointy little claws where fingernails should have been.

  The neck could have been an extension of the chest. It was thick, muscular, and covered with hair that continued under the collar of the thermal outfit it was wearing. Instead of the shoulders coming up and out like a human’s would, the rat’s came forward and down, along the side of the rib cage.

  But its face was where any resemblance to human beauty ended. The head was almost identical to its rodent relatives. The long, bent snout of a rat. Two large front teeth. Ears the size of baseballs. Fur that was glossy and black. But the eyes were the hardest to look at—yellow, expressionless eyes. They gave no hint to the creature’s thoughts or emotions, so Jax assumed it wanted to kill him. The image of the teeth breaking through the glass of his helmet and biting into his face repeated over and over in his mind.

  “You alright, Jax?” Hank asked, followed by a sound of movement coming from in the cockpit.

  Keep it away from Hank. Aside from the teeth and claws, the rat wasn’t armed. Jax spread his arms wide to block the doorway.

  “I’ll handle it. Stay on the computer,” Jax said. “Get back!” he shouted at the rat. He pushed his head forward. He had to make sure that the rat wasn’t about to get territorial. “This is my space. We are from the United States Army, aiding in border patrol operations.”

  “What is this, human? You shouldn’t be here,” the rat said. The dry lips stretched with large movements, revealing the two large front teeth. A growl punctuated whenever it spoke. “Don’t touch anything. On my plane, and you think this is your space? Confused, it must be confused, insane. Don’t touch it. Computer wants a week for repairs, but we know the computer is stupid. Are you here to do what the computer tells us to do? Burn up with the plane?” It held itself from drifting away by gripping a section of tubing that crossed the ceiling. In its other hand was a spool of the same adhesive tape that was holding together most of the plane.

  “I can’t let you pass.” Jax continued blocking the door. “We’ll only be a few more minutes, then we’ll leave you to your plane.” Was it pointless to try and reason with the rat? Did authority mean anything to it?

  The rat moved. With a quick jerk, it flung itself down from the ceiling. Jax acted nearly as quickly, pulling his knee up to protect his vulnerable stomach and pulling the nozzle of the rifle back to point at the rat.

  But the rat hadn’t been going for his stomach.

  “Don’t go near our pod!” Jax yelled.

  The rat was already sailing down the hall, back toward where Jax and Hank had come in. Jax knew it wouldn’t be able to get through the door lock, but the rat could be trying anything. If it managed to cripple the door, or block it, they were all going to burn.

  Jax flung himself forward down the hall. According to Jax’s retina monitor, the rat was almost thirty feet ahead of him, already halfway through the plane, where the door was located. As Jax watched through the sight of the rifle, the rat dragged its hand along the ceiling and came to a stop. Jax checked the countdown while he followed after it:

  11:13

  When Jax reached to get past another mass of cables on the ceiling, he vaulted off of them, increasing his speed.

  “Hank? Progress? Tell me you’re on your way out of there,” Jax said through his helmet mic.

  “Close. Five more minutes and we’re gone. This computer is almost defunct, but it’s bending to my will,” Hank said.

  Jax reached to the ceiling and began slowing his momentum. The rat wasn’t near the door. Now crouched against the ground, it had opened another section of floor paneling and was reaching inside, muttering to itself.

  “Meryum would say, ‘Karl!’” The rat’s voice rose in pitch. “‘I can’t raise these five pups without you. Why didn’t you think of them before your plane broke down?’ But I would say, ‘Meryum, I found what broke. I just need some time to myself. I can get along by myself. I am very good with my hands, Meryum.’” The rat came back out of the floor, carrying what might have been a spacesuit, but it looked puffy and bloated.

  Jax stopped in front of the pod door and held his rifle ready.

  The rat pulled on the suit, using its teeth along with its hands, biting and pulling, twisting and ruffling the billowing fabric until it had nested inside. And it was a spacesuit after all. It was an ancient design, and the thermal layer had obviously decayed to nothing. The rat had probably filled it with random bits of junk to re-insulate it.

  It reached back into the hole. “Ah, my cutters. There they are.”

  Jax tightened his finger down against the trigger, ready to put a hole in the rat if it came back up with a weapon.

  But it didn’t. As its hand retracted from the hole, Jax could see the slick plastic b
anana shape and glossy glass tip of a laser tool, just like the one strapped to his own waist. Once the floor panel was back in place, it flung itself left, to the tail of the plane, where it disappeared from view.

  Jax checked the countdown:

  09:23

  He moved to where he could see the rat again. He saw a flash of light and then heard the sharp crackle of metal popping under the tip of the laser tool. The rat had begun cutting into a wall panel.

  Something chattered and squeaked near Jax. He turned and found two eyes watching him. It wasn’t another Animalis. These were the blue eyes of some … ferret-like animal Jax didn’t recognize. It was long and slender, about two feet from head to tail, with delicate white fur drifting weightlessly. And then Jax noticed a second creature like the first, with equally beautiful black fur, scurrying around the walls of a cage that he hadn’t noticed before.

  “Hey, rat!” Jax called out, returning his attention to the situation. “What are you doing? What is that you’re cutting into?”

  The rat pulled the laser back and jerked his head to look at Jax. “I’m making my plane work,” he said. “Engines need coolant, so I’m getting them coolant. I can fix it. I always fix it. It can’t be fixed, but I’ll fix it. Computers don’t know how to fix it.” He turned back to his cutting and lit up the laser again.

  Some of the plastic debris that was floating in the cabin began drifting past Jax to the tail of the plane. Something was creating a wind current, and Jax was pretty sure it wasn’t a fan.

  “Hank!” Jax said, feeling the tug of the wind now. That wind current was an air leak. The rat had just cut a hole through the shell of the plane. “The rat is depressurizing the plane. Things are going to start freezing fast.”

  “Thirty seconds,” Hank said.

  Jax checked the time:

  06:47

  There was another loud squeak. Jax turned to look at the creatures and found them clinging to each other. Black and white, swirling together, floating in the middle of the cage … The way they held each other reminded Jax of a yin-and-yang symbol. He froze at the thought.

  It all seemed so … familiar. And then it hit him.

  During the fight … The vision—or dream—or whatever …

  One of the creatures was watching Jax. The teeth were chattering together. The poor things would soon be dead. No thermal layer to keep out the cold, no air pressure to keep their blood from rapidly expanding into a boil, no oxygen to keep their vital processes going. They would have only another minute or two to live, unless Jax could get them into the pod, where atmospheric pressure could be restored.

  He leaped forward, compelled by the dream-like memory that these creatures needed to live. The tip of the laser tool lit up in his hand while he slung the rifle over his shoulder. Hank is going to have a fit.

  Jax went for the door latch of the cage, quickly cutting through and swinging it open. He reached in and gently pulled the tail of the white one. Now that he was close, Jax could see how large the creatures were, probably reaching two and a half, maybe three feet long from head to tail.

  “Don’t you dare bite me,” Jax whispered to the pair.

  “What’s that?” Hank said. “I’m done. On my way.”

  Jax fought the wind current, pulling himself along a tube that ran along the ceiling to the door. The countdown was getting dangerously low:

  05:50 05:49 05:48

  He was nearly to the door when the lights went out. The yellow and orange flash of the emergency lights had been cut, and the blackness outside of his retina monitor was absolute.

  “Jax, power? Ah, son—” Hank stopped himself from cursing. “Lights!” And a beam of light came streaming down the corridor from Hank’s suit.

  Jax quickly switched his own light on from his retina monitor.

  “Watch your speed,” Jax said.

  Hank was falling too fast through the hall. Something had happened to him; he was too far away from any of the walls to slow himself down.

  “It’s the suction,” Hank said. “Abominable rat. Jax, grab my hand!” Hank put his hand out as far as he could reach.

  Jax moved. He had to keep a hold of the tube, or they would both tumble to the end of the plane. His mind bypassed his other hand, which was holding the two suffocating ferrets, and his only other option was his feet. Jax stretched his body out.

  “Grab my foot!” Jax said, and he felt Hank’s hand hit his boot.

  It was no good, Jax’s legs were knocked away before Hank could get a grip. Hank tumbled passed, spinning now from hitting the boot.

  Jax hesitated, but he knew what he had to do. The ferrets were getting in the way.

  He started to let go of his grip on the tail.

  “Umph!” Hank’s light stopped a few yards down the hall, and was moving back toward the door.

  “Hank! What’s going on?” Jax held onto the tail. He twisted his body to shine the light down the hall. His body wasn’t being tugged toward the tail of the plane anymore.

  Hank emerged from the darkness being pulled along the ceiling by the rat.

  “Human, getting in the way. Getting into trouble.” The voice of the rat was quiet in the thinner atmosphere.

  “Jax! It’s got me. The rat’s got me! Get me away from it!”

  “Scrounging around my plane. Quit wiggling! I’ll get you to your pod.”

  Hank was still moving closer. Jax checked the countdown:

  04:22

  Could he trust the rat to bring Hank to the pod? Why would it care? They were all about to burst into flames anyway. Jax might still be able to save the ferrets, if he went for the pod now, and he still couldn’t shake the feeling that they were important.

  He took the risk: pulling himself along the tube while he opened the pod with the retina monitor.

  When he got to the door, the rat was right behind him. Its puffy marshmallow body bulged and curved, grasping the ceiling with three limbs while carrying Hank’s weightless body.

  “Jax, what are those things?” Hank asked. “We’re not taking anything with us.”

  Jax pushed the ferrets through and then took Hank’s hand. “I know this sounds stupid, but they feel important. Some dream—or déjà vu.”

  “Not going to happen—not on my mission,” Hank said. His eyes shot back and forth, reading something in his monitor. “They’re not even animals, Jax. The computer can’t find a match from the scan. What if they’re an unknown species of Animalis?”

  “What?” Jax hadn’t thought to check the icon the program had generated for the creatures. It was a horrible thought, bringing unknown, possibly dangerous animals onto a military plane. What was the worst they could do, though, bite a few people? He imagined an Animalis plot to blow up the military plane. No, the creatures weren’t going to explode. The chemicals would have shown up in the scan and thrown up red flags.

  Jax checked the countdown:

  02:52

  They were going to be hitting atmosphere very soon, heating the pod and the plane to unbearable temperatures. If the rat wasn’t able to seal the hole it had made, the heat would easily pour into the plane and incinerate them all.

  “I’m sorry, Hank. We don’t have time. I’m launching as soon as we get the door closed.” Jax pulled himself into the pod. “If they are a new species, that could be big news for science. We could be sitting on some—what’d you call it?—prolific creds.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” But as Hank said it, he climbed into the pod. “And it’s ‘prodigious.’”

  As the door closed, Jax looked out to see the rat one last time, but it had already vanished into the blackness. Jax commanded the pod to pressurize with air. When the ferrets had come in contact with the interior of the pod, they had lodged into a nook between the chairs.

  “Launching,” Jax said.

  With a jolt, the pod detached from the plane. Jax could see its exterior now, glowing orange, creating a trail of excited atmosphere behind it. He pulled the pod up, fighting t
o escape the death dive, forcing their bodies against their chairs.

  They had made it. As they continued to rise out of the atmosphere, the glow around the pod faded.

  The countdown ticked off its last numbers:

  19 18 17

  The two of them looked down in unison, the prospect of watching the plane explode was too alluring.

  11 10 09

  Jax frowned. These were the last moments of the rat’s life. Scurrying around, muttering to itself, so convinced it was going to fix the problem. Jax wasn’t even sure the thing had been self-aware. But then it had helped them, pulling Hank back to their pod, and Jax felt sorry that it had to die.

  05 04 03

  The plane was still falling, carving a beautiful streak across the sky. Dropping farther and farther away. The hull of the plane would soon pass three thousand degrees Fahrenheit. At any moment, the expanding pockets of air in the metal would burst, causing a chain reaction that would instantly rip a hole through the plane and into the fuel tank. The intense temperature would ignite the entire supply at the same time, creating an unbelievable fireworks show.

  00

  They waited.

  “Wow, what did the rat do? His engines are showing active again,” Hank said.

  “No, that’s impossible,” Jax said, but he actually felt hopeful. It was strange, he realized, to hope for an Animalis to live.

  Jax had one of the pod’s cameras zoom in, and he saw the blue flames coming from the plane’s jets. He marveled at the rat’s tenacity. It looked like it was gaining altitude again.