Morte (4 page)

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Sebastian?”

This sounded familiar. The Martinis, even the children, said it all the time. The word had once meant so many things:
stop
,
here
,
eat
,
sit
. But it had actually been his name. Sebastian. Se-bas-tee-yan.

“It’s impossible,” Daniel said through trembling lips.

“You gave me this name?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes fixated on the ghoulish pink hands that cradled the tube.

“Are you my …” Sebastian searched for the word before finally settling on it. “Father?”

“How are you able to talk?”

“No questions,” Sebastian said. “You answer me now.”

Daniel seemed to expect his wife to say something. She did not speak, so he laughed nervously and shook his head.

“Answer,” Sebastian said.

“I’m not your father.”

“What are you to me?”

“You are—” Daniel said, pausing. “You were our pet.”

“What does that mean?”

“We owned you,” he said, almost pleading. “You were ours. We fed you, you lived here …”

Sebastian considered this. “Something has happened here,” he said. “Explain.”

Daniel nodded. His hands shook, and his bloodshot eyes fluttered in their sockets as he searched for the right words. There was an ant infestation that started in Africa and South America, he said. It began as an odd occurrence. An anomaly. Soon it became clear the ants could not be stopped. Entire cities had to be abandoned. Then the giant ants emerged, like nothing anyone had ever seen before. Practically bulletproof. Able to bite through metal. And then there were reports of animals changing shape, walking like humans. Somehow the ants had become smart, and the animals were becoming like them. Enormous towers of dirt and clay began to rise all over the globe. Scientists detected an ultrasonic signal coming from a turret at the top of each tower. The humans would try to destroy them, only to find that the ants had repaired the structures within hours. More of the insects continued to spring up no matter what the humans did. And then, out of nowhere, a massive island rose from the sea, somewhere in the Atlantic. The ants had created it. One day it wasn’t there, and the next day it was.

Daniel rambled about the war, the evacuations, the retreat in Europe, the slaughter in Asia, the mass suicide in Saudi Arabia, the detonation of a nuclear device on the Korean peninsula. And Tristan. Every day, another part of Daniel’s world had unraveled, all leading to this moment, when his own pet stood before him, brandishing a weapon and calmly asking questions. As the man spoke, Sebastian saw that Michael was old enough to understand some of these things. The boy was probably learning about them for the first time.

Daniel was in the middle of explaining the failed attack on the island in the Atlantic when Sebastian interrupted him. “Where is the dog?” he asked.

“The dog?”

Sebastian glared at him.

“Sheba,” Daniel said. “She ran away. Haven’t seen her. I’m sorry.”

“You killed her little ones,” Sebastian said. “And then you were going to kill your own family.”

Daniel’s face was shiny with sweat. By now, Sebastian knew how to get a reaction from him, even if he was not entirely sure how to operate the tube. When he pointed it at Daniel, the man was eager to speak.

“I have nothing left,” the man said. “I was angry. My wife …” He buried his face in his hands.

“It’s like she said,” Daniel continued, fighting away his tears. “We’re dead anyway. I probably did those puppies a favor, you know?” He waved his arm to indicate the madness around them.

“I should kill you for what you did,” Sebastian said, more to himself than to Daniel. “And for what you were about to do. But I think you are telling the truth. You really are dead.”

Daniel pursed his lips and said nothing.

“There are a lot of words in my head,” Sebastian said. “I am not sure how they got there. I dreamt of them and then woke up this morning with them in my mouth. One of the words is
love
. I loved your family, but I was just a toy. I loved Sheba, but now she is gone.”

Sebastian rose. He stared at the square of sunlight on the carpet for what he thought would be the last time. He gestured to Janet and the children. She rose unsteadily to her feet. With Delia in her arm and Michael holding her hand, she walked quietly past her former pet. Michael reached out and touched Sebastian’s tail. Janet slapped his hand away.

Sebastian waited until he heard the door open and shut. Then he turned to Daniel and said, “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Daniel said.

Sebastian left the living room, the weapon held loosely in his unnatural hands. He trudged to the kitchen. He had to find Sheba, even if she was dead, even if he died.

As Sebastian reached the door, he heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against wood, a hissing
shuh
, the sound Janet made when she prepared to cook. Sebastian turned in time to see Daniel charging toward him, steak knife in hand. Sebastian lifted the tube to block the slashing blade, but the serrated edge bit into his knuckle. The man swung again, opening a deep gash in Sebastian’s ribs. An eerie warmth blossomed in his side. Sebastian tumbled backward, his head slamming on the linoleum. The man jumped on top of him. Sebastian had to let go of the weapon in order to grasp the attacking hand, now smeared with sticky blood.

“You thought you were gonna take my family away?” Daniel growled, a line of spit oozing from his teeth.

Sebastian tried to bite Daniel’s wrist, but the man pulled his hand out of reach.

“I killed that bitch Sheba!” Daniel said. “Shot her while she ran away!”

The tube lay beside Sebastian’s head. He kept his eyes on the knife while trying to nudge the barrel closer with his tail.

Daniel twisted the blade toward Sebastian, using his weight to bring the knife down. Sebastian was losing his grasp. As quickly as he could, Sebastian reached out his left hand, gripped the barrel, and swung the weapon at Daniel. The wooden stock smashed into Daniel’s face. The man clutched his forehead as he fell away. Sebastian rolled onto his side and got to his feet. He had the weapon securely in his hands but
did not know what to do with it. Daniel rose, holding the knife with the blade down. A cut opened above his eye, pouring blood down his cheek and neck.

“Shoot him,” someone said.

The voice came from outside the door. Both Daniel and Sebastian turned to see the mother stray cat, now hideously grown and standing like a human. She peered into the screen window.

“Like
this
,” she said. She held out her left hand and cupped it, the nails pointing skyward. The other was at her side in a fist. She extended the right index finger and wiggled it.

The realization dawned in Daniel’s eyes that Sebastian did not know how to work the device. The man could have run away then. So many years later, Mort(e) would still wish that he had. Instead, his master charged again, knife raised.

Sebastian held his breath and slid his hand down the barrel until the finger caught the trigger. He fired. The blast opened a glistening hole in the man’s chest, dropping him to the floor beneath a spray of red mist. The knife twirled in the air before clattering on the countertop. Daniel moved his mouth in a vain attempt to speak. A strawberry-colored blob of blood and spit bubbled up to his lips. His right shoe shook and came to rest as the pool of blood spread out from his body, catching the light from the windows.

Sebastian felt an almost irresistible urge to crouch before the body and sniff. Instead, he turned around, opened the door, and walked out. The mother stray stepped aside. Standing behind her were her two children, also on their hind legs. Janet and the human children stood flat against the wall of the house. The wound on Janet’s chin had begun to turn a purplish-red. Michael sobbed. She did not try to comfort him. There was nothing left to go wrong for her now.

“Was Daddy really going to hurt us?” the boy asked. All she could do was place her palm on his head.

“You did the right thing,” the mother stray told Sebastian. One of her offspring whispered something to her. She hushed him.

Sebastian walked to the center of the yard. Such a short distance, but one that he once thought he would never travel. He would not simply gaze at the world through a window anymore. He would be in it. He would be a part of it. It would be a part of him. He could not unlearn, or undo, or unsee.

The strays said something. Sebastian did not listen. He pressed his palm against the wound in his side. “Did you see the dog?” he asked.

“Which one?” the mother replied.

“The white-and-orange one. Like me.”

“She ran off that way,” the mother said, pointing toward the city. “Maybe you’ll pick up her scent if you keep going. But everything that way is dead. The ants are coming. The humans are destroying things as they retreat.”

“Have you seen others?” Sebastian asked. “Others like us?”

“We saw Hank.”

“Hank?”

“The dog across the street. He killed his masters, too. Everyone is doing it.”

The mother stray asked if there was food left in the house. Sebastian told her that she could help herself to it. She told one of her young ones to check the refrigerator.

“You and I will take care of these,” the mother stray said to the other cat. They approached the humans. Michael let out a helpless whimper.

“I’m starving,” the mother stray said.

“Sebastian!” Michael screamed.

Despite all his disappointments with trying to protect the
house, Sebastian felt compelled to obey this command. It was a call for mercy from the innocent, rather than an order from a dictator. This was what he was supposed to obey, now that things had changed.

Sebastian aimed the gun at the cats. The third cat inside the house must have sensed something was wrong, for he abruptly opened the door. His furry mouth was covered in Daniel’s blood.

“You can’t be serious,” the mother stray said.

“I just killed my master,” Sebastian said. “I am very serious.”

“They’re the enemy!” the mother stray said. “They tried to kill you!”

Sebastian kept the rifle trained on them. After a few awkward seconds, the cats stood down. With his free hand, Sebastian waved the Martinis on. Again, the humans strode past him, eyes averted.

“Woman,” Sebastian said. Janet stopped, but kept her gaze on the ground. “I’m going to find Sheba.”

“Sheba ran away!” Michael said. “After Daddy—”

“Quiet,” Janet said. She forced herself to face Sebastian. “I hope you find her,” she said. “I’ll be praying for you.”

He had no idea what that meant.

The Martinis walked down the driveway to the SUV. Doors opened, feet shuffled in. The doors closed.
Thunk, thunk
. Janet’s fists clamped to the steering wheel, her knuckles bulging through the pale skin.

The vehicle drove off. Michael watched Sebastian, his palms stuck to the glass.

Once the car was gone, Sebastian lowered the gun.

“You should head west,” the mother stray said. “It’s not safe here.”

“I need to find her,” Sebastian said.

“The dog?” she said, snickering like a human. To her young
ones she said, “You see this? This is how you get yourself killed: protecting humans and looking for lost lovers.”

“I suppose it is,” Sebastian said.

The mother stray stared at Sebastian until he had no choice but to look her in the eye. “Cheer up, kitty cat,” she said. “You won’t need your puppy girlfriend. You’ve got this now.”

She pointed at her temple.

“Before this week,” she said, “you were no more than a mouth and an ass and some genitals. Well, maybe your genitals aren’t what they used to be. Anyway, you’re something else now. Maybe you don’t appreciate that, living in this mansion all fat and happy. But now you have a mind of your own. Use it or die.”

The mother stray ordered her children to join her inside the house. Sebastian did not stop them. Everything was quiet. Even the explosions in the distance ceased. His jackhammer heart came to rest in his rib cage, and he was able to think again. Clarity returned in short instructions:
Sheba is out there. I have to find Sheba. (Sheba is probably dead.) Sheba went south. I have to find Sheba. (Sheba is dead.)

Sebastian gripped the barrel of the shotgun and started walking.

The Queen saw everything. Her eyes and antennae were greedy for more information, more scents, more colors, more words. Billions of her daughters extended the Colony’s reach into the world of the humans while she watched, gathering all their experiences, pleased that things had come to pass as she had envisioned. Her mind was the Colony’s mind, throbbing with growth, pulling light from the darkness.

And it was killing her.

But she was Hymenoptera Unus, the Daughter of the Misfit Queen. The one the humans called the Devil’s Hand, the Monarch of the Underworld. The responsibility—and the awful, pounding torture that came with it—was hers alone. No one could ever truly understand what she knew, certainly not her daughters, nor the humans, nor the surface animals whom she had lifted from slavery like a living god. Her children would sacrifice everything for her, and for that she was grateful, but they would never see the world through her eyes. They would never feel alone, for they were part of a whole. They would never feel regret, because for them it served no purpose.