Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits (19 page)

“They might
have to check in or something before that,” John said. “Someone might know
they’re missing by then and come looking for them.”

“Screw
it, right?” Donna said. “It’s the chance we’ll take.”
 

“Now
you’re showing a con . . . a conscience,” Rachel said.

“Oh, save
it, Rachel. I’m showing stupidity.”

They sat
wet, barely moving, in the dripping foliage like still, carved outgrowths of
the alien plants. They sat and waited.

“I’m
hungry,” Rachel said at one point.

“Me,
too,” John said.

“Oh, quit
your complaining, Rachel,” Donna snapped.

They sat
and waited until darkness and the first bugs crawled or flew out from under
leaves, bark and fallen logs.

Finally,
Donna rose to her feet and went over to Katz. She pulled the gag out of his
mouth. His mouth worked to unstiffen itself.

“Okay,
we’re moving. One peep out of you or Bukowski, and I swear I’ll tie you to a
tree and leave you here.”

“You
win,” Katz said.

“Yeah. I
win. Don’t fuck with me.”

“Can you
loosen the belt around my arms? It hurts like hell.”
 

“Forget
it,” she said.

They
helped the men to their feet, and Donna prodded them forward with the rifle’s
muzzle. By the time they were halfway to the lockup, the bugs were heavy in the
wet air, swirling around them or buzzing past, smacking noisily off their
clothes or flying full speed into their faces, making them duck or wince.

“Ever
been out at night without a net suit, Katz?” Donna asked.

“No.”

“You
should try it sometime for a few nights—just for fun.”
 

“Yeah,”
Eddie added.

John
opened the door using Bukowski’s key, and Donna prodded them up the steps. She
kept them moving all the way to the kitchen then pushed them down into the
u-shaped dinette seat. “You’re on your own, boys,” Donna said and turned to go.
“You’ve killed us,” Katz said.

“Hey, I
could have left you outside. Stop complaining.”
 

“They’ll
put us in those cages,” Bukowski said.

“Hey, beg
forgiveness. You never know.”

“We’ll be
Vilaroosed,” Katz said.

“Better
you than me,” she said casually.

“Donna,”
Katz implored.

“What?”

“Leave the
door unlocked.”

“I don’t
think so.”

“Please.”

“Nah. Not
a good idea.”

“I
promise we won’t move for an hour, say. Besides it’s to our advantage not to .
. . to go after you . . .”

“Nah.”

“Or even
tell anyone you’re gone. We’re at risk as much as you. Please.”

“I don’t
think so,” she said. “If you could bring us back, your asses would be in
Jacob’s good graces and ours would be in jail waiting to die. Forget it, I
can’t take the chance.”

She took
a few more steps toward the door.

“Please.
I’ll give you my word as a soldier.”

She
stopped and turned.

“Katz,
look. You’re a smart guy. Forget it. You don’t have much to trade here. I gotta
go.”

“Wait!
I’ll give you the key to our squad’s shuttle.”

That got
her attention.

“You
don’t have it,” she said.

“Yes, I
do. I have it.”

“Where is
it?”

“Here.
Here in my pocket.”
 
He pointed at his
right upper pocket with his face.

If he was
telling the truth, they stood a chance of a clean get away. Her first impulse
was to call John or Rachel to check it out. That would have been the smart
thing. What she did instead was walk over and put the muzzle of the rifle
against his chest. “If you so much as blink, I’ll shoot you,” she said.

“I
wouldn’t dream of it.”

Holding
the rifle with one hand, she reached out with the other and slipped her fingers
in the pocket.

The hand
came out of nowhere and with such speed she had no chance to avoid it. It
grabbed the rifle’s barrel, and she felt herself lose control of it as it was
forced into the air. Her finger closed on the trigger and the weapon fired a
burst with the loudest noise she’d ever heard and left a straight line of holes
in the shelter’s wall above Bukowski’s head. She growled and kicked wildly at
Katz as he tried to get up, hitting him solidly in the midsection. The blow
drove him back onto Bukowski’s lap. Before he could scrabble back up, she
brought the rifle back down at him and fired. A cloud of red spray filled the
air around both men as the rifle roared and clattered. Some of the rounds hit
the edge of the plastic table, shattering it. When her finger relaxed on the
trigger and the awful noise stopped, silence filled her head like soft wax.

Through
the whine of ringing ears, she heard the tiny, faraway sounds of table
fragments hitting the floor.

Katz was
killed instantly. Pinned under Katz, Bukowski’s legs moved and kicked lamely as
if he was trying to climb out and get away. He stared up in dumb shock at
Donna, coughed a single gob of blood, and then died. The same bullets had
killed both men.

John was
through the door as fast as his legs could carry him, followed a step behind by
Rachel.

“What did
you do?” Rachel asked.

“I killed
the bastards!” Donna screamed. “I fucking killed them!” She pointed the rifle
at Rachel.

“Donna, don’t,”
John commanded, pushing the rifle’s business end toward the floor.

“They
tried to kill me, Rachel! Katz grabbed the gun, and I shot him! The goddamned
bullets went through Katz and killed Bukowski, too.”

“She’s
right, Rachel," John said. “Look. Katz must have worked his arms
free.”
 
He pointed to the belt now
hanging loose from one arm.

“I did
them a favor,” Donna said.

“Sure,”
Rachel said. “Sure you did. That’s the kind of gesture everybody appreciates.”

“Forget
it, Rachel,” Donna said. “At least we’re alive.”
 
She leaned over and reached into Katz’s
pocket, just to be sure. She was surprised when her fingers found the object.
She held it up to John hopefully. “Does that look like a shuttle key?” she
asked.

“Hell,
no. It’s a key to a portable field latrine,” he said.

She
backhanded the key against the wall. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

She
brushed past them and headed for the door.

“Where
are we going?” Rachel asked.

“We need
transportation,” Donna answered. She opened the door and walked out into the
night. The air was filled with flying insects.

“The bugs
. . .” Rachel said.

“Screw
the bugs,” Donna said and stomped off toward the settlement, rifle in hand.

The first
truck they came to was parked outside an abandoned shelter on the edge of the
settlement. Three of the tires on one side were flat. When John looked closer,
he saw slashes in the tires’ sidewalls. “Somebody didn’t like this truck,” he
said.

“Maybe
there’re some spare tires,” Eddie said.

“Forget
it,” Donna said. “We’ll find something else.”

The
contractor’s ghetto was where it had always been, but it was worse than they’d
ever seen it. Half the shelters were abandoned. Plants and vines grew up under
them and over them and through open doors and windows. The ones with lights on
were a little better, but some of the plant life had been trimmed back, and
they looked somewhat maintained. The former clinic was ruined; deserted and
ransacked for anything useful. It sickened Donna to see it. Its doors hung open
exposing a black and cave-like interior—an invitation to any infection-carrying
crawler or flyer to come right on in and nest.

A few of
the shelters had trucks parked alongside them. Donna set her sights on one
straight ahead and marched toward it.

When they
got near it, Eddie spoke up. He knew right where he was.

“This is
my old boss’s place,” he said nervously.

“So?”
John asked. “Wanna go in and say hi?”

“No.”

“Leave
him alone,” Donna said.

“That’s
her truck. She usually leaves the key in it,” Eddie said.

“Good
choice, Ed?” John asked.

“I guess
so,” Eddie reluctantly replied.

“Shut up.
Both of you,” Donna ordered, “And wait here.”

She crept
quietly, and crouching, hid behind the truck and scoped out the shelter’s windows.
When she thought it was clear, she waved the others up. They squatted in a
tight knot behind the truck, their voices low.

“We can’t
get in it without exposing ourselves to the windows,” Donna said. “Eddie, crawl
up and see if the key is in it.”

Eddie
slipped around the side of the truck and crabbed along until he could peek up
into the cab. There was the key embedded in the dash. All they had to do was
turn it on and drive away. Part of him wished it were anybody’s truck but
Joan’s. The other part was glad the key was right where it was.

He
crabbed back.

“It’s
there. We’re all set,” he said.

“We’ll
have to risk it,” Donna said. “John goes first then Rachel. Eddie, then me.
Go.”

John
crouched along the side of the truck, opened the door gently, and slipped into
the driver’s seat. He quietly closed the door just until the catch engaged with
a slight click. Rachel followed up and slipped in the rear door behind him. She
left the door open for Donna and Eddie and scooted over to the far side to make
room. Eddie was next and slid up into the truck without making a sound.

“Piece of
cake,” Donna whispered to herself. She started toward the open door.

She
didn’t see the insect launch itself from the soft green stalk just a meter
away. Compelled by the warm flesh at the base of Donna’s neck, its strong back
legs sent it from its perch toward the target like a shot. Donna felt the
insect hit her collar, but she was quite used to that particular sensation and
ignored it. When the insect clamored onto her neck and sunk its spiky legs
deep, Donna froze and winced. She went to her knees with the pain, and with a
snarl, reached up to pull the offending thing off. Her fingers found the
insect’s slick, leathery form stuck to her neck like a barnacle. She knew what
it was by touch. She’d removed a dozen of them, but in the clinic, with a good
anesthetic and surgical tools. Her heart pounded. She also knew it had to come
off—right now. She gripped it as tight as she could with her fingertips. The
insect started to drive its pointed snout into the thick bundle of veins just
under the surface. Donna squeezed and pulled.

The
insect retaliated with a squirt of alkaline liquid from the tips of each of its
six pointed legs.

Donna
felt the searing flame on her neck. It quickly spread over her entire face and
neck. She saw bright lights bursting before her eyes. The sound started like
the high-pitched groan of a little girl hurt, then grew to a deep, guttural
resonation that would not be contained. Unable to suppress it, Donna opened her
mouth and howled.

“What the
. . . ?" John asked in disbelief and opened the door to look. He saw Donna
on her knees leaning against the truck, her hand splayed open, framing the dark
spot on her neck. He slipped out of the truck and went to her side. “What is
it?"

Donna
couldn’t speak.
 
She sucked another gulp
of air and roared again—a sound part growl, part moan.

“Shit!”
John said. He looked around nervously for someone— soldiers, security,
anybody—to catch them any second.