NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS

Cover Design by David McAfee Cover image from stock.xchng

This is a work of fiction. The events depicted in this story are entirely products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as fact.

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For Hennah

TABLE OF CONTENTS Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four Chapter Twenty Five Chapter Twenty Six Chapter Twenty Seven Chapter Twenty Eight Chapter Twenty Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty One Epilogue

A Note from the Author BONUS MATERIAL

Excerpt from TORMENT, by Jeremy Bishop Excerpt from 33 A.D., by David McAfee

NASTY LITTLE F!#*ERS Prologue

The cold woke Eddie Bayer up from a deep sleep. He shivered and reached behind him to zip up the sleeping bag, then realized he was alone. No wonder he was cold. Becky usually snuggled up to him on these camping trips, and together the two of them could stay nice and toasty. But not tonight. Tonight Becky was out for some reason. Probably just went to the bathroom again. That woman lived on the pot most days. “Becky,” he called, his voice muffled a bit by the sleeping bag over his head. After a minute or so with no reply, he sat up. The bag fell from his shoulders and gathered in a thick bunch at his waist. The first thing he noticed was the chill. Even in late Spring, the woods of northern Maine could get pretty damn cold. The days were fine, but the nights could freeze your nuts off. He took his flannel jacket out of his pack and shoved his arms through the sleeves, then he grabbed his wool-lined boots and put them on. He’d been sleeping in his flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt, so he should be all right to step outside the tent for a few minutes to find Becky. He grabbed his battery-powered Coleman lantern, pulled his toboggan on his head, and moved toward the front of the three-chambered tent. When he got to the tent flap he found it unzipped. That wasn’t like Becky, she knew better than to leave the tent open to small animals and other insects. It just wasn’t a smart thing to do when camping out in the woods. Their body heat could attract any number of snakes or lizards looking for warmth; even small mammals like mice or chipmunks would be drawn to it. To say nothing of bigger mammals that might be attracted to the smell of their food. What the hell was she thinking? “Becky?” he called again. He stepped out of the tent and his boot squelched into the hard packed dirt of the clearing. That wasn’t normal, either. He examined the bottom of his shoe and found a group of flattened grubs stuck to it. Fat little bastards, about two inches long and off-white in color except for the ends, which were scarlet. They looked a bit like mealworms, but bigger. He picked up a twig from the ground and scraped the tiny corpses off his boot. In doing so he noted several more of the little critters squirming around the tent. Where’d they come from? Weird. No big deal, they couldn’t get to his food. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about, like his missing wife. “Becky? Come on, now, where are you?” Still no answer. He stepped into the clearing, away from the tent, and flashed the lantern around the campsite. No sign of Becky, but the area around the tent was crawling with more grubs. Thousands of the little buggers! Squirming, writhing and loping along the earthen floor of the clearing like a disgusting larval sea. “Gross,” Eddie said, stepping around a large concentration of the things. They were devouring a small animal, perhaps a squirrel. There’d be a neat little skeleton there in the morning, by the looks of it. He’d have to remember to grab it and take it home to his son, Ricky. The boy could use it for Science class or something. Then something shiny amidst the pile of grubs caught the lamplight and threw it back at him. He bent

down for a closer look. It wasn’t a squirrel. Becky’s diamond engagement ring winked at him in the light of the Coleman. It took a moment for that to sink in, and when it did the realization pulled Eddie from his feet and left him kneeling in the dirt next to the writhing mound of grubs. The bastards weren’t eating a small mammal; they were eating his wife’s left hand! “What the…?” He reached down and picked up the hand, then brought it up to get a closer look at it. Too many grubs squirmed along its surface for him to see, so he gave the hand a little shake. Several grubs fell off, but he also managed to splatter himself with some of his wife’s blood that was still left in the hand. He reached up and wiped the blood off his face, leaving a pale red smear on his cheek. Still warm. Then he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. He looked down to see one of the grubs burrowing its jaws into his flesh. Eddie winced and grasped it between his thumb and forefinger, then yanked it out. He choked back a yelp as the little fucker took a BB-sized piece of his flesh with it when it came free. He held the grub up to the light, watching it squirm between his fingers as it swallowed its prize. Mother fucker! Eddie squeezed until the grub popped, and a greenish ooze ran down his fingers. That’d teach the thing. He looked down at the wound on his leg. A small hole, with a line of blood pouring from it. Not too big, though. The adhesive bandages in the first aid kit should suffice to cover it up. Damn thing stung like hell, though. As he stood to fetch the kit, an odd warmth began to spread through the area around the bite. His first thought was poison, but then the pain faded a bit. A natural anesthetic, then, like the kind leeches and ticks used so they could eat in peace. Fuck that! He shot to his feet and stomped on the nearest pile of grubs, smiling as he heard their tiny bodies squish under his boot. “Where the hell is Becky?” He shouted. “Where is she?” But of course the grubs didn’t answer. He felt another sting. And another, as a third, fourth, and fifth grub latched into the skin of his arm. He swatted them off and then flicked away the two or three that were starting to burrow into his leg. Each bite was like a small prick of fire burning into his skin, followed by that strange warmth. Then one lit upon his face and promptly started to chew its way into his cheek. He screamed and staggered backward, squashing more grubs under his boot. He looked down at the ground and almost wet himself. There were millions of the little grubs. Millions! All around him. And the smell! Like rotting fruit mixed with the scent of blood. His blood. Becky’s blood. “Get off me, you little fucker!” He reached up to his cheek and pulled the grub from his face, tearing a piece of his cheek out along with the grub. He turned, doing his best to ignore the bites on his arms and legs, which had become too numerous to count and instead merged into one long, painful sensation. He ran through the squirming sea of larvae, headed for the creek nearby. Hopefully he could drown the bastards. That’s when he saw Becky. She stood on the path that led to the creek, her pale, waxen skin writhing and pulsing as hundreds of the little grubs feasted on her flesh. Blood covered her whole body. It poured from the many tiny bites as well as a few large sections of her throat where the flesh hung in ragged chunks. Her eyes, glazed and

unfocused, seemed to stare at nothing, and he winced as a grub on her right cheek squirmed over to her eye and buried its jaws into her iris. Becky didn’t seem to notice. She held the stump of her left arm out to him, and half a dozen grubs fell from her forearm to land in the leaves with a sticky smack. “Ish all ‘ight, Eddie,” she said, her voice sounding like mush because of the grubs chewing on her tongue. “Zhey won’ ‘urt you.” She reached for him with her other hand, and he watched, momentarily paralyzed as his wife’s grub-covered fingers wrapped around his own. Several of the grubs left Becky’s hand and moved to his, immediately burrowing their faces into the flesh of his fingers. Now Eddie did scream. He shook his hand to get rid of the feasting larvae, then shoved his wife to the ground and sprinted down the path, still headed for the creek. Halfway there, he stumbled and hit his knees. The tiny bites continued, but they didn’t hurt as much. He looked around and saw hoards of the grubs crawling toward him, around him, even on him. They squirmed between his fingers and writhed in his boots. They’d somehow gotten under his socks and started chewing on the webbed flesh between his toes. Lord help him, there were even some in his boxers, eating away at his privates like some sick, adolescent nightmare. Tears streamed from his eyes as he crawled toward the creek, still hoping to drown the fuckers. The grubs continued to bite and chew at him, but the pain was somehow muted and distant, like it was happening to someone else. He realized he was crawling, and wondered why. Then he remembered the creek. Thirsty. That’s it. He needed something to drink. He looked at a grub that had burrowed its toothy little head into the back of his hand and halfheartedly swatted it away. “Later,” he said. “Water first. Thirsty.” He scooted forward a few more feet and made it to the edge of the creek bed before his strength gave out and he lay down in the mud. He was so tired. Just a little nap. Then he’d get his drink. He closed his eyes, and when he felt tiny bites on his eyelids and inside his mouth, he didn’t bother shooing them away.

Chapter One

Northern Maine, Somewhere in the woods of Aroostook County

“Damn,” Colby muttered under his breath. “They just keep buzzing around the computers, like bees.” He squatted by the empty tent, his thick, muscled arms folded against his chest, and watched the scientists scurry around the site like ants with nothing better to do. He reached up and rubbed the stubble on top of his head. Getting long, he thought. He’d need to shave his scalp again soon. They’d been out here for two weeks already, and still had another week to go before the Department of Wildlife would send out the Huey to pick them up. The group was tracking the supposed deforestation and dwindling wildlife of the area. Pete Anzer, the director of the department, wanted to know if the forests were truly shrinking or if it was all just a bunch of hooplah the EPA wanted to pass off as fact. Colby was about as un-environmentally sympathetic as a guy could get, and while Anzer wouldn’t normally rely on someone like him to lead a team whose purpose was so green-friendly, Colby knew the director wanted a military man in charge, just in case things got hairy. Anzer interviewed several possible candidates to guard the team of geeks on their trip. Since Colby was an ex-marine, strong, smart, good with a rifle and most importantly, willing to work cheap, he got the job. The other people on the team were all environmental experts in one field or another – Colby never could keep all that science shit straight – and not one of them had ever fired anything more dangerous than a water pistol. But the woods of Northern Maine could be very unforgiving, especially if a hungry cougar or bear came to pay this mobile buffet a visit. If anything came at them from out of the trees, they would likely all end up dead, and Anzer knew it. He wanted to make sure they got home alive. That was Colby’s job; get them home safe, and he’d do his damndest to see to it. Until today they hadn’t run into anything more dangerous than a hungry chipmunk. Jared had shooed it away and the rest of the expedition went on to work as normal. Taking measurements, removing samples, looking at their laptops, which stayed plugged into the gas-powered generator. That’s all the scientists did, it seemed to Colby. Scurry, measure, scurry, measure, then scurry some more. All the while churning gasoline exhaust into the very forest they were supposed to be protecting. Go figure. But this particular morning was different. Jared - who did something with computers, but Colby never knew what - turned up missing. Just like that. He was there the night before when the team hit their tents, but the next morning his sleeping bag was empty as a wino’s pocket. Allen, Jared’s tent mate, hadn’t seen or heard anything at all, and they all figured Jared must have woken up in the middle of the night to take a leak and gotten himself lost. But there weren’t any tracks. Not one. He looked all around the tent and didn’t

see a single crushed leaf or bent twig. Nothing. It was as if the man just up and disappeared from inside the tent. That wasn’t necessarily reliable, of course, as the ground around the clearing was full of dried pine needles and dead leaves, all of which blew with the breeze and could easily shift during the night to cover any evidence of a person’s passing. Colby sighed in frustration as he ducked into the tent and checked out Jared’s sleeping bag. He unzipped it to look inside and that’s when he saw it. Blood. Not a lot of it. Not much more than a few drops, in fact. But it was there, all right, and it gave him the willies. He poked his head out through the tent flap. “Allen, come here,” Colby called. “What is it?” Allen asked, shuffling over. He was short, pale, and thick. Thirtyish, with thinning brown hair and blue, twitchy eyes that never seemed to stay in one place for more than a few seconds. Humpty Dumpty with a nervous disorder. He ambled up to Colby with a blank expression on his chubby, stubble-lined face. “Look at that,” Colby replied, pointing out the blood. “Is that what I think it is?” “It’s blood, Allen. You sure you didn’t hear or see anything last night?” “No, not a thing.” Allen seemed a little edgy. Maybe he just couldn’t take the sight of blood. Or maybe it was knowing he’d been sleeping right next to it that creeped him out. Colby never got a chance to ask, because after a moment Allen continued. “Jared did get a nosebleed last night, but it was just a small one.” “Nosebleed, huh?” “Yeah, he gets them all the time. It’s a weak lining in his nasal—” “That’s enough,” Colby said. “I don’t need the medical details.” “Oh, but it’s fascinating,” Allen began, his eyes glinting with excitement. “Jared’s nasal cavity is truly unique. The mucous lining is—” “Very interesting,” Colby said, and left the tent, leaving Allen sputtering and staring at the two tiny spots of Jared’s blood. It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to learn blood had been found in Jared’s sleeping bag, and a wide array of speculation cropped up. The theories ranged from Jared had gotten another nosebleed and wandered out in search of a towel to he’d been abducted by a hungry bear. Colby pointed out that there were no signs of a bear anywhere else in the camp, and that bears don’t usually take people from their tents in the middle of the night. A hungry bear would go for the food supply and leave the campers alone unless they startled it. “You sure?” Allen asked. “A bear could be attracted by the smell of blood.” Colby shook his head. These guys were all supposed to be naturalists? You’d think at least one of them would have some sense. “A bear isn’t a shark. It would go for the easiest food first.” The group discussed their options for a few minutes, and then Harper suggested they form a search party. Colby agreed, but the rest of the group was split. Some of them wanted to look for Jared, some wanted to keep working, and Allen wanted to look for bear shit. “If a bear ate him, there would be evidence in its feces,” Allen pointed out. Colby managed not to punch the fat scientist, but just barely. In the end they compromised; the guys who wanted to keep working did so, and

the rest went out into the woods to find Jared. Allen elected to stay behind, as well, since he didn’t have the faintest idea what bear shit looked like. Colby said a quick thank you to the sky and grabbed his gear. They started by circling the camp, looking for tracks. After a complete circuit with no sign, they widened their area. In this way they spiraled out from the camp for several hours with nothing to show for it. Then, about 100 yards into the woods, Harper found a patch of bloody ground with a piece of fabric in it. Colby picked up the fabric and examined it. It looked like a piece of a sock. Did Jared sleep in his socks? Allen might know, but Colby wasn’t about to go back and ask him. They started the spiral search over, this time using the bloody patch of dirt as the center. After just a few circuits Colby found the rest of the sock, as well as a shoe. The shoe was a Timberland boot, and it looked an awful lot like Jared’s, right down to a stain near the toe where he’d spilled coffee on it a few days before. Jared had had a fit, whining about how expensive his new boots were. Colby had smiled and tuned him out, but he’d seen the stain, and now he saw it again. He reached down and picked up the shoe. It felt very heavy, and when he turned it over, he saw why. Jared’s foot was still in it. It terminated just above the ankle in a ragged, bloody stump. A stream of blood poured out as he turned it over again, like dumping out a flat soda. Besides Colby, there were four other guys present when he found the foot: Harper, Moretz, Bock, and Steinman. Of the four, only Bock kept his breakfast. The rest of them bent over and retched at the sight of the dismembered foot. The bugs had gotten to it, but it was too soon for the maggots to start. As it was, flies crawled all over it, sampling it and laying their eggs in the skin, with little or no regard for the giant humans who stood around them. Even when Colby gave the foot a little shake to try and scare the flies away, most of the little bastards didn’t give up their turf. Several drops of blood sprayed out and splattered Bock and Harper on the chest and face. Harper retched again – Colby wondered how he still had anything left in his stomach – but Bock just glared. “Great idea, dipshit!” Bock snapped, wiping at the blood on his face with a piece of cloth from his pocket. Colby lowered the foot and placed it into a plastic bag. He didn’t bother to respond. “Ready to go back?” Colby asked the group. Bock and Moretz nodded, but Harper was still bent over behind a bush. He sounded like he was choking on his own tongue, but managed to give a thumbs up. “I think he needs a minute,” Moretz said. *** Back at camp, Colby announced his discovery to the rest of the team. He showed them the foot, and, as expected, several of them vomited all over the camp. Colby kept quiet. What was with these science types? They spend their whole day carving up dead animals for experiments and then they get all squeamish at the sight of a dismembered human foot. Not one of them (with the possible exception of Bock) would have lasted a week in the military. Colby’s Drill Sergeant would have eaten them alive and served their remains to the recruits.

After puking his guts up, Edison, a chubby little botanist from Encino, grabbed his cell phone and tried to call for help. Useless. Colby could have told him there wouldn’t be a signal out here. His own phone wasn’t even on; he knew better. Edison stared at the No Signal icon on the faceplate and swore. “Damn it,” Edison said. “I knew we should have brought a sat phone!” Colby knew it, too. He’d told Anzer the same thing prior to disembarking, but the fucker refused, saying the group wouldn’t be gone long and he really couldn’t afford to give them one. Which meant they were on their own for the next week. “Well, we didn’t,” Colby said, “So there’s nothing we can do about it.” Edison glared at him. Colby tensed, not wanting trouble within the team if he could avoid it. He didn’t particularly want to beat the shit out of Edison, but the situation had just gone from bad to very bad, and he couldn’t afford to coddle anyone. He needn’t have worried; Edison soon cooled off and turned back to his workstation, flicking a glance at Janice as he did so. Colby thought he saw a glint of something strange there. Jealousy? Anger? No matter. He had more important things to worry about. Colby went into his tent and grabbed his rifle. He also grabbed his .45 auto and two extra clips for both. He stepped out of the tent while stuffing the .45 and extra clips into his belt and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. Upon exiting, he pointed at Edison, Allen, and the last member of the team – and only woman – Janice. “You three start packing up the camp, this expedition is officially over. Bock, Harper, Steinman, and Moretz, you’re with me. We’re gonna see if we can find the rest of Jared.” “Fuck you. I’m not going out there.” It was Moretz. Colby looked at his unusually pale face and thought the poor bastard might faint any minute. He considered his options, then realized Moretz probably wouldn’t be much help anyway. Short and painfully slight, Moretz would have trouble lugging the supplies he’d need on a hike, let alone battling a man-eating whatever. Colby looked at the olive skinned man and nodded. “Ok, Moretz,” Colby said. “You stay here and help pack up the camp. Anyone else want to stay?” Steinman raised his hand as though he were in a classroom. He didn’t look much better than Moretz, but he was big and burly, with arms almost as big around as Colby’s. Colby hated to lose him, but he couldn’t exactly put the .45 to the guy’s head and force him to come along. “Fine. You stay, too. How about you Harper? Bock? You guys coming?” Both nodded, and Colby breathed a sigh of relief. He really didn’t want to go out there by himself, and was especially glad to have Bock along. Bock was tough, strong, and he could keep his head in a crisis. Colby wasn’t sure what Bock did for a living, but for a scientist he was surprisingly sturdy, and would look more at home in an MMA fight than behind a computer screen. Harper was okay, too, but for the most part he was just an extra body. Strength in numbers, and all that. They were ready to leave by 3pm. All of them carried enough food and water for two days, sleeping bags, spare clothes, and matches. Bock even brought one of the tents along. “It’s the bugs,” he said. “I can’t stand the little bastards.” Colby didn’t argue. Besides, he was right, the woods in high summer are usually

swamped with millions of biting, crawling, and stinging insects. Who wanted to get eaten alive by mosquitoes? Especially when there was something bigger out there to do it. “Fine,” Colby said. “You guys ready?” Bock and Harper both nodded. “OK then. Let’s go find Jared.” “Watch out for bears,” Allen called out. Colby grunted and turned his back on the camp. “If you find any bear feces, bring some back, would you?” Colby ignored him and stepped into the woods, Bock and Harper trailing behind him. In all the excitement, Colby forgot to grab the radios. Anzer had given them eight Motorola two-way radios so the team could talk to each other in case they got separated. The small devices were light, portable, and tough, designed to withstand the rigors of a hike. Up until that morning, they’d had no reason to use them, and he forgot they were there. So when Colby, Bock, and Harper left camp that day, they went without having any means of communicating back to the others, or vice-versa. *** “What do you see in that guy?” Edison asked Janice after the search party left. “He’s not you,” Janice replied. “That’s good enough for me.” Edison frowned, his ample cheeks quivering. “Did you see how he practically ordered you to stay behind and clean up the campsite?” Janice snorted and turned away. Often, Edison’s jealousy was more amusing than annoying, but he could have picked a better time. Jared was most likely dead, after all. “Listen here, little lady,” Edison said in his best Colby impression. “It’s dangerous out there and you’re just a woman. So stay behind and do some woman’s work until I get back. I’ll be smelly and dirty by then, so what do you say I grab you by the hair and drag you back to my tent?” As Janice stifled a giggle, Edison grunted behind her back like a gorilla. She couldn’t see him, but he was probably impersonating a gorilla, too. Scratching his armpits, beating his chest, and bouncing around on bowed legs. What a child he could be. A funny child, but a child, nonetheless. “Geez, Edison,” Steinman said from somewhere behind her. “And you wonder why she broke up with you.” She smiled and walked the rest of the way to her tent while Edison and Steinman argued about who needed to mind their own business and who was just an idiot. Janice’s vote for both went to Edison. *** Moretz watched Janice slip into her tent. Edison was half-right; Colby was obviously on some sort of alpha male kick and wanted to boss everyone around. Who gave a fuck if the guy was a marine once? He certainly wasn’t one anymore, and Moretz had more intelligence in his little finger than Colby had in his whole brain. Why Anzer, a relatively smart guy, would hire such a dimwitted goon was beyond him. But Edison only said that to try and get Janice back, and that was his mistake.

Janice would never take him back, and why would she? Janice belonged with Moretz. Sooner or later she’d figure that out, too, and then the rest of the guys could stop fawning all over her. Moretz stood at the window of his and Steinman’s tent and stared at the half-open flap of Janice’s. What was she doing in there? Changing clothes, maybe? Getting her things together for a shower in the community stall? He pictured her naked for the thousandth time. What would her nipples look like when she got undressed? Would they poke out? Probably. His hand found its way to his crotch. He wasn’t surprised to note the bulge hiding underneath his khakis. After all, that’s what happened when a man got aroused, wasn’t it? His dick got hard. In this case, it was hard as a fucking rock. Moretz unzipped his pants and stroked himself as he watched Janice’s tent, imagining all sorts of scenarios in which the two of them could find ecstasy. He pictured tying her to a tree and taking her. She would wriggle against the ropes and push back against him with her hips. Sure, she might pretend she didn’t want it, but he knew better. He saw how she looked at him sometimes. He stroked himself harder and felt the building sensation in his nethers that signaled his upcoming climax. When it came, his whole body shuddered as his semen spilled over the fingers of his right hand and plopped onto the floor of his tent. As his breathing returned to normal, he looked around for something to clean up with. He settled on a towel and started to wipe up his mess when Allen poked his head into the tent. “Hey Moretz,” Allen said. “We’re going to need some help with - oh, come on! Not again. What are you, a spider monkey?” Moretz scrambled to cover his naked crotch and clean his spooge off the tent wall at the same time. “Go away, Allen.” “The guys just came back with Jared’s severed foot, for crying out loud. How can you be so amorous at a time—” “Leave me alone, Allen.” “That can’t be good for you, Moretz. You’re going to burn out your testicles or something. They could—” “Go the fuck away, I said!” Moretz shot the portly entomologist the finger. “Not to mention the extra strain on your biceps, triceps, and—” “Go away, damn it!” Moretz threw a shoe at Allen’s head and missed. Allen grunted and pulled his head out of the tent. Moretz heard his footsteps in the dirt as he walked away. “Just make sure you clean it up. You know how Steinman is.” Moretz mouthed a swear word at Allen’s back as the fat bastard walked away. What would he know, anyway? He hadn’t been with a woman since his Senior Prom, if even then. Moretz finished cleaning up the rest of his cum and pulled his underwear back over his cock. He shivered as the tip, still sensitive, brushed against the cotton of his boxers. As he zipped up his khakis he imagined what it would feel like to have Janice’s tongue clean up the rest of his sperm, milking his cock with her lips in order to get the last few drops. The thought nearly sent his hand to his crotch again, but he restrained himself; he had work to do. He promised himself he would do it again later, and longed for the time when he would no longer have to service himself like this.

Oh, yeah, he thought. The sooner Janice realizes she wants me, the better.

Chapter Two

Two hours away from camp, Harper screamed and puked again. Colby shook his head. He would have thought Harper’s guts would be empty by that point, but apparently he still had a little left. “What is it, Harper?” he asked. Harper covered his mouth with his left hand and pointed into some bushes with his right. Colby stepped over a dead tree and looked where Harper pointed. A human hand hung from the low branches of a bush. A gold class ring sparkled from one of the fingers. Garnet, maybe, or a really dark ruby. It looked like the kind of ring Jared had worn. Maggots crawled all over it, wriggling through the flesh and under the fingernails like they were eating themselves into a new home. Hundreds of the little fuckers squirmed and crawled over the palms and fingers. Harper made a choking noise and turned away, but his stomach must have been empty because the only sound he made was a dry heave. Bock, after leaning in close to get a good look at the ring, reached behind him and got a plastic sample bag out of his backpack. He snapped it open, then gestured to Colby. “Would you mind?” Bock asked. “My hands are full.” Colby looked from Bock to the hand for a moment, not quite understanding. Then the realization of what Bock asked hit him. “Oh, fuck me,” Colby said, and reached out to pluck the hand from the bush. Several of the maggots fell from the hand and hit the dried twigs and leaves of the forest floor with a wet plop. “Fucking gross. Why are there so many goddamn maggots? And how did they hatch so early?” “Harper,” Bock said. “Get a hold of yourself and look at these things. What kind of larvae are they?” Harper nodded, and turned to get a better look at the hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “But those aren’t regular maggots, they’re grubs. They’re too big, for one thing. Most maggots are little things, but these are almost an inch and a half long, maybe two. Plus the coloration is wrong. The heads and asses of maggots aren’t usually red. They look more like beetle larvae, but not quite. I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re probably an undocumented species.” “You’re not an entomologist,” Bock noted. “They could be in a journal you haven’t read yet.” “No, I don’t think so. I’d have — Holy Fuck! Did you see that?” Colby did see it. A couple of the larvae jumped from Jared’s hand to one of the spots of blood on Bock’s shirt; a distance of about two feet. How the fuck did they do that? Bock dropped the sample bag and slapped the critters off his chest, but as soon as he touched them with his bare skin he jerked his hand back. “Ow! Those fuckers bite!” “Do grubs usually jump?” Colby asked. “Oh come on,” Harper said. “Fly larvae only eat dead tissue, they don’t have strong enough jaws to bite.”

“I’m telling you, the little bastards bit me.” “Do grubs usually jump like that?” Colby asked again. Harper shook his head and leaned in close, his anxiety over the severed hand silenced by his scientific curiosity. As he did so, Colby noted a spot of Jared’s blood on his shirt collar. “Harper, don’t—” Colby began, but it was too late. A dozen or so of the larvae jumped from Jared’s hand to Harper’s collar and squirmed their way up to his neck. Harper screamed and started slapping the worms off his collar, then he jerked his hand back, too. A few drops of blood trickled from a small wound on his thumb. “You weren’t kidding, Bock.” “Told you,” Bock said, brushing the bugs off his shirt with a small stick, and taking care not to get too close to the hand, which seemed to have even more of the little buggers on it now than it had before, if that was possible. “Here,” Colby said, “Give me the bag.” Bock tossed it over, and Colby put the hand inside it and sealed it up, careful not to get too close to the grubs. He sealed the plastic sample bag in a field bag – those things are tough – and shoved the whole works into his backpack. “Think they’ll be okay in there?” Harper asked. “I’d like to take some samples back to my lab in Orono.” Colby glared at him. The guy was worried about bug samples! He’d just put a colleague’s severed hand in his backpack and all Harper could think about was being the first to classify the bugs. Typical. Colby turned his attention to the foliage, looking for another sign of Jared, while Bock told Harper he was an asshole. Colby agreed. Harper grunted, but didn’t say anything else. That night they made camp in a small clearing. Colby estimated they were about ten miles from the main camp. That’s a lot of miles in the deep woods; the search part had covered a lot of ground. Since finding the hand, they’d gone the entire day without seeing another sign of Jared. Bock set up his tent, and as Colby unrolled his sleeping bag he felt a twinge of jealousy. A tent would be nice tonight, especially with jumping, biting grubs running around. Even better if Janice could be there. The thought of what he was missing out on by being out in the woods instead of back at camp made him wish he’d stayed behind. Bock must have picked up on it, because he winked at Colby in the firelight, said goodnight, and then crawled inside and zipped up the flap, whistling as he did. “And he called me an asshole,” Harper said. “You are an asshole,” Colby replied. Harper grunted something in response, then turned away and headed toward the edge of the clearing, leaving Colby alone with his thoughts. One team member severely injured and most likely dead. That was the score. One life ruined because Colby had failed in his duty to protect his charges. It was like Desert Storm all over again. Colby knew what his papers said: Honorable Discharge. But that was bullshit, and everyone knew it, even Colby. All eight men under his command had died under fire from the Republican Guard, and Colby hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it. Even today, he still saw Malcolm’s head explode right next to him, the victim of a .50 caliber round to the left temple.

Colby grimaced at the memory, which remained vivid even after eighteen years. Once you’ve picked pieces of a man’s brain and skull off your fatigues, the image tended to stay with you. Eight lives lost that day. Eight people who looked to him for leadership and counted on him to get them home safe. He’d let all of them down, had let their families down. He’d failed. And now he had another group to protect. More people who relied on him for their safety. And it was starting again. “Not this time,” he said under his breath. He pulled his sidearm from its holster. A .45 caliber Desert Eagle. He pulled back the slide and checked the breech, making sure a round went from the clip to the chamber. “Not this time,” he said again, and laid the gun on his lap. “We never did get Allen his bear shit,” Harper said. “Shut up,” Colby and Bock said together. *** Janice grabbed her knife and stuck it into the waistband of her pants. Whatever attacked Jared would get seven inches of steel in its gullet if it came after her. She checked the sheath to make sure the blade would come free in a pinch. It did. Satisfied, she gathered up the things she would need for her shower: soap, a loofah, shampoo, and a pair of towels. After a moment, she reached for her razor and shaving cream. It had been several days since she’d shaved her legs, and while Colby wasn’t supposed to get back to the camp for a day or so, she wanted to be smooth, just in case he got back sooner. They’d clicked right away. Strange, when she thought about it. He really wasn’t her type. She tended to shy away from the rugged, strong men and opted for guys like Edison. Softer, more intelligent. Wimpy, she thought. But there was something about Colby. Something in the way his ice-blue eyes looked right through you, and how his strong chin seemed perpetually shadowed by stubble. His broad shoulders led to thick, strong arms, and despite herself, she couldn’t help it; she liked the way they felt wrapped around her. And the sex… Dear God! She checked herself, not wanting to smile and blush while on her way to the shower. What would the rest of her colleagues think if they saw her like that? Flustered and horny like a virgin on prom night. Jesus! Just thinking about him inside her sent a throbbing need through her crotch, and she could already feel the wetness building between her legs. No one had ever made her feel this way before. Not Edison, not any of her ex boyfriends. No one. Only Colby. She hurried to the shower. If he got back ahead of schedule, she would be ready. If not…well, she had let her fingers do the walking before; she could do it again. *** Moretz watched her go. She would tell herself the razor was for Colby, but he knew the truth. Janice was shaving her legs just in case Moretz decided to pay her a visit

tonight. He just might, too. But for now he contented himself with following her to the shower. He passed Allen and Steinman on his way, and overheard a snatch of conversation regarding the propagation of prions. Figures, a gorgeous woman is on her way to get naked and all those guys could think about was diseased proteins. At least Edison had noticed her go, then went into his own tent. Probably crying again. By the time he arrived at the stalls, Janice had already started showering. He climbed the tree on the other side of the stall. The water was loud, Janice wouldn’t hear him; she never did. He reached a limb about twenty feet up and scooted to the edge, just far enough to watch Janice as she ran the soapy loofah all over her body, lathering herself in suds and bubbles. The smell of steam and lavender drifted up to him, and his erection returned with a vengeance. The balance in the tree was too precarious to indulge himself, but he enjoyed the show, nonetheless. He felt the tightness in the crotch of his pants increase as the minutes went by, especially when Janice’s fingers drifted down to her crotch. When they stayed there, and started moving quickly back and forth in short, practiced movements, Moretz knew with absolute certainty that she was thinking about him.

Chapter Three

Colby heard the noise long before its source reached the camp. Harper and Bock snored the night away – Harper had managed to buy his way into Bock’s tent with the promise of a loaner intern – but over their chorus he caught the sound of something crunching through the brush just outside the reach of the firelight. He couldn’t see anything because the fire destroyed his night vision, but twigs crunched and leaves crackled to his left. The sound circled the clearing, moving at a slow, deliberate pace. A bear? Would Allen get his wish? Not tonight, he thought. Colby kept his ears trained on the sound while keeping his hand on the .45. Whatever the thing was crawling around outside the camp, it had already lost the element of surprise. As soon as it showed its face, Colby meant to put a bullet in it. Maybe two. He thumbed off the safety with a quiet click. The noise moved to a point exactly opposite Colby’s position in the camp, then it stopped. Colby tensed, thinking the critter would probably pounce through the clearing any minute. He raised the pistol to the level of his chest, pointed the barrel upward to the treetops, and waited, peering across the flickering light of the fire and straining his ears for any further sound. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, and the smell of burning poplar filled his nose as the wind changed. Burning poplar and something else; something rotten, like an uncooked ribeye that spent a few days out in the sun. The minutes stretched on and the only sound he heard was the steady tick tick of his Seiko and the crackle of burning firewood. His legs and arms began to ache from the strain of holding in so much potential energy; like compressed springs ready to expand outward but held in place by twine. Sooner or later, you just knew the fucking twine would snap, and then all Hell would break loose. He waited, ignoring the mosquito that landed on his forearm in search of a meal. Then the thing that was once Jared shuffled into the camp. It stumbled into the clearing on one booted foot and one stump, chewing on its left wrist as it came; its right hand was missing. Grubs crawled all over the thing, squirming and loping along the landscape of its flesh like herds of wildebeests in the savannah. The Timberland boot on its remaining foot and the remains of Jared’s blue Columbia jacket told him readily enough who it was, but he couldn’t quite reconcile the knowledge with the apparition moving through the makeshift camp. It shuffled along in the flickering light of the fire, eating the flesh of its own wrist and dripping larvae as it walked, leaving a trail worthy of Hansel and Gretel. “Holy shit,” Colby whispered, struggling to catch his breath. His arm, the one holding the gun, lowered to his side as his mind refused to believe what his eyes told him. He stared, dumbfounded, at the thing as it moved deeper into the clearing. No hurry, it just shuffled along at its own pace, seemingly unconcerned with Colby or his gun. It stopped when it reached Bock’s tent. Then it lifted its head and sniffed, sending more and more grubs to the ground with a sticky wet plop. “Och,” it said in a hoarse whisper. “Och.” Its voice sounded like creamed corn in a blender, and it took Colby a minute to

translate. Bock, it was saying, slurring the hard ck sound like a drunk. It wanted Bock. “OCH!” It shouted, and Colby heard movement from inside the tent. “Sarge?” Bock’s voice. All the guys called Colby Sarge, even though he’d told them countless times he was an officer in the Marines, not Enlisted. The sound of Bock’s voice pulled Colby from his trance, and he raised the .45 and pointed it at the grub-thing, "Stay in the tent, Bock,” he warned. “What’s going on?” “Just stay in the fucking tent.” The grub-thing looked over at him and shook its head. Then it smiled, or tried to. Most of its jaw muscles were shredded by grubs, but what was left of its lips turned up in a grotesque mimicry of a smile, anyway. Colby thought he heard it take in a breath, but then a spew of larvae fell from its mouth and he realized it was laughing at him, croaking out hollow, wheezing chuckles that sent shivers up Colby’s spine. Staying in the tent wasn’t going to be an option for long. It turned back to the tent and reached for the flap. “Och, Ish Zharid.” “Jared?” Harper this time, and the sound of the zipper being pulled whizzed through the camp like a bullet. The Jared-thing tensed, seemingly uninterested in Colby, and sniffed at the air one more time. Then it reached for the tent flap. “Don’t do it, Jared, or whatever the fuck you are,” Colby said. “I won’t warn you a second time.” Just then Harper’s head poked through the flap. He looked ridiculous with his hair sticking out at all directions and his glasses perched at a haphazard angle on his face. “Where’s Jared? I thought I heard—Holy shit!” The Jared-thing lunged for Harper. God, it was quick! Much faster than Colby expected. He leveled the .45 at its head and squeezed off a round. It sounded like a cannon in the small clearing, and the sudden crack of the shot sent night birds scattering in all directions. A .45 caliber hollow point round will do a mess of damage at a distance of fifty yards, but at close range, it’s almost like a miniature apocalypse. The Jared-thing’s head exploded in a cloud of blood, brain, and bits of bone, but it’s body kept moving forward, propelled by the inertia of its charge. A second or two after the shot, as Harper hid his face behind his hand, a headless lump of flesh and larvae fell to the ground in front of him with a loud splat, sending up a spray of grubs and blood that painted Harper’s exposed flesh a sickly red color. Colby kept the gun pointed at the body, just in case it moved again, while Harper remained true to form and puked his guts up, adding his vomit to the general mess in front of the tent. “What the fuck was that?” Bock asked, shoving his head through the opening. Harper finished throwing up and stared at the corpse, whimpering Jared’s name over and over. “Fuck Jared,” Colby snapped, and replaced the gun in its holster. “We had company, Bock. You dressed?” “No,” Bock replied. “Harper and I are spooning, and clothes just get in the fucking way.” Colby smiled in spite of himself. Nice, he thought. At least Bock still has his

sense of humor. “Get your shoes on and give me a hand. There’s a mess out here.” "Be right out.” The sound of shuffling came from the tent as Bock pulled on his socks and shoes. Harper knelt at the tent flap still, his upper body outside the tent, but the majority of him still inside. “Jared,” he said, shaking his head. Colby stepped over to the tent and grabbed Harper’s face in his hand, forcing him to look away from the body. Harper winced – Colby wasn’t gentle – and tried to break free. He almost made it. The blood and gore on his face made it slippery, but Colby squeezed harder and managed to keep hold. “Listen to me, Harper,” he said. “Whatever that was, it wasn’t Jared. Not anymore. Understand?” “Then…then what—” “It doesn’t fucking matter. But the three of us are getting out of here right now, and you are going to keep it together until we get back to camp. I can’t carry you the whole way, and neither can Bock, so snap out of it, all right?” Harper, his face held in Colby’s vice-like grip, nodded. A single tear fell from his right eye and rolled down his stubbled cheek. “OK.” “Good. Now clean up, you’ve got bugs and blood all over your face." As soon as Colby let go of Harper’s jaw, the scientist started swatting at his face, trying to get the grubs and blood clear. Colby noticed a few red welts on his skin, and remembered what he and Bock said about the grubs biting. Harper probably didn’t feel anything just yet due to shock, but Colby would have bet money in a few minutes the man’s face would sting like a bastard. “Move it, Harper,” Bock said from inside the tent. “I can’t get out.” Harper slid out of the tent, stepping around the body in an almost dainty fashion, then Bock’s head poked back through the tent flap. He looked at the body in front of the tent, but didn’t throw up. “That Jared?” he asked. “It was,” Colby replied. Bock studied the body for a few moments, then his eyes narrowed. “Those grubs look familiar.” “They should. My guess is they’re the same as the ones we found on his hand and foot. Which reminds me, you might want to back off a bit. Remember how far those little fuckers can jump.” Bock, who’d been leaning over the body to get a better look, raised back up in a hurry and rammed the back of his head into the tent fabric. “The little bastards are still eating him.” “Of course they are,” Harper said. He seemed to have recovered himself a bit, for which Colby was thankful. “That’s what larvae do. But I’ve never seen this species before.” “We know that,” Colby said. “You told us already.” Colby felt a sudden sharp pain in his right shin, and his leg gave an involuntary jerk. “Ow! What the fuck?” He reached down and pulled up the leg of his pants. There, about five inches above his ankle, one of the grubs was going to town on his leg. It really stung, too. The little bastard got him good. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said as he reached down and pinched the critter between

his thumb and forefinger. “You’re not making a meal out of me.” He tried to pull it off gently, but it had a strong hold on his skin, so he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and gave the thing a quick jerk. A bright flash of pain followed, then the grub came free with a slight pop and a barely audible rip. It managed to take a small piece of his leg with it, a chunk of flesh about a quarter of an inch around. After checking to make sure there were no more grubs near enough to get to him, Colby held the squirming thing up to his face and examined it. It was just an ordinary looking grub, albeit a big one, about the size of a mealworm, and pale yellow in color with bright red spots on its head and ass. While he watched, its mouth opened wide and the piece of Colby’s leg disappeared in its gullet. His eyes gaped when the grub opened its mouth. The thing had teeth! Nasty little sharp ones. No wonder it was able to pull that chunk of his leg away with it. Colby grimaced at the sight of a piece of his body being swallowed. Stupid little bastard, he thought, not very good at knowing who it can and can’t fuck with, that’s for sure. “I hope you enjoyed that, you little shit,” he said. “It was your last meal.” Then he squeezed the thing until it gave a slight pop and burst open like a tiny water balloon. The piece of his leg, along with a sticky mess of guts, fell from the grub’s ruined body and slid down his thumb. “Damn it, Sarge,” Harper said. “I wanted to examine that.” “Here,” Colby replied, and flicked the remains at him. Harper ducked and swore, then gestured toward Bock. “Hey,” he said, “Grab a sample jar out of my bag, would you?” “You brought sample jars along to find Jared?” Bock asked. “I bring sample jars everywhere. Just in case.” Bock shook his head, but ducked back inside the tent. He came back to the flap a minute later and tossed a small glass vessel, about the size of a Gerber Baby Food jar, at Harper. Harper caught it, unscrewed the lid, and leaned over Jared’s body. Colby noted the sweat pouring off Harper’s face and knew the man must be thinking about the piece of flesh the grub took from Colby’s leg. He hid his grin as Harper gingerly reached down toward the writhing mass of grubs, his hand inching closer and closer to the nasty little things. “Boo!” Bock yelled just as Harper’s hand got close. Harper screamed, jumped, and fell backward into the grass. The glass jar flew out of his hand and landed in the brush somewhere off to the right. Harper shot to his feet, his face red as a tomato. “You bastard! What did you do that for?” He sputtered and shook his fist at Bock. “That’s Jared lying there, Harper,” Bock said. “You get that? Jared. Not some fucking experiment.” Harper at least had the decency to look chagrined. He dropped his eyes to his feet and shuffled out of the clearing, mumbling something about having to use the facilities. Colby watched him go, then turned to Bock. “What do you care about Jared? I thought everything was an experiment to you science types.” Bock winked. “I just don’t like that guy,” he said, nodding his head in the direction Harper had gone. “He’s too fucking pompous.” Colby didn’t have a ready argument for that because he’d been thinking pretty

much the same thing. Harper rubbed almost everyone the wrong way. Mostly it was the way he looked at people. He stared at them most of the time like they were one of his specimens, something to be examined. No, Colby didn’t like him much, either. “Well,” Colby said, “It’s about two-thirty in the morning. Think you can get back to sleep?” Bock shook his head. “Probably not. What I’d really like to do is get back to the others.” “I know the feeling,” Colby replied. “I want to get the fuck out of here and get moving, too. Still, we shouldn’t stumble around in the woods after dark. We’re going to have to sit tight until daylight comes. That should be in about three hours, maybe a little more.” “What about him?” Bock pointed at Jared’s remains. “How are we going to move him without getting those vicious little bastards on us? I don’t want to have to stare at Jared’s body until the sun comes up.” “You’re the scientist,” Colby said. “You think of a way to move him.” “I’m a biologist. That doesn’t make me an engineer.” Colby stared at the body for another few minutes, wondering exactly how they were going to get it out of the clearing. He sure as hell didn’t want to sit next to it for the next few hours, but to actually touch it? Not a chance. If they had some rope, maybe they could loop it around the remaining foot and drag the body out of the clearing. From what he’d seen of the grubs they would probably follow the corpse, hungry little buggers that they were. “Hey,” Colby said. “You got any rope in that tent, Bock?” Bock smiled. “I always come prepared.” “Great. All we have to do is make a lasso on one end and we can drag—” Harper’s scream shut off all thoughts of what to do with Jared’s body. *** Janice stepped out of the hot shower and into the warm, humid air of the woods, which felt cool after standing in the steamy water for twenty minutes. She wrapped a towel around her body and another around her hair, grabbed her clothes from the stoop outside the stall, and walked back to the camp. She was tired, but she wouldn’t go to bed yet. She still had some work to do before the night was over, and she still held out hope that Colby might return early. Her exercise in the shower was nice, but it was no substitute for the real thing. And Colby was, without a doubt, the real thing. She sighed and ducked into her tent, trying to keep her mind off her new lover. They’d only known each other for the two weeks they’d been on site together, but already she was thinking of reasons to stay in New England after the survey. After all, some of the best universities were in the area, and it’s not like she had tenure back in Arizona. Would it be that big a deal to shift locales and continue to work around here? She had enough money saved up to sustain her for a while, if necessary, but ideally she’d be able to land a new position at one of the colleges in Maine or Massachusetts before she left Phoenix.

Slow down, Janice, she told herself. You are out of control. True, they’d had some nice nights together, but would Colby even want her sticking around after the survey? It was possible his attraction was due to the fact that she was, quite literally, the only woman for miles and miles. No, she realized. I’ve seen the way he looks at me. There’s something there. Something. Definitely. Just what that something was, she still wasn’t sure. But would it really be so bad to find out? She looked around at the woods, trying to picture how they would look under a blanket of pure white snow. Would it be like the postcards she saw in the Hallmark store at Christmas time? Beautiful, hushed, and somehow reverent, as if the whole world was sleeping peacefully? What would Colby look like with a winter growth of beard and wearing a flannel coat? Something plaid, maybe, with a matching toboggan and some fur-lined boots… Janice snapped herself to attention. It wasn’t like her to daydream so much when there was work to be done. She shook her head again, laughing inside at her own schoolgirl nonsense. Whatever happened with Colby, she would find out when they finished the survey, and not before. All the same, when they got back to Bangor, she intended to check some of the local universities for openings. She towel-dried her hair, then the rest of her body. When she finished, she put on a fresh set of clothes. But as she put her soiled laundry in the Hefty bag she kept in the tent for that very purpose, she noticed something odd. The panties she’d worn all day were missing.

Chapter Four

Bock and Colby ran through the trees, looking for Harper. They followed the sound of Harper’s scream until it cut off abruptly, at which time they had to resort to looking for visual clues. After five long minutes following a trail of broken twigs and shifted pine needles the two men found the spot where Harper relieved himself; his piss showed up shiny and wet in the moonlight on the southernmost side of a pale birch trunk, but other than the fresh urine there was no sign of Harper himself. Colby circled the tree, checking the ground around it for signs of a struggle. Nothing. Like Jared the night before, he seemed to have just disappeared. Colby sniffed the air. There was something mixed in with the smell of Harper’s piss and the earthen, woodsy smell of the forest, but he couldn’t make it out. Something musky, like an animal, but he couldn’t tell what. Also mixed into the smells was something else, something copper. Something almost like. “Blood,” he said. “I smell blood.” “Something extremely fucked up is going on,” Bock noted. “Really? What was your first clue?” “Go fuck yourself.” “Do all biologists use such bad language?” “Are all Marines such dickheads?” Bock retorted. “Ex-marine.” “Yeah, well...biologists are people too, you know.” Bock harrumphed, and returned to examining the area around the tree. Colby could have told him it was useless; but decided to let him figure it out on his own. He turned away from the tree and started back toward their camp. “Hey, where are you going?” Bock asked. “I’m going back to camp,” Colby replied. “Whatever happened to Harper, I sure as Hell ain’t waiting around until it happens to me. Besides, it’s too dark for us to see anything, but there are plenty of other things in the woods that can see just fine at night. Big things. Hungry things, you get me? I don’t want to run into one, do you?” Bock looked thoughtful for a second. “Wait up.” They walked back through the woods toward camp, a distance of about thirty yards or so. Colby took the lead, holding his pistol down and toward the horizon. Bock held the rifle, pointing the business end of the AR-15 toward the treetops. Colby couldn’t help but wonder at the distance Harper had gone to relieve himself. Apparently the man didn’t want to be disturbed while he took a leak. Colby had a feeling that if the man had been about twenty yards less modest he might not have vanished. He determined then and there that if he had to piss, he was going to do it right at the edge of camp with his .45 in one hand and his dick in the other. Fuck Bock if he didn’t like it, although truth be told Bock would probably do the same thing. The man had some common sense and some mettle, unlike the rest of the group. When they got back within the light of the campfire, Bock walked over to the tent

and opened the flap, then stepped inside. “You don’t seriously think we’re staying here tonight, do you?” Colby asked. “Why not?” Bock asked. “Whatever’s out there already knows we’re here.” “My point exactly.” “But if we go out into the woods, especially in the dark, how are we going to see it before it takes us, too?” Colby had to admit, Bock had a point. In addition, the campfire would deter more animals than it would attract. For one thing, it would destroy the night vision of any predator used to hunting by moonlight, just as it did his own. “Fine, but only one of us sleeps at a time.” “Suits me,” Bock replied. “I’ll go first.” Before Colby had the chance to argue, especially since he’d been up keeping an eye on the camp long before the other two awoke, Bock looked at the ground by the front of the tent and froze. “Wait a second,” he said, his eyes wide as oranges. “Where’s Jared?” Then Colby noticed it, too, and swore under his breath. How could he have missed something so obvious? He should have seen it the moment he walked into camp. Jared’s body was gone. Just…fucking gone. A few puddles of grubs were all that remained in the spot where Jared fell. The little bastards were spreading out from the impression of Jared’s body, probably looking for more food. Colby raised his leg and stomped on a pile of them. Then he stomped again, and again, and again. Soon he was jumping up and down on the piles of larvae and swearing at them. “Mother fucking little Bastards! Cock gobbling bitches! Take that you little fucks!” When he couldn’t think of anymore swears or curses he just grunted and continued to stomp his feet, pulverizing the grubs under his boots. Bock reached over from beside the tent and grabbed his arm. “All right, Sarge,” he said as he pulled Colby toward the tent. “Dude, they’re dead. You got them.” Colby shook his head, trying to clear away the images of Jared’s grub-covered body walking into the clearing. He looked up at Bock, nodded, and took a deep breath. He held it in for a count of ten and let it out slow, like a yoga instructor. “Sorry, Bock,” he said. “The shit with Jared’s body walking around…I guess it just got to me.” Bock nodded. “I’d be worried if it didn’t.” Colby nodded. He had killed men in the military. Plenty of them. But never anything like that, and never a civilian. Never mind the fact that the civilian in question had chewed off his own hand and probably didn’t have much longer to live, anyway. Never mind that the guy was trying to get to the men under his protection. He’d shot someone in the head. A geek. A small, slight computer geek who probably couldn’t have beaten him arm wrestling if Colby let him use both arms and a leg, to boot. That shit was messed up. “Maybe I should take the first watch,” Bock said. Colby handed him the .45, not about to disagree, and clambered into the tent. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, guessing that every time he closed his eyes he’d see Jared, covered in insect larvae and happily munching away at his own wrist. Or Jared’s head expanding in a cloud of scarlet goop. Nope, no way he’d get to sleep after that shit.

He was wrong, though. *** Moretz sat in his tent with the light off, preferring to be in the dark so everyone else might think he was asleep. While he sat, he ran the soft panties through his fingers. Cotton, he noted disdainfully. He would have preferred she wear her satin panties, the bright pink ones he’d seen in her bag the last time he was in her tent. The time she and Colby went for a walk in the woods and stayed gone for three hours. He’d almost taken the silk underwear then, but they were too clean… too fresh. Sterile. He wanted something she’d worn, something that didn’t smell like laundry soap. He held the cotton fabric under his nose and inhaled, breathing her scent deep into him. His erection was back, and throbbing painfully under the tight fabric of his khakis. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled his cock out into the open air, marveling at how good it felt to free it from the confines of his pants. He should go to her. Right now. This minute, and confess. He’d tell her everything; how he followed her, couldn’t take his eyes off her, and how he thought about only her while he masturbated. He should go. But she was working. She’d left her own tent and went back to the large computer tent to pound out some more data. He couldn’t walk out there with his dick hanging out; the rest of the team would know. And he didn’t want to share what he and Janice had with the rest of the team. Not yet. For now, it was just he and Janice. The way it should be. He took another deep breath, inhaling the scent of Janice’s panties, allowing the fabric to brush his cheeks. Just like a lover’s touch. He ran his tongue up and down the inside of the crotch, tasting where she had been and imagining what it would feel like to put his face between her legs. Would she be soft? Wet? Would she smell like lilacs? How long would it take her to come? Moretz shuddered at the image, then reached down and began to stoke himself for the second time that day. He kept one hand on his shaft and the other on the panties, holding them under his nose and breathing deep as he stroked faster and faster.

Chapter Five

Bock was supposed to wake him up two hours before sunrise so he could take another shift, but the next morning when Colby woke up, the biologist was nowhere to be seen. Colby glanced at his watch. 6:15 AM. Almost an hour past sunrise. He stepped out of the tent and checked the big rock where Bock pulled guard duty, then checked behind the tent. Finding nothing, he checked inside the tent to make sure Bock hadn’t snuck in last night and gone to sleep when he was supposed to be taking watch. In his hurry to get out of the tent, he could have missed him lying there. Unlikely, but not impossible. Yet there was no sign of him anywhere. “Bock!” he yelled. “Bock, you there?” “Yeah,” Bock’s voice came from the trees to the right. “Just had to take a leak.” “You could have said something.” “Sheesh, cut the umbilical, would you?” “That’s not funny.” Bock stepped through the brush and into the small clearing, zipping as he went. “I know, sorry. I’m just tired.” “Why didn’t you wake me for my shift?” Bock looked at his shoes, and didn’t answer right away. “You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Colby asked. Bock nodded. “Damn it, what if Harper came back while you were out cold? Or worse, Jared?” “I couldn’t help it. I was tired.” “Shit.” Colby looked around the clearing. There wasn’t a grub in sight. In the firepit, some of the coals still glowed in the early morning light. “We were damn lucky. At least the fire didn’t go completely out.” He looked back to the spot where Jared died, then out in the direction where Harper went to pee. Both gone, now. Men under his protection. One dead, the other…who knows? Colby looked at his boots, which still held bits of dried bug guts. His mind went back to Kuwait, to another time when he failed to protect people who counted on him. The constricting pain in his chest, which had mostly left him alone for the last five years or so, was back, and all too familiar. Two men gone, now. Not just one. God damn it, Anzer was going to shit a brick. “Fuck him,” Colby said. “Fuck who?” Bock asked. Colby looked up, surprised to realize he’d spoken aloud. “Nothing. Let’s just get back to the others.” “We’re not going to look for Harper?” “You can look for him if you want, but I’m getting the hell out of here.” He started packing up the camp, wanting to move out as soon as possible. “What about breakfast?” Bock asked. Colby started to tell him where to stick breakfast, but a rumble from his belly

reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet, either. Not good. The first order of survival is sustenance. “All right,” he said. “Let’s have a quick bite and then get going.” Bock nodded and sat in front of the fire. When he turned toward the fire and started poking the coals, Colby noticed something moving around on the man’s neck. He leaned over to get a better look and swore under his breath. A fucking grub! “Hang on, Bock,” he said. “What? What is it?” Colby reached over and plucked the thing from Bock’s neck. Like before, it took a small piece of flesh with it. “Hey,” Bock said. “What the hell was that?” Colby showed him the grub, then squished it between his fingers. “This thing was chewing on your neck.” Bock stared at the flatted grub. “Weird,” he said. “I didn’t feel a thing. They must have some sort of anesthetic properties in their saliva.” “Must have.” At the time, it didn’t occur to Colby that one of those same grubs had bitten him the night before, and he certainly felt it. It hurt! Just one more little detail he probably shouldn’t have missed. *** Janice crawled out of her tent, her bladder screaming. The travel clock next to her pillow read 5:45 AM. She’d just woken from a dream in which she and Colby were running for their lives, but she hadn’t known from what. All she could tell was in the dream, Colby’s bare chest looked huge and strong, like two steel plates over a washboard. Even in my dreams, that man is hot, she thought, smiling. She walked to the temporary “bathroom,” which wasn’t much more than a PortaPotty, in a bit of a hurry. Her need to pee had reached an almost painful level, and by the time she got in, slammed the door, and sat down she thought she would piss in her pants. Now that’s sexy, she thought. Nothing like coming home to a woman with piss in her pants. At least she made it out of the tent. They didn’t have the equipment to wash the sleeping bags out here, so she’d have had to either live with the smell of her own urine or drag the thing out to the stream and wash it by hand, which would of course have required some explaining. Yeah, guys...I peed the bed. Oh, that would go over well. Edison would never let her forget it. She finished her business and opened the door to the potty. A dark figure stood in the doorway, looming over the entrance. Janice took in a breath, ready to scream, when the figure shifted and she saw it was Moretz. She let the breath out in one long, relieved sigh. Then she stomped forward and put her face right in front of his. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Moretz? You scared the shit out of mppph!” Her tirade was interrupted by Moretz’s lips as they pressed against her own. For a moment her mind went blank. What was going on? Was Moretz really sticking his tongue in her mouth? Then she felt his hand on her breast and it snapped her out of her stupor. She slapped his hand away and pulled back.

“What the hell? What are you doing?” “Shhhh,” he said. “It’s all right. The others are still asleep. It’s just you and me, there’s no need to pretend anymore.” He approached her again, reaching for her waist. She stepped back. “Listen, Moretz, I don’t know what the hell you’re on, but you need to back off.” Moretz smiled. “Oh, I get it. You like the game. Okay, then. If you insist.” he approached again, this time much faster, and she was not able to twist aside in time. Moretz wrapped his arms around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides, and started to kiss her neck. “Moretz,” Janice said. “This isn’t funny.” She struggled to break free, but he held on like a demon. “Shhhhh,” he replied, and kissed her throat again. “You don’t want to wake the others.” “I’m warning you, Moretz.” “It’s okay, Janice. I know you want me.” He ran his tongue along the nape of her neck. “I want you, too. But we’ll play any game you want.” He nibbled her earlobe. That does it. She brought her knee up, hard into Moretz’s groin. His grip tightened for a split second, then went slack. She shoved away from him, breaking his hold on her and stepping away, her leg ready for another shot if he came at her again. She needn’t have worried. Moretz didn’t come after her. Groaning, his eyes clenched shut, Moretz slid to his knees, then toppled sideways into the dirt. His hands clutched his groin, and the veins on his neck stood out in sharp relief. He moaned and she thought she saw tears squeezing out of his eyes. “That’s what you get,” she said. “Next time I say stop, you better fucking stop, asshole.” She stepped over him, giving him an extra kick in the side for good measure, and walked back to her tent. This wasn’t good. She’d stopped Moretz this time, but what if he came at her again? He was bigger and stronger than her, and next time he’d be expecting the knee to the groin. She reached under her pillow and took out the hunting knife Colby had given her. It came with a sheath that tied around her thigh. She strapped it on now, feeling a little funny. A geekier, less hot version of Lara Croft. But at least the knife would be handy if Moretz tried anything else. Would he try something else? Probably not. Moretz was a coward at heart. A bit obsessed, but her kick to his groin would probably calm him down for a while. Still, she considered telling the others, just in case. She thought about a confrontation between Moretz and the other scientists. Would they believe her? Edison would. He’d jump at the chance to prove himself to her. But what about Allen and Steinman? Steinman was already wound tighter than a guitar string over Jared’s death. He’d probably faint if he found out anything else had gone wrong. Allen was useless. A complete academic trapped in a teenage hacker’s body. Neither of them would be much help. She decided not to tell her colleagues, they’d been through enough for one day. Maybe she should tell Colby when he got back. No, she thought. Colby would probably kill him. Better to keep Moretz’s unwanted attention to herself. For now. She would keep

her eye on him, though. She fingered the knife strapped to her leg, and if a time came when he needed another reminder to leave her alone, she’d damn sure give him one. *** Moretz lay on the ground for a good fifteen minutes, trying to see past the stars swimming in his vision. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and his face burned. That bitch! He squeezed his eyes shut again, the throbbing in his testicles causing him to groan again. That bitch! She’d led him on, giving him all those looks and all that encouragement, all to kick him in the balls when he made his move. What kind of game was she playing? Now he was laying in the dirt holding on to his balls for dear life, certain that if he let go they would fall off. His eyes swam with pain, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to walk normally again, all because Janice wanted to keep playing her stupid game. That fucking bitch! After a while, the pain subsided, and he was able to think more clearly. Then the truth of the situation came to him. This had something to do with Colby. That guy must have some weird kind of hold on her. Maybe he threatened her or something. Yeah, that had to be it. That jerk had her too afraid to do what she really wanted. What an asshole. Footsteps at his back let him know someone was coming up behind him. Janice must have come back to apologize. Maybe she would offer to kiss his balls and make them feel better. He would refuse, at first. She would probably start begging him to let her. At that point, he would give in. Why be mean? He lay with his back to her, waiting for her apology. But she didn’t say anything. He waited for a count of thirty, then he grunted and shifted his weight to let her know he was awake. “Damn it, Moretz, you scared the crap out of me. What are you doing on the ground?” Steinman. “I don’t know if you remember or not, but Jared disappeared,” Steinman continued. “Did you miss the bloody foot the guys brought back? Want that to happen to you?” Moretz shot to a sitting position and regretted it almost immediately. The pain in his groin had been sleeping, but it flared up again when he moved. He gritted his teeth through the haze of pain and managed to get to his feet. He shuffled past Steinman, who shook his head and muttered something under his breath, and made his way to his tent. He heard the potty door close as Steinman went inside to do his business. That bitch, he thought again as he reached his tent and crawled inside. He lay on top of his sleeping bag and mentally called Janice every name in the book. That bitch wouldn’t get away with kicking him in the balls. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He’d get her back, and that stupid pistol jockey, too. He’d get them both back.

Chapter Six

Colby and Bock tromped through the woods, their bodies glistening with sweat in the stifling midday heat. The two had been walking since early that morning without a single break. Colby was eager to get back and so he set a breakneck pace. He had to give Bock credit; the man hadn’t complained once. Probably he was just as anxious to get back, but still. The guy was in good shape for someone who worked in a lab. “How you holding up, Bock?” Colby called over his shoulder. Bock grunted a reply, but Colby didn’t quite catch it. “What was that?” he asked. “I said, ‘My balls are in my throat, and I’m sweating from every crack I own, but other than that I’m fine.’” Colby chuckled. “You hungry yet?” “Starving.” Colby picked out a small clearing just big enough for the two men to sit down, and took off his backpack. “Let’s eat.” Bock stumbled in behind him and plopped down on the ground without removing his pack. He reached for his canteen, unscrewed it, and took a long pull. When he finished, he handed it to Colby, who drained the rest of it. Lukewarm water. Dandy. “What? No Budweiser?” The look Bock shot him across the small clearing would have made him laugh if he hadn’t been so hot and tired. He reached into his pack and pulled out a bag of jerky, which he opened and handed to Bock. “Here, the protein will do you good.” Bock took the bag and shoved a handful of the stuff into his mouth. Then he grabbed another handful and handed the bag back to Colby, who watched the man chew the huge mouthful with a mixture of amusement and concern. “We have to make that last the rest of the day, so go easy.” Bock nodded. “How close do you think we are to camp?” “About halfway, I think,” Colby said around a mouthful of jerky. “Maybe more. We’re taking a more direct route back than we did while looking for Jared, so we should get there by five or six o’clock.” Bock groaned, but didn’t complain. He reached down and started massaging his quads. Colby knew the feeling; his own legs felt like they were on fire. Six hours of hard marching through the forest in the middle of July could do that to a person. The two men finished eating in silence. They passed around another canteen, but didn’t drain this one. They had two more between them, and hot as it was, they figured they’d need every drop. Colby vowed to buy Bock an ice cold beer when they got back to civilization, and Bock promised to name his first born Colby. “What if your first born is a girl?” Colby asked. “Well, it’s worked for you, hasn’t it?” Bock replied. Colby laughed and told Bock to go fuck himself. Just as they were packing up to go, Bock began to sniff the air. “You smell that?”

he asked, lifting his face upward. “Quit stalling,” Colby replied. “My legs hurt, too.” “No, Sarge,” Bock said, taking another loud whiff. “Seriously…you don’t smell that?” Then Colby did smell it. A moist, decayed smell, like rotting meat. Oddly similar to the way Jared smelled when he walked into their camp last night. The two men looked at each other, worry clear on Bock’s face. “Harper?” Bock asked. Colby shrugged. “It’s coming from that direction.” He pointed to their left, upwind. “We could go check it out.” Bock hesitated, his face twisted with indecision. Colby waited, guessing Bock was probably battling his scientific curiosity and concern for Harper with his aching legs and common sense. In the end, curiosity won. Or maybe it was concern. Either way, Bock nodded, and motioned for Colby to take the lead. The two left the clearing, following their noses through the heavy brush. Neither spoke, but Colby thought they made more than enough noise without talking, anyway. Their feet trampled through twigs and leaves, tripped over roots, and generally made enough of a racket to render the idea of surprise a fantasy. But they made good time. Before long they heard a constant buzzing, like a cloud of flies around a kill, and Colby knew they were getting close. They rounded a large Maple and stood in front of a massive column of flies. Not ordinary house or fruit flies, either. They looked like Bottle Flies, but they were huge. Each individual fly was over three inches long – about the size of a kid’s toy car – and the noise of their wings grew louder the closer they got, until the buzzing became a deafening roar. Colby poked his head out from behind a tree, not daring to go among the madly buzzing insects. He wouldn’t have been worried about regular flies, or grubs, either, for that matter, but after having seen the teeth on those grubs, he wasn’t sure he wanted to test his luck with any other unknown bugs. With his luck, the flies would descend on him like a million little vampires, coming after his blood and sucking his body dry. Bock, however, had other ideas. He strode through the bushes and grass and walked up to the buzzing cloud. “My God,” he said. “Would you look at those bastards?” Colby stepped from behind the tree, but didn’t approach. The hole in his leg still stung, and he wasn’t about to add to it. “What are they doing?” “There’s a dead bear over here. A big one. Looks like they’re eating it and laying eggs. Typical fly stuff. You should come and check it out.” “Any grubs there?” “Not yet,” Bock said. At least not that I can see.” Colby didn’t want to go look at the dead bear; he didn’t want to go anywhere near those flies, but he also didn’t want to let a biologist show more backbone than him, even if it was Bock. He stepped over to the whirling, buzzing column of flies and looked down at its base. He whistled. “That is a big one,” he said. “But you were wrong about the grubs. There’s one right there.” He pointed it out, just under the bear’s jowl. “And there, and over there, too. Shit, there’s a bunch of them. We’d better go.”

Bock stepped in front of Colby and shoved him backward, toward the bear carcass. “I don’t think so,” he said, grunting with the effort. “You aren’t going anywhere.” Colby faltered for a moment, and teetered on the edge of the small area, but it was more from surprise than anything else. “What the fuck?” Colby asked. “Bock, that shit isn’t funny.” “No one is laughing, Sarge.” Bock stood his ground in front of Colby. “You just hang on until the queen gets here.” “Queen? What the hell are you talking about, Bock? Did you hit your head on something? What queen?” Colby tried to step around, but Bock grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back toward the bear carcass. Bock was big, and for a scientist he was fairly strong, too. But Colby had spent years, even decades, training his body in strength and extensive hand-to-hand combat. Once he regained his composure, Bock never had a chance. Colby grabbed Bock’s forearms and whipped his top half sideways, putting his hip under the now overbalanced Bock’s torso. Then he doubled over, using Bock’s own weight to send him crashing into the trunk of a nearby oak. Colby fell on top of him, leading with his forearm, and Bock’s breath blew out of his lungs with an audible whoosh. Colby then folded his right hand forward and smashed Bock in the face with the blunt part of his wrist. The Chicken Wrist, his sensei had called it. Like getting hit with a club. Bock’s eyes lost focus, and Colby jumped back, away from the flies and their buzzing, which seemed to have gotten louder and more insistent. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Colby asked. “You shouldn’t have pissed them off,” Bock replied, his eyes getting wider with each syllable. “They want you, now. All they need is a queen.” Bock started to rise. “They? They who? What queen? And sit the fuck down!” Then Colby noticed something that froze his blood. Bock’s shirt had come unbuttoned during their scuffle, and a patch of his chest was now visible. There, mired in with the sparse growth of Bock’s chest hair, several grubs hung like leeches. Not eating, but just hanging there, like remoras on a shark. They pulsed and throbbed while Colby watched, and he felt the bile rising in his throat. The sight of a dead, rotting Jared hadn’t moved him to puke, but watching the grubs hang on to Bock’s chest almost did. “Rip ‘em out, Bock,” he said. “Rip those fuckers out.” Bock shook his head and smiled. “I like them,” he said, and started toward Colby. Colby squared his feet and his shoulders, then raised his hands to the level of his solar plexus. He didn’t make a fist yet, he’d save that for when he made contact. For now he just got his hands and legs into proper alignment. He wondered about Bock’s mental state; the man must be out of it to attack a trained hand-to-hand fighter. “I don’t want to hurt you. Bock,” Colby said. It was true; he didn’t. “Bock’sh not zhe one who’s gonna get hurt, Sharge,” a new voice said from behind him. Colby whirled to face the newcomer, and couldn’t suppress a gasp when he saw Harper standing there. Then his heart rate skyrocketed. It wasn’t the sight of Harper covered in fat, two-inch grubs that bothered him, nor was it the fact that those same grubs were chewing at his face, hands, and everything else.

What bothered Colby was the rifle, his rifle, which lay in Harper’s hands, pointed right at his chest.

Chapter Seven

“Damn it,” Colby swore. He’d left the rifle back in the tiny clearing. Had Bock known? He must have. But how did Harper know about it? Unless he’d been following the two since they left their last camp. Colby should have paid more attention; he’d never once considered that anyone, or anything, might be trailing them. Stupid. Bock grabbed his arms from behind, while Harper kept the rifle trained on his chest. Colby didn’t have a lot of time, could he twist out of Bock’s grip? Maybe, but Harper would almost certainly get a shot off first. He scanned the immediate area, looking for anything he could use to escape. “Don’ do it, Sharge,” Harper said. As he spoke, a grub popped through his cheek from inside his mouth and crawled across his face toward his ear. “Zhey don’ care if you dead, firsht.” “They, who?” “The grubs,” Bock said in his ear. “They’re hungry, and they’re pissed.” How could bugs be pissed? Colby didn’t want to know. Maybe the grubs had some kind of narcotic in their saliva or something, because Bock sure sounded high. But Harper…there really wasn’t an explanation for that. The guy was covered in grubs. They were eating him alive. On top of that, there was a huge chunk of flesh missing from his throat, and another from his thigh, visible through the ragged, bloody hole in his pants leg. How the fuck was he even walking? Something big had torn away pieces of him, but what? Then Colby remembered Jared, shuffling through the camp and chewing on his wrist. By all rights, he should have been dead by that point, too. So what was it? Colby searched his memory. He thought he remembered hearing about a substance that could make people not feel pain, but what was it? It was on the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t quite remember. Not that it mattered. Bock shoved him toward the carcass of the dead bear. Clearly, he wasn’t going to be given time to figure it out. He turned and took a step or two closer, keeping his eyes and ears open for an opportunity to escape. Bock stepped in behind him. “No, Och,” Harper said. “Don’—” Colby took advantage of Bock’s position to launch a roundhouse right at his face. His fist connected solidly with Bock’s jaw, and the man went limp. Big, strong, brainy, but apparently unable to take a punch. Score one for me! Harper leveled the rifle and pointed it at Colby’s chest. “Oh, no you don’t,” Colby said, and ducked just in time to catch Bock by the armpits. He held Bock’s limp form up between him and Harper, using it as a shield. Then he reached for his .45 and put the barrel to Bock’s head. “Back up, Harper,” he said. “You know I’ll shoot him.” Harper smiled, revealing a number of gaps in his teeth. Grubs squirmed through his mouth, ducking through the gaps and chewing on his gums and tongue. Oh, fuck me, Colby thought. Harper pulled the trigger. The round entered Bock’s stomach and exited his back. Colby felt the familiar white-hot flash of pain as the bullet tore into his side. No matter

how many times he got shot, he’d never get used to it. The searing pain as a superheated slug tears into your body isn’t something you forget. Ever. Colby shoved Bock at Harper, wincing as he tensed the muscles in his abdomen, and pointed the .45 at Harper’s head. Bock crashed into Harper just as Colby squeezed the trigger, and the shot missed. On the plus side, Harper and Bock tumbled to the ground in a heap, and the rifle flew out of Harper’s hand to land near the dead bear carcass. Colby reached down and picked it up. When he bent over, he couldn’t help but notice the amount of blood pouring from the hole in his shirt. Colby looked over at Harper, who was struggling to lift Bock off his chest and having very little success. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and risked a quick examination of the wound. It wasn’t serious, not much more than a graze, but it hurt like hell, and it was bleeding pretty fast. He ripped a piece of his sleeve off and pressed it to his side. That would only do for a short while, though. He’d need to pad the wound with something - a shirt, or some cotton - and he needed to do it soon, before he lost too much blood. First he had to get the hell away from the other two. He kept the .45 pointed at Harper. Behind him, the cloud of flies buzzed away, but didn’t seem at all interested in him. Good. The last thing he needed was to have to worry about those fucking things, too. He started to walk back to the little clearing, pressing the cloth to his side with his left hand and holding the Desert Eagle trained on Harper with his right. It wasn’t easy, and his accuracy would be affected if he had to shoot that way, but at such close range he should still be able to put a few holes in Harper before he could go more than five feet. A few more holes, he corrected. Harper’s body was pocked with the teeth marks of the little grubs. He looked like someone with a very bad case of Chicken Pox. Bock groaned again, regaining consciousness. Colby looked at Bock’s belly, and at the blood pouring out of it. By the looks of things, the bullet had done quite a bit damage. Colby doubted the scientist-turned-grub lover would last the day. Too fucking bad. Beneath Bock, Harper glared daggers at Colby as he backed out of the clearing and into the woods; a visage made even more surreal when a grub poked it’s tiny scarlet head out of his nostril and began to chew on his upper lip. Harper never even flinched. Colby made it back to the spot where he and Bock had eaten lunch, and miracle of miracles, his pack was still there. So was Bock’s. The medical supplies were in his pack, so he went to it first. He laid the rifle on the ground just long enough to unzip the pack and grab a wad of cotton, a small vial of rubbing alcohol, and some adhesive tape. A small bottle of Vicodin sat in an inside pocket of the pack, but he passed over it. He would need to be clear-headed for the hike back to camp. With his right hand, he pointed the pistol back the way he’d come, just in case Bock and Harper came after him. With his left, he lifted his shirt and pinned it to his chest with his chin. His shirt thus secured, Colby upended the vial of alcohol over the hole in his side. Somehow, he managed to remain conscious. When the pain faded to a dull throb, he wadded up the cotton and placed it over the wound. He then wrapped a few strands of the tape around his body to hold the bandage in place and tied it off with a spare shirt from Bock’s pack. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold long enough to get back to camp. And anyway, it was all he could do. When he finished, he grabbed the last canteen and took a long swallow. He had a long trek back to camp, and it would be even longer if he had to spend it without water,

but he was so thirsty. A little dizzy, too. Probably from the blood loss. He opened up the bag of jerky and started munching on another piece, knowing he’d need the protein. Still chewing, he stuffed the jerky, bandages, cotton, canteen, and the rest of the alcohol back into the backpack, then he slung it over his shoulders, wincing again at the pain in his side, and set off toward the camp. This time, he paid attention to the noises of the woods around him, so it was easy to pick out the sound of someone following him.

Chapter Eight

“I told you to slow down,” Allen said. “You burned out your testicles, didn’t you?” Moretz ignored him and shuffled to the edge of the camp, pressing the ice pack to his groin with his left hand. In his right hand he carried a can of gasoline for the generator. It was heavy, and carrying it hurt his swollen balls even more, but he needed to get away from the others. Janice hadn’t said anything, but the guys in the camp, with the exception of Allen, looked at him like they knew. So what? Who cares if they know? So Janice liked to play a little rough. Big deal. Moretz could play rough, too. This just meant there was more fun to be had, is all. But damn, his balls hurt. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Allen said from behind his back. “I hope you cleaned up after yourself, or Steinman’s going to be pissed.” Moretz shot him the finger over his shoulder and continued his slow walk to the generator. *** Moretz bent over the generator and filled the tank, which was hard to do with one hand on the gas can and the other holding an ice pack over his throbbing genitals. He had to balance the lip of the can on the mouth of the tank and pour very slowly to avoid making a mess. It would have been easier with two hands, but that ice pack wasn’t moving. Period. He was still cursing Janice’s sense of play under his breath when Colby burst through the treeline like a rampaging bull. He was covered in blood from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, and his eyes had a weird, not-quite-sane look to them. He whispered something that sounded like Thank God, then spent a few seconds looking around the camp. His lunatic eyes settled on Moretz, and he snapped the barrel upward and pointed it right at the scientist’s chest. Great, Moretz thought. Fucking fantastic. “Open your shirt,” Colby said. “What? What the hell is wrong with—” “I said, open your fucking shirt, Moretz.” Colby slammed the rifle’s slide home and gestured with the barrel. “I won’t ask again.” Moretz glared at him, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. When a man covered in blood points a gun at your head and tells you to unbutton your shirt, it’s best to unbutton your shirt. So he dropped the ice pack, yanked his shirt out of his pants, and loosened the buttons from his collar to his belly. When he was done, he looked back at Colby. His groin protested the loss of the ice pack immediately, and he fought the urge to pick it back up. “Happy?” Moretz asked. “Open it up,” Colby said.

Moretz did. Colby stared holes into his chest for a count of about thirty, then seemed to relax. He lowered the rifle and smiled, which scared Moretz almost as much as the rifle had. “What’s with the ice pack?” “None of your damn business.” “Fair enough. Is everyone here?” “Everyone but you guys.” Moretz said, buttoning his shirt. “Good. Go and get the rest of them and have them meet me by my tent,” Colby started walking to the water tank. “We have to talk.” “Where are Bock and Harper?” Moretz asked. Colby laughed, but it didn’t have an ounce of humor in it. The sound sent an icy shiver up Moretz’s spine. “Don’t worry,” Colby said. “They’re coming.”

Chapter Nine

Colby faced the remaining scientists: Allen, Edison, Moretz, Steinman, and Janice. As with Moretz, he’d forced them to open their shirts so he could check for Grubs. He’d thought Janice might fuss, but she simply lifted her T-shirt over her head and waited for him to check her over, a slight look of disappointment on her face, as if she felt betrayed by his mistrust. But then, she hadn’t seen the things he had. If the situation hadn’t been so dire he might have tried to soften the question, might have tried to make it a little less urgent for all of them, but he didn’t have time, and they didn’t need him coddling them right now. Once he verified they were all clean, he filled them in on what he’d found of Jared, and what had become of Bock and Harper. Several times, Janice gasped aloud. More than once Edison snorted in derision. The other three looked at him like they couldn’t figure out if he was crazy or pulling their leg, but Colby pressed on, ending with his mad, injured run through the woods from the bear carcass to the camp. “So that’s the story,” he concluded. “Any questions?” “Did you bring back a sample of the grubs?” Allen asked. Colby looked at Allen, a little taken aback. He’d expected to hear questions like When are we leaving? or What do we do now? But Allen’s calm query about samples surprised him. Then he remembered that, unlike Harper, Allen was an entomologist. “Yeah,” he replied. “Glad you asked. I almost forgot.” Colby was only too glad to hand him the small bag with the hand and grubs in it. Allen took it without even looking at Colby, then turned and vanished into his tent, never taking his eyes off the bag. “I think you just made his year,” Steinman said. Colby nodded. “Probably, but that doesn’t help the rest of us.” “So what did you mean when you said Harper and Bock would be coming soon?” Moretz asked. “If those grubs got them, don’t you think they’re dead by now?” “Someone followed me here. I could hear them behind me. I stopped and tried to shoot them a few times, but I could never spot them. Those woods out there,” Colby spread his hand behind him in a sweeping line, “are fucking dense. They could be twenty feet away and we wouldn’t be able to see them.” Moretz looked doubtful, if a bit afraid. So did the rest of the group (except for Allen, of course, who could be heard exclaiming about his new find from inside his tent). That was good. Colby wanted them a little afraid; fear sharpens the senses. The trick was not to let them panic. “Harper might be long gone by now,” he said. “But not Bock. Bock is almost certainly still alive.” “Are you sure?” Janice asked. Colby remembered how Bock had only a few grubs on him, and those didn’t seem to be feeding. If that hadn’t changed, then oh, yes…he was sure. In fact, Bock was probably watching them all right now, Colby would have bet his left nut on it. But how would he explain all that to her without scaring the living shit out of her? “I’m sure,” he said simply.

“Ok, Sarge” Edison said. “So what’s the plan? What do we do?” Just the question Colby had been dreading. “I don’t know.” They all stared at him. His status as their guide made him the group leader in their eyes, and now they wanted him to lead them to safety. But they were hundreds of miles away from anything at all, with no means of communicating back to Anzer, and there wouldn’t even be a supply helicopter for another week. That didn’t leave a lot of options. In fact, it only left one. “There’s not much we can do, is there?” Janice asked. “It’s too far to hike back, and we couldn’t carry enough food to make it, anyway. We’ll just have to wait until Monday.” Colby looked at her and nodded, impressed that she’d reasoned it out so quickly. Her face was flushed, and her pale blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Yet her mind was sharp as always, and he found himself thinking about the hours ahead. He wondered if, during the upcoming mess, they would be able to find time for themselves. Probably not. The nights of sneaking into the woods were long over. He felt a twinge of loss at that, but it couldn’t be helped. Three of his charges were dead or dying. He didn’t intend to lose any more. “That’s about right,” he said. “We’ll sleep in shifts. Someone needs to be up and on their guard at all hours.” “What about our work?” This from Edison. “We still have a lot to do here.” Colby wanted to slap the man, but managed to hold himself in check. “Two people have died, and a third one is probably dying. Once that chopper gets here, I plan to get on it and get the fuck home. If you want to stay behind and finish your work here, be my guest, but you’ll be doing it without me.” Around the group, every head nodded. No one wanted to stay behind after knowing what happened to Jared, Harper, and Bock. Even Edison seemed to accept the idea. “All right, then,” Colby said. “Now that that’s settled, who’s hungry?” *** Twenty feet from the edge of the science team’s campsite, Bock and Harper, or what was left of him, watched from the concealment of the brush. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could guess it readily enough. “They’re going to post a guard tonight,” he said. Harper nodded, and a small group of grubs fell from his half-eaten face and landed on the ground. They quickly loped and crawled their way back to Harper, and began feasting on the remains of his toes. Soon Harper would be nothing but a pile of bones, just like Jared, and then Bock would be alone. He would have to make his move soon, before Harper rotted away and left him without any backup. Harper probably had another six hours before his muscles and flesh were so far gone as to render him completely immobile. Six hours, maybe eight. Not a lot of time, to be sure, but if he could get Colby (and his gun) out of the way, then it wouldn’t matter. The rest of the team could be brought in at his leisure. He looked down at the hole in his belly and marveled that he was still alive. The grubs had

taken care of him, fixing up the worst of the damage so that he could carry out their plan and bring more people into the fold. He’d have succeeded back at the bear carcass if the flies had any teeth, but they didn’t. They didn’t have the necessary proteins in their saliva, either. Only the larvae did. Only they could dig in and take control. The flies were just vessels for the eggs, and nothing more. Too bad. He rubbed the hole where the bullet pierced his body. Fucking Colby. Should have just stood there and waited for a Queen, but no, he had to go and ruin everything. Well, Bock would get him for that, and the grubs would have him. He’d see to it. “Tonight,” he told Harper. “We’ll move tonight.” Harper smiled, sending more grubs to the ground. *** Bock didn’t know it, but he wasn’t the only one staring at Colby and wishing him ill. Moretz stood at the entrance to his tent, watching Colby and Janice talk as they walked through the campsite, probably headed for the first aid tent so Janice could help tend Colby’s wound. Leave it to that bastard to come in fucking shot. Janice had fawned over him like a mother duck over a duckling. He probably planned the whole thing, wanting to come back injured so Janice would have to take his shirt off and treat him. The son of a bitch. He wondered for half a second if he should try and get shot, too. Maybe Janice would cluck and swoon over him. Then he shook his head. That was Colby’s trick. His method of trying to steal Janice away. Moretz didn’t need to resort to shit like that; he already knew Janice wanted him, even if she did like to play a little rough. Still, Colby’s obvious advances were starting to piss him off. As Colby and Janice disappeared into the First Aid tent, Moretz glared at their backs. He might just have to arrange a little accident.

Chapter Ten

Later that evening, just before sundown, Colby went to see Allen in his tent. The pudgy entomologist hadn’t emerged since he went in, and Colby wanted to check on him. He kept his hand on his pistol as he ducked through the entrance. Allen didn’t notice him; he was bent over a microscope, peering through the eyepiece. Next to him on the table was a cut-up grub, its two crimson ends missing. In a small jar next to the dead grub, several live ones crawled around and over each other, probably looking for an exit. Every now and then, one would bite at the glass. Even from where he stood, Colby heard the tiny clink, clink of their jaws on the inside of the jar. “Weren’t there more of them?” Colby’s hand tightened on the pistol’s grip. Allen never looked up. “Keep watching.” Colby did, and after a minute or two he watched one of the little bastards devour another. There was no fight or scuffle; the offending grub just opened its jaws impossibly wide, then proceeded to chew the other’s head off. The other grubs soon joined in the fray, and in less than thirty seconds, the number of grubs in the jar had been reduced by one. “How often do they do that?” Colby asked. “Every few minutes,” Allen replied. “I started with over thirty, now there’s only fifteen. I had to separate a few just to make sure there would be enough left to study.” He pointed at the far wall of the tent, where seven small glass containers sat on a shelf, each containing one very pissed off grub. Small bits of jerky dotted a few of the jars. Colby watched for a few more minutes. Another grub in the communal jar fell victim to its brethren. “Nasty little fuckers, aren’t they?” “You don’t know the half of it,” Allen said, finally turning away from the microscope. “Take a look.” Colby stepped over and peeked into the microscope’s eyepiece, which showed a view of one of the grubs’ heads, highly magnified. Jesus! He’d known they had teeth, but he hadn’t realized how sharp they were, or how numerous. “No wonder it hurts so much when they bite.” “You noticed the mandibles, then,” Allen said. “Yes, they definitely have a full working set of jaws, and regenerative teeth, like a shark. One tooth breaks or pops out, and another one steps in to take its place.” Colby looked up. “I’ve never head of a bug with regenerative teeth.” “Me neither,” Allen said. “Lots of insects have teeth, not like you and I, of course. An insect’s jaw usually consists of mandibles, which can often be serrated like teeth, but— ” “Allen, the short version, please.” “Right. Sorry. Regenerative teeth in insects just doesn’t happen. I’ve never seen it before, and I’ll tell you something else, I—Wait. Did you say one bit you?” “Yeah, right here.” Colby lifted his pants leg and showed Allen the pocked bit of his leg where the grub had taken a piece of it. “Fucker got me pretty good.” Allen looked at the bite, then back up at Colby. “Can I take a sample of your

blood?” “Why?” “I want to see if it tests positive for a chemical I found in their mouths.” “What chemical?” Colby asked as he rolled his pants leg back down. “I’m not sure. It’s organic in nature, yet structurally similar to phenylcyclohexylpiperidine.” “Phenylcyclo… where have I heard that before?” Colby snapped his fingers. “PCP? You’re saying these things are laced with Angel Dust?” “Technically, no,” Allen replied. “But something similar.” “That would be why Bock and Harper didn’t seem to feel any pain.” Colby reasoned. “Probably, yes. It would make sense. And it would help to describe their behavior, too.” Colby nodded. Shit, yeah it made sense. It made perfect fucking sense. He remembered those things on Bock’s chest; how they looked like they were pumping something into him. Probably injecting his body with so much of the stuff he couldn’t think straight. No wonder he’d tried to kill him. “Fuck.” Colby rolled up his sleeve and let Allen take some of his blood. The needle stung a bit – Allen was no nurse – but he’d had much, much worse. The small, round scars on his chest, remnants of that fatal gunfight in Kuwait, could attest to that. “I don’t understand something, Allen.” “What’s that?” Colby taped a square of cotton to the inside of his elbow and rolled his sleeve back down. “Lots of animal poisons are mildy narcotic, right?” Allen nodded. “Lots of them are neurotoxic poisons, too. What’s your point?” “Well, in the case of narcotic poisons, the victim falls asleep, making it easy for the predator to finish them off, right? Or, in the case of a neurotoxin, it kills the prey quick. That’s evolution in action. The poison is designed, in one way or another, to take the fight out of the victim quickly so the predator can eat.” “True,” Allen said. “But I still don’t—” “Quick. What are the effects of PCP?” “What does that have to do—” “Humor me. What are they?” Allen’s brow wrinkled, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Hallucinations, violent and erratic behavior, paranoia, and even the deadening of pain receptors, among other things.” “So why would an animal need to instill those qualities in its prey? Why make the prey more violent, instead of less? What purpose does that chemical have for being in the grubs’ saliva?” Allen started to open his mouth, then closed it. His eyes widened. “That’s a damn good question, Colby.” He looked at the grub squirming in his jar on the table – the last one; it had eaten it’s way to the top, apparently – as it bit at the sides of the jar. The tiny clink it made as it bit the glass merged with the other dozen or so small noises the rest of the grubs made as they did the same. “What the fuck are these things?” Colby asked.

Before Allen could reply, Janice’s scream tore through the camp. *** Colby ran outside. Clouds overhead obscured the moon, making it hard to see more than a few feet in front of him. The floodlights of the camp could only do so much against the encroaching darkness. And, he noted, several of them were out. How the hell did that happen? He looked around and noted the others emerging from their tents or portable labs and into the night, looking confused and afraid. As well they might. Janice screamed again. It sounded like it came from her tent. Colby sprinted across the clearing to the only tent in the camp that served a single occupant. Janice, as the only woman in the expedition, had her tent all to herself. Or she had, anyway. The shadow on the wall of the tent showed two figures inside, clearly involved in a struggle. Colby drew his .45 and ran to the flap, thumbing off the safety as he went. He saw the tripwire just before he hit it, but it was too late. His foot caught on a strand of heavy fishing line. It wasn’t so strong that he couldn’t break it, but it didn’t have to be. It was enough to throw him off balance and that’s all it took. He fell face first into the dirt and dried leaves that covered the floor of the clearing, landing on the hard ground with enough force to blow the air out of his lungs and send his pistol flying away. “Thanks, Colby,” a gruff voice said. It sounded like Bock. “That makes things much easier.” When his vision cleared, he looked up and stared straight down the barrel of his own gun. Behind the rear sight, Bock’s face glared down at him, his eyes thin slits in the dark camp and his nostrils flared open like a wide animal’s. Just visible through the opening of his shirt was a single grub, face planted in his flesh and body undulating and pumping forward like a slower version of a cartoon water hose. Bock’s smile turned Colby’s spine to ice. Janice’s muffled voice drew his attention to the left, where she and the thing that used to be Harper emerged from her tent. Harper had a firm grip on her, and despite the fact that half his muscles and flesh had been eaten away by the grubs, Janice couldn’t seem to break free. Somewhere behind him, Colby heard the sound of retching. Probably Allen again, but he couldn’t tell. The rest of the camp was silent as death. Colby didn’t have to look around to know what the rest of the team would be doing. They’d probably be frozen where they stood, waiting to see what would happen next. That’s scientists for you, he thought, all wait-and-watch and no action. But one of them, at least, proved him wrong. “Hey,” Steinman said, and Colby heard leaves and twigs crunching under someone’s boot. Steinman was moving. “Leave her alone, you bastard.” Bock never blinked. He brought the pistol up and pointed it somewhere behind and to the right of Colby. The gun boomed once and jerked backward in Bock’s hand. A few seconds later Colby heard the empty thump of a body falling to the ground. Janice screamed through Harper’s decaying hand, and the sound of someone in the camp throwing up started anew. Colby also heard the sound of running feet as one or two of the guys bolted. He couldn’t blame them, he supposed. When a psycho with a gun comes along and starts pulling the trigger, running like a rabbit is a sound strategy.

He tensed, getting ready to spring up while Bock’s attention was diverted elsewhere and hopefully take the gun away. But Bock didn’t stay distracted for long. He smiled again and turned the pistol back to Colby, aiming it right at his forehead, just slightly to the left of center. “I think I owe you one, Sarge,” Bock said, and pointed at the red stain on the front of his shirt. Bock thumbed back the hammer with an ominous click, which Colby barely heard over the ringing in his ears.

Chapter Eleven

Colby tensed, waiting for the moment that would end his life. He refused to shut his eyes, preferring to face his death as a man. Bad enough he was going to die laying on the ground, he wouldn’t go out a coward, too. He sneered at Bock, mentally daring him to pull the trigger and get it over with. At least he wouldn’t have to watch as another failure attached itself to his name. Because his eyes were open, Colby saw what happened next: Bock’s finger tensed on the trigger, but Janice’s leg shot out from under her and her workboot crashed into Bock’s knee. Colby heard a cracking noise, and in the split second before the gun fired he realized Janice must be wearing her steel-toed boots. Bock grunted, and the gun banged to life again in his hand. Colby heard the whiz of the slug as it zipped past his ear. Janice had knocked Bock off balance just enough to ruin a point-blank shot, God bless her. Colby got his feet under him and launched his shoulder into Bock’s solar plexus. Bock, already injured, swore as he crumpled over in a pile of flesh and flailing limbs. The .45 went flying again, and landed several feet away, but neither man was close enough to reach it, and Janice was still in Harper’s grasp. Colby wrestled Bock to the ground and jammed his healthy knee into Bock’s injured one. Apparently the PCP wasn’t doing its job, because Bock screamed obscenities in his ear. Colby couldn’t keep a satisfied grin off his face. “Guess you owe me two now, huh?” Colby said. “Fuck you,” Bock replied. Colby brought his knee down on Bock’s a second time, but this time Bock’s grunt of pain was less satisfying. It obviously still hurt, but the dope in his system must be compensating for it. Colby checked the grub on Bock’s chest and sure enough, it pumped more furiously than ever. He had to get rid of it somehow, so Bock could sober up and return to normal. But how to do that when his hands were occupied keeping Bock on the ground and on the defensive? He couldn’t let go long enough to grab the gun, and Bock was starting to twist and squirm beneath him, soon he would get a hand free and then the blows would start. Colby didn’t have any illusions of being able to win a fistfight with someone hopped up on Angel Dust. How could you beat someone down who didn’t feel pain? Just then Bock wrenched his right arm free of Colby’s grip and launched an elbow at his nose. The blow struck Colby in the face, and for a second he could see nothing but a bright white flash, like looking at a blank movie screen. Another blow to his gut sent him sprawling forward, his breath stolen from him again and stars dancing in front of his eyes. While his vision returned, he scrabbled through the leaves and twigs in a frantic attempt to regain his feet. A solid blow to his right side rolled him onto his back and caused him to gasp in pain. Most likely he’d have a nice boot print there tomorrow, if he lived that long.

His vision cleared enough for him to see Bock, eyes ablaze, looming over him. He scrambled backward as Bock kicked him in the gut, sending a shockwave of pain through his torso. He flopped backward, fighting the urge to vomit, when his hand settled on something cold and metallic just behind him. The gun! He grabbed the gun blindly and rolled to his left to avoid Bock’s next kick, which would have caught him in the temple but only managed to graze his arm. Colby rolled up and got to his knees, aiming the .45 and squeezing off three quick rounds in rapid succession. His military training held true, and Bock’s head snapped backward as the back of it exploded in a shower of blood, brains, and bone. The second bullet took him in the shoulder and spun him around, his arms flailing wildly beside him. The last bullet missed, but only because Bock’s chest was turned sideways by the second bullet, otherwise it would have cracked through his sternum and into his heart. Bock’s body fell to the ground with a muffled thump and landed perpendicular to Steinman’s, which Colby now saw had a fresh, gaping hole in the chest. Blood poured from both corpses and pooled in the dirt beneath them. Colby looked at the two bodies. Bock’s legs lay over Steinman’s torso. This was too much shit for one day. He could barely believe this had all started as a simple deforestation survey. A scream behind him brought his mind back to attention. Janice! He’d forgotten all about her. He turned just in time to see Harper vanish into the woods with Janice in tow, kicking and thrashing for all she was worth. The two disappeared into the brush on the other side of the clearing. Colby took off after them. There wasn’t much of Harper left, if he could get one good shot he’d be able to drop the bastard like a bad habit, but he had to be close enough to see him first. Shooting blindly into the woods was out of the question. For one, his revolver only had two bullets left, and he didn’t have any spare ammunition or his speed loaders on him. A stupid mistake, but he hadn’t expected the attack to come so soon. His rifle had a full clip, and two others sat in his pocket, but he’d left the rifle in Allen’s tent when Janice started screaming. Another stupid mistake. His old Drill would have put a boot up his ass for that. Nothing to do now but keep going and make those last two bullets count; Janice didn’t have time for him to go back and grab the rifle. Harper could kill her any second, or worse, the grubs could be eating her alive already. He plunged through the treeline and scanned the immediate area. Nothing. He peered into the woods for some sign of them, but he couldn’t see anything. Then he caught a flash of bright yellow about forty yards into the trees. It looked like the same color as Janice’s shirt. He sped off in that direction and was rewarded by the sound of a struggle and Janice’s muffled voice. He imagined trying to force a strong, wiry woman like her to walk through the woods while trying to cover her mouth and keep her restrained. Good luck with that. There was a thud and a grunt of pain, then the sound of struggling stopped. Colby froze in his tracks, listening to the woods and hoping to hear Janice’s voice cry out in victory, or at least defeat, as long as he knew she was still alive. Instead there was only silence. He peered into the trees ahead, looking for some sign of movement, but the forest was still. Even the birds had ceased to call, and with all the recent gunfire, he couldn’t blame them.

He stepped cautiously through the trees and walked toward the last place he’d seen Janice, or at least the yellow of her shirt. He came to a spot where the brush was trampled down and bits of yellow fabric clung to the twigs. There were spatters of blood everywhere, as well as some loose, lonely grubs wriggling through the undergrowth, probably looking for a new host. There were even a few of them on the tree next to him, climbing up the trunk and into its branches. And the stench; that rotten hamburger smell clung to the air around him and almost made him gag. He reached over and squashed one of the grubs as it made its way up the trunk. Wait a minute… climbing up the tree? The grubs that fell off Harper previously had always headed straight back to him. Did they always do that? A shrill scream off to his left was all the warning he got as Harper dropped from the tree to land right beside him. It was enough, however, for him to sidestep the branch in Harper’s hand and get a quick bead with the pistol. Another loud crack and what was left of Harper’s head disintegrated in a cloud of red mist and two-inch long grubs. The body fell to the ground and landed on a small bush, rustling the leaves as it fell through them. Before it had even settled Janice was on him, sobbing loudly and hugging him tight. She said thank you over and over again like an MP3 player on a continuous loop. He dropped the pistol and held her, whispering to her that it would all be okay, and she was safe now. Her shoulders bobbed up and down as sobs wracked her body, and Colby figured she probably needed to get all this out before she could go back to camp. She must have been terrified. After a few minutes she calmed down enough to pull away and stare at the ground, looking a tad embarrassed. Colby started to tell her it was all right, then decided against it for fear of making her feel even more awkward. Besides, he didn’t want to lie. Their situation was pretty far from all right. Instead, he reached down and picked his pistol off the ground, then he tucked it into his waistband and turned back to camp. Janice jumped and let out a yelp. Her hand shot to her pants leg and pulled it up. There, stuck to her calf, was a grub. It swallowed the piece of her leg and took another. Janice yelped again and slapped her palm on top of the grub, reducing it to a pulpy mass of goo. Another yelp, and she lifted her shirt. Several more grubs had started the feast. Colby noticed the grubs on the ground had started moving toward Janice, who had large splashes of Harper’s blood in her hair and clothes. He recalled how the grubs had jumped from Jared’s hand to Bock and Harper, but only after they got blood on them. “It’s the blood,” he said to himself. “They must be able to smell it.” By now, Janice was slapping frantically at her skin as more and more grubs grabbed hold and started to eat. Colby picked her up and, ignoring the painful bites as several grubs fell from her and dug into his shoulders, ran to the small stream by the camp. “We need to wash off the blood, Janice,” he said. “Or the fuckers will keep coming.” Janice nodded. “Put me down. I can run.” Colby set her down and slapped off another grub as it made its way to her neck. “Fine, let’s go.” Together they sprinted through the woods, heedless of the slapping of branches

on their faces and arms. As they ran they pulled grubs from their bodies. Thankfully, there weren’t many. Most of the grubs had gone back to Harper’s body to finish eating. When they arrived at the stream both Colby and Janice jumped in, shedding their clothes as they went. He spotted a grub on her shoulder and pulled it out, then spent the next few minutes examining every inch of her body to make sure there were no others. Once satisfied that he’d gotten them all, she did the same to him, pulling a grub from his thigh and another from his shoulder. Neither one hurt, though both took a chunk of flesh with them. The area around the wound felt numb. Was it PCP? Colby didn’t feel high, so he doubted it. But wasn’t that what Allen said? Maybe Allen was wrong. Maybe the grubs just had a numbing agent in their saliva, like ticks or leeches. Either way, the thought gave him the creeps. Janice finished her examination and pulled on his shoulder. He turned around to face her and she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. They stood naked in the stream for several minutes, catching their breath. Finally, Janice pulled away. She was dripping wet with stream water, her nipples poking into the cool night air. Damn, she was beautiful. He looked into her eyes and felt a stiffening in his crotch. Not now, he told himself, thinking about the bodies back at camp. There must be something seriously wrong with his head if he was thinking about sex at a time like this. He pushed away from Janice, a little more roughly than he’d intended. She looked at him. The confusion and hurt on her face begged for an explanation. How could he explain what he didn’t understand? She would be leaving soon, and he’d still be alone. He turned and made his way to shore, gathering his clothes as he went. “We should get back to the camp,” he said. “Yeah,” she agreed. “They’ll be waiting for us.” As the two gathered their things, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her naked body. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he let this one go? He shoved his clothes into the water and rubbed them together, trying to get the blood out. He was right, they did need to get back to camp. He still had a job to do. There were still people to protect. He hoped. *** Edison sat in a quiet clearing by the stream. He’d been taking a drink when he heard bodies crashing through the woods towards him and scrambled up on the bank to hide in some bushes. From there, he’d watched as Colby and Janice leapt into the stream, tearing off their clothes and slapping grubs off each other’s bodies. At first, his heart swelled when he saw Janice alive and well. He’d have bet anything that she would be dead by now. But Colby had saved her, apparently. He almost jumped out of the bush and ran to her, wanting to take her in his arms and cry his relief into her hair, but he didn’t. Colby had saved her. Not him. When it counted most, Edison had left her in danger and run like a squealing coward. Not Colby. He’d run after her without a second thought, risking his life for her

like some knight out of a fairy tale. Edison squatted in the bushes and watched his wife standing naked in a stream with another man, and he finally started to understand why she left him. *** Colby and Janice washed their clothes in the stream. He hated putting his clothes back on, especially wet, but damned if he was gonna walk through these woods naked. Too many biting, scratching things out there that would love a taste of his tender flesh. Janice got dressed, too, but elected not to wear her bra, which she said would chafe like crazy. She slid her white blouse over her smallish, firm breasts and the thin fabric clung to them. Colby had a weak moment where he stared at her nipples through her now translucent shirt, then shook his head. Later, he told himself. Janice caught the look and smiled, shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry,” she said.” It’s all I have until we get back to the tent.” “Come on,” he said, as calmly as he could manage. “We should get back to the camp and see if any of the guys are still there.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so contemptuous, but he couldn’t help it. The others had just run off and left him and Janice alone and at the mercy of two psychopaths. Well, all except for Steinman, and Colby didn’t want to think about how that turned out. Four of his charges dead now, instead of three. That familiar ache resurfaced, and he found it difficult to breathe. Janice, obviously feeling better and more clear-headed, picked up on his derisive tone, and jumped to her colleagues’ collective defense. “They were just scared,” she said. “I don’t blame them. If Harp… if that thing hadn’t had a hold of me, I’d have bolted too.” Colby nodded. “I know.” It still didn’t make it right. “They didn’t have the benefit of your combat training, you know. They aren’t soldiers. They’ve never seen anything like this before.” Colby shook his head, surprised at the amount of anger he felt. “Neither have I. Moretz, Allen and Edison all ran off, leaving us alone. When I see them again, I’ll...” “You’ll what? Beat the crap out of them for being scared? They are scientists, Colby, not fighters. Moretz and Allen wouldn’t have been any good, and Edison...” She trailed off. “Yeah?” Colby asked. “Edison what?” “He would just have gotten himself killed,” Janice said thoughtfully. “If he’d tried to save me, he would have just gotten himself killed. And he knew it.” “No shit, he knew it. Why do you think he ran?” She didn’t say another word the rest of the way back to camp. Colby couldn’t blame her, he really didn’t feel much like talking, either. He berated himself for his mistakes the entire way. If only he hadn’t left his rifle behind. If only he’d been paying more attention to where he was going rather than running headlong into a trap while trying to save a damsel in distress. Shit, this wasn’t the Middle Ages, where did that chivalrous streak come from? He vividly recalled the intense pounding in his chest when he heard Janice scream, and the wall of red that washed across his vision. What the fuck was that about? He looked backward and saw her watching the ground in front of her feet, lost in thought.

He tried to think of something to say when they reached the camp. What he saw there stopped him cold. He grabbed Janice’s arm and held her back, not wanting either of them to walk into a possible trap. Bock and Steinman’s bodies were gone.

Chapter Twelve

Moretz was the first to return to the camp, about an hour or so after the last shot was fired. He stopped at the edge of the brush and peered through the foliage into the clearing. Sarge and Janice sat and talked at the table where they normally had their meals. Sarge’s head rested on the tabletop, while Janice rested her chin in her hands. Moretz felt his face turn red. They were both alive. And more than that, they knew he had run away and left them to die. He swore under his breath at his own cowardice. He couldn’t help it. When he saw Steinman’s chest vanish in a cloud of scarlet, all he could think to do was run. He told himself it was perfectly natural; the body’s Fight or Flight instinct kicking in. He’d never been one for the fight, but flight? Yeah, that he could do. He could do that just fine, thank you, and he’d proven it yet again. Damn it. Well, nothing he could do now except step back into the clearing and take his medicine. If Sarge wanted to beat the shit out of him there was little he could do to stop the former marine, and he couldn’t get home on his own. He’d never find his way out of the forest, and didn’t know where to start. The choppers. The choppers would be coming here, to the clearing, and by God and sunny Jesus, Moretz was going to be here when they arrived. If that meant Sarge got a piece of him first, then so be it. Moretz would live, and then when the choppers showed up he could go back to Texas and take his frustration out on a handful of grad students. Better to get the shit kicked out of you than to be hunted down and killed in the woods by Bock. He stared at Janice for a moment, and realized his infatuation with her was done. Every time he pictured her, he thought of himself running away into the night while she was in danger. Harper, with his grub-covered hands and piss-poor timing, had managed to see to it that Moretz no longer had a shot. Fucking asshole. The thought of Janice laying with that moron Sarge turned his stomach, but now it was inevitable. Moretz would have to find some other park to play in. That also meant he had to swallow his wounded pride and forget she kicked him in the balls. He could do that, if it meant getting the hell out of these woods in one piece. He was just about to step into the clearing when a hand reached around from behind him and clamped down over his mouth. He tried to scream, but the hand held tight. He reached up and tried to pry the arm away from his face but it was like trying to move steel; it wouldn’t budge. Bock. It had to be Bock. Who else could it be? Bock was the only biologist Moretz had ever met that spent almost as much time in the gym as the lab. The burly jackass looked more like a football player than a man of science. He kicked and scratched with his hands, trying to throw his attacker off, but he ended up overbalanced and he and his attacker fell to the floor of the forest in a tangle of limbs. He landed on his chest and felt the air squeeze out of his lungs, then something hard and painful jabbed into his spine. Bock’s knee, probably. It hurt like a son of a bitch! “Hold still,” a harsh whisper said near his ear. He could feel Bock’s warm breath on his cheek. “This won’t hurt.” Not Bock, he realized, but Allen. Allen had him pinned to the ground with his

knee. What the fuck? Then he felt a small jab of pain on the back of his neck. A tiny sting, really, as of something biting him. A spider, maybe, or a horsefly. He felt a wash of warmth flow through his body from the area of the bite, then the sting faded as the whole area turned numb. Venom, Maybe? Jesus! Allen was poisoning him! He tried to thrash around on the ground, trying like mad to break Allen’s vicelike grip, or at least make enough noise to attract Sarge’s notice, but it didn’t help. Soon his whole body was numb from whatever poison Allen had put into his system. He slumped, too numb and tired to fight any more. Allen’s hand come away from his mouth, and he tried to shout to Sarge and Janice, hoping to get their attention so maybe they’d come save him. There were plenty of antidotes in the supply tent, they’d stocked up on them before they left. Surely they’d have something that could help him. But he couldn’t work his jaw muscles, and only managed to drool on himself. Then the numb feeling turned into a strange, pleasant sensation, and he discovered he didn’t want Sarge’s help anymore. Moretz was fine just where he was, lying on the forest floor with his good friend Allen. In fact, he was better than fine; this was perfect. He and a fellow man of science. Life was good! Why had he wanted to call Sarge, anyway? Sarge would just fuck it up. He was military, just another grunt. He didn’t belong in this group. The lazy, stupid bastard was just tagging along and trying to steal a bit of the glory for himself. And get a piece of Janice while he was at it. The cocksucker. Janice was his, not Sarge’s. He turned to look at the two, sitting at the table and talking, and now he saw Sarge for what he was. A dumb ass pistol jockey just trying to make a move on Janice, another scientist, who was clearly above him. The bastard! He’d show them. Both of them.

Chapter Thirteen

Colby and Janice sat at the small table in the center of their camp and listened for any sign of their missing comrades. Janice fidgeted with an empty test tube while Colby filled both clips for his .45 with hollow points. Some people might think a .45 caliber hollow point slug was overkill - a single round could disintegrate a man’s chest - but not Colby. Not in this case, anyway. The way the bodies kept getting up and walking around he figured he needed all the stopping power he could get. The rifle was another matter. He had spare clips for it, of course, but the extra box of ammo he’d packed was missing, leaving him with two empty clips and one with five bullets remaining. Between the two guns, that meant they had a grand total of twentythree rounds they could fire if the need arose. It should be plenty. He fingered the compass in his jacket pocket. Tomorrow morning he and Janice and any remaining members of the team were going hiking. They’d head East toward Caribou until they picked up a cell phone signal, at which point Colby was going to call Anzer and tell him to get them the fuck out of there. After half an hour passed with no sign of the others, Colby’s stomach gurgled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He glanced at his watch. Two a.m. They were going to have to eat something, then get to sleep if they would have any chance of getting out early tomorrow. He looked up to see Janice with her head on the table, already asleep. She looked cute sitting there like that. He stood and walked to the tent, keeping an ear open for any noises coming from the outskirts of the clearing. He walked with his hand on the butt of his pistol, just in case. No fucking worm-addled scientist would get the drop on him this time, by God. He poked his head through the flap. All his gear was in place, and the sleeping bag lay undisturbed on the floor of the tent. He stepped in and grabbed a bag of jerky from his backpack. After shoving the jerky in his pocket, he grabbed a bottle of water from the small cooler by the tent entrance, and stepped back out into the clearing. He stood still for a count of sixty, listening to the sounds of the woods. No rustling twigs, no voices, nothing but the crickets and nighttime birds. Perfect. He walked over to the table and set the water and the jerky on top of it, then he slung the rifle over his shoulder and bent over to pick Janice up. She would be easier to watch if she were safe inside the tent. She groaned at his touch, but settled into his arms easily enough. She was heavier than he thought she would be, but that was probably because of her muscle mass. The woman obviously worked out, and hard. He’d have thought the opposite to be true, but then again he didn’t know many scientists, let alone female botanists, so who was he to make assumptions? He carried her over to her tent, again listening for sounds from the woods, but none came. He got to the tent in peace and carried her through the flap. Once inside, he laid her down on the sleeping bag and zipped it up. She snuggled into it and smiled in her sleep. Yes, definitely cute. He stared at her for another few seconds, fighting a strong

impulse to lay down beside her, and then turned around and left the tent. Far better to let her sleep in peace, he thought. Besides, she’ll be gone soon. Back to her university and hallways full of students. It pained him more than he wanted to admit. Soon she would leave for Arizona, and he would be alone again, listening to the sounds of his empty house as he struggled to find sleep. The last two weeks with Janice had been free of his recurring dreams of Kuwait; the first time that had happened in over a decade. When she left, he knew the dreams would come back. He thought about asking her to stay, but decided against it. Not because he thought she’d say no, but because he thought she just might say yes. She doesn’t belong here, Colby, he thought. And you know it. Don’t be selfish, now. He zipped the flap behind him and made his way back to the table, telling himself the moisture in his eyes was due to pollen. When he reached the table, he checked the guns again, just to give his mind something else to think about. Twenty-three live rounds. Should be plenty. He picked up the jerky and popped a piece into his mouth. His stomach gurgled, excited at the sudden intake of food, and he dug out some more. He sat in silence, eating from the package and drinking from his water bottle, wondering when he would be able to sleep again. He couldn’t do it while Janice was asleep, that was certain. Someone had to stay awake and keep watch. Tonight, it seemed that someone was he. *** Moretz and Allen watched as Colby sat at the table. Moretz wanted to run into the clearing and rip the bastard’s head clean off, but Allen held him back. Probably better, anyway. Moretz knew he could never get to Colby before the fucker got a shot off. Having seen firsthand how good the man was with a gun, he wouldn’t risk it. He would bide his time and wait until Colby fell asleep. Sooner or later, fatigue would win. Then Colby would be dead, and Janice would be free for the taking.

Chapter Fourteen

Colby sat at the table and willed his eyes to stay open. It was too dangerous for sleep, that much was obvious. He’d just have to wait until daylight, then he and Janice could hike east toward Caribou and, with any luck, pick up a cell phone signal before the day was over. It shouldn’t be too hard. Even in northern Maine they built cell phone towers, they just put most of them far away from the woodlands because no one lived there. But the closer they got to town the more likely it was they’d pick up some of the weaker signals. Hell, any signal would be better than none at all. He’d take a staticky call over sitting in these fucking woods any day of the week. The problem was, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open. He kept nodding off, and he’d jerk his head up as soon as he felt it slipping down. The forest didn’t help. Crickets chirped around him and night birds sang. An owl hooted a soothing call, and small animals rustled softly through the underbrush. All these soft noises tried to lull him to sleep. He’d sure like to hear a cabbie swearing and honking right now, or maybe a heated argument in the next apartment. Something other than the constant low buzzing of the night time woods, which seemed designed to keep people like him from staying awake. What a fucked up universe. His head dropped again, and this time his shoulders followed it to the table. What harm would it do to lay his head down, anyway? It was so heavy. He could stay awake with his head on the table, couldn’t he? Of course he could. He pulled the .45 from his holster and laid it on the wood just underneath his palm. There, easy reach. Anyone who stepped into the camp would have to face his gun. Then, against all his better instincts, Colby closed his eyes. *** Moretz watched as Colby’s head went down to the table. He never took his eyes off the gun. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if the gun was cocked, loaded, or if the safety was on. It didn’t matter, though. Once Colby was sound asleep he’d make his move and walk into the campsite. Moretz spent the next few minutes imagining many horrible deaths for Colby. A burning stick through the eye, decapitation, even skinning alive, he smiled at each new thought. But in the end they were just fantasies, and none of them would be as quick and sure as a bullet through the head. First, though, he had to get the gun. And for that, he had to make sure Colby was dead asleep. He smiled. It won’t be long now. *** The sound of a snapping twig woke Colby from his doze. He jerked to his feet and whipped the gun around to face whatever stepped into the camp. There was Bock, standing five steps away with his arms out in front of him like a zombie in a Romero

film. How the fuck was that possible? He tightened his trigger finger and almost squeezed off a round. “What the fuck, Colby?” The figure said. “Point that thing somewhere else, would you?” That hadn’t sounded like Bock. Colby rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. When he opened them again he saw it wasn’t Bock, but Edison who stood in front of him, holding his arms up like some back alley robbery victim. “Take off your shirt,” Colby said. “What?” Colby pulled the hammer on the revolver back and arched one eyebrow. Edison got the point. He stripped off his shirt and stood, bare-chested, in the dying firelight. “There. Happy?” “Now turn around,” Colby said. “I want to see your back.” Edison did so, turning a complete three hundred sixty degree spin. Colby noted with relief there was not a single grub on him. Nor was there any sign of a bite. He nodded and holstered the pistol. “Sorry, Edison. After Bock, I ain’t taking any chances.” Edison reached down and picked up his shirt. As he shoved his arms through the sleeves he looked around the campsite and his eyes finally settled on the big bloody patch where Bock’s head had been a few hours prior. “I guess I can’t blame you there,” he said, and pulled out a cigarette. “Got a light?” “I don’t smoke,” Colby replied. “I quit fifteen years ago.” Edison stepped over to the dwindling fire, grabbed a thin branch that glowed red at the tip, and brought it up to light the cigarette. He drew in an exaggerated breath, and after a moment blew out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to start back up again.” “Where’d you get the smokes if you quit?” “I stole a pack from Bock’s tent after you guys left to find what was left of Jared.” He took another drag off the cigarette. “No shit?” “Yeah. At first I was worried he’d get pissed, but now I don’t guess he’ll be coming back for them, huh?” Colby looked at the bloody patch where Bock’s body had fallen, then at the patch of dirt where Steinman’s body had fallen. Bits of brain and blood still speckled the area where his head had been. Both bodies had disappeared when he’d gone into the woods after Janice and Harper. “You never know,” Colby said. “He just fucking might.” Edison snorted, but didn’t say anything. He blew out a long stream of smoke. Colby stared at the tip, glowing bright red in the darkness. He hadn’t had a cigarette in ten years, but damn he wanted one tonight. What the hell? he thought. I could be dead tomorrow. He reached for the pack and grabbed one, lighting it with a stick from the fire. He took a deep breath, drawing the smoke into his lungs, and felt the old familiar calm wash over him. He blew out a cloud of smoke, while Edison tried to puff out a smoke ring or two. Colby couldn’t help but

laugh at Edison’s fish-lipped expression as he botched every single ring. The smoke looked more like the puffy clouds from a steam locomotive. “Damn,” Edison said. “I never could blow rings.” Colby chuckled again and turned to watch the fire. The two sat in silence as it burned lower and lower. Edison finished his cigarette and pulled out a flask. He tipped it up, took a swig, and grimaced. He pulled the bottle away from his face, wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve, and handed it to Colby. “Bock again?” Colby asked, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Nope,” Edison replied. “This stuff’s mine. It’s Crown.” Colby took the flask and downed a swallow. The liquor burned a path down his throat and into his belly. It seemed to clear away a few more cobwebs. He handed the flask back to Edison, who took another pull, capped it, and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked off in the direction of Janice’s tent. “We were married, you know,” he said. “Janice and I.” Colby’s mouth dropped open. Janice hadn’t mentioned that. “What?” he sputtered. “It’s true,” Edison said. “Five years. Then I got an offer from Purdue, but she wanted to stay in Phoenix.” He shook his head. “We probably could have worked something out, but I felt like she should come with me, as it was a big opportunity. We fought for months, and eventually she got sick of it and called an attorney. “I didn’t want to split up. I wanted to reconcile, but by then I was so pissed that I just went along with the divorce, knowing sooner or later she’d come to her senses and give in.” “How’d that work out for you?” Colby asked. Edison shook his head. “You should know.” Colby didn’t reply. Had he and Janice been that obvious? Probably. It’s not like he had felt compelled to hide from a group of white-coated lab jockeys. Any discretion they exercised had come at Janice’s urging. At the time, he thought she didn’t want to come across as unprofessional to her colleagues, but now he wondered if maybe there was another reason. Edison must have hurt like hell as he watched, helpless, while the woman he loved made time with another man. He couldn’t even go anywhere to avoid them because the camp was too small, he’d been forced to sit and suffer. Great. The two men sat together, neither saying a word, each lost in their own thoughts. Colby realized he wasn’t the only person in the group fighting back personal demons; Edison had one clawing at his back, too, but his was fresher. Colby felt like a real asshole. Why hadn’t Janice told him? The answer was obvious; she didn’t tell him because she hadn’t planned on them being anything more than a fling. The thought stung him more than he wanted to admit. “So what the fuck are they?” Edison asked, breaking the silence. “Huh?” Colby replied. “The grubs. What are they? Are they a new species?” “Beats me,” Colby replied. “Allen was our entomologist, and he’s gone.” “He ran off, too, huh?” Colby nodded.

Edison looked uncomfortable, his face reddened. He looked like he was about to say something. He opened his mouth to speak, but Colby cut him off. “Fuck it,” Colby said. “You’re a scientist, not a soldier. You’d probably be dead right now if you’d stayed. Like Steinman.” “Doesn’t make me feel any less like a cowardly bastard.” Edison replied. Colby nodded. “I didn’t figure it would, but it is what it is. You can make up for it tonight, if you want.” “How?” “I need sleep. Take this pistol and shoot anything that comes into the camp. If it’s one of the guys, make them take off their shirts like I did you. The grubs are easy to spot. Wake me up in two hours; that ought to be enough. Can you do that?” Edison nodded. “Good. We are leaving first thing in the morning and hiking East toward Caribou. We need to get in range of one of the cell phone towers so we can call for help.” “You got it,” Edison said. Colby smiled. Too tired to be grateful, and turned his back to the scientist. He walked to his tent and grabbed the flap. Just as he was about to step inside, he turned and saw Edison holding the gun in his hands and staring at it in the flickering firelight. The man looked worried, which Colby supposed was normal, given the circumstances. Still… “I mean it, Edison. Shoot anyone who comes into the camp. If you can’t do it, then just scream real loud and I’ll take care of it.” He patted the rifle slung over his shoulder, hoping Edison caught his meaning. “I got it, Sarge. That’s not what’s bugging me.” “What is it, then?” “It’s the satellite phone thing.” “What about it?” Edison turned in his seat to face Colby. He looked worried, afraid, and even a little angry. “You said you asked Anzer for a sat phone, right?” “Yeah,” Colby replied. “He wouldn’t give us one, though. Too bad, too, we could sure use it right now.” “Exactly. This operation was scheduled to go into the most remote section of Northern Maine, an area that doesn’t have cell phone coverage for miles and miles. But Anzer sent a state-chartered expedition into the woods without any means of contacting the outside. Why would he do that?” Colby shrugged. “He said it was too expensive.” “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A basic tool like that, too expensive to justify bringing it along on a state-sponsored job?” Colby thought a moment. “No,” he finally said. “No I haven’t. I thought it was odd, too.” “And since when did you know Anzer to skimp on supplies? Normally he overstocks just to be safe and to pad his budget.” “That’s true.” “So why didn’t he give us a sat phone when you asked for it?” Colby didn’t have an answer. He shrugged his shoulders. “That’s a damn good question, Edison.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Edison looked across the fire at Colby, pistol still in hand, and Colby saw the anger flare up in his eyes. The orange glow of the fire reflected in them like twin pools of lava, giving the scientist an almost surreal look. “I’m going to find out when we get back, though.” Colby nodded. “I’ll help you.” The two men stared at each other for another thirty seconds or so, and then Colby ducked under the tent flap and crawled inside. No need to zip it; it’d be better if it stayed open, just in case he had to jump out in a hurry. He lay down on his sleeping bag and thought for a while about Edison’s point. Just why the hell did Anzer send them out without a safety net? The fucker was responsible for several deaths that could have been prevented if only they’d been able to call for help. Colby looked forward to seeing the scrawny Director again. He had a few choice words to give him, and he’d deliver them right after he beat the living shit out of the little bastard. *** Moretz swore under his breath. How had he missed Edison walking up to the camp? He should have been on that guy like flies on shit, but instead Edison somehow slipped right by him and now sat at the table holding Sarge’s gun. Edison didn’t look happy, either. He looked like a man so close to the edge it would take very little to push him over. Shoot anything that comes into the camp, Sarge had told him. If it’s one of the guys, make him take his shirt off like I did you. Sarge had said this much louder than the rest of their conversation, and Moretz recalled the sweeping gesture he’d made with his hands as he said it. Encompassing the entire camp and finally pointing right at the spot where Moretz sat waiting. Coincidence, maybe? Bullshit! Sarge knew. The fucker! He knew! Moretz even wondered if the crafty ex marine was only faking falling asleep at the table, trying to lure Moretz out into the open. Just like him to be so sneaky, and Moretz almost fell for it, too. If Edison hadn’t shown up when he did, Moretz would have walked into the campsite, and likely would now be lying dead on the ground in a big puddle of his own blood. Lucky for him Edison got there when he did. He guessed he owed him his life. Moretz would have to repay him for that once Sarge was taken care of. But how? He knew the best way would be a quick, painless death, rather than the slow, agonizing one he planned for Sarge, but damn if that didn’t seem to take all the fun out of it. Ah, well, a debt is a debt, he thought. He turned to face Allen and almost screamed when he saw Bock standing there with half his face torn away. Grubs crawled up and down the length of his body, including a few inside the skull, wriggling around in what was left of the biologist’s oozing brain matter. A few steps behind him, Steinman fidgeted, hopping from one leg to another. His chest shone an eerie red in the moonlight from the bullet hole through it. The red stain covered almost the whole shirt, making it a stiff, rust-colored mess. Like Bock, grubs covered his entire body, wriggling along his limbs and chewing into the flesh of his arms, chest, and legs. He could see the man’s shirt pulsating with them as they roved the parts

of his body still covered by his clothes. Steinman’s face was half gone, and while Moretz watched, a grub poked through his right cheek and dove back into the flesh just under his eye. Steinman didn’t seem to feel it. Fascinating. Moretz looked at his own arm, which remained free of grubs. The only grub on him was the one behind his neck, and he barely felt that one. Allen was the same way. One grub instead of an army of them. He couldn’t help but wonder why. Was it because they were dead and he wasn’t? Probably, but he thought there was more to it than that. He looked for Allen and saw him standing about twenty yards back in the woods, looking behind him. Moretz walked around Bock and Steinman and stepped over to Allen. To his surprise Bock and Steinman followed him, but thankfully they made very little noise as they went. Somehow, even though they were both dead, they knew they needed to be quiet. “Well,” Moretz said when he reached Allen. “Now what?” “Now we wait,” Allen replied. “For what?” Moretz’s stomach rumbled. Damn, he was hungry. “For them to leave. It’ll be easier to get to them when they are scattered along a trail than when they are holed up and armed.” “They’ll still be armed tomorrow,” Moretz pointed out. “We’ll just have to make them use up their bullets, then.” Allen winked, and gestured toward Bock and Steinman, who stood silently behind Moretz. Moretz looked at the two dead men and then back to Allen. “How many shots can they take? They might not make it through the night as it is.” “They’ll make it. And as long as they are quick enough, they won’t have to take many shots at all. Once Sarge and Edison are out of rounds, we’ll just send Bock and Steinman to give them a hug.” Moretz nodded. Using Bock and Steiman to draw fire sounded like a good idea, but it would only work if the two were still mobile in two hours. Judging by the rate at which the grubs were feeding, that might not be a certainty. No sooner did he have the thought than the grubs slowed their ravenous eating, then stopped altogether. Bock and Steinman slumped, then sat with their backs against a tree. If Moretz didn’t know any better, he would have thought they were sleeping. “See? They’ll be ready,” Allen said. Moretz looked from the two dead men to Allen, and couldn’t help but smile. Yes, they would be ready for action tomorrow. He nodded. “What are we going to do with Edison, Sarge, and Janice?” he asked. “We need Edison and Janice. They’re like us. Smart.” Allen replied. “And Sarge?” “We can use him, too.” Allen replied. Moretz bit back a retort until he noticed the smile on Allen’s face. Allen pointed to Bock and Steinman, and Moretz understood. Bock and Steinman wouldn’t last long into the day; they’d need a replacement. Sarge would do nicely. Of course, they would have to kill him first.

Chapter Fifteen

Colby awoke to the smell of breakfast. Somewhere outside his tent, bacon and eggs sizzled, filling the air with the tantalizing scent of frying, artery-clogging goodness. His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled, reminding him that all he’d eaten the past two days was a few handfuls of beef jerky. The smell of the bacon wafted into his tent and pulled him from his sleeping bag. He hefted the rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and poured himself through the tent flap into the open air. In the center of the clearing, Edison squatted next to a fire, poking at strips of bacon that spat and hissed in a lightweight steel skillet. The skillet sat on a metal grate set a few inches above the fire. Colby recognized the grate as a piece of the folding barrier they’d brought along to put around the food tent, similar to a portable doggie pen. Useless, of course, as most of the food hung suspended from a nearby tree branch. The barrier was proof that most of the guys on the team had never spent the night in the woods. But the grate did make a handy little camp stove. Colby had to give Edison credit for his ingenuity; after weeks of using Sterno to heat everything, bacon frying in a pan smelled fucking fantastic! To his left, Janice stepped out of her tent, rubbing her eyes and taking deep breaths. Probably enjoying the smell as much as I am, Colby thought. His suspicions were confirmed a few seconds later when she looked in Edison’s direction and her face split in a wide grin. She brought her hands to her belly, which Colby heard growling even from ten feet away. He chuckled at the sound. “Is there enough for everyone, Edison?” he asked. Edison whirled around, and almost fell into the dirt, but saved himself by planting his hand on the ground and dropping to one knee. His eyes were wide, and then they settled on Colby, and the tension seemed to melt away from his body. He smiled. “Damn it, Sarge,” he said. “You scared the crap out of me.” “Sorry, Edison,” Colby replied. “But… ah… is there?” He pointed at the bacon, the gesture emphasized by a timely grumble from his belly that sent Janice into a brief fit of giggles. Edison smiled. “Yeah, come on over. I made plenty.” He gestured to a plate on the table that Colby hadn’t noticed. It was covered with a paper towel, but he clearly saw the spots where the bacon grease had soaked through the thin material, rendering it translucent. Another plate sat next to it. Eggs, he guessed. His stomach lurched, and he waked to the table, followed by Janice. It was only bacon and eggs, but after two days of nothing but jerky, it looked like a banquet. Colby sat down and attacked the cooling meat with ravenous abandon, shoving pieces into his mouth and washing them down with water from a plastic cup. The eggs fared no better as he and Janice devoured them. Colby would have liked to have some toast to mop up the broken yolks, but he wasn’t going to complain. Edison brought over the pan and set it on a flat stone in the middle of the table, then he served up the most recent batch of bacon and eggs, putting it all onto plates in

front of them. When he got everything settled, Edison sat down to eat, too. He didn’t attack the food the same way Colby and Janice had, but he ate plenty, just the same. “I nibbled on everything while it was cooking,” he explained. “It took the edge off.” Colby nodded. He’d figured as much, anyway. The three ate the rest of their meal in comfortable silence. *** Moretz retched into the bushes. Even fifty or so yards away, the stench of burning meat from the camp stung his nostrils and caused his stomach to churn. Disgusting! “How can they cook that shit?” he asked Allen. “They’re ruining it.” Allen, similarly afflicted, nodded, but said nothing. Fire sears all the flavor out of meat, Moretz thought. Far better to eat it raw. He stepped away from the fresh pile of vomit, which he noted was mostly blood, and tried to get farther away from the campsite. Finally, at about a hundred yards out, the smell proved tolerable. Still there, but now it was only annoying rather than sickening. He thought about circling to the west and getting upwind of the smell, but that wouldn’t do. When Sarge and the others started moving, they would head East, and Moretz, Allen, Bock, and Steinman would need to stay ahead of them on the path until they could find a good spot to attack. The plan was simple. Bock and Steinman would flit through the woods on either side of the group, making noises and throwing rocks or branches, hopefully drawing fire from Edison and Sarge. If they got hit, so be it. It’s not like it would hurt them anyway. Once the grubs got the neural connections set up again, off they would go. As soon as Sarge and Edison ran out of ammo, they would be vulnerable, and Moretz’s group would attack. He had every confidence it would work. After all, thought Moretz, there’s four of us and only three of them, and Janice is a woman. Was she ever, too. He pictured her frail arms and weak legs and smiled. Soon his time would come, and Janice could finally drop her odd charade and reveal her interest in him. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. What a great time they’d have.

Chapter Sixteen

The tangy smell of sweat mingled with the smells of trees and soil. Colby checked his watch. Almost noon. They’d been walking for over four hours. His shirt was soaked through. Both he and Edison had long ago shed themselves of all but an undershirt, and now Colby pulled his off and slung it over his shoulder. He’d probably get bitten by a hundred mosquitoes in the humid, sticky July forest, but it was worth it to feel even the slightest breeze on his skin. Edison noticed, and took his last shirt off, as well. Colby looked over at Janice, and couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She not only kept her T-shirt on, but she still wore her long sleeve, khaki-colored blouse, though both were soaked through with sweat. He knew she wouldn’t remove the T-shirt, but the blouse? She must be dying under all that material. “Let’s take a break, guys,” he said, more for her benefit than anything else. Edison nodded and plopped down next to the pale white trunk of a birch. He grunted, pulled out his canteen, and unscrewed the top. Colby caught Janice glaring at him. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought she was mad at him for stopping. Crazy! But soon she, too, settled her back to the trunk of a tree and pulled out her own canteen. She lifted it to her lips and took a long pull, then screwed the cap back on, leaned back against the tree, and shut her eyes. Colby got the message; she wanted to be left alone. He squatted next to Edison, whose breathing was just starting to even out. “You okay?” he asked. Edison nodded. “We… I used to hike at Mount Blue every summer,” his eyes darted toward Janice, then back to Colby, “but it wasn’t anything like this.” Colby laughed. “No, I guess not.” Mount Blue was a nice little campground down in southern Maine, off Route 4. He’d been there a time or two. Nice lake, showers, canoe and kayak rentals, and of course, hiking trails. Some of the trails were pretty intense, too, but hiking along an established trail, even a rough one, is nothing compared to beating your way through unspoiled forest. Colby would give anything to be on a Mount Blue trail right now; even The Chimney would be preferable. “At least the bugs are the same,” he said. Edison laughed. “Bastards sure are hungry today.” “It’s the sweat,” Colby replied. “They smell it and it brings them running.” Edison nodded. Hell, Colby thought, Edison probably knew that already. “We should probably eat something while we’re stopped,” Colby said. “It’s lunch time, anyway.” All three reached into their bags and pulled out some food. Some leftover bacon from the morning’s breakfast and a handful of biscuits. All of them had bags of jerky, too, but it would be best to eat the bacon first since it was the most likely to spoil. Colby pulled out a bag with half a dozen strips of bacon and popped a piece into his mouth, then washed the salty meat down with another swig of lukewarm water. They ate in silence. Colby thought about their direction; they’d been heading due

east ever since they left camp. By his estimate they’d gone maybe eight or ten miles. Not that far out here, and not far enough to get a signal on his cell phone. He hoped they would be in range soon, but at a speed of two miles per hour he doubted it would happen before noon the next day, at the earliest. Northern Maine is a sparsely populated wilderness; and cell phone towers would be few and far between. But they just needed a weak signal, something they could use to make a call. His phone had a GPS locator, so a rescue team shouldn’t have much trouble finding them. Of course, no one would even be looking for them until they got near a tower. Unless they died out here, then next week when the supply chopper showed up and found the camp empty they would probably start looking. Of course, by then Colby, Edison, and Janice would be scattered around the forests as various piles of fertilizer. It’d be a miracle if the search party ever located some of their bones. Colby shook his head, he wouldn’t bet on that. Wolves, coyotes, bears, or even a mountain lion would probably feast on their bodies while the searchers looked everywhere. Colby made every effort to mark their trail, but that didn’t mean anything. If only they’d brought some spray paint, then they could have left a clear trail for the team to follow. Even then, the trail would most likely lead to their bodies unless they could pick up a fucking signal. “What’s wrong?” Janice asked. Colby turned and found her staring at him. “What?” he asked. “You aren’t eating.” She pointed to the half eaten strip of bacon in his hand. She and Edison had both already eaten their lunches and were, apparently, just waiting for him. “Nothing,” he said, and shoved the rest of the bacon in his mouth. This morning it was delicious, but now it tasted like cardboard. “We should get going.” Edison stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded. By the expression on his face, Colby knew the man suspected something wasn’t right, but he didn’t ask. Colby could have hugged him for that. Janice shouldered her pack and waited, hands on hips, for the two men to be ready. “I have to use the facilities,” Edison said as Colby started to pack his gear. He walked out into the woods and disappeared into the trees. “Don’t go too far,” he warned. “We don’t know who, or what, might be out there.” Edison didn’t respond, and Colby went back to repacking his bag. Edison should be okay; he still had the pistol, after all. If any of the Grub Zombies, as Edison called them, came after him he could shoot them. Colby reached behind him and felt the stock of the rifle, drawing reassurance from its presence. “How much farther, do you think?” Janice asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. Colby, remembering his conversation with Edison, shrugged away from her touch, but tried to mask it by pointing at his phone. He couldn’t tell if she bought it or not, but the last thing he wanted right now was a reminder that she’d be gone soon. “We just need to get close enough to get a signal,” he said. “But how far will that be?” “I’m not sure. Maybe another ten miles, maybe twenty. There’s no way to know

for sure.” “You mean we could be walking out here for days?” Janice’s forehead crinkled in a frown. Colby nodded. She was starting to understand. “We might not make it out,” Janice said. “That’s what you’re not telling me, isn’t it?” Colby didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth. They were probably going to die out here. Janice stepped closer to him, reaching out her hand to his cheek. Colby stepped back, mindful of Edison nearby. Edison wasn’t a bad guy, not once you got to know him. And he’d be damned if he let the guy hurt any more on his account. “What’s wrong?” Janice asked, confusion evident on her face. “Nothing,” Colby replied. “I just don’t think this is the best time.” He glanced over his shoulder, looking for Edison. Janice grabbed his chin and turned his head back to face her. She looked over his shoulder to the woods where Edison had gone, then back to Colby. She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. Her frown deepened. Even mad, she was beautiful. “What did he tell you?” “I—” Edison’s scream cut him short. *** Moretz and Allen walked along, paralleling Sarge’s group, while Bock and Steinman shuffled along behind and dripped bits of themselves onto the forest floor. The two could barely walk, and Moretz wondered how much longer they would be useful. Sooner or later an arm would fall off, or a leg, or a foot. Then what? The body would just fall while the grubs continued to feast, he supposed, but that wouldn’t do him or Allen any good. If only the grubs didn’t eat so damn fast. It’s not their fault, he told himself. They’re just hungry. He could relate. The grubs were ravenous, but then, they had an upcoming transformation to support, and they’d need all the energy and raw materials they could get. It’s not easy to metamorphose on an empty stomach, he supposed. The sound of screaming brought him up short, and Allen bumped into him from behind. “Hey,” Allen began. Then he stopped and cocked his head. He must hear, it too. “That sounds like Edison,” Allen said. Moretz nodded, wondering what Sarge was doing to the man to make him scream so much. The son of a bitch was going to pay for it whatever it was. A shot rang out, loud and sudden in the otherwise still air of the woods. Then another. Finally a third shot, and then the screaming stopped. Moretz and Allen looked at each other. Allen’s features drew into a frown. “He killed him,” Allen said. Moretz nodded. “Sounds like it.” “Did we need him?”

Moretz thought about that for a moment. Edison was a scientist, sure, but his field was mostly in computers and equipment. For them to succeed, they needed more of the natural sciences, like Allen’s entomology and Janice’s knowledge of botany. Would they really need Edison when the grubs hatched from their pupae? “No,” he said. “No, probably not.” “Good,” Allen said. Moretz had to agree. “At least it’ll give us another body for the time being,” Moretz added, pointing behind them at their two dead comrades. Steinman listed hard to the right, it was only a matter of time before he fell over completely and never rose again. Bock was bigger, with more mass and muscle; it would take a few more hours before his body passed the point of uselessness. By then they would have Sarge and Janice in their group anyway and it wouldn’t matter. “You don’t think they’ll try and take the body with them?” “Not a chance,” Moretz replied. “Edison might not be as big as Sarge, but that’s still a lot of extra weight to carry. They’re in survival mode now; they’ll leave his body for the scavengers.” Allen looked in the direction the scream had come from and smiled. “Well, then, let’s go scavenge it.” They turned in the jungle, heading toward the place where Edison’s body should be waiting for them, along with however many holes Sarge put in it. Before they went ten steps Steinman fell into the undergrowth. Moretz turned to look and saw the man’s whole right leg had been reduced to bone and a few stringy tissues, which the grubs chewed with abandon. The rest of his body was only slightly better off, as the grubs feasted on any flesh they could find: organs, skin, ligaments, everything. The little guys didn’t waste a thing. They weren’t especially little anymore, of course. The more they ate, the bigger they got. When Moretz had first seen the grubs in Allen’s tent, they’d been about an inch and a half long. Over the course of feeding, they’d grown to over three inches long and half an inch wide. Easily the biggest larvae he’d ever seen, and Bock and Steinman were covered in the things. Covered! No wonder Steinman fell; there just wasn’t enough of his body left to keep moving. Not all the grubs grew so huge, Moretz knew. The one on his back remained its original size. Allen’s too. He wasn’t sure why, but they weren’t eating him. One particularly fat grub poked its little red face out of the hole Bock’s bullet had made in Steinman’s chest. It wriggled its pudgy body out and proceeded to chew on the flesh around the sternum, which was both visible and cracked. Along the grub’s body the off white color of it’s swollen flesh was tinted red from Steinman’s blood, giving it a swirled appearance: white marrying red and blending together to form a pattern not unlike that of a tie-dyed shirt. Beautiful. Moretz felt moisture building in his left eye. “Will they be okay?” he asked Allen. Allen nodded. “They’ll be fine. There’s still enough of Steinman left to get them where they need to be. By this time tomorrow they’ll all be pupae.” “Good.” Moretz couldn’t help but smile. Then he, Allen, and Bock all set off down the path to pick up Edison. One other

good thing about Edison’s death; there was now only Sarge and Janice to deal with, and that made the odds even better.

Chapter Seventeen

Colby sprinted through the trees, dodging trunks and low-hanging branches along the way. He unshouldered his rifle and slid the bolt into place, then put his thumb on the safety, ready to disengage it at a moment’s notice. He heard Janice running somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t slow down to wait for her. Another member of the group was in trouble and he had to do something to help. Then he heard a noise up ahead. A low, rumbling sound that took him a moment to recognize. A growl. An animal’s growl. A bear, maybe? Or a wolf? He couldn’t tell, but most gray wolves, and even bears, will usually give humans a wide berth. Unfamiliar prey makes them uneasy, unless they are especially hungry or their young are in danger. But Colby hadn’t seen any signs of bear or wolf. Of course, that meant precisely dick. Thick as the woods were, he could have walked right by a sign that said ‘Look Out For Bears’ and never known it was there. Colby rounded a small grove of birches and skidded to a stop. His first thought was That’s no bear. His second was more mundane, something more akin to Holy Shit! Something huge, tan, and furry swatted at a bloody bundle of clothes and rags that had to be Edison. Muffled cries and grunts of pain came from the bundle, but they were weak. The thing lifted its head, then dove it back toward Edison’s face. Colby caught a glimpse of sharp teeth, pointy ears, and a snout full of whiskers. A mountain lion. Are you kidding me? A mother-fucking mountain lion? Edison still had a little fight left, and somehow managed to keep the thing from wrapping its jaws around his throat. But shock and multiple wounds from teeth and claws were clearly taking their toll as his hands slowed and his cries lowered in volume. He didn’t have a lot of time left. Colby raised the rifle and sighted down the barrel at the giant cat’s back, not wanting to risk hitting Edison. A shot in the back wouldn’t kill the cat, but it would certainly get its attention. If the mountain lion turned around and took even a second or two to assess the situation, it would give Colby enough time to put another slug into it, hopefully in its throat or eye. He pulled the trigger, and the shot rang through the forest like thunder, followed almost immediately by the solid thump of the bullet as it tore into the big cat’s back, sending up a small spray of blood and fur. The effect was instantaneous. The lion jumped off Edison and landed in a crouch five or so feet away, facing the new threat. It took a moment to analyze Colby, which he used to slide the bolt back and chamber another round. As the hot casing from the old round popped into the air from the rifle’s breech, the lion roared and tamped down on its haunches, ready to spring. Colby fired another round, right into the lion’s mouth. The cat’s head exploded in a cloud of blood, fur, and bone fragments, sending a little of each into the air and showering Edison’s prone body with viscera and gore. The mountain lion slumped and fell over on its side, its tail twitching in spasms, having not yet received the memo from

what was left of its brain that it was dead. Colby stepped over to Edison and knelt in the damp earth. Right away he could see it was bad. Edison would never make it. The leafy smell of the forest was tinged with the coppery hint of blood. It stood out among the smells of birch, earth, and pine like an accusation. He’d failed again. Half the scientist’s face was gone, replaced by claw marks that oozed red in the noon sunlight. Edison’s right eye was missing, and only a gaping red hole stared back from that side of his face. His left eye, which seemed intact, was clouded with pain and stared off to some point beyond Colby’s shoulder. A deep gash cut across his torso, and blood seeped from it and stained his shirt, which also shone red from a dozen other cuts and scratches. Through the tear in Edison’s shirt, Colby saw patches of exposed ribs and even the lower left corner of the sternum. There was blood everywhere, and it continued to pour unabated from Edison’s many wounds. There was no way to stop the bleeding, and even if they could, Colby knew it wouldn’t help. Edison was good as dead. “Edison?” Colby asked. “Can you hear me?” Edison’s head swiveled, and his bleary eyes roved around, staring vacantly at nothing. He moaned. “Edison?” “C-can’t see.” Edison said. “C-can’t… see.” “It’s me, Edison. It’s Colby. Sarge.” Edison nodded, a slight incline of his head. “Hi, Sarge.” Then he clenched his teeth and groaned. Blood bubbled up from his lips and rolled down the side of his face like a tear. “Sarge?” he croaked again. “Sarge?” “I’m here, Edison.” “Janice… where’s...” “Edison?” Janice’s voice. Colby had forgotten she was behind him. She must have caught up. He turned his head to look at her. She stood ten feet away between a pair of maples, wringing her hands and resting her elbow on the butt of Colby’s .45, which stuck out of the pocket of her jeans. Where the hell had she picked that up? Edison must have dropped it. She looked at Edison with a mixture of fear and worry, then turned a hopeful gaze to Colby. Colby frowned, then shook his head. No way Edison was going to pull through. “Janice?” Edison’s hand went up, his fingers splayed open. “Knew… knew you’d come back.” Janice turned to Colby. “For crying out loud, do something!” she shrieked. “Help him.” Colby looked at her, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t think of anything to say. She must have read his expression well enough, however, because she started to scream at him again. “No, you don’t. You help him, you fucker! This is your fault for bringing us out here in the first place. We should have stayed at the camp and waited.” She pounded the heel of her hand into her forehead and started pacing between the two maple trunks as she said it again. “We should have stayed at the camp. We should have stayed at the fucking camp!” Colby stared at her, not knowing what else to do. Tears streaked down her face

and her nose had gone bright red. “I’m sorry, Janice,” he said. She stopped pacing and squared her shoulders, her face a mask of rage and grief. Before he could say anything else, she had the .45 in her hand and pointed it at his head. “This is your fault you mother fucker! You got us into this, now you are going to help him, damn it! Now!” Colby raised his hands above his head, thinking as fast as he could. Janice was obviously unstable, and he had no doubt she’d make good on her threat if he provoked her. But the fact was, there was nothing he could do for Edison. His eyes flicked to his rifle, which he’d dropped after he shot the mountain lion. It lay among the leaves and twigs some fifteen feet away. He’d never make it. Janice was only about ten feet away and unless she was a very bad shot, she could squeeze a round or two into him before he got five feet. Besides, what if he did manage to get to the rifle without getting shot? Then what? You going to shoot her, soldier? Not a fucking chance. He’d let her empty the entire clip into his chest before he’d hurt her. He sighed. Trying to buy some time. “OK,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.” She nodded, choking back a sob. Colby turned back to Edison, but the scientist was already dead. His one good eye was already beginning to cloud over, and a small fly lighted on it and took an appraising step. Probably looking for a place to lay its eggs. Fuck. First Jared, then Harper, Bock, Steinman, probably Moretz and Allen, and now Edison, too. At least five dead, with two missing. Another failure on Colby’s part. Some protection he’d turned out to be. He hung his head, trying and failing to keep the memories of Kuwait from resurfacing. He’d failed. Again. What good was he? Colby reached up, shooed the fly away, and closed Edison’s remaining eye. “Sorry, Edison,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, you don’t!” Janice shrieked. “Oh, no you fucking don’t!” Colby whirled to face her and found himself staring straight down the barrel of his own pistol. Janice had taken a few steps closer and now stood a mere five feet away, her trembling hands locked around the gun so tight her knuckles shone white against the black metal grip. “Oh, no you fucking don’t,” she said again, the whites of her eyes clearly visible around the deep blue irises. “Help him, you bastard.” “He’s dead, Janice,” Colby whispered. “There’s nothing I can do for him.” “Fuck you! Fuck you, he’s dead! This is your fault.” She thumbed back the hammer. Colby dove to the side just as the shot rang out. A jet of dirt and earth exploded from the spot he’d been squatting in only a heartbeat before. One second too slow and he’d be laying in the dirt next to Edison. He rolled to his feet and squared off against Janice, not wanting to give her a second chance. But she had apparently misjudged the amount of kick that comes with a .45, and now sat in the dirt and loam of the forest floor looking a bit dazed. A reddish mark on her forehead told him what happened. The gun had kicked back and hit her square in the face, knocking her to the ground and dazing her. He’d seen it before at the firing range when people fired such a big gun without properly bracing their arms first. That had to hurt. But it wouldn’t last long. He dove for her and knocked her to the ground. The

pistol flew from her hand, but he couldn’t watch it as it sailed into the trees. He landed on top of her and held her shoulders down while she screamed, kicked and bit at him. She thrashed underneath him with such violent force that once or twice he lost his balance and had to readjust in order to keep her pinned. He let her hit him and kick him, knowing she needed this. She needed to get rid of this pain and fury, and right now he was her only means of doing so. It hurt like hell, but it was the only thing he could do for her. Even amidst the blows, the idea came to him that the bruises she left would be with him longer than she would. Soon her fits turned into sobs, and she stopped struggling. Colby waited a minute or so to make sure it was genuine, and then he climbed off her and sat next to her in the dirt. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, whispering any empty platitudes that came to mind. It didn’t matter what he said, anyway. What really mattered was his tone. Janice was terrified, and she needed to let some of it out. She leaned against him and sobbed into his shirt for five minutes or so, and he stroked her hair and continued to whisper to her. Finally, when her body stopped wracking with sobs and the tears slowed, she pushed off him and wiped the side of her face with her sleeve. She regarded him with red, puffy eyes and a nose that would have made Rudolph the Reindeer proud. He reached over to move a strand of her matted brown hair away from her face and she slapped his hand away. “You’re an asshole,” she said. Colby nodded. “I get that a lot.” Janice stood and left the group of trees, leaving Colby sitting in the dirt, alone with a dead scientist and a headless mountain lion. He shook his head, wondering just how the hell he’d let so many members of his team die. Now there was only him and Janice, and she was so mad she probably wouldn’t speak to him to tell him he was on fire. His own eyes began to water, and he frowned and wiped them dry with his sleeve, using a little more force than necessary. Colby looked at the body of Edison one last time. Just one left. One last person to protect. He saw a small measure of redemption hanging there, some small piece of this mess he could still salvage. By God, he’d keep at least one member of this fucking expedition safe, even if he had to die doing it. He stood and walked over to his rifle. Once he had it slung over his shoulder, he started checking the brush around the small group of trees for his missing Desert Eagle. The pistol had become especially important since he only had three rounds left in the AR 15. He pawed through the long grass and the brush hoping to catch a glint of steel, but after several minutes spent searching, the gun remained hidden. Colby stood up, brushed the dirt and leaves from his pants, and checked the path Janice had taken. He couldn’t see her anymore. Would she stop and wait for him to find the pistol? Or would she ignore his absence and keep walking? Most likely she’d keep walking. In her current state of mind, she’d be distracted and inattentive to her surroundings, an easy target for any other predators in the area. He couldn’t waste any more time, he had to go after her. He left the area, walking after Janice, never imagining how soon he would come to regret that decision.

Chapter Eighteen

Moretz and Allen examined the bodies, while Bock rotted quietly away on the edge of the cluster of trees. Edison’s face and torso were shredded, but that wouldn’t matter much to the grubs. Edison’s corpse was still warm and it had plenty of flesh on it, and that’s all the grubs need to take over. What Moretz wanted to know was if they could use the cat, too. Granted, the cat’s teeth were gone, along with most of its head, but the lethal claws could still do plenty of damage. “They need the complex neural pathways that exist only in humans and higher primates,” Allen said, seeming to read his thoughts. “They might be able to reanimate a gorilla, orangutan, or even a chimp, but not a cat. Just not enough intelligence.” Moretz nodded. It made sense, or else the grubs could take over anything and everything, and wouldn’t need people for hosts. While the three of them watched (although to be honest Bock was not watching much of anything as both his eyes were now gone) a cloud of huge flies descended, one by one, into the small group of trees where the two bodies lay. Each fly was about three inches long, and hundreds of them buzzed down to the corpses. Moretz had never seen anything like it. The noise was deafening. The flies alighted on Edison’s dead, cooling flesh, and used tiny hooks on their forelegs to dig into the skin. Once they excavated a big enough hole, they turned around and squatted their abdomens over it. Each fly pushed out a clutch of ivory-colored eggs, which were about half the size of a grain of rice. After laying its deposit into the skin, the flies buzzed wildly for a few seconds and then fell to the ground, quite dead. Moretz waited, breathless. Though he knew what was coming, he had yet to witness it. Allen had raised Bock and Steinman before Moretz got his grub, and so he missed watching the dead men rise. But this time he would actually get to see it. His breath caught in his throat as he waited. Edison lay still for several minutes, but then his skin started to move, bubbling and writhing as though something moved just beneath the surface. Then a tiny head popped from the crook of his left arm, the flesh made a light tearing sound as it gave way to the little grub’s jaws. A few seconds later a second grub broke through Edison’s skin, then a third. Soon there were more, and before long Edison’s body crawled with the tiny things, each still about the size of a grain of rice. As Moretz watched, the fingers on Edison’s right hand began to twitch, and his remaining eye opened. He sat up, shaking his head and staring at the three men standing around him. A tiny grub poked out from the skin of his cheek and was soon joined by several of its brethren. Together they started to devour the left side of Edison’s face. “Uh,” Edison said. When he opened his mouth, Moretz saw grubs wriggling and chewing on his tongue. It wouldn’t be long until the tiny things were several inches long, and would start to feed on each other as well as their host. By that time Edison’s flesh would be mostly gone, but for now there was plenty for all. Edison stood up and fixed his one good eye on Bock. “Och?” he said, the grubs interfering with his speech. “Och?”

Bock nodded, and several grubs fell from his chin. Now Moretz could see the bone of Bock’s lower mandible. He didn’t have much longer until he would be finished, also. An hour, maybe. Perhaps two. If they were going to catch up with Sarge and kill him before Bock became completely useless, they would have to do it soon. “Come on,” he said to the group. “Let’s go get them.” He turned to follow the direction Sarge and Janice had taken through the woods and caught a glimpse of Allen’s face. Moretz couldn’t imagine why, but the entomologist did not look pleased. In fact, Moretz thought, he looks pissed. He tried to figure out why, but the only thing that came to mind was Janice. Allen must want her for himself. Fuck! Moretz couldn’t do much about it now, not when time was of the essence, especially since he needed all the extra bodies he could get. After they killed Sarge and got Janice over to their side, then he could kill Allen, but not before. Hell, with any luck, Sarge might do it for him. At least then the idiot would prove useful for something. He frowned, turned his back on Allen, and stepped through the brush. Several yards into the undergrowth his right foot came down on something hard and unforgiving. Much too solid to be a tree root or a branch. He lifted his foot and looked underneath. What he saw brought an even wider smile to his lips. Fuck Allen; whatever his problem is. Fuck Sarge, Bock, and Edison, too. Moretz had just been catapulted to the top of the food chain. He reached down and picked up the shiny black .45. He pulled out the clip. It still had seven rounds in it. Perfect. He’d only need one bullet to kill Sarge.

Chapter Nineteen

Colby caught up with Janice and walked a few paces behind her, not wanting to disturb her until she had calmed down. Up ahead, her shoulders bobbed and every now and then he caught the muffled sound of crying, though she did her best to hide it. Sometimes he saw her wipe at her face with her shirtsleeve. He wanted to say something to make her feel better, but he didn’t think he could find the words. He was a soldier, not a writer. They don’t teach you to wax poetic in the military. Even after eighteen years, he sometimes felt completely unprepared for civilian life. This was one of those times. To him, death was just death. He’d spent years in its presence, getting to know it, watching as it came to take his friends and subordinates. Now it didn’t affect him the same as everyone else. Rather than remind him of his own mortality, the thought of death just brought back unwanted memories of his last fateful command. If his time in the Marines taught him anything, it was that life is a capricious and fleeting thing. Death comes for everyone. One day he, too, would be gone. It really was as simple as that. But not for her. And not for most other people, either. To them death was something to evade, something to avoid thinking about at all costs. In Colby’s opinion, such thinking only made it that much harder to deal with it when it did come. But then, what the fuck did he know? The only deaths he cared about were those of the people who were, until two days ago, supposedly under his protection. That did bother him. Not that they were dead, but that he’d failed to keep them safe. His men. His charges. Gone, because he was not able to prevent it. He shook his head; it was like Desert Storm all over again. His release papers said Honorable, but he knew the truth. As a soldier, he was washed up. Useless. Every bit as effective as a wet napkin, so they let him go. He’d spent seven years going from one therapist to another, trying to put his grief someplace manageable. At first, the Marines paid for the shrinks, but it didn’t take long before they got tired of footing the bills and cut him loose financially, as well. For the last few years, he’d been on his own, learning to cope. He’d finally been able to function again, and even found work here and there as a guide or guardian. Then Anzer had come along with a job offer and put him in charge of leading a group to safety, and once again he’d failed miserably. Of course, all of this could have been avoided with a simple fucking sat phone. Colby growled under his breath. That asshole Anzer! He’d be sorry he didn’t pony up the money, Colby would make sure of it. He might not be able to protect anyone, but he was still pretty damn good at hurting them. All he needed was a cell phone signal and they could get out of there and he could fix Anzer’s ass, but good. He looked around him at the forest. Cursing under his breath. They might be able to get a signal out here if all these damn trees weren’t in the way. Maples, Birches, Oaks, Pines, Poplars, even some he couldn’t recognize, all blocked his view and any strong signal he could send out. It was as if… He stopped, staring at the trunk of a nearby pine. He craned his head to see how

high the trunk went, and calculated it to be around a hundred-fifty to a hundred-seventy five feet tall, maybe more. Plenty tall enough. His jaw fell open as he considered the possibilities, and he swore at himself for not thinking of this sooner. “Fuck me,” he said, and slapped himself on the forehead so hard he almost lost his balance. “Trees! God damn it! The fucking trees!” Janice stopped and turned to regard him, her red, swollen eyes full of questions. “What is it?” she asked. Colby just shook his head; unable to believe it had taken him so long to think of it. Talk about not seeing the forest through the trees! What an idiot. He pointed to the nearest trunk. “We might be able to get a signal if one of us climbs up to the topmost branches and turns on their cell phone.” Janice’s jaw dropped. Apparently she’d never considered it, either. “How the hell did we miss that?” “I don’t know,” Colby answered. Come to think of it, Edison should have thought of it, too. It just proved how rattled everyone was. Well, he thought, seeing your buddies eaten alive by freaky grubs, shot, and killed by mountain lions can do that to a person. They both stared at each other for a minute, Colby shaking his head. Stupid! He could have saved several lives if he’d thought of this sooner. Fuck! He forced himself to calm down. There really was no telling if this would work, anyway. There was a good chance it might not. And if it did work out here, he still had no way to know if it would have worked back at camp. In all probability, it might have changed nothing. But still… it could have. “Shit,” he said aloud. “So who’s going to climb the tree?” Janice asked. “I’m lighter, maybe it should be me.” Colby shook his head. “I’ll go. I’m responsible for all of you. It’s my job.” She nodded. He got the feeling she really didn’t want to go up there, anyway. No matter. Like he said, it was his job, and he’d do it. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and handed it to her. Then he took off his backpack, removed his belt and the knife on his hip, and let the canteen drop to the ground. He didn’t want to take anything up that could catch on a branch. He shoved his cell phone in his pocket after making sure it still had enough juice to make a call. Three bars. Good. They’d been traveling with the phones turned off to conserve power, checking them every now and then by turning them back on for a few seconds to look for a signal. He looked up and saw Janice sighting down the rifle’s barrel. There was no scope, but she squinted her right eye shut and sighted along the notch. “You know how to use that, right?” he asked, suddenly uneasy about leaving her alone, even with a gun. She nodded. “Point it and pull the trigger, right?” “And the safety?” “Right here.” Janice pointed to the tiny red lever. “Good enough,” he replied. There was more to it, but with the closeness of the trees he didn’t need to talk about wind interference or distance shooting. Besides, anything she’d be shooting at couldn’t be more than ten, maybe fifteen yards away,

anyway. Should be a fairly easy shot, even for an amateur. “OK,” he said. “I’m going up.” Janice stood and put her back against the tree, probably feeling more secure with something solid at her back. Colby took one last look at her, fought down his feeling of apprehension, and grabbed hold of a low hanging branch and used it to haul himself up. From that first branch, he looked down at Janice one more time. “If you need me, call me.” He said. He pulled the two-way radio from his pocket and clicked it on. “Channel eleven.” Janice pulled her own radio out, turned it on, and set it to channel eleven, as well. “Eleven,” she said. “Got it. Go, already. Get us out of here.” Satisfied, Colby pulled himself farther into the tree. In only a few minutes, he could no longer see Janice. Hopefully nothing would happen while he was occupied, but there was nothing he could do short of bringing her up with him. No help for it, he thought. She’s going to have to take care of herself for a few minutes. That thought brought a smile as he recalled the way Moretz limped around camp the previous day. Janice could take care of herself just fine. *** Moretz, Allen, Edison, and the tattered remains of Bock squatted in the brush about twenty yards away, biding their time. Allen wanted to barge into the clearing and shoot Colby with the pistol, but Moretz knew better. He’d seen Colby shoot with that rifle, and knew he and Allen would be dead long before they got close. They should wait, he argued, until an opportunity to take them by surprise presented itself. Allen balked at the idea, but seemed reluctant to act on his own. Moretz thought it might have something to do with the fact that he, and not Allen, held the pistol. No matter, waiting was the smart thing to do, and if Allen didn’t like it he could charge right in and get cut down by Sarge’s rifle. Moretz would wait, and he was sure his patience would be rewarded. He didn’t have to wait long. Soon after they caught up to Sarge and Janice he watched as Sarge removed the rifle from over his shoulder and handed it to her. He thought the bastard might be about to take a nap, and was surprised when he took to the tree, instead. Of course, he thought. The cell phones. He’s trying to get elevation. He chuckled. It was a good plan. One they should have thought of sooner. It might even work. Sarge could get to the top and call for help, and a helicopter would come pick them up. But it also left Janice alone, with the only other gun for miles around. Moretz’s smile widened. Perfect! He looked back at Allen with a triumphant smile on his face. Allen nodded, then turned to examine something on the ground. Moretz didn’t bother to ask what it was. Probably some animal’s shit. He turned back to the clearing just in time to see Sarge’s foot disappear in the branches. “Ok, he said. It’s time to move.” As one, the four men started creeping toward Janice.

Chapter Twenty

Colby grabbed the next branch and hauled his body weight up, now happier than ever that he’d stayed in shape after leaving the military. He spent three hours at the gym every day except Sundays. The first hour he worked on cardio; jumping rope and running on a treadmill. The next two hours were all about weights. Resistance training to break down the muscles so they would heal stronger and larger. While not especially bulky – he’d eschewed the high-protein diet of true bodybuilders – Colby’s frame was well defined and deceptively strong, which showed in the easy way he hauled his 250-pound body up and over the branches on the pine. He paused in his climbing and looked down, but could no longer see Janice. The ground was hidden from view by the branches and needles below him. Here and there he could see patches of earth, but not enough to tell if Janice still stood by the trunk or if she’d stepped away from it. He hoped she hadn’t. Putting her back to the tree would help her avoid being surprised, as the only way anyone could get to her was from behind, and Colby’d checked to make sure there were plenty of dried pine needles and twigs to make such an approach as noisy as possible. Just the same, he had a vague sense of uneasiness, and he thought about her sitting there as a bear or another cougar approached. Would she be able to aim and fire in time? Against a bear, maybe. But a cougar? He wasn’t so sure. A big, flying cat is a hard target to lead, especially when you’re so fucking scared you feel like you’re going to piss yourself. He should know; he’d almost lost his bladder a while ago. But no way could he tell her that. Not only would it scare her, but she might think less of him than she already did. He had a sudden urge to climb back down and make sure she was all right. But that would mean another fifteen minutes of climbing down, and then he’d just have to start over again. You’re just being stupid, he told himself. Janice is fine. If she fired the rifle, you’d hear it for sure. But still… he’d feel so much better about leaving her alone down there if he could just see her. What if those grub-things attacked her? Bock might still be out there somewhere, and where the hell were Moretz and Allen, anyway? Dead, most likely. But what about Bock? Colby shot him once and the bastard came back, and the second time he shot him the body disappeared. Could Bock still be running around out there? Harper, too? For that matter, who’s to say Steinman wasn’t some grub-covered zombie rolling around the woods and looking for a meal? No, leaving her down there alone was a mistake; there were just too many goddamn variables. Images of Desert Storm came, unbidden, to his mind. His men, following him into battle. Trusting him to get them out of anything that came their way. Following him right to their deaths. There were too many variables back then, too, but he hadn’t listened to his instincts. He stared through the moisture in his eyes – where the fuck did that come from? – as he recalled his certainty that he was about to earn his next stripe. Fuck the danger; the only thing he could see was his promotion. All he’d gotten

instead was an Honorable Discharge, which was bought and paid for by the lives of eight men who’d been foolish enough to trust him. “No,” he said to the tree branch, “Not this time.” He started to back down the trunk, timeframe be damned, when he spotted a patch of blue through a break in the branches. It looked like the color of Janice’s shirt. He stared at it and watched as it shifted a bit, and a patch of dirty blonde hair came into view. Janice! She’s fine. There, what did I tell you? He thought, your imagination is going to get the best of you yet, Colby. Christ he was fucking jumpy! He shook his head as he realized he’d just nearly spooked himself out of his only chance at rescue. Janice’s too. Fuck! He needed a break. When he got out of the woods he was going to take a long trip to Maui. He reached up and grabbed the next branch, promising himself a mild sunburn and plenty of Piña Coladas as a reward for getting his ass out of there. A girl would be nice, too. Some sweet young thing from the islands. He pictured a dark-skinned girl in a grass skirt, then thought better of it. He was too old for shit like that. But maybe Janice would like to come. “Nah,” he sighed to himself as he hauled his body upward. “Not a chance in hell.” It pained him to admit it, but that ship had sailed. Besides, Janice wasn’t the Hawaii type, anyway. She was more like the woman you took up north for a ski vacation, where the cold nights made couples sleep closer together. Too bad, though. She would have looked pretty damn good in a grass skirt. *** Janice sat with her back to the tree, berating herself for the way she’d spoken to Colby. It wasn’t his fault Edison was dead, and how could she explain to him that she was stressed? Would he understand? Probably, but maybe not. She was just a botanist. A geeky, awkward girl who’d grown into an equally geeky woman. He’d been places where people shot at him on a regular basis. This was probably just a routine evacuation to him, business as usual. Meanwhile she was scared out of her mind. He must think she was some kind of helpless nitwit, and she hadn’t done anything to make him think otherwise. Worse, he probably thought she hated him after the way she yelled at him earlier. She moaned into her knees, wondering what she could say to make things better between them when he got back. It wouldn’t bother her so much if she could stop thinking about him, even for a minute, but she couldn’t. The way his eyes seemed so distant, so sad. There was a world of hurt somewhere in his past, and even though he obviously thought he kept it locked away, it leaked out of him through the hollow depth in his eyes and the tightness of his lips. She longed to know what had happened to him. What secrets was he hiding? What was the reason for the hole in his heart? Could she fill it? Would he let her? Then again, maybe she’d be better off not knowing. A noise in the bushes twenty feet away caught her attention, and Janice raised the rifle toward it. The leaves moved and twitched, and she sighted along the barrel, pulling the notch and the post into alignment like her father taught her all those years ago, back when she was a tomboy and Daddy’s Little Girl all rolled into one. She thumbed off the

safety and wrapped a sweat-slicked finger around the trigger. The cool metal felt good under her fingertip, solid and heavy; the power of life and death with a single, swift twitch. Then she waited, forcing her breath out slow and even. She almost fired into the bush, but she didn’t know what was in there and she knew Colby (when did she stop calling him Sarge, anyway?) would hear the shot and come down from the tree as fast as he could. It would waste more time and she didn’t want to do that unless it was absolutely necessary. On top of that, she only had three rounds. Better to save them. So she watched the brush, her finger tense on the trigger. A steady, vibrant hum buzzed through her mind as she waited, counting her heartbeats aloud in an effort to keep them steady. Then Moretz stumbled out of the bushes, his clothing torn and his skin bleeding from a dozen different scratches. He looked up at her and for a moment he just stood there with his mouth hanging open. “J-Janice?” he asked. “Is that really you?” “Oh, Geez, Moretz,” Janice said, lowering the rifle. “Thank God you’re all right.” Moretz ambled toward her, favoring his right leg. Before he’d gone five steps he stumbled and fell face first into the dirt and dried pine needles. Janice dropped the rifle, grabbed her canteen and First Aid kit, and ran to his side. She knelt beside him and held the canteen up to his lips. He took it and gulped water from the opening, smiling and thanking her between swallows. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Just drink. My God, you must have been trailing us for miles. You should have said something. Shouted or…or…shit, Moretz, you’re lucky to be alive.” He said nothing, just drank and nodded. Cripes, he was thirsty! She took a moment to study him, his tattered clothes, his bleeding cuts and scratches. His short brown hair stood out in every direction, and there were bloodstains on his khakis and shirt. Then she noticed something shiny tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was black and chrome, and looked like the handle of Colby’s Desert Eagle. “Hey,” she said, “Where did you get—” A bright flare of pain exploded on the back of her head, and her last sensation was that of soft pine needles and dried leaves against her cheek just before the world went dark.

Chapter Twenty-One

Colby couldn’t climb any higher. There were perhaps another twenty or thirty feet left to the top of the tree, but the branches this high up thinned to the point he no longer trusted them to support his weight. He couldn’t see the ground anymore, and had long since lost sight of Janice’s blue blouse, but he estimated he’d climbed about a hundred and twenty-five feet. Maybe a hundred and thirty. It wasn’t much, and he was still surrounded on all sides by trees, but it would have to do; it was this or nothing. He wiped his hands on his shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky pine sap that seemed to be everywhere. Whenever he grabbed a new branch, he found another vein of the stuff, as though the tree knew in advance where he would grab and let loose another glob of the shit just to fuck with him. His shirt did nothing to absorb the sap, and all he managed to do was smear it further on his hands and leave sticky patches on his shirt, too. As it was, his forearms were covered in dry pine needles and bits of bark, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Maybe when he got back to the ground he’d see if there was a stream nearby. It wouldn’t get the sap off, but it would help. If not, then he’d just have to stay sticky for a while until he could take a shower. God, a hot shower would be great! he thought. At that moment, covered in sap and woodland debris, hoping for a lousy cell phone signal and trying not to think about all the bodies he’d left behind, a shower sounded like the closest he would ever get to Heaven. He imagine what the water would feel like as it rolled over his skin, taking all the grime and blood away and carrying it down the drain. The fucking phone better work. He dug it out of his pocket, an act made more difficult by the sap that tried its best to glue his hand to the fabric of his jeans. When he finally got it out, he flipped it open, and pressed the ON button. Please, God, let this work. The phone beeped and the screen lit up, scrolling through its boot images as it searched for a recognizable signal. Colby thought he’d piss himself while he waited for the screen to come on. All he needed was one lousy bar to make a call. Just one bar. Then the phone beeped again and the background image came onto the screen. It was a photo he’d taken of Janice when she wasn’t looking. She stood underneath a birch wearing a light yellow top and denim shorts, talking to Bock. Her hair shone auburn in the patchy sunlight and her face flushed with health. It was a profile picture, but he could still make out her plump lips. With the bright green foliage serving as the perfect backdrop, Colby thought he’d never taken a better picture, and probably would never take another one half as good. But as beautiful as the picture was, it paled in comparison to the two bars his phone showed for a signal. Two bars! He’d been hoping for just one, but two? He stared at those two little lines for half a minute, willing them not to go away. They didn’t, and he almost shouted in triumph as he dialed the phone. He knew the number to Anzer’s office by heart. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face when the phone started to ring.

*** Janice woke up and fought the urge to vomit. Her head throbbed and her vision swam in lazy circles. She tried to rub the painful spot on the back of her head and noticed she couldn’t pull her arms in to her body. To make matters worse, something sticky covered her mouth, making it impossible to talk. She forced her mind and eyes to focus and found she was sitting on the ground with her back to the trunk of a tree, which she confirmed as a Maple by looking up at the lower branches. Her arms were stretched taut by two ropes, which held them up like a crucifixion and stretched to two nearby birches. A breeze stirred on her chest and she looked down, noticing for the first time that her shirt and bra were gone, leaving her bare-chested with her breasts jutting outward and her nipples standing at attention. Her ankles were taped together and tied to a stake in the ground a short distance away, she did not even have enough slack in the rope to stand up. Fighting panic, she pulled and tugged at the ropes until her wrists bled, but she couldn’t get loose. She tried to scream, but the tape on her mouth kept her silent. Who the hell would tie her up like this? And why? The ‘who’ became clear as Moretz stepped into view, brandishing Colby’s pistol and looking extremely pleased with himself. “Don’t struggle, Janice,” he said. “Those knots are plenty tight, I promise you.” As she watched, Moretz slid his hand into the front of his pants and started to stroke himself. Then she knew the answer to the other question, the why. She shook her head as tears built in her eyes. She couldn’t stop him this time. Not with her legs tied behind her. “So pretty,” Moretz said, grinning. “It’s all right. Don’t cry. There’s no need to pretend anymore, Janice. It’s just you and me. We can finally be together.” She tried to scream through the tape again as Moretz took a step toward her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Anzer answered on the third ring. “Anzer speaking,” he said, sounding a little annoyed. “Anzer, it’s me, Colby.” Silence on the other end of the line. “Anzer? You there?” Colby checked the phone to make sure he hadn’t been disconnected. The call clock kept ticking upward. Forty-five seconds. “Anzer?” “Yeah,” Anzer replied quickly. “I’m here. How the hell did you call me?” “I’m up in a fucking tree about ten miles from base camp. Listen—” “What the hell are you doing in a goddamn tree? You’re supposed to be with the others. I’m not paying you to—” “They’re all dead, Anzer.” Colby’s cheeks flushed, and he could feel the heat of his face rising as he fought down his anger. “Dead? What the hell do you mean they’re all dead? All of them?” “All but Janice and me. Some new kind of grub or something. Allen was studying them before he disappeared. Little bastards ate Jared and Harper alive, but that’s not all. They got Bock, too. But he...” He stopped there, not sure what to say. What the fuck had he seen, anyway? Would Anzer believe it? “But Bock what?” “Nothing. Just get a fucking chopper here ASAP and get us out of here.” “How am I supposed to do that when I’m not sure where you are?” “Call the cell phone company and have them track the GPS.” Another long silence. Did Anzer really have to think about this? Colby stared at the readout again, the call was still active. “Anzer? You still there?” “Yeah, yeah I’m here. I think—” “No, don’t think. Just shut the fuck up and get me a goddamn helicopter! There’s no room to think, Anzer. Just do it.” “All right, all right,” Anzer said. He somehow managed to make it sound like Colby’s request was the most unreasonable thing on the planet. “Leave the cell phone on so they can track it, okay?” “Roger that. It’ll only stay charged for a couple of hours, though.” “Then I suggest you find a nearby clearing and sit tight.” What a prick. “Got it. See you in a few hours.” Colby flipped the phone shut, disconnecting the call before Anzer could respond. There’s just something about cell phones that make hanging up angry feel like an empty gesture. No good slam to show how pissed off you are. Instead it’s a little button or a fold, and you can’t do either with too much vigor or you’ll have to buy a new phone. Colby flipped it open again and shut it quickly, just for effect, and then shoved it in his pocket. Sit tight, Anzer had said. What the hell else was he going to do? Hit the local bars and two step his way to Bangor? Maybe grab a stripper and a case of Mike’s Hard

Lemonade for good measure? What an asshole. Colby fumed. When he finally got to see Anzer again, the prick would be so sore he wouldn’t want to sit for two weeks. Colby’s cell phone wasn’t large, but he was willing to bet Anzer wouldn’t like having it shoved up his ass. He looked down the trunk of the tree. It would take a few hours before a chopper could get there. Plenty of time to climb down and scout around for a suitable spot to sit and wait. He and Janice could eat the rest of the jerky and maybe find a small stream to refill their canteens. Food, drink, and Janice for company. It wouldn’t be such a bad time, he supposed, if she was willing to talk to him, anyway. If not… well, it wouldn’t be the first time Colby sat in silence waiting to be rescued. Then he heard the gunshot.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Janice watched Moretz as he approached, his right hand stroking himself under his pants. He said nothing, just stared at her with an all too eager expression, doubtless thinking of what he was going to do to her. A loud bang sounded somewhere off to her left, and Moretz’s head exploded in a burst of red, sending blood and pieces of skull in a wide radius. She closed her eyes, but still heard the fluids and bits of brain fall all around her. It sounded like a heavy rain. Then came a muffled thump as Moretz’s body fell to the dirt. When the last droplet of blood fell, landing squarely on her forehead, she dared to open her eyes and look in the direction the shot had come from. There stood Allen, holding Colby’s AR-15. He held it across his chest, not pointing it at anyone, but he didn’t put it away, either. “Stupid bastard,” he said. Allen stared at the body and shook his head. “I told him to leave you alone.” Janice tried to speak, but her mouth was still covered by duct tape. The best she could manage was a muffled yelp that sounded nothing like the cry for help she’d been hoping for. She kicked her legs in the dirt as much as the rope would allow, trying to get his attention. It worked. Allen looked from Moretz’s body to Janice. She felt the corners of her mouth lift under the duct tape. Allen would help her, of course he would. Then she, Allen, and Colby could get the fuck out of here. And she would be sure to patch things up with Colby. She had to let him know she cared, no matter what he thought of her. She couldn’t leave until she’d told him the truth; that she thought she might be falling in love with him. But Allen didn’t approach. “Sorry, Janice,” he said. “I’d cut you loose, but they’ll be coming for you soon, and it’s better if you can’t move. They’ll want him, too,” he jerked the rifle in the direction of Moretz’s body. “The only difference is you’ll still be alive, like me. Now that Moretz is dead he’ll be more like Edison back there.” Allen pointed somewhere behind Janice. She turned her head and twisted her waist to see behind her. If the tape hadn’t been over her mouth she would have screamed at the sight. There stood Edison, or what was left of him. The wounds from the big cat were still visible, but they could barely be seen under the writhing, crawling mass of grubs that traveled the length and breadth of Edison’s once plump academic’s body. Everywhere she looked, they squirmed over him. Grubs feasted on his eyes, on his chest, even his lips. One particularly fat grub squirmed into Edison’s mouth while she watched, presumably going after his tongue. She felt the bile rise in her throat and forced it down, knowing if she threw up with duct tape covering her mouth she could very well drown in her own vomit. A lump of flesh behind Edison also crawled with grubs, but it lay on the ground rather than standing upright like a man. She thought she recognized a dull green shirt and camouflage pants, however, and she shuddered.

“Yeah, that’s Bock,” Allen said, confirming her suspicion. “He finally fell down about twenty minutes ago and hasn’t gotten back up.” Allen chuckled. “There sure was a lot of meat on him.” She looked away from Edison and Bock and back to Allen, her vision blurring as she fought back tears. What the hell was going to happen to her? She sobbed, a strangled, subdued sound beneath the tape. “Don’t worry, Janice,” Allen said. “You’re still alive. That means you’ll be like me, not like Edison and Bock. Or Moretz, for that matter. He really was an idiot, anyway. Always thought with his cock. The flies will put eggs in him, and he’ll come back for a bit, but he’ll be better. He’ll still be dead, though; they can only lay their eggs in dead tissue. But you’ll be fine.” She shook her head, not understanding. “The grubs,” Allen continued, “need living people to spread. Dead people are just food, although they can be useful to folks like us. Don’t worry, they won’t hurt either of us as long as we’re carrying.” Allen opened his shirt and pointed to a pair of grubs attached to his chest, just above the left nipple. They hung there like leeches. “Buggers got loose in the tent and nabbed me before I could stop them. Neat, huh?” He closed his shirt back. “I was studying some fecal matter I found on the outskirts of the camp at the time, looking for any sign of Jared. Needless to say, I didn’t find any. He was probably killed by that mountain lion, and the grubs brought him back after. “I was just about to get Colby under control, but Bock ruined it by showing up at the campsite and causing a ruckus,” Allen shook his head. “Stubborn fucker. Always had to do things his way. Didn’t help much, though, did it?” Janice stared, unable to speak and not knowing what she would have said anyway. Her mind was locked; she couldn’t think straight anymore. Bock, Moretz, Edison… all hijacked by a bunch of grubs? “I can hear them,” Allen continued, pointing to his temple. “In here. Not sure how they do it, though. They didn’t give me a lot of time to examine them, but from what I can tell there are two types. Feeders – or drones, if you will – like those on Edison. And queens, like the ones on my chest. There aren’t any queens near enough, or any feeders, for that matter. Moretz had two, but I blew them apart when I shot him. My fault, they were on his neck. I should have shot him center mass, but I’ve never been much of a marksman. No worries, though. They’ll be along soon. I told them where we are.” Janice sat, hunched in the dirt and tied to the trees, trying to make some sense of what Allen had just said. Could it be true? Or was he just crazy? Either spelled trouble for her. She began to sob again, unable this time to prevent the tears from spilling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “Now, come on, Janice,” Allen said. “It’s not bad, I promise.” She turned away, unable to look at him. “No, really,” he continued. “It’s quite beautiful actually. So simple and pure. You’ll be amazed at what these little guys can do. Patching into dead nervous systems and releasing chemicals that allow them to talk to our minds is just the start. You’ll see. It’s really quite fascinating.” As soon as he finished talking, she heard a distant buzzing, like a cloud of flies gathered at a carcass. Allen must have heard it, too, because he perked his head up and

cocked his ear toward the sound. “Ah,” he said. “Here they come, now.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Colby was hurrying down the tree when he heard the buzzing. It reminded him of the cloud of flies he’d seen devouring the bear carcass; the ones Bock had tried to push him into. That was when he killed Bock. Or when he thought he killed Bock. The bastard kept coming back. Was he out there even now? Or had he fallen to the grubs, too? Colby wasn’t a genius, not like some members of his team, but he had enough smarts to realize the grubs had something to do with all the dead people walking around. And what were grubs but baby flies? Those big, three-inch bottle flies could very well be the mommies and daddies of all these fucking grubs. If they were coming, Colby knew it could only mean trouble. And Janice was still down there! He scrambled down the branches as fast as he could go, oblivious to the cuts and scrapes on his hands and arms, and focused on getting to the ground. The sound of the flies rose as he descended the tree, finally becoming a fevered crescendo while he was still about seventy-five feet up. He peered through the trees, trying to see what was going on, but from this height the foliage blocked his view. “Janice?” he called. “Janice, are you all right?” He didn’t know if she could hear him, he could barely hear himself over the droning of the flies, but he shouted and climbed, just the same. “Janice! Answer me!” He reached down for another branch, going as fast as he dared, when the sound of the flies stopped. He craned his ears, trying to determine the reason for the silence, and he thought he heard a muffled sobbing coming from somewhere below. He tried to see through the foliage, but it was useless. “Janice?” he called again. Janice didn’t answer, but as soon as her name left his lips he heard a sound that stopped his heart. A sharp crack that chilled his blood and sent a shiver up his spine. “Oh, shit!” He looked down and saw he was still sixty feet up in the branches of the tree. Not good. He stood perfectly still and held his breath, willing the sound to be his imagination. His hopes were dashed when the sound of cracking wood came again, this time jerking his feet from under him and sending him on a violent freefall through the branches of the old pine. He bounced off one branch, which stole the breath from his lungs and caused his vision to blur, then he tumbled backwards out into space. He felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, then there was nothing at all.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Janice tried to scream, but the duct tape prevented her. As she watched, a cloud of flies descended on Moretz. They scuttled and shuffled along on his limbs, laying eggs in his flesh. Almost immediately after laying their eggs, each fly fell to the forest floor and lay there. Some of them twitched for a few seconds, but most remained perfectly still wherever they fell. Dead. Soon the buzzing noise was gone, replaced by the sound of her heartbeat, which thundered in her ears like a bass drum. She looked at the piles of dead flies, then at the body of Moretz. Before long the eggs started to hatch. First one, then a few more, then the rest of them opened up, releasing a mass of white grubs. They looked just like the ones currently eating Bock’s remains, but smaller. The grubs that covered Bock were close to three inches in length and had taken to devouring each other, but the hatchlings were only about a few millimeters long. They went to work right away, feeding on Moretz’s body and causing the skin to pulse and bubble with movement. There were so many of them squirming across and through Moretz’s flesh that it almost seemed like his arm twitched. She looked closer, terrified but unable to look away, her scientific curiosity piqued in spite of her fear. Then his arm did twitch. She blinked, certain it was a mistake. A hallucination brought on by stress. But sure enough, as she watched, the arm tucked itself under the torso and pushed up, like in the gym. Moretz’s other arm joined in, then his legs, and soon Clyde Moretz, minus most of his head, once again stood on the forest floor. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Allen said. “The sheer numbers of grubs it takes to fire instructions down every neural pathway is incredible. I have a theory about it, but…” Allen paused and looked around the clearing. He seemed to be waiting for something. Then his expression lit up. “Ah, yes. There’s no one left to cut me off. Everyone’s dead except for you, me, and Sarge.” Janice couldn’t have screamed if she’d wanted to, her heart stilled and her breath caught in her throat as the newly-animated Moretz stepped over to Allen and took a place just behind and to the right of the entomologist. Moretz stood there like a bodyguard, while Allen looked on. Both men seemed to be waiting for something. Then she heard a faint buzzing. A single three-inch fly zipped into the small clearing and headed toward her. She could see the sun glinting off the thing’s multifaceted eyes. It flew around to her back, but she couldn’t turn around enough to see. She felt the thing land just between her shoulder blades, and was surprised at the weight of it. She jerked herself back and forth, trying to shake the thing off, but only succeeded in further damaging the skin of her wrists. The ropes held. She felt a sharp pain in her back, and shortly after, the weight of the fly lifted. She heard the tiny thump as the thing fell to the forest floor and landed among the dried leaves and pine needles. She stopped thrashing then, knowing it was no use. The eggs in Moretz were embedded into the skin, under the epidermis and into the sub dermal layer. If the fly had laid an egg in the back of her neck, it wasn’t going anywhere. A tiny crackling sound reached her ears, like tearing a piece of paper, and she felt

something small moving around on her skin between her shoulder blades. She tried to scream one last time, but she couldn’t get the sound past the tape. She flinched as she felt a tiny pinch in her back. The grub had bit her. A tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek as she looked at Allen, standing there with a big smile, two grubs on his chest. He nodded at her, a gesture that struck her as both fatherly and patronizing. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’re almost there.” She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but just then a tingling, warm sensation started to move though her back where the grub bit her. As the feeling spread through her body, her thumping heart slowed, and she stopped shaking. Her breathing evened out and the tears in her eyes dried up. Her fear was pushed out by comfort and familiarity. She realized she knew this; this was safe. Janice sighed, and almost laughed at her earlier behavior. She shook her head, marveling at her own foibles. “There, you see?” Allen said. “I told you it was nice.” Janice looked up at him and smiled. She couldn’t help it. He was so handsome standing there, his shirt unbuttoned and those two miracles clinging to his chest. Now she knew. The grubs were not creatures to be feared, but delicate, fragile things that needed her protection. Protection from those who wanted to hurt them. She nodded, and Allen came closer. He reached out to the piece of tape at her mouth and she braced herself, waiting for the pain. He ripped the tape off, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, her face felt numb. She wondered about that for a moment before she felt the answer inside her head. Not words, exactly. More like instant knowledge. The grub on her back was patched into her nervous system. It had deadened the nerves of her face just as Allen pulled the tape off, to ensure the act didn’t cause any pain. What wonderful little creatures! She said a mental thank you and was rewarded by a warm, soft feeling that brought a smile to her lips. Allen untied her and she stood up, looking at Moretz with awe. The drones covered him from head to foot, slowly eating their way through his flesh. For now, he would make a fine servant, at least until the grubs ate so much of him as to render him useless. The grubs were patched in to each other, too. They shared a form of communal intelligence. Through this link, Janice felt the happiness of Moretz’s grubs in her mind. Thousands of contented little lives happily munching away on an abundance of food. Another tear welled up in her eye. She couldn’t help herself. It was so beautiful. She turned to the sound of another fly buzzing around the clearing. This one flew slower than the other had, and its flight seemed erratic and uncontrolled. She learned through her grub that this fly was another queen, but older and slower than the first. With a horrified start she realized it was weak, and close to death. Fresh tears – the sad kind – pooled in her eyes as she watched it fly slowly through the clearing and land on a stump a short distance away. The poor thing needed to lay her egg and be free of her burden so she could rest. Janice reached out her hand, thinking to have the queen lay her precious burden alongside its kin in her back, but Allen reached out and held her arm down. “Not that one,” Allen said. “Why not? You have two, why can’t I?” “Because that’s the last queen, and she’s ill. After her there are no more. Only

drones, which is why it was such a shame to shoot Moretz, but it had to be done.” “The last one?” Janice couldn’t help but feel sad. “Well, she needs a living body, doesn’t she?” Allen nodded. “If we have to, we can give you to her, but only as a last resort. They need as many living bodies as they can find; their chances of survival go up exponentially with each carrier.” “With each carrier,” Janice repeated. And then she understood. Colby.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Colby eased back into consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut against the haze of pain. His chest, arms, and head all hurt. The back of his head felt cool and wet, and he reached a hand up and found a painful, sticky knot rising back there. His fingers brushed the exposed edge of an open cut, and he drew in a sharp breath, which caused the pain in his ribs to flare up. He winced and waited for it to pass, wishing he had the First Aid kit with him. Half a dozen extra strength aspirin tablets might help, but he wouldn’t be willing to bet on it. He opened his eyes and tried to focus, but his vision swam and spun in a dizzying vertigo that immediately set his stomach on notice. Gritting his teeth to keep from vomiting, Colby forced his eyes to focus, and soon saw the ground twenty feet below. The branch that broke his fall was one of the pine’s major lower limbs and it stuck out, thick and sturdy, from the massive trunk. It shifted a little under his weight as he tried to pull himself into a more comfortable position. The pain in his ribs jolted his whole body straight, and this time he did retch, spewing his most recent meal to the forest floor in a puddle of half digested jerky and bile. When he was empty, his stomach dry heaved, sending waves of agony through his torso. He almost passed out again, but managed to hold on long enough to calm his freewheeling innards. Several ribs were broken. That much he could tell already, and the gash on the back of his head felt serious. He’d need to get that stitched up as soon as possible. The possibilities for infection out here were astronomical. And, God help him, he needed something for the pain. The First Aid kit had a small bottle of aspirin. But his bag, which he’d left by the tree, contained a handful of more potent painkillers. In a pocket on the inside flap, he had hidden small bottles of Vicodin, Darvocet, and even Percocet. He’d brought them along just in case anything happened. Something fucking happened, all right. Something big. And he longed for the little brown bottle with the Vicodin. A couple of those should help put him right. First, he had to get down from the damn tree. He looked down, hoping to see his pack. It only took a second to spot it, leaning up against the trunk of the pine, just where he’d left it. Twenty feet down, sitting on the forest floor. He shifted his weight again, and pain shot through his ribcage. Yep, definitely broken. Twenty feet might as well be twenty miles; there was no way he could climb down in his condition. Then something clicked inside his mind and he realized he didn’t see Janice. Where the hell was she? If she still had her rope, maybe he could fashion some kind of harness and lower himself down. Even without the rope, she should be able to climb up high enough to hand him a couple of pills. Once they kicked in he could climb down and wait for the chopper. Fuck finding a clearing, let the pilot worry about that, when he got to the ground he was going to lay there and not move. “Janice?” he called. “You there?” After a few seconds with no answer, he heard footsteps in the leaves and needles

of the forest floor. Moments later Janice stood under the tree craning her neck to look up at him. He’d never been so happy to see anyone in his whole life. She smiled when she spotted him. “I’m here, Colby. Are you okay?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Even through the pain, he stared at her. The top three buttons of her shirt were unbuttoned, revealing a view of the pale flesh of her breasts, which rode high and firm on her chest. Her full lips surrounded her words, letting the sound filter out like notes from a violin. Her dark brown hair fell down around her shoulders. Colby could not recall ever seeing her wear it in anything less severe than a ponytail, not even when she was naked. Even from his position twenty feet up in the tree, her eyes sparkled, blue and moist, in the fading glow of the day. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment he forgot what he was about to say. “Colby?” she asked. “You okay?” He shifted his weight again, and the sudden flare of pain reminded him of his predicament like a bucket of cold water to the face. He grimaced. “You still have your rope?” he asked through clenched teeth. “Yeah, it’s in my pack. You need it?” He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Okay,” she said, and turned around. She was back right away, a coiled length of rope in her hand. One end of the rope was tied to a grappling hook. Janice started to swing the hook around in circles, building up momentum. Colby hoped she would be able to toss the hook – which weighed about ten pounds – high enough for him to reach it. He looked at her slender arms and thought she’d have to make several attempts at it, and even then she might not be able to get the rope to him. He needn’t have worried, Janice swung the hook a few times and let loose, sending it up and over Colby’s branch with ease. He took a few seconds to marvel at her strength and coordination, wondering why he’d doubted her. Was he that much of a sexist? He’d have to get out of that habit, and fast. Janice was quite a woman. He reached over and grabbed the rope, then he untied the hook and let it fall to the ground with a solid thump. Colby regarded the rope. He had to make a harness that would hold him, but wouldn’t put any pressure on his screaming ribs. After a moment’s thought, he took the rope and wrapped it around his waist, tucking one end under the loop at his waist and looping twice more around each thigh, then bringing the end around and tying it in a double knot. It was similar in nature to the ‘swami belt’ type harness he and his friends once used for rock climbing, but of course he had to make do without a carabiner. Now came the worst part. The part he’d been dreading ever since he thought of this plan. He looked down to see Janice standing directly beneath him, staring up. “You might want to move over,” he said. “Why?” “I’ve got to swing myself over the branch to lower myself down. With my broken ribs, it’s going to hurt. If I pass out I don’t want to fall on you.” “You won’t pass out, Colby,” she replied, smiling. Still, she shuffled a few steps sideways, which was what he wanted. He clenched his jaw shut, mentally counted to three, and swung himself over the

side of the branch, holding on to the rope with both hands. The rope jerked him to a sudden stop, and the pain was as immediate as it was intense. He gasped as it flared through his chest like a swarm of fire ants. His eyes squeezed shut, pushing out a tear that ran down his cheek. Despite his fading grip on consciousness, he somehow held on to the rope, knowing that if he let go he would plummet fifteen or more feet straight to the ground. In his current state, he might not be able to get up again afterward. After an agonizing minute or two, the pain lessened, and he opened his eyes to assess the situation. He swung, fifteen feet from the forest floor, with one end of the rope tied to his waist and the other end strung over the branch and clutched in his hands. He said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t passed out, and began the slow, painful task of lowering himself to the ground. The hand-over-hand method still hurt his chest, and the skin of his hands burned from gripping the coarse rope, but Colby found it bearable, especially after the pain in his ribs. He reached the floor a few minutes later and released the rope, noting the rising blisters on his palms. Janice moved to hug him and he held her off with an upraised hand. “Ribs, remember?” he said. She stopped in her tracks, nodding. “Is there anything I can get you?” “There’s some Vicodin in the inside flap of my pack, can you hand it to me, along with my canteen?” “Of course.” She rummaged through his pack and came up with the small bottle of Vicodin and the canteen. She opened both and handed them to him. Colby took them, glad she was there to help. If not for her, he’d still be stuck up in the tree, puking his guts out. Except… For some reason, the scene at the base of the tree bothered him. He couldn’t quite get his finger on it, but it seemed like something was missing, or maybe he just forgot something. If only he could remember what. He chided himself for being concerned with minor details while his ribs were on fire, and resolved to try and figure it out later, when the pain wasn’t so distracting. Colby shook out two of the little white pills, hesitated, then added a third. He popped all three into his mouth and washed them down with the canteen. Colby sat, his back to the tree, looking at Janice. The Vicodin would take a few minutes to work, but as long as he sat still, it didn’t hurt as much. Janice smiled at him, her dazzling teeth reflecting the fading sun and sending it back to him in a warm glow. He sighed. Definitely not going to move anymore, he thought. I’m gonna sit right here and look at Janice. If anything comes by to bother us I’m going to blast it right out of the… Then he remembered what had been bothering him earlier. The gun. Where was it? And didn’t he hear a shot just before he fell? “Hey,” he said. “Didn’t I hear a gunshot?” “That you did, Colby,” said a second voice. A male voice. Colby heard a rustling in the bushes directly in front of him and watched as Allen stepped through the brush and into the small clearing. Something wearing Moretz’s shirt, but crawling with grubs, stood just behind Allen amidst the waist high bushes. Colby recalled Bock, Jared, and Harper, and he knew what had befallen Moretz, although he didn’t quite understand why most of

the man’s head was missing. Then Edison stepped out from the bushes to his left. Colby stared. Edison’s corpse stood, impossibly mobile even in death. The shredded remains of his bloodstained shirt drifted in the slight breeze, and Colby could already smell the rotten stench of decay. Like Moretz and all the others, tiny grubs crawled all over his body. “Allen,” Colby began, trying and failing to find his feet in order to fight off Moretz and Edison. “Where have you—” The words died on his lips as something else got Colby’s attention. In his hands, Allen held Colby’s Colt AR-15, and he pointed it right at Colby’s head. “Oh, I’ve been around,” Allen said, smiling.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Colby raised his hands over his head, his pain forgotten for the moment. He didn’t know why Allen would be pointing a rifle at him, but he knew he didn’t like it. At least the guy doesn’t want me dead, Colby reasoned, or he would have shot me by now. He put his feet under him and started to rise, slowly. “I wouldn’t do that, Sarge,” Allen said. “You’re just fine where you are.” To emphasize his point, Allen thumbed the safety off the rifle, making a show of it to ensure Colby saw him do it. Colby slid back to a sitting position and stared at the gun, noting with some alarm that Allen’s hands held steady and unwavering. Not a good sign. Colby was no stranger to gunpoint situations; in the Marines he’d had guns pointed at him on several occasions, and as a civilian he’d been robbed more than once. In his experience, when most people pointed a gun at another human being, their arms and fingers twitched, marking them as inexperienced or nervous. Twitchy fingers could be dangerous, true, but a nervous man was also easier to manipulate. Colby had talked his way out of several such situations. But Allen’s hands held rock steady, the gun never wavering. Colby had no doubt that if he did anything sudden, Allen would send a bullet through his skull. He took a deep, slow breath, feeling the effects of the Vicodin in his blood as the pain in his chest and arms dulled somewhat. He’d have to be ready. If Allen tried to hurt Janice, Colby meant to do something about it. He wasn’t quite sure what, but he’d try his damndest to make sure that at least one member of the team got home safe. He kept his hands up, making sure Allen could see them, and turned to Janice. She smiled sweetly at him, and a light bulb went off in his head. “You knew,” he said. She nodded. “It has to be done.” “What? What has to be done?” “You’ll see,” Allen broke in. “For now, put your hands behind the tree.” Colby did so, circling his hands around the trunk. The pain in his ribs flared, but he forced himself to remain steady. The trunk was too wide for him to touch his fingers, but Janice still had plenty of rope left. She walked behind the trunk, keeping a safe distance from Colby, and tied his hands together behind the tree. Allen watched him through the gun’s sight the whole time, almost daring him to twitch. When Janice finished securing his hands, she moved around to the front of the tree, trailing the rope behind her. She made four loops, snugging his upper body to the trunk, then she tied his ankles together and ran a length of rope from his feet to another tree. By the time she finished, he could not move anything except his head. “What’s this about, Janice?” He asked. She ignored the question and walked up to him, placing her hands on either side of his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. He had a flashback to a few nights before when she did the same thing, but in a much more pleasant manner. That night they’d been in her tent, with the crickets chirping and owls hooting. This was different. He hoped that whatever was going on, she didn’t expect a repeat of the other night’s performance while

he sat tied to a tree with a gun pointed at his head. Would Allen want to watch that sort of thing? Somehow, Colby doubted it. It didn’t involve bugs or bear shit, so Allen probably wouldn’t care. When she’d undone the top three buttons and exposed his chest, she backed away. Colby was still wondering what the hell was going on when Janice turned around to face Allen. “He’s ready,” she said. “Good,” Allen replied. Colby barely heard. He stared at the back of Janice’s neck, comprehension dawning on him like a punch to the gut. Janice had a grub stuck to her neck, just above the shoulder level. It wasn’t big, yet, but it was there. The damn thing looked like a cartoon water hose, pumping furiously forward and injecting whatever fucking chemical it manufactured into Janice’s blood. Son of a bitch, he thought. Son of a fucking bitch. Allen and Janice walked to the edge of the small clearing, and Allen whispered something to Moretz’s body that Colby couldn’t hear. Moretz turned and walked back into the brush. Janice stared after him, her eyes glistening. The pain in his body continued to fade as the Vicodin’s influence increased. No one said a word. Colby couldn’t bring himself to speak, and instead wondered how much time he spent unconscious in the tree. It had been nearing dusk when he started the climb down. Now twilight had come and gone, leaving the world in the pale fading light of the last bit of day. Somewhere behind him, an owl hooted. Crickets chirped in the background, adding their song to the rising chorus of cicadas, which hadn’t reached full volume yet, but soon would. Somewhere above him, a bat flapped its wings in search of food; its tiny wing beats audible above the other noises, if only just. That meant he’d been out for at least an hour. His cell phone still sat in his back pocket; he could feel it, and since he hadn’t turned it off Anzer would be able to track its GPS signal. But would the chopper arrive in time to help him? Probably not. A rustle up ahead drew his attention back to Allen and Janice. Moretz crashed back into the clearing, holding something small and black in his hands. He shambled up to Colby, arm extended, like he was bringing a present to a party. “We barely made it,” Allen said. “She’s almost dead.” “She, who?” Colby asked, but they both ignored him. “Is she strong enough?” Janice looked worried. “I think so,” Allen replied. “She should do fine.” “She, who?” Colby asked again. “Good,” Janice said. “I’d hate to think of her baby going to waste.” “Whos’ fucking baby?” Colby asked, shouting now. “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Allen and Janice both looked at him, staring needles into his skin, but he didn’t flinch. The look on Allen’s face spoke volumes about what he would rather do to Colby than tie him to a tree. Something kept his trigger finger in check, but Colby didn’t know what. The silence stretched on for several heartbeats. It was Janice who finally broke it. “The queen,” she said, as though that explained everything. Colby was just about to ask her what the hell that was supposed to mean when Moretz arrived at his side, and he could finally see what the black object in Moretz’s hand

was. A big, fat, fly, just like the ones he saw at the bear carcass.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“What the hell is that?” Colby asked. “That’s the queen,” Allen replied. “The queen of what?” No one answered. Instead, Moretz ambled up to Colby and squatted next to him, putting one larvae-infested knee into the soft earth beside Colby’s leg. Moretz then reached out his hand, dropping a few grubs onto Colby’s pants and shirt in the process, and placed the black fly on Colby’s chest. Colby tried to buck and shift, but the ropes held him secure as the fly limped off Moretz’s hand and onto Colby’s flesh. The grubs Moretz dropped onto Colby’s clothes looked like they were about to head for his exposed skin, but the moment the queen set her feet on Colby’s chest they stopped, turned around, and wriggled their way off him and onto the ground. Moretz picked them up and gently put them back on his skin, after which the little buggers dove into his flesh with rabid abandon. The queen looked ill. She walked on only four of her six legs. The weight of the thing surprised him. She circled a handful of times, and then, to his horror, laid an egg in the skin of his chest. He felt a sharp pain as she burrowed a small hole into his left pectoral muscle in which to deposit the egg, then she fell over and rolled to his crotch, unmoving. Her last remaining energy spent in the birthing process, if you could call it that. Colby wondered how long he’d have to wait for the egg to hatch, and was just beginning to think of some plan he could use to break free, when the question was answered. The little egg, about the size of a grain of rice, cracked open, and a tiny grub slithered out. It looked just like all the others, red tips and off-white in the middle, but much smaller. Even smaller than Janice’s. Had the queen been forced to use some of her young’s nutrients to sustain herself long enough to lay her egg? Possibly. Not that it mattered to him. The little grub dug it’s head into Colby’s flesh, and he felt a tiny prick in his skin. Then a warm numbness began to spread from the location of the bite. As the feeling spread, Colby’s anxiety eased. He looked at the grub not in fear and loathing, but wonder. The grub wasn’t ugly, like he thought before. How could the idea have ever crossed his mind? She was a thing of beauty. Fragile and delicate, but regal. Amazing! He smiled, and looked up at Janice and Allen. “She’s… she’s beautiful,” he whispered. It was all he could think to say. Janice nodded, her eyes moist. Allen smiled. “They are, aren’t they?” Allen said. “Just think, we get to help them live.” Help them live. Colby could think of nothing he’d enjoy more. Nothing could be as fulfilling as taking care of the little baby queen. Finally, his life had purpose and meaning, something he’d lacked ever since Kuwait. By God, he was worth something again. His eyes clouded over with moisture. To think it took him eighteen years to feel this happy, when the whole time his life’s mission lay here, tucked away in the woods of northern Maine, waiting for him to find it. Tears fell from his eyes. He couldn’t help it.

“Thank you,” he said to Allen. Allen nodded. “Moretz, cut Sarge lose.” Moretz did as he was told, fishing a knife from Colby’s pack and slicing through the ropes. Colby stood, flexed his arms, and smiled. Nothing hurt anymore; the queen had taken care of everything. What would Anzer say if he knew— “Anzer!” Colby said. “Anzer’s coming. What are we going to do?” “No worries, Colby,” Janice said, “We’ll take care of that when the time comes.” Colby nodded and smiled again; it was the first time she’d ever called him anything but Sarge. Moretz shuffled off by himself, the drones feasting on his flesh. Edison stood rigid at the edge of the small clearing, feeding the Queen’s children with his body. Such a noble sacrifice to make. Allen and Janice turned toward the woods. “There’s another clearing about half a mile east that’s big enough for a helicopter to land,” Allen said. “We should get there so Anzer can pick us up.” Colby nodded and hefted his pack. Anzer was going to be in for a surprise when he arrived.

Chapter Thirty

Colby woke up while walking to the clearing. That’s how he thought of it; waking up. One moment he was in a dreamlike, warm state, content to wander behind Janice and Allen while the Queen took his pain and worries away, and the next moment he snapped to attention, wondering where the good feeling had gone and why the pain had snapped back into place like a rubber band. He looked down and saw his grub hanging by its jaws, but barely. One side of the thing’s mouth was buried into the flesh of his chest, but the other hung loose, causing the grub to bounce back and forth like an earring. He searched his mind for a reason, and then it hit him. The Vicodin. The grubs would never have had any before, and this one was an infant. Once the stuff got into its system the grub must have just shut down, too stoned to keep its little mind straight. He didn’t get much time to wonder about it. As the Queen hung slack, probably dead, from his chest, Colby was faced with a new dilemma. Janice turned to face him, her features creased with worry. “What happened to your queen?” she asked. “She’s not well.” Allen was much more aggressive. He turned and pointed the AR-15 right at Colby’s head. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted, and Colby leapt to the side just before the shots rang out. Colby rolled on the ground - the dead grub fell away as he did - and came to rest right beside Janice. While Janice reached to her hip for the .45, Colby shot to his feet and stood behind her, reaching for the back of her neck and yanking her queen from her skin. There was a slight popping sound as the grub tore free, ripping away a small chunk of Janice’s flesh. A spatter of blood hit Colby on the cheek, and Janice fell to her knees. “I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” Allen shouted, his voice punctuated by the crisp bang of the AR-15. Colby rolled, hoping to draw Allen’s fire away from Janice, but a spray of blood and Janice’s scream told him he’d failed. He stood up just in time to see Janice go down, but he could not see where she’d been hit. He held up his empty hands. “Allen,” he began, “please, this isn’t you. It’s a—” Allen screamed, a long, inarticulate wail. Primal and terrifying. Colby winced. There were no words in that scream, only a profound rage that spoke of a lust for revenge. Having been subjected to the queen’s kiss himself, Colby understood, but he wasn’t about to let himself be shot over it. Allen raised the weapon and Colby dodged to his left, still hoping to draw fire away from Janice, in case she was still alive. The ground next to him plumed with a cloud of earth as the bullet tore into the spot where Colby’s foot had been only a millisecond before. He rolled to his feet and sidestepped as Allen fired again. That’s it, Colby thought. Allen’s out of bullets. There were only three left in the AR-15 when Colby went up the tree. One had been used to shoot Moretz, and one had hit Janice. That last shot should be Allen’s last bullet. Colby stopped dodging and started

walking toward the chubby entomologist. “It’s over, Allen,” he said. “You’re out of ammo.” Allen’s lips twisted into a savage grin. He pulled open his shirt, revealing the top of an empty clip. “Shit,” Colby said, and dodged to the side again just in time to avoid a bullet through the neck. He must have stopped by the camp and grabbed an extra clip and more ammo. Fuck! How many bullets could Allen have left? How many could one clip hold? Fifteen rounds? Could he dodge ten more bullets? He doubted it. He didn’t have to wait long to find out. For all his rage, Allen wasn’t fooled again. When Colby dodged to his left, Allen led him with the rifle, just a little, but enough so that the next time Colby heard the gun go off he also felt a sharp, intense pain in his right thigh. The bullet hit him with such force he lost his footing and fell to the ground, clutching his wounded leg in an attempt to stop the flow of his blood. Allen chuckled and stepped closer, the rifle never wavering. “Allen, wait. I—” Colby began. Allen didn’t say a word, perhaps was beyond speech. He pulled the trigger and Colby felt another flare of pain in his right side, just above the scar from his childhood appendectomy. He grunted, not willing to give Allen the satisfaction of a scream, but he couldn’t hide the grimace on his face. He’d been shot before, but it never ceased to surprise him how much it fucking hurt! Allen raised the rifle to his eye level, and pointed the barrel at the center of Colby’s forehead. He still hadn’t said a word, and Colby knew he wouldn’t. Allen would pull the trigger without so much as a final taunt. Hollywood had let him down. When the gunshot came, Colby closed his eyes, surprised that he didn’t feel any pain. After a moment he realized that wasn’t entirely true; he could still feel the pain in his side and thigh, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Allen’s body hit the ground, his head a mass of blood and pulp. Janice stood behind him holding the .45. She looked like she was about to faint. Her left arm hung limp at her side, and a large red stain marred the sleeve of her blouse. The gun in her hand wavered, and she smiled down at him. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. “Thanks,” he said. It was all he could think of. “You’re welcome,” she said. “It was the Vicodin, wasn’t it?” “Yeah,” he replied. “The little grub couldn’t handle it.” “I should be thanking you. If you hadn’t pulled that thing off my neck, I’d still be with him,” she said, pointing at Allen’s body. “I guess we’re even, then.” Janice nodded. “I guess so.” She looked at his leg, where he held pressure on the wound to hold the bleeding at bay. “Can you walk?” Colby breathed deep, testing the pain in his ribs, which flared like a firecracker. But he nodded. “I think so. Allen got a belt?” “Why?” “Tourniquet.” She walked over to Allen’s body. As she reached him, Moretz and Edison crashed out of the brush to the right. Shit! Colby thought. I forgot about those two!

Moretz grabbed Janice from behind, and Edison lunged at Colby, who dodged to the side and stuck his leg straight out. Edison, too uncoordinated and slow to correct his lunge, tripped over the leg and whacked his head into an exposed rock. There was a loud crack, and Edison’s body twitched, but didn’t rise. Janice screamed. Colby turned and saw Moretz’s arm pump behind her back. In his hand he gripped a bloody knife. Colby’s knife. A seven-inch Gerber he’d loaned to Janice when he went looking for Jared. How the fuck did Moretz get his grubby hands on it? Moretz plunged the knife into her back one more time, then dropped her to the ground. As she fell, she looked at Colby, and the pain in her eyes made his heart burst. Not again. Couldn’t he just save one? Janice’s last act before she fell was to toss the .45 toward Colby. It hit the ground three feet in front of him. He dove for it as Moretz charged. Luck was with Colby, as he managed to grab hold of the pistol, aim, and squeeze off three rounds into Moretz’s torso. The bullets tore through him, spinning him sideways and sending the knife flying into the brush. Moretz pirouetted, arms akimbo, and then fell to the floor, the grubs still feasting on him, as a cloud of blood and shredded flesh rained around them. Colby didn’t bother to check on him, instead he crawled toward Janice. She lay on her belly among the pine needles, her eyes closed. He could not tell if she was breathing. “Please,” he whispered, and placed his fingertips on her carotid artery. A pulse! She was alive, but weak. He rolled over to Allen, pulled his belt from the loops, then tied it around his thigh just above the bullet wound. He then ripped the dead man’s shirt from his back and tore it into strips, one of which he used to tie a piece of towel to the hole in his side. Then he went to Janice and checked her wounds. One wound in her lower back wasn’t serious, just by looking he could tell the blade had missed any vital organs. But the other, in the middle of her back just to the left of her spine, that could be troublesome. If it had punctured a lung, she’d die out here. He looked back at her face, noting the lack of blood from her mouth or nose. A punctured lung would have sent her into fits of coughing, during which she would sputter up blood. No such thing was happening. Most likely, she’d passed out from pain and shock. He bound her wounds as best he could, and then looked at his immediate surroundings. He and Janice lay amidst a small copse of birches. Trees dotted the area as far as he could see; there was no way a helicopter could land nearby. This meant that somehow, he had to get the two of them to the clearing. As he pondered that, he heard a loud buzzing. The sound built slowly to his right, until a cloud of three-inch long flies zipped into the area and settled on Allen. “Oh, shit,” he said. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked over to see Allen’s body moving. Whatever damage the fall had done his body, the grubs were working around it. One glance over at Moretz told him the grubs were fixing him up, as well. “Fuck me,” he said. “Time to go.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Colby limped as fast as he could, Janice’s body slumped over his right shoulder and the AR-15 gripped in his left hand. He dodged through trees and jumped over roots, all the while the pain in his ribs and thigh threatened to knock him to the ground and keep him there. Hi ribs were the worst. Each breath felt like a hot poker to his chest, but he couldn’t stop. If he did, Janice would die. Just before he took off, he’d taken two more Vicodin dry, then scooped up Janice and the rifle and made for the clearing. The pills helped, but only a little. The buzzing sound behind him had faded, but he couldn’t tell if that was because the flies were far behind or if they’d settled into Allen’s body, laid their eggs, and immediately died, as the queen had. Did the drones die right away, too? And how long would it take before Allen rose and came after them, his body covered in grubs? Colby had no idea, and he hoped he would not have to find out. His vision faded several times, and he shook his head to clear it. How much blood could the human body lose and still function? Colby knew he’d lost a lot already, and the running didn’t help, but he had to get Janice to that clearing. He had to. This time, he’d save someone, by God. This time, he would not be a total disgrace. He stumbled once, but caught his balance. The sudden jolt sent a wave of fresh agony up his wounded leg. He heard the crashing sounds of pursuit behind him. He shut his mind to the pain and concentrated on getting one leg ahead of the other. Nothing else mattered. He half ran, half limped, and somewhere along the way the rifle fell from his hand. He simply didn’t have the strength to hold on to it any more. Colby slapped his face with his free hand, trying to clear away the cobwebs forming in his mind, but it didn’t help. He was losing the battle to stay awake. Too much blood loss. He pushed on for Janice’s sake, unwilling to let the grubs have her. Just one, he thought. Dear God, please let me save one. Colby took two more wobbly steps, then he crashed into the clearing and saw the helicopter already waiting. It was a Huey. Sleek and drab, flat olive in color, Colby had never seen anything so beautiful in his whole life. A 50mm gun was mounted on the side, and the soldier behind the gun was waving him over. Colby could have wept. He ran toward the Huey, and made it about halfway when Allen’s voice raised in a shout behind him. A loud gunshot rang through the clearing, and Colby was thrown forward by a strong blow from behind. He fell, sending Janice’s prone body flying though the air. He winced as the pain in his leg and side flared up, despite the extra Vicodin, and then lay there. Strangely, he didn’t feel any pain in his back, just pressure. Behind him, the brush crashed and crackled as his pursuers entered the clearing. “What the fuck?” a voice from the chopper asked. “Don’t move, whatever the fuck you are!” Another shot rang out, and Colby heard a bullet whistle above his head just before it clinked into the metal body of the Huey.

The next few seconds were filled with the solid rat-a-tat-tat fire of a heavy carbine and the wiz of several hundred rounds in the air above Colby’s prone body. It didn’t last long, a 50mm carbine could shred an automobile in ten seconds, doubtless it had taken far less time than that to render Allen and whoever was with him into a gory pile of nothing. Colby opened his eyes, but found he couldn’t see very well, and his mouth tasted like blood. Not a good sign. The whole world seemed to have lost its clarity, no matter how hard he tried to focus. He knew it was nighttime, but the edges of his vision seemed darker than normal, even this deep into the woods. There still was no pain from his back, and he thought there should be. By now, he realized he’d been shot, but the knowledge paled in comparison to how tired he felt. He just needed a nap, then he would be fine. Footsteps to his right. He looked over and saw a vaguely human shape, the same drab olive color as the Huey, next to him. Colby reached up toward the soldier and felt a hand clasp his, though the fingers slipped through a warm, wet fluid that covered his hand. He examined the hand, trying to figure out what the fluid was, but only saw a blackish stain that he couldn’t identify. “Is she okay?” he asked the stranger, he could only manage a hoarse croak. “She’ll be fine,” the soldier replied. Colby smiled and nodded. Then the world went dark. The last thing he heard was Anzer’s voice coming from somewhere by the chopper. “Holy fuck, Colby! What happened?”

Epilogue

Janice stood next to the headstone, her left arm wrapped in a sling and the bandages around her back squeezed tight and stiff, making breathing difficult, but not impossible. She’d been lucky. Moretz’s knife had missed her vital organs, but it still hurt like hell. The fingers of her good hand lovingly traced the words etched onto the stone’s marble face. “I’m sorry,” she said. Tears pooled in her eyes. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she sat in silence for another five minutes. “You okay?” a voice behind her asked. She turned to see Anzer standing a few feet away, the movement sent a twinge of pain up her spine. He’d been there the whole time, but thankfully he had kept quiet. She didn’t think she could deal with him talking about Colby any more today. The man never seemed to shut up about the former marine. You’d think he was the one in love with the guy. “I’m fine,” she replied, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’ll be all right.” “You ready?” She looked back at the headstone. Just a rock, really. A rounded piece of granite with a handful of words on it. His final resting place. The only thing left to tell the world he was ever here. She sighed, determined to keep her eyes dry for the rest of the day. “I guess so.” Anzer reached down and grasped her hand, pulling her up. She rose stiffly, the bandages around her middle making the movement awkward. “Thanks,” she said, dusting the freshly turned earth from her knees. Anzer looked from her to the headstone. “He was a good man,” he said. “I’ve known him for a long time. I’ll miss him.” “Me, too,” she replied. Then she turned to look at the stone one last time, as well. “Good bye, Edison,” she said. Then she turned to face the street. Colby sat in his wheelchair, his bandaged leg propped up and a sad, rueful look on his face. His upper body was stiff from the many bandages the Trauma doctors wrapped around his torso. It would take several weeks, maybe longer, before all his wounds fully healed, but she could live with that. She’d already phoned Phoenix and given her resignation. Several universities in New England had her resume and credentials, and she hoped to hear from any one of them soon. Until then, she’d help take care of Colby. She smiled a bit as she remembered how he’d looked when they finally wheeled him out of the ER. Glad as she was he was still alive, she couldn’t help but think he looked like a mummy. “What’s funny?” he asked. She walked up to him, bent down, and kissed him full on the lips. When she backed away, his expression had changed, but only a little. “What is it?” She asked, although she already knew the answer. “They’re all dead,” he said. “The whole team.” “You saved one, though,” Anzer said from behind her shoulder. “You sure did,” Janice added, squeezing Colby’s hand. “Yeah,” Colby said. He looked up at her, and this time he even smiled a little. “I

saved one, didn’t I?” She bent down to kiss him again, and this time when she pulled away, he was still smiling. She walked behind the wheelchair and turned it around, taking Colby back to the rear door of Anzer’s Lincoln. “There’s just one thing, Anzer,” Colby said. “When I get out of this chair I’m going to have to kick your ass.” Anzer smiled. “Sorry, Colby. A sat phone just wasn’t in the budget.” “Budget, my ass,” Colby replied. “I’m still gonna beat the shit out of you.” “When you get out of your chair, we’ll talk,” Anzer replied. Janice told them both to shut up while she helped settle Colby into the rear seat of the car, then went around to the passenger side and climbed in next to him. Up front, Anzer started the car and pulled away from the gravesite. *** Anzer smiled as he watched Colby and Janice in the rearview mirror. It’s good that they found each other, he thought. Colby needed someone to look after him, and Janice? Well, she’d been through a lot, and could use a strong positive presence like Colby around. He obviously cared about her, and she would be moving to Maine soon enough. Their relationship was a good thing. His hand found its way to his chest, and his smile grew. Speaking of good things… he lightly rubbed the fabric of his shirt, feeling the pleasure from the queen on his chest. This mission hadn’t quite gone as planned, but the queen wasn’t angry. She was never angry. Like him, she knew there would be other opportunities.

THE END

A Note from the Author

In 2009, Ghostwriter Publications agreed to publish my novel 33 A.D., about a vampire in Biblical Jerusalem who tries to assassinate Jesus of Nazareth. Additionally, they asked if I had something short and campy, like maybe a B-Movie type of horror book along the lines of The Rats or Night of the Crabs. I didn’t, but I did have a short story I’d been working on about a group of scientists who get trapped in the woods of Northern Maine and have to survive attacks by tiny insects and the zombies they create. “Perfect,” the folks at Ghostwriter said. “Make it novel length and send it in.” Well, as you may or may not know (chances are if you’ve read my blog you do), I am no longer with Ghostwriter Publications, but damn if those scientists weren’t still running for their lives up in Aroostook County, Maine. Given that I’d done pretty well on my own with 33 A.D., I figured I’d give Colby, Janice, and the rest of the crew a shot to find their own way into your hands. If you are reading this, then that means they succeeded. Personally, I love this story. It’s campy, funny, scary, and reads a lot like those great old B-horror movies from way back, which is exactly what it was intended to be. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t put nearly as much research into this story as I did 33 A.D., but this story isn’t meant to be serious or even thought provoking. It’s just meant to be a good time. Hopefully you enjoyed it as such. But whether you liked it or hated it, I want to say thank you, dear reader, for going on this trip with Colby and the crew. Time is a very precious thing, and I know there are a million ways we, as individuals, can spend it. I’m honored that you chose to spend some of yours with me.

David McAfee, January 2011

About the Author

David McAfee was born in Lakenheath USAFB, England, and spent his youth traipsing about the globe with his military family, soaking up the cultures of faraway places like the Philippines, Turkey, Spain, and even California. When David was in his tweens, his father retired to Texas, which David still considers home.

He started writing at the tender age of six, albeit on a much smaller scale, and today his work can be found in at least one horror magazine.

David currently lives in Tennessee with his wife, daughter, and a small army of loyal but dysfunctional pets. He enjoys writing, motorcycling, and spending time with his family. He can be reached at [email protected] and can be visited on the web at mcafeeland.wordpress.com, connected with on Twitter (@DavidLMcAfee) and Facebook (David McAfee).

Other Books by David McAfee: 33 A.D. Saying Goodbye to the Sun The Lake and 17 Other Stories A Pound of Flash The Gallows Tree (forthcoming)

BONUS MATERIAL Excerpt from TORMENT, by Jeremy Bishop 20

“Stay here,” Mia whispered to Liz. She’d quickly checked the second floor bedrooms and deposited Liz in a closet. The girl shuffled back into the closest, hidden behind a rack of hanging suits that must have come from a Big n’ Tall store. The stairs to the third floor were at the center of the hall and ended at a closed door. A thick, beige carpet covered the steps and concealed her approach. She paused at the top of the stairs, trying to remember how police officers breached a room, but then realized every image she had of the maneuver was from a TV show. With her left hand on the door knob and the gun in her right, she slowly turned the handle and nudged the door open. Other than the bottom of the door brushing against the carpet, she managed complete silence. The third floor was one large room. Four skylights above and a large, front looking window filled the room with the tangerine glow of the setting sun. She searched the long room for any sign of the person she’d heard and found nothing. There were two arcade games; the screens blank. A mini-bar filled the back corner accompanied by a card table and dart board on the wall. The front half of the room held two plush couches and a TV screen that looked big enough to service a stadium theater. But the centerpiece of the room was a pool table. Ornately carved from red oak, the table sat at the center of the space. A large stained glass fixture hung above it. The most interesting thing about the pool table was what lay on the side. A bullet. Her bullet. She walked toward the round, staring at it. “Austin?” “Didn’t want you to shoot me.” Austin’s voice came from behind her. A small bathroom was hidden behind the stairs. He stepped out, wiping off his face with a hand towel. She wanted to leap at the man and hug him. Having written him off as dead, she felt glad to see him. She lowered her gun. He walked to the pool table and picked up the round. “Thanks for the message. I came in through the fire escape after checking out the backyard.” “How did you get here so fast?” she asked. He took out a pool ball and rolled it across the table, bouncing it off the cushion. “I wasn’t that far behind. Wanted to make sure you weren’t being followed.” “You were watching us?” He nodded. “I was in the woods behind the house.” “Could’a told me.” “Worried?” he asked with a grin. “Asshole.” Austin laughed and looked beyond her. Liz was standing there. He stopped

smiling. “Don’t worry, Mr. Austin. We decided that curse words weren’t offensive anymore,” Liz said as she entered the room and sat on a couch. “I told you to wait,” Mia said, a touch of anger in her voice. Liz shrugged. “I thought it was safe to come out with them.” She thumbed over her shoulder as Mark arrived, carrying a novel. Paul and Chang followed him, also carrying novels. “There a book club I don’t know about?” Austin asked. “Only form of entertainment that’s not going to get us killed,” Mark said. “Running for your life isn’t entertaining enough?” Mia asked. “Food’s here,” Collins announced as he entered carrying two brown bags full of non-perishable food. White and Vanderwarf followed, hands empty. Garbarino was last. He closed and locked the door at the bottom of the stairs then joined them at the top. He looked honestly pleased to see Austin. “You made it.” Austin stopped the rolling pool ball. “One almost got me. Snuck up behind me while I was distracted.” “Were they armed?” Garbarino asked. Austin shook his head. “They were...insane. No weapons. Came at me with hands and teeth. Like animals. A few of them weren’t any trouble. But if I wasn’t armed...or if the rest of them showed up.” He shook his head again, this time looking at the floor. “Wouldn’t have turned out the same.” After a moment of silence, he moved to the end of the pool table and reached under it. He motioned to Garbarino. “Help me on this end. Vanderwarf. White. Get the other side.” Together, the four of them moved the heavy table in front of the fire escape door on the side of the house. With the downstairs sealed, the second floor door locked and the pool table blocking the only other exit, they were sealed in tight. As night settled, the group ate boxes of Hostess comfort food, spoke little, and one by one dropped off to sleep. Vanderwarf and White lay down behind the bar. No one could see them, everyone knew the two were dealing with the destruction of the world in their own, primal way. “Going to have to start repopulating the planet sooner or later,” Paul had whispered to Mark, but the priest wasn’t laughing. Despite his normally humorous personality, he had fallen more serious as the sun descended and the sunset turned blood red. But if darkness filled his thoughts, he kept it to himself and eventually nodded off. Paul slept on one of the couches, snoring lightly. Chang had found a bean bag chair and fell asleep halfway on, lying on her back with her head cocked back and her mouth wide open. Collins fell asleep as he often did in the Oval Office, head down on the table. He’d started playing solitaire, but wasn’t having any luck. Liz fell asleep on Mia’s lap while she sat in a comfortable chair to the side of the front window. Had it not been pitch black outside, it would have offered her a view of half the neighborhood for nearly a mile. Austin sat on a stool across from her, arms folded across his chest keeping watch in the other direction. “Strange, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

“What is?” she replied. “That sound.” She listened, but could only hear the breathing of several sleeping people and Paul’s snoring. “I can’t hear anything.” Austin picked up a pillow from the arm of the couch and tossed it at Paul. The man snorted, rolled over and fell quiet. “Outside,” Austin said. She reached forward slowly and opened the small window. She held her breath and listened. At first she heard nothing. But after a few moments she heard...something. High pitched. Reverberating. Very distant. “What is it?” she asked. “Screaming,” he said. Goose bumps sprung up on her arms. He was right. Once he identified the sound, she could hear it for what it was—screaming, from hundreds, if not thousands of people. “What’s going on out there?” she asked. As though in reply, a light outside clicked on. Austin sprang up. Mia gasped. “Motion sensitive light in the driveway,” he said. “Must have a battery backup.” She heard nothing but “motion sensitive.” Someone lurked outside. She shifted for a view of the driveway and saw a man. He moved quickly, but not in a single direction. Like a squirrel in the road, unsure of which way to run from an approaching car, he leaped one way and then the other. She could hear his panicked breathing, squeaking with fear. “Should we help him?” she asked. Austin shook his head, no. Instead, he whispered, “Close your window.” She did so, quickly and quietly, careful not to jostle Liz and wake her up. “I don’t think he could have heard us.” “It’s not him I’m worried about.” He motioned to the others. “It’s them. I don’t want them to wake up. I don’t want them to see.” “See what?” “You didn’t hear the voices?” She shook her head, wondering if her hearing sucked or if Austin just had really good ears. “The people who attacked me. Who attacked Reggie. They all shouted warnings first. Apologies. Like they didn’t want to be doing what they were about to do. Like it horrified them. I could hear them coming.” He motioned out the window. “And so can he.” The man was still running in circles. Then, through the closed windows, Mia did hear another voice. A woman’s. Then a man’s. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could see them. Running shadows. Three of them. The panicked man finally saw them coming. Or maybe heard them. And turned to run in the opposite direction. But he was so out of his head with fright that he turned and sprinted into a tree. The three descended on top of him before he could stand. The woman went for his neck with her teeth, cutting off his scream. The two men tore at his stomach. Blood pooled around him as they slaughtered the man. From beginning to end, the attack lasted only fifteen seconds. The two men and

the woman stood above the body, wailing. Crying like children. They disappeared into the night again, leaving the dead man behind, his entrails looping over the driveway, his blood glowing bright red under the halogen glow of the motion sensitive light. Mia and Austin stared down at the body in silence. When the light blinked out again, Austin whispered, “We’ll go out the back in the morning. Get some sleep.” She thought sleep would be impossible, but she sat back, closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, the view of stars outside had been replaced by blue sky. For a moment, lost in the comfortable place between sleep and reality, she forgot everything that had happened. That’s when Liz started screaming.

BONUS MATERIAL

Excerpt from 33 A.D., by David McAfee

Chapter One

Jerusalem, 33A.D.

Ephraim darted around his modest wood-and-mortar home in the Upper City, grabbing as many of his possessions as he could carry – mostly clothing and a few personal items – and shoving them into a large burlap pack. Every now and then his brown eyes shifted to the door, waiting for a knock. Or worse, no sound whatsoever. The latter worried him the most because it would mean the servants of the Council had found him. A Psalm of Silence only carried for about twenty paces, so if the world around him went suddenly quiet, he would know those who hunted him were very, very close. As an Enforcer, or at least a former Enforcer, Ephraim knew the inevitable result of breaking the laws of his people, a race not known for mercy. Now, as he packed, he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d felt the need to tell the Council about his indiscretions. Bad enough he’d defied them, but he also gave them all the information they needed to punish him. And for what? A strange feeling in his heart? A pang of conscience? Was he mad? In retrospect, it seemed possible, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. His elders wanted him dead, and unless he hurried they would get their way. A worn, woolen tunic hung halfway off his bed. I’ll need that, he thought as he reached for it. He couldn’t afford to leave a single piece of clothing behind. He stuffed the tunic into his bag and turned to regard a large chest on the wall opposite the bed. He reached down and flung the lid open, breaking one of the hinges in the process, and started grabbing more clothes. I’ll need that. And that. Then his fingers closed on something small and hard. He didn’t have to look at it to know it was his ceramic wolf’s head figurine, a symbol of his former rank. I won’t need that. Ephraim tossed it over his shoulder, where it shattered on the hard floor. He didn't pay it any attention as he picked up a short, fat bladed knife. I’ll need that, too. It joined the many tunics in his bag. Just as he picked up a pair of worn breeches, a noise outside his door caught his attention. What was that? Ephraim froze, craning his ears and trying desperately to catch the

elusive sound. He stood silent and still for sixty long seconds, muscles tense and booted feet nailed to the floor. The breeches hung from his fingers like a mouse in a raptor’s claw. He eyed the sickle-shaped sword on the opposite wall, ready to spring over and grab it if necessary. Although the sword was very old, he kept it sharp and in perfect balance, not easy to do with a khopesh. When the noise didn’t return, he shook his head. The wind, he told himself, and returned to the task at hand. He had to hurry. They were coming. He couldn’t allow himself to be captured by the Council’s minions. They would make him talk, and that would be bad. Not just for himself, but for his newfound friends, as well. The elders of the Bachiyr race had many methods by which to extract information, even from one of their own. All of them brutally effective. If they caught him, they would find a way to make him talk. Sooner or later Ephraim would tell them anything they wanted to know, the only real question was how long would it take to break him. As he packed, his hand brushed against a small figurine of a lamb from the shelf above his bed, knocking it off and sending it toppling through the air. “Damn!” He reached out to catch it and missed, but his fingertips brushed the delicate figurine just enough to alter its course so that, instead of following the wolf’s head to the hard floor, the lamb plopped down amidst the soft linens on the bed. Ephraim breathed a sigh of relief when the delicate figure didn’t break, and reached down gently to pick it up. He didn’t miss the irony that he, the predator, had thrown away the wolf figurine and kept the lamb. Former predator, he amended, shaking his head. I am not like that anymore. He stared at the lamb for several precious seconds, remembering what it symbolized and making sure, in his heart, he’d made the right decision. Satisfied, he placed the tiny item into a small velvet bag and tied it shut, then placed the bag into his pack, stuffing it between the folds of a coarse brown tunic. He tied the pack closed and set it on the floor in front of him. Ephraim then stepped over to the far wall and eyed his ancient khopesh, which he had wielded for over a thousand years, though the style of blade had largely gone out of use eight centuries ago. He reached a tentative hand up to the sword, but his fingers froze before they touched the handle. Ashamed, he pictured the faces of his many victims, heard again their anguished screams, and saw their mouths stretched wide in agony. The smell of their blood returned to him, sending an unwelcome rumble through his belly. Far from the pleasure these memories once brought, Ephraim now felt only shame. How many? He wondered. How many have I killed with this very blade? He had no idea, but the number must surely be huge. “So great is my sin,” he whispered. He could not shed tears, none of his race could, but his face felt hot and flushed, nonetheless. He drew his hand back, unwilling to touch the ancient sword, his most trusted companion for centuries, now too poignant a reminder of who he used to be. With a sigh, he turned from the wall and walked over to the bed, determined to leave his past at his back. Now ready to go, he just had to wait for his friend to come and help sneak him out of the city. Ephraim sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for Malachi’s knock. He hoped it would not take long.

Please hurry, Malachi, he thought. Time is running out. They are coming.

***

Above Ephraim, crouched amidst the pressed oak beams that supported the structure’s ceiling, a single pair of eyes looked down at the one-time Enforcer. The Council's agents were not coming, as Ephraim feared. They – or rather, he – had already arrived. If he had looked up, he might have seen the dark shadow hiding among the lighter ones in his ceiling, but he never so much as glanced upward. His visitor thought lack of sustenance to be the cause of Ephraim's inattentiveness, and he shook his head in disbelief. From his dark vantage point, he watched the scene unfold, memorizing the layout of the room for future reference. Earlier that evening, before he had left the Halls, the Council told him what to expect. Even so, he hadn’t wanted to believe that one of their own, particularly one with as glorious and faithful a history as Ephraim, could be capable of such treachery. Until he witnessed Ephraim’s hurried packing and the incident with the wolf’s head – an article of rank sacred to the Bachiyr – he’d hoped to discover his superiors mistaken. The longer he waited on high, however, the more he came to realize they were right. They are always right, he thought to himself. I should have known better than to doubt. Just because he’s a friend— he stopped himself there, not wanting to diminish his readiness. He couldn’t waste time thinking of past friendships and obligations. He had a job to do, and reminiscing would only make it harder and might even cloud his judgment, which could not be allowed. He had to be clearheaded and alert for the next few minutes. Long enough to kill Ephraim. First, however, he had to wait and observe a short while longer. The treacherous dog would die, certainly, but not before his visitor discovered who he’d betrayed them to. Ephraim’s message to the Council had been vague in that regard; most likely a deliberate omission. To that end the watcher held himself in check through his growing anger while his thick, sharp nails dug furrows into the wooden beams. He held still, relishing the tantalizing scent of fear that emanated from his former friend, and waited for the knock that would signal Ephraim’s allies had come to save him. On that, the Council’s orders were very clear. We must know who the traitor is in league with. That is of utmost importance, Theron. Theron had never failed the Council before, not once in over nine hundred years, and he didn’t intend to start now. As much as he wanted to drop from the shadows like an evil beast from a child’s tale, he waited. Patience, he counseled himself. Not yet. Waiting was the essence of his craft. He was a professional. If you wanted to put a fine point on it, he was the professional. The Lead Enforcer for the Council of Thirteen, albeit newly appointed. These days, that mostly meant he acted as their primary assassin, although every now and then the Council sent him for capture rather than elimination. But those occasions were few. And this wasn’t one of them.

So until Ephraim received his visitor, Theron would sit, out of sight, and wait for the sound of knuckles on the door. However long it took. But once he had his information, then… well, then the fun would begin. He didn’t have to wait long. About five minutes after Ephraim finished packing a loud knock thundered through the house, violating the silence with a hollow boom. Ephraim jumped at the sudden sound, but Theron had heard the visitor’s boots crunch on Ephraim’s gravel walkway and was expecting it. He smiled as he watched his intended victim’s face go from terror to joy. “At last!” Ephraim said. “You certainly took enough time to get here.” He walked over to the door and grasped the handle. Then, just as he was about to raise the wooden latch, the relief fled his face, replaced by a look of wariness and renewed fear. “Who’s there?” “Ephraim, you dog. Open the blasted door. We don’t have time for this.” “Malachi! Thank the Father you’ve come.” He released the latch on the door and swung it inward. Malachi the butcher? A human? Theron had expected another Bachiyr to be behind Ephraim’s treachery. But a human? What in the Father's Name was going on? Malachi stepped in, ducking his head and twisting a bit to the side in order to maneuver his broad shoulders through the doorway. He wore his shoulder-length brown hair tied back with a leather thong, leaving his craggy, olive-skinned face exposed from forehead to chin, and he didn’t look pleased. He fixed his stern features squarely on the much smaller Ephraim. “Thank ‘the Father,’ Ephraim? Why would you offer thanks to a demon? Have you learned nothing these last few weeks?” “My apologies, my friend. Old habits can be difficult to break.” “Indeed, they can,” Malachi said. “That you are trying at all says much about your progress.” The butcher’s face relaxed. He reached his hand out and clasped Ephraim’s. “So what is the news?” Malachi looked around the room at the mess of Ephraim’s frantic packing. “Are they coming?” “Yes.” Ephraim sprang into motion, grabbing his pack off the bed and hoisting it over his shoulder. “I’m sure of it. We have to leave.” “How did they find out?” “You want to waste time on explanations? Didn’t you hear? They are coming. Let’s go and I’ll explain on the way.” He started to go around the larger man, and Theron tensed. He could not allow the pair to leave, which meant he would have to kill the human first and deal with Ephraim, by far the more dangerous of the two, afterward. He readied himself to spring as Ephraim tried to squirm his way around the huge man. But Malachi would have none of it. He reached down and grabbed hold of Ephraim’s shoulder. The thick, corded muscles on his arm twitched as he casually tossed the smaller man back into the room. He then placed his bulky frame between Ephraim and the door, folding his thick arms across his chest. “How did they know, Ephraim?” Malachi asked again. Ephraim glared at the human and chewed his lip, as though trying to decide how much to tell. It surprised Theron that the man handled Ephraim with so little trouble. Either Ephraim’s lack of feeding weakened him more than Theron had expected or the butcher was extremely strong. Probably a bit of both. He made a mental note of Malachi’s

strength; he’d need to be wary of it soon enough. After a moment or two spent in tense silence, Malachi spoke. “If you don’t trust us by now, Ephraim, I can’t help you.” With that, the giant turned his back to Ephraim and started to walk out of the house. “I told them!” Ephraim cried. “I’m sorry. I told them. I thought they would be pleased, I… I thought they would see as I have seen. I wanted them to know the truth.” Malachi turned to face him, his face a mask of rage and disbelief. “You told them, Ephraim? Dear God, what were you thinking?” “I didn’t tell them everything. Just that I couldn’t serve them any more. I thought they would understand.” Ephraim’s voice cracked on the last syllable. “I thought I could make them understand.” Malachi closed his eyes. His massive chest swelled as he took a deep breath. The look of anger washed away from his face, replaced by one of sorrow. When he opened his eyes Theron noted a hint of moisture around the edges. “They do understand, my friend. They understand all too well. That’s why they will kill you now, and him too.” “No,” Ephraim shook his head, his eyes wide. “No, Malachi. Me, certainly. But him? Why? He’s done nothing to them.” “Do you truly think they will care?” Ephraim didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. In the shadows above, Theron could have answered the question for him. Of course the Council wouldn’t care. The Council never cared. One of their own had betrayed them, and thus he must die. Ephraim would be executed, along with any co-conspirators, be they human or otherwise. Theron’s very existence proved that. After all, why would a forgiving Council need Enforcers? Malachi sighed, his face troubled but resolute. “We must get you out of here, Ephraim. There’s a merchant caravan going out with the first light. We can put you in a strong box so the sun will not touch you. The driver’s name is Paul. They are heading west to Lydda. There you will find shelter and solace, as much as can be given one of your kind.” Ephraim stood, his face brightening with renewed hope. “Thank you, Malachi. I can never repay you.” Theron had heard enough. “I can,” he said as he dropped from the rafters. He positioned himself between the entrance and the room’s two surprised occupants. In one fluid motion, he kicked the door shut behind him and pulled his sword from his sheath. Not a khopesh like Ephraim’s, Theron’s sword was of a more modern, almost Roman design. The straight, thick blade, relatively short for a sword, was designed more for piercing than cutting, though it was certainly capable of both. He hadn’t planned on using it when he left the Halls earlier, but Malachi’s strength and size presented a very real threat. Since he would need to face Ephraim, as well, speed was a primary concern. That meant using the blade. Theron hadn’t become Lead Enforcer by taking chances. The human would die first, then he would deal with the traitor. Malachi reached for the hammer at his belt, but although large and strong, he was not fast. By the time he got his fingers around the handle, Theron had already spun a circle in front of him, blade first, and cut open his throat in a precise line from one side of his jaw to the other. Malachi sputtered and tried to speak, but his severed vocal chords failed him. The fingers on his right hand started to twitch, and the hammer fell from them

and hit the floor with a dull thump. He brought his left hand up to his neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow of his life’s blood, then he followed his weapon to the floor. The big human didn’t seem angry or bewildered, as Theron might have expected, but content. His face softened into a peaceful expression the Enforcer found somewhat odd. Before he could puzzle it out, however, he would have to deal with Ephraim. Theron whirled to face him, fully expecting to be bowled over in a mass of teeth and claws. But Ephraim stood in the same spot as before. He hadn’t moved at all during Malachi’s death, and had not plucked his infamous khopesh from the wall. Theron thought he knew the reason. He knows it won’t help. He already knows how this must end. He stepped closer. Malachi’s blood dripped from his blade, leaving a thin trail of small red puddles on the floorboards. “Theron,” Ephraim said. “They sent you?” “I’m the best. Of course they sent me.” Theron gave a mocking bow. “Are you the Lead Enforcer now, my old friend?” “Someone had to take your place. Who better than me? But you are no friend of mine, traitor.” He spat at the other’s feet, barely missing Ephraim’s dusty leather boot. “Don’t be so quick to choose, Theron. You should hear what he has to say.” “I don’t need to hear what he has to say. I still serve our people. The rambling words of a deranged rabbi will not show me my path. The Council's laws have protected our people for over four thousand years. You,” he pointed an accusing finger, “have violated them.” “His words would save you, my friend,” Ephraim said, so softly Theron almost didn’t hear him. Theron laughed. “Save me? As they saved you? You are a handful of seconds away from Hell, and you would presume to save me?” In that instant, Theron determined he would make Ephraim’s death as unpleasant as he could manage. He threw his sword to the floor and willed his claws to grow. In a few moments his fingernails grew long and thick. The brief but intense pain in his fingertips was worth it. He would rip the traitor’s head from his shoulders. “You should worry about saving yourself, old friend.” “I did,” Ephraim replied, just before Theron leapt at him. It was over quickly; Ephraim didn’t fight back. When Theron grabbed Ephraim’s head between his clawed hands, the traitor only stared at him with a sad, wistful expression on his face. He didn’t speak, not even to beg for his life, which was a bit disappointing. Ephraim didn’t flinch at Theron’s touch, and he didn’t scream, not even when Theron drove his clawed fingers through the flesh of his throat and began to twist, rending tendons, tearing muscle, and sending a spray of blood all over the wall. Once the head rolled off onto the floor, it was over. Theron felt let down. It was too easy. A quick search of Ephraim’s body turned up a rolled piece of parchment. Theron noted the red wax seal, which matched the E on Ephraim’s ring, and snapped it in two. He unrolled the letter and read every word, but it didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already surmised. It was only a letter to Malachi. Apparently Ephraim had wanted the butcher to be prepared in the event of his death, but in the end it proved too little, too late. Now both lay dead, and Theron had his answers. He dropped the paper onto Ephraim’s headless torso and went to the back of the house to find a shovel. He would need to bury the bodies so they would not be found, at least not before he completed his business in

Jerusalem.

***

It took a long time to bury Ephraim and Malachi. The hole had to be deep enough to keep any stray dogs from smelling the bodies and digging them up. Due to Malachi's tremendous girth, it also had to be wide and tall. Theron spent the better part of four hours digging the hole, rolling the bodies into it, and covering them up. He also tossed in Ephraim’s last letter to Malachi. He wouldn’t need it to convince the Council; he had proof enough already. Afterward, he carefully replaced the layer of grass and sod to better hide the corpses, though the telltale bulge of the earth would be a dead giveaway if anyone came looking. By the time Theron finished the arduous task, dawn loomed a mere two hours away. That didn’t leave much time to make his way through the city, but he thought he could manage it. He walked away from the house, carrying his macabre prize in Ephraim’s burlap sack, which he carried slung over his shoulder. Ephraim’s head, which bounced and jostled along inside the bag, wore neither fear nor malice on its lifeless features, instead the dead vampire's expression seemed... peaceful. Theron didn’t care. The job was done; the Council would be pleased. What’s more, he had the information they sought, for Theron now knew the identity of the person to whom Ephraim had betrayed his people. It could only be one man, the same man who’d acquired followers from all across Israel over the last few years. The very man Malachi swore his life to protect only a month ago. Jesus, they called him. Jesus of Nazareth.

BONUS SHORT STORY

ABC By David McAfee

A. Asexual reproduction is the wave of the future! Someone cut off my arm and let's see if it sprouts a new me. B. Be careful cutting the arm off. It's gotta be a clean cut or it won't heal right. C. Careful, I said! D. Doggone it! Now all I have is a jagged stump! E. Everyone is gonna laugh at me and call me Stumpy McAfee F. Fuck! That hurts! G. Gosh, that was dumb. H. Hey! The fingers on my severed arm are twitching! I. Is it turning into a new me? J. Just look at those things waggle! K. Know what? This still hurts. L. Losing a lot of blood here... M. My arm...it's...it's... N. Not turning into a new David, that's for sure. O. OK, I feel pretty stupid now. P. Please call 911. Q. Quick, before I lose consciousness. R. Really. I'm blacking out. S. Shut up! I know that was stupid. Just call the @#8!ing number! T. That gesture was totally uncalled for. U. Uh-oh. I'm getting dizzy. V. Very dizzy. W. What? I can't hear you. X. X-tra honey mustard sauce? Huh? Y. You can't eat that! Z. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz