by N M Tatum
A shadow stepped into Joel’s periphery.
“All clear,” a voice said.
Joel nearly jumped out of his pants. “Shit, Cody, you can’t just pop out of nowhere like that.”
Cody spread his arms wide like he was trying to calm a wild animal. “I literally haven’t moved at all. I was standing right here when the door opened. How fast does PTSD set in? I think you’ve got a touch of it.”
Joel took a deep breath and focused on slowing his racing heart. “I’m fine. I don’t have PTSD, you’re just a dick.”
Cody shrugged. “Whatever. Let’s just kill these last bugs and get the hell out of here. I’m done with this place.”
“We need to wait for Reggie,” Joel said. “Where is he? Shouldn’t he have beat us here? He was closest.”
In answer to his question, Reggie came sprinting at them, his face twisted up in horror. “Get back on the elevator!” he shouted. “Get back!”
“I’m going to assume this is bad news,” Joel said, raising his flamethrower.
“Likely,” Cody said. “Though he does get worked up at times.”
Reggie skidded to a halt in front of them. “Why are you just standing here? Why aren’t you running?”
Joel and Cody exchanged a look.
“You can be a bit of a drama queen,” Joel said with a shrug. “I mean, I hate bugs as much as the next guy, but is all this really necessary? We’ve already killed a whole shitload of them. What’s a few more?”
The source of Reggie’s dismay came screeching out of the dark at the end of the long corridor. A tide of ShimVens, like a wave about to slam into them. A disgusting wave of creepy crawlies.
“All right,” Joel relented. “I retract my statement.”
“Notches,” Cody said, raising his flamethrower. “Game time!”
Cody and Joel opened fire on the horde, unleashing a burst of fire that torched a hundred bugs. The odor of burning alien was thick in the air; Cody thought he’d be used to it by now, but it still made him want to retch. He felt like puking everywhere but suppressed the urge with a steady breath. Cody figured taking a break to vomit would only increase the likelihood of his face getting eaten off.
Reggie brought his flamethrower up just in time to waste a bug several yards from his head. The bug fell dead at his feet, leaving the smell of burning flesh to waft in his face. He didn’t have time to react. He trained his gun on the next bug, and the next, and the next. They didn’t end. Dead bugs fell at their feet until they began to pile high. Up to Reggie’s knees, then his hips.
“We need to move,” he said.
“No shit,” said Joel. “Where to?”
“Cover me,” Cody said, pulling up the floorplan on his wrist-mounted computer. “Down this corridor.”
Cody’s spindly arms swung like wrecking balls to the left, knocking a few ShimVens aside. The other Notches ran after him. They moved clumsily, but as a unit. What they lacked in formal training, they made up for in unit cohesion. They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t even exterminators; this was their first gig. But they were nearly VRE pros, and they’d served lifetimes together on the virtual battlefield.
They pushed through the wall of bugs that separated them from open space. Once they reached that space, they ran for all they were worth, only stopping when they’d exited the claustrophobic corridor and come to an expansive room, full of moving parts and an astringent odor.
“The engine room?” Joel said, his voice full of intrigue. “I would love to take some of this shit apart.”
“That’s what I was counting on,” Cody said.
A shriek by the door drew their attention. A bug had made it through before Reggie jammed the door shut, and it was on top of Reggie, slashing at his chest. Luckily, his cheap body armor was holding up, just barely though. It had been a gift from his parents when the Notches had gone into business. It was the thought that counted, Reggie mused, looking down at the damaged armor.
Joel yelled but didn’t dare fire on the thing, for fear of hitting Reggie. His yell was distraction enough, though. Reggie grabbed the bug by the throat and slammed it onto the ground. It tried to wriggle away, but he stomped its head into mush.
“Gross,” Joel said, already taking things apart and putting them back together as wholly different items. “Cody, hack into the fuel system and dump the lines in the corridor. I’ll rig up some flashbangs from this junk. Then we can flash fry those fuckers.”
“On it,” Cody said, pulling up the specs on his computer. “You were right, Reg. Piece of cake.”
“Uh, guys.” Reggie sounded like he’d been kicked in the junk. He looked like it, too. “I fear things just got worse.”
“Christ, man,” Joel said. “Can you spare me the melodrama? Yes, we’re surrounded by bloodthirsty space bugs, but we’ve got a plan. Just try and stay positive.”
“I’m all about being positive,” Reggie said. Then he held up a shaking hand and pointed. “But dealing with that wasn’t in the plan.”
The other two guys turned. Each of the Notches froze as fear severed their nerves, making it impossible for them to speak or move or even piss their pants. They were thankful for that last one because a ShimVen the size of an apartment building appeared at the far end of the engine room.
It lumbered forward with long, slow movements, digging its pointed legs into the metal floor as if it were construction paper. It stopped, caught the Notches in its multi-eyed gaze, then let out a thunderous roar.
“Holy fucking shit!” Reggie yelled.
Chapter Ten
Sector 12 Transgalactic Station
Joel wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the behemoth bug, or the fact that expletives had just come out of Reggie’s mouth.
“Uhhhh… Cody? Can you hurry it up? We’ve got a big problem.”
Cody tapped furiously on his wristcom. “Got it. Dumping the lines now.”
Joel twisted together a casing rigged up of old paint cans. “Flashbangs are ready. As soon as I toss these, all the bugs in the hall are toast.”
“But the elevator is on the other side of that swarm,” Reggie said. “We’re trapped in here with that beast.”
“Maybe not,” Cody said, studying the floor schematics. “Looks like there’s a service elevator toward the back, right next to the engine. We just have to get past the mother bug.”
“Because that’ll be ‘easy as fucking pie’, right, guys?” Joel jabbed at them with his sharp voice.
“Just throw those grenades,” Reggie said.
Joel didn’t argue. He activated the two flashbangs he’d made and threw them as hard as he could down the hall that was clogged with ShimVens.
The guys didn’t wait to see the effect. They turned and charged straight at the mother bug, yelling like they were berserker Vikings attacking some English villagers. As they ran, they heard the shriek of a hundred bugs burning to death and felt the heat tickle the backs of their necks.
They expected the mother bug to strike. All she needed to do was bring one of her massive legs down to turn all three of them into smears on the floor. The irony wasn’t lost on them. But the giant ShimVen didn’t do that; she didn’t so much as look at them. She couldn’t look away from the fire behind them. From the sight of hundreds of her babies turning to ash.
For a second, Joel felt bad for the hideous creature, having to watch as its family writhed in pain and died. Then he remembered how each and every one of those skittery bastards had wanted to eat him and lay eggs in his brain, and his sympathy turned to delight.
They ran under the mother bug while she was distracted. As Reggie glanced up at her underside, his chest tightened and his stomach sank. But then the service elevator came into view.
We made it in one piece. He decided to focus on that for the moment. The positive.
The mother bug was still staring at the flaming pyre of its offspring as the elevator door closed.
Joel stabbed the button for the hangar bay with his fing
er. “We’re getting the fuck out of here,” he said.
Neither Cody nor Reggie argued. No one said anything until they were back on the ship.
“Computer, plot a course for home,” Cody said. “Get us off this goddamn station as fast as you can.”
Joel strapped into his chair. He didn’t even bother to take his bug-gut-soaked jacket off. He just wanted to get gone.
Reggie seemed reluctant to strap in. He didn’t argue that they stay, though; he wasn’t stupid. The guys would kick him out an airlock if he even suggested it. He knew they weren’t equipped to handle a bug that size. Not to mention their weapons were depleted.
Cody rocketed the ship out of the space station, foregoing all the standard departure protocols. Not that there were any traffic controllers to give a shit, but the Notches usually followed procedure.
Once they were free of the station, Reggie spoke.
“Guys, I know you don’t want to hear this, but we have to go back.”
Chapter Eleven
Sonic Shuttle
“Fuck you,” Joel and Cody said at that same time, with exactly the same amount of fervor.
“No way I’m ever stepping foot on that station again,” Joel said. “I don’t give a damn about our reputation. We just murdered a bajillion bugs. If that doesn’t earn us a rep, then nothing will.”
“We didn’t finish the job,” Reggie said. “Doesn’t matter how many bugs we kill. If we don’t do what we’re hired to do, then we’re never getting hired again.”
Joel shrugged. “I don’t see why that’s such a bad thing. I’ve been an exterminator for about two days and, so far, it’s been the worst thing ever. I say we start a food truck. Everyone loves food trucks. And cupcakes. A cupcake food truck. Bam. We’re millionaires, and nothing is trying to kill me.”
“And waffles,” Cody added. “Everyone loves waffles.”
“See?” Joel said. “We’re shitting out million-dollar ideas left and right here.”
Reggie tensed. “Yeah, great idea. How are we supposed to fund it?” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the ship and everything in it. “This is it. This is everything we’ve got. All of our money went into this. We’ve got nothing left to invest. If we don’t complete this job, our worst fears come to pass.”
Joel and Cody returned quizzical looks.
“We’ll have to move back in with our parents,” Reggie clarified dramatically.
“Sweet mother of tacos,” Cody said. “My dad threw a sandwich at my head the last time I saw him. I can’t go back there.”
Joel leaned back in his seat and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes until little flecks of light danced across the backs of his eyelids. They still danced when he opened his eyes. “Okay, so we kill the big mama. We managed that whole swarm, right? We can kill one giant bug. I’ll rig up a shitload of bombs, and we’ll blast it to smithereens.”
Reggie swallowed hard. “Here’s the thing.”
Joel groaned. “Why does there have to be a thing?”
“I did some reading on the ShimVen before the job,” Reggie said. “I studied their anatomy. And I noticed something on the big mama as we ran under her. Egg sacs. Big, fat egg sacs. She’s hatching another swarm.”
The guys silently let that news sink in.
Joel felt like screaming. Everything they’d just done was pointless. Killing an entire swarm of ShimVens. Making it out of that survival horror with all of their body parts still attached. Only for another swarm to hatch the second they leave, meaning they wouldn’t get paid for any of it.
“We can’t do that again,” Cody said. “Take on an entire swarm by ourselves. We used up most of our supplies. The gear we rigged together won’t hold up for another attack like that. We need to restock. Plus, we’re exhausted. We barely survived the last swarm. How are we supposed to take out another one in…” He checked his watch. “Nine hours? Shit.”
Reggie cleared his throat. “I think we need to get some help. It’s time to subcontract.”
The Notches liked to hang out at a gamer bar called the Arcade. The place was a dream. Old school arcade games. Terminals to get jacked into VR games. Single player consoles. And the best goddamn poutine outside of Montreal. Or so Joel claimed. The other guys weren’t so big on the poutine, but the beer selection was amazing, and you always knew you were in the right company. Gamers all around. Everyone looking to stuff their face, drown their work week grind, and slip away into a computer simulated fantasy world.
To enlist the backup they needed to clear the station, they found themselves in a very different kind of bar. It was not at all like the Arcade. This was a dump called Rowdy’s, and it smelled like sweaty ass. The guys assumed that was a marked improvement from how it typically smelled, being that it wasn’t even noon yet. In the late hours of the night, full of tanked up losers and wastes of skin, the aroma of the bar must be toxic.
They’d been to two other bars already, and this one smelled the worst by far. The first place served tater tots, which Reggie loved. Can’t usually find tots off Earth. But it and the second bar were total busts. It wasn’t until Rowdy’s that they found even remotely qualified candidates. But the three-hundred-pound slab of mercenary they talked to first turned out to be useless.
Reggie acted like he was conducting a formal job interview and not asking a caveman to step on some bugs. “So,” he said, his hands folded across the table, back straight. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”
The large man, aptly named Gulch, stared blankly. Reggie gazed back with an empty smile that any human resources professional would be proud of. After a moment of awkward silence, Gulch jutted his chin toward a stool at the end of the bar. “Maybe over there?”
Joel tried to stifle a laugh. Luckily, Gulch didn’t seem to realize the laugh was at his expense.
“Right,” Reggie said. “Moving on. How do you feel about killing—”
“Love it,” Gulch said before Reggie could finish.
Reggie squirmed in his seat. “Bugs. How do you feel about killing bugs?”
“Hate it,” Gulch said, not feeling the need to elaborate.
Reggie stood and extended his hand to Gulch. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Gulch. We will be in touch.”
The Notches met with a second man ten minutes later, suggested to them by one of the other patrons. He was a nimble, little man who looked like a Cirque du Soleil performer. He was named Picard. His face was all tattoos and piercings, and he could apparently put his foot behind his head, which immediately intrigued Cody.
The guys merely had to ask, and Picard was all too happy to demonstrate his skills. Cody pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he watched Picard do a back bridge and then kick up into a handstand. He did much of the interview in a handstand position, which definitely won him style points.
“Let me give you a hypothetical,” Cody said to Picard. “Let’s say our contract dictates we meet the terms of completion within a very limited timeframe. How do you feel about tight deadlines?”
“I am comfortable with them,” Picard said. “I always meet my deadlines.”
Cody smiled. “Good. Great, that’s perfect. Now, let’s say that the terms of the contract didn’t exactly spell out the nature of the job, requiring you to be flexible, to make adjustments while in the field. Are you able to do that?”
“You’re asking me to be flexible?” Picard fell back into a back bridge and laughed like a hyena.
Cody chuckled along with him.
Joel wanted to take the pun and slap them both with it.
“This is going so well,” Cody said. “One last question: how do you feel about bugs?”
Picard shot to his feet and began swatting at his arms and legs as if pests were crawling over his skin. “Why? Where are they? Are they on me? Get them off!”
Cody deflated. “Disqualified,” he said with a sigh.
Joel identified a third potential candidate, a man named Meatball. He wondered at t
he nature of the nickname until he laid eyes on the man. He did, indeed, look exactly like a meatball. He smelled a bit like one, as well.
They sat at a table in the back. Well, the Notches sat. Meatball stood; he was too round to fit comfortably in the chair.
“So, Mr. Meatball,” Joel said, “tell me a little bit about yourself.”
“It’s just Meatball,” the guy replied.
“Excuse me?” Joel asked.
“Just ‘Meatball.’ No ‘mister.’”
“Right, sorry.” Joel pretended to cough into his hand as a way of releasing some of the laugh he was holding back. “Actually, we will need your given name to put on the application and some other official paperwork.” They didn’t, but Joel liked to appear professional, and there is nothing more professional than paperwork.
“Meatball is my given name.”
Joel choked on his own breath. “No, it isn’t.”
Meatball bristled. “You calling me a liar?”
“No,” Joel said, barely containing his laugh. “I can think of absolutely no reason why you would lie about something like that.”
Meatball crossed his arms over his chest. Underneath the flab, there seemed to be some sizeable biceps, large enough to crush Joel. “I feel like you’re laughing at me.”
Joel wiped the tears from his eyes. His voice was broken by stifled laughter. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
Meatball waddled away from the table.
“So, that’s it, then,” Reggie said, dismayed. “That was the last candidate. We’ve got nothing.”
“That Meatball gentleman could work, if Joel can stop laughing at him,” Cody said.
Joel scoffed. “You kidding me? That guy would get devoured in seconds. And, really though, who names their kid Meatball?”
Cody took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his shirt. “There’s really no one else? You try asking the bartender? They’re always good sources of information.”
Reggie strutted up to the bar and greeted the greasy stain pouring drinks behind it. “Pardon me, good sir, but we are looking to hire some help. A mercenary who can handle himself in extremely dangerous situations. Someone who won’t shy away from a mess. No problem squishing some bugs. An honorable fellow. Holds true to his word. Shows ambition. A real go-getter. Thinks outside the box. Also, someone with three professional references.”