Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits (13 page)

“You . .
.” Rachel said. “You’re the one . . .” When she said it, it was if all the air
went out of her.

“I have
you now,” he said directly to Rachel. “I have you. God has willed it. You will
not escape me this time.”

“You . .
.” she said again weakly. There was no air in the room she could breathe.

John
opened his mouth to speak, but the leader shot him a warning look.

“I have
you all,” Jacob said. “You are all mine now. This planet is mine and all that
lives upon it. It is mine to do with as I choose . . . as I choose . . . for my
pleasure.”

The sound
that came out of Rachel was a groan; a long undifferentiated sound like a deep,
far-off horn. John felt her leg go stiff where they touched. Then, as if he’d
already seen it in his mind, he watched helplessly as she pitched forward onto
the floor in a full seizure, her body vibrating from head to toe.

* * *

This
time, Rachel went to a place where the air was as thick and as tangible as
muddy water. Her legs and arms pumped while the fear and panic of the chase
beat in her heart. The thing that chased her was formless, but she knew it just
the same. No species, no creature, no living thing was more despicable or
loathsome. She wanted to turn her head, and by sight in her dream-mind’s eye,
give form to the revulsion for only an instant.

She
stopped and turned.

Her
scream erupted from deep down. Up and out it came, pulling her insides behind
it in a visceral trail that left her empty. Her barren shell floated aimlessly
in the muddy water until it was sucked in, swallowed whole by the vile thing in
a single gulp. She felt herself inside it, churning around and around, then the
vile thing coughed her up in pieces barely connected and that wriggled
obscenely.

She
groaned.

* * *

 
“Rachel . . . wake up,” John’s voice gently
coaxed.

She heard
his voice and saw the light above. The light was pale, green, and unnatural.
She squinted against it. She felt his firm leg under her cheek and felt his
warm hands on her arm and head.

“Where
are we?” she asked.

“In a
jail—of sorts,” John said.

“It’s a
shelter they’re using as a jail,” Donna said, with a tone of weary
indifference. “It’s got bars over the windows and everything. Bastards.”

“I’m
hungry,” Rachel said weakly.

“I’ll
make us something,” Donna volunteered. “They left us some food. I think it’s my
turn anyway.”

“Looks
like they caught us,” John said after Donna left. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not
your fault,” she said.

“I could
have been more vigilant.”

“No,
don’t . . .”

“I wasn’t
watching. It was my job to watch.”

“Don’t
blame yourself,” Rachel said, almost begging.

He
stroked her forehead and ran his hand over her thick hair.

“They’re
probably going to execute us,” he said finally. She smiled a wry smile.

“That’s
funny?” he wanted to know.

“He’s not
going to kill us.”

“How do
you know?”

“I
dreamed it.”

Her
seizures were always accompanied by dreams; bizarre dreams that she would
interpret on waking as something meaningful like an ancient shaman would read
in bones tossed on the dirt. He and Donna had learned to humor her and listen.
It seemed to soothe her to listen to her dreams.

“Tell
me,” he said.

“I
dreamed I was being chased.”

“I hate
that kind,” he said, an impish smile beginning to form at the corners of his
mouth.

Rachel
didn't find any attempt at humor to be appropriate.
 
“The thing that chased me was horrible.”

“They
always are.”

“He wants
us,” she said.

“Who?”

“Jacob.”

“Why does
he want us?”

“To
change us.”

“To
change us to what?”

“I don’t
know that part.”

He
stroked her again. “Okay, we’ll figure that part out later, then.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He felt
her grip on his leg go rigid. “I’m scared,” she said, “Really scared.”

“Me,
too.”

Her grip
tightened a little.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“Could
you kill me if I asked you to?”

The
question felt like a blow to his head. The way she’d put it, the tone of her
voice told him it was not a rhetorical question. She’d meant every word. He
felt tightness in his throat. He was afraid that when he spoke, nothing would
come out. “Hush . . .” he said. “Rest now.”

“We have
to get out of here,” she said. “We have to get out.”
 

“There’s
nowhere to go.”
  

“Yes,
there is. We can live in the jungle like before.”

“No,
Rachel, we can’t. We were barely living as it was.”

“Then
we’ll find a new place, somewhere that bugs hate.
 
We’ll . . . we’ll steal a shuttle, and we’ll
find a new place just like before.”

“There’s
no way out of this thing, Rachel. It’s got bars all around it, top to bottom.”

“Oh, God,
we have to get out.”

“Rest . .
.”

* * *

As usual,
she ate as if she were starving. Nothing seemed to diminish that peculiar
trait. While John and Donna picked at their food as if it were something
curious, Rachel pounded hers down as though she’d been starved.

Eddie
didn’t seem to be taking imprisonment too badly, but he had learned early on to
shut his emotions down and just coast when he wanted to—when he needed to.

“When’s
our trial do you think?” Donna asked.

“Won’t be
a trial,” Rachel said into her tray between bites.

Paraphrasing
Rachel’s dream, John explained what she meant.

“A
dream?” Donna asked when he was done.

“A
dream,” John said.

“Why just
us?” Donna asked.

“Not just
us. Everybody,” Rachel answered.

Donna got
up from the table and gave John a knowing look. John pursed his lips. Her
dreams were starting to get to Donna. Her eating and her seizures were starting
to get to Donna. This whole mystical, bullshit viewpoint Rachel had was
starting to get to Donna.

“They’re
gonna kill us, Rachel,” Donna said with an unusual harshness. “Get used to the
idea.”

“You may
hope they do,” Rachel said.

Donna
glared at her. “Screw this,” she said. “I’m going to bed. Put your dreams up
your ass.”
 
Her blue-brown eye flashed at
them like ice in the sun.

“We’re
not supposed to fight at the table, remember?” Rachel said as a matter of fact.

“I’m not
at the table. Goodnight,” she said and stomped off.

Eddie
just hunkered down and hoped the fight didn’t get any worse. He didn’t like it
when they fought. They didn’t do it often, but he still didn’t like it.

They were
being held in an old, abandoned shelter. It wasn’t very clean inside, but it
was bug-tight and large enough to accommodate them. Donna stomped down the hall
and picked the first bedroom as her own. The bed had sheets on it; and when she
went into the bathroom, she found more items for personal hygiene in the sink,
rather than on it. She picked the items out and put them away. That done, she
sprayed down the dirt inside the shower stall and took a long hot shower. She
hoped she’d run the hot water out for the rest of them.

It was
barely dusk, and they’d been cooped up in the shelter all day with nothing to
do but sit and wait for Rachel to wake up. Donna wasn’t at all tired, but she
went to bed anyway.

Eddie
could tell Donna had taken the first room because the door was closed tight.
Rachel and John had the second already so he took the last one, the small one
in the back. Compared to what he was used to, it was nice. He sat on the bed
for a while then climbed up on the bed and looked out through the bars covering
the window. It was almost dark. The bugs were starting to get active; the
jungle was getting noisy. A few of the smaller bugs had started banging into
the screen.

Eddie was
on the brink of sleep when he heard the voice at the window.

“Eddie,”
the voice said in a whisper. “Eddie Silk. Hey. Wake up!"

“Wake up,
asshole,” another voice added.

“Don’t
call him that,” the first voice said in an apparent desire to protect.

“Well, he
is one.”

“Eddie.
It’s Mike. Hey.”

Eddie
recognized the voice. His first impulse was just to bury himself in the sheets.

“Eddie,”
Mike said, a little more persistent. “Hey. Wake up.”

Eddie
figured they’d just keep at him until he answered, so he stood up and put his
head close to the window. On barrels stood Mike and Peter Ho, dressed in net
suits. Mike was smiling at him.

“Hi,”
Eddie said.

“Hi,”
Mike said. “We saw them bring you in this morning. You’re a regular outlaw,
mister.”

“Yeah.
I’m an outlaw. Look at me.”

“They say
that nurse and the guy you’re with are killers,” Peter said.

“Maybe, I
don’t know about that. They've treated me all right.”

“They say
they blew the heads off two guys and stole a shuttle,” Peter went on. “Is that
true?”

“Don’t
know about that either.”

“Boy, you
don’t know much, do you?” Peter said.

“Nope,”
Eddie replied.

Peter
tapped Mike on the arm with the back of his hand. “I’m gettin’ outta here. You
can talk to this outlaw if you want. See ya later.”
 
He jumped down from the barrel and trotted
off.

Eddie
just stared off at the jungle. Mike scratched at the side of the shelter with a
finger. “Joan was worried about you,” he said.

“Can’t
help that, now can I?”

“Nope.
Guess not,” Mike said.

Eddie
didn’t know what to say next. All he could think about was how Mike was going
to look getting down from the barrel with his crippled leg—the leg he made
crippled. He didn’t want to see that. He could easily turn away when the time
came, but he’d still see it in his mind. He wanted to say something, but the
words didn’t come.

“I got
that infection that killed Geary.”
 
Mike
said it like he was showing Eddie a good scar he’d earned. “That nurse in there
saved me. The other lady, too. It hurt some for a while, but its okay now. He
stomped his bad foot lightly on the barrel top. “See, it works,” he said and
smiled.

“Yeah,”
Eddie said.

“I don’t
even mind it now.”

Eddie
nodded his head and stared past Mike into the noisy jungle.

“The guys
call me clubfoot,” Mike said. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie’s
mind reeled. He was so sorry. If he hadn’t sent Mike into the jungle that
night, Mike'ud be perfect. He’d be the perfect kid he was supposed to be if he
hadn’t lied to him and made him do his dirty work. Mike had trusted him,
admired him. Now here he was, all eager and friendly and forgiving as always.