Gateways, page 35
But her plants did. They lashed out at the chew wasps and tried to entangle them with her branches. The wasps splintered them and striped off all their leaves.
But they still couldn’t get to the lady because of her little dog. Semelee especially wanted to even the score with that mongrel for killin Devil, but he wasn’t going quietly. She’d wondered how such a little thing could’ve killed the biggest gator she’d ever seen, and last night she found out. That tiny dog fought like a full-grown Rottweiler. He brought down two of the chew wasps before three of them ganged up on him and tore him to pieces.
And then there was nothing between the chews and the old lady. She didn’t try to run, she just stood there, like she was acceptin what was comin.
That was when Semelee had second thoughts. She sensed somethin special about this lady—something extra special—and had a feeling she’d be losing somethin precious if she killed her.
Maybe it was the way she was just standin there. She had to be scared outta her mind but she wasn’t showing it, not one bit.
But the thing that most made Semelee want to hold off was knowin that this lady wasn’t just gonna be killed, she was gonna be torn apart. Much as Semelee hated her for messin with her plans, she didn’t know if she could go through with that. The other folks she’d sacrificed here at Gateways had been stung or bit or pecked up, and they’d died later…not right in front of her.
Semelee was gonna have to watch this and she didn’t have the stomach for it. Maybe gettin her house wrecked and her dog killed would be enough for the old lady. Maybe she’d learn her lesson and stop messin where she didn’t belong. Maybe she’d even have a heart attack and die later. A lot better’n bein torn to pieces.
But when Semelee tried to turn the chew wasps around and bring them home, they wouldn’t go. They smelled blood and there was no stoppin them. They lit into the old lady. And what did she do? She stood there and raised her arms straight out from her sides and just let them come.
Semelee wasn’t sure if it was the bravest or craziest thing she’d ever seen, but she did know it was horrible to watch.
More than watch. Semelee was in close with the wasps, inside them as they gouged the old lady’s flesh, crunched her bones. She could almost taste it, and gagged now at the memory. They was so fierce they didn’t even let her body fall to the ground. They ate her upright, even slurped sprays of blood right out of the air. And no matter what Semelee did she couldn’t pull them away. She wanted to drop the eye-shells but was afraid the chew wasps would turn on the clan who’d gone there just to see what these ugly-lookin things could do.
Finally, when they were through, there was nothin left of the old lady but the skin of her back. For some reason, the chew wasps wasn’t interested in it. They gobbled her up from head to toe, but left that rectangle of skin.
And when they was finished they started listenin to Semelee again. She quick got them outta there and back to the sinkhole. Soon as they was back where they belonged, Semelee yanked off the eye-shells and got real sick.
Back at the old lady’s house, Luke did two things, one smart and one dumb. The smart thing was pickin up the two dead chew wasps and bringin them back to the lagoon. If people came lookin for the old lady and found those, it’d be in all the papers and everyone’d assume they came from the Glades. Soon there’d be scientists and hunters and cops and thrill seekers all over the place, including the lagoon. The clan’s whole way of life’d be messed up.
The dumb thing Luke did was bring back the old lady’s skin. He—
The boom of another grenade—sounded like it must’ve exploded over by Horse-ship—yanked Semelee back to the here and now.
“Why, Luke?” She finally opened her eyes and stared real hard at him. “Why’d you do such a fool thing?”
“I wanted to keep it. You know, kinda like a souvenir. I like all those marks. They’re almost like a map. But never mind that. Y’gotta try those wasp things again, Semelee! You just gotta!”
She didn’t want to tell him that she was afraid to. She hated the way they made her feel…like all dark and ugly inside, with this endless hunger. Even with the gunfire, the explosions, the howlin wind, the leakin roof, the thunder and lightnin all around her, this seemed like a better place than where she’d been last night.
But she couldn’t just sit around and do nothin while the whole clan got massacred. She had to do somethin…and there was only one thing she could do.
Her gorge rose as she pulled the eye-shells out of her pocket.
“You’re gonna do it?” Luke said, a grin spreadin cross his face.
She nodded. “Yeah, but you gotta get outta here.”
The grin collapsed. “But Semelee…there’s all sorts of shootin out there.”
“Then get out there and shoot back. Just leave me alone so I can save our asses.”
“Okay, okay.”
He headed for the door in a crouch, then crawled out onto the deck.
Taking a deep breath, Semelee pressed the shells over her eyes and went searchin for some chew wasps…
8
“We’re not doing a whole helluva lot of damage with these things,” Dad said after they’d watched the latest grenade sail through the air and explode off the bow of the Bull-ship.
Jack had to agree. He would have thought that something that small and weighing almost a pound wouldn’t get tossed around by the wind. But this was no ordinary wind. He’d tried compensating for it by adjusting his throw but the trouble was you couldn’t wing these things like a baseball; you had to lob them, and the wind kept changing direction.
“We’ve caused some hurt, though.”
“Not enough,” Dad said, his expression grim. “After what they did to Anya, they…” He swallowed and shook his head. “They shouldn’t be allowed to live.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to kill all twenty guys.”
Dad gave him a strange look. “I said they shouldn’t be allowed to live. I didn’t say we should do the killing.”
Oops. “Oh. Guess I misunderstood.”
“You’re scaring me, Jack.”
“Sometimes I scare myself.”
Just then Jack heard something that sounded like a scream. He looked over toward Carl but couldn’t find him in the dark. Then lightning flashed and he saw him rolling on the ground as he fought something that had clamped onto his right shoulder. Jack couldn’t get a good look at it, but whatever it was, it wasn’t alone. More of them were lifting out of the cenote and weaving toward Carl. The one that had him was too close for Carl to shoot at, so he was using the shotgun as a bat. But Jack could see that he wasn’t getting anywhere.
He slapped his father on the back. “Stay here and keep firing at the boats. Keep them pinned down. When you reload, forget the slugs and fill up on shot. I think we’re going to need it.”
“Where are you going?”
“Carl needs a little help.”
Rising to a crouch, Jack pulled the Ruger from under the poncho and ran through the rain. Lightning flashes lit the scene, and as he neared Carl and got a better look at what was attacking him, it almost stopped him in his tracks. The thing clinging to his shoulder had the head and saber-toothed jaws of a viper fish, the shelled body of a lobster on steroids, and two pairs of long, diaphanous wings. Another of its kind was gliding in for its own piece of Carl.
Jack stopped, knelt, took aim with the Ruger and fired. He scored a hit. The big Casull slug tore into the flying thing, leaving only a spray of greenish blood and a pair of still-flapping wings. Then Jack leaped next to Carl, rammed the Ruger’s muzzle against the eye of the thing chewing on him, and pulled the trigger. This time, not even the wings remained.
Carl groaned. “It hurts, Jack!” His left hand was covered with blood where it clutched his shoulder through the shredded poncho. “Oh, God, it hurts!”
Jack took only a quick look, wincing at what looked like exposed bone and a dozen crystalline teeth still buried in the ragged flesh, then turned back to the cenote. Three more of the things were up and coming their way. He grabbed the Benelli and started firing. The semiautomatic action let him get off four shots quickly. They weren’t all direct hits but the shot tore up the wings of the ones it didn’t dismember.
“Where are your shells?” Jack shouted.
Carl jutted his chin toward a box on the ground. His teeth were bared in agony. He seemed in too much pain to speak.
Jack started reloading the Benelli’s magazine. If he’d known he’d be facing these things he would have had Abe send down flechette rounds.
“Think you can walk?”
Carl nodded.
“Okay, then. Get over to where my dad is. I’ll cover you from the rear.”
Spreading out had been a good idea against the clan, but it meant certain death against these things. Time to circle the wagons.
“It’s Semelee,” Carl gritted as he lurched to his feet. “She’s controllin them.” Then he staggered off.
Jack turned back to the cenote and found half a dozen more of the things hovering over the opening in a cluster. He ducked behind a palm trunk and fired once into their center, knocking down two. They fell into the abyss but were replaced by four more.
Jack felt his stomach knot. This wasn’t good. He hadn’t brought enough ammo. But he’d brought his father and Carl. That made him responsible for them.
In the background he heard his father firing methodically, rhythmically, at the boats.
Save some of that ammo, Dad, he thought. We’re gonna need it.
And now another four joined the flock. But they didn’t swarm his way…their movements were sluggish and they didn’t seem to know he was there. They milled about, looking confused. What were they waiting for? Reinforcements?
If more were coming up from the cenote, maybe Jack could ambush them along the way. He unclipped a grenade from his belt—only a couple left—pulled the pin, and lofted it toward the cenote. It passed through the swarm and down into the opening. A few seconds later he saw a flash, heard a boom, but that was it. The ones fluttering over the hole didn’t even react.
If this were a movie like Rio Bravo, he’d stumble onto a crate of dynamite, conveniently left behind by a construction company, and use it to seal the cenote. But this was Jack’s world, not Howard Hawks’s. Things never seemed to work out that way for him.
He heard a scream behind him and recognized the voice this time: Carl again. He looked around and saw him staggering in a circle at the water’s edge. One of those things had its fangs buried in the back of his neck…and it was chewing…
Where’d that one come from?
Jack leaped to his feet and took off on a run. He couldn’t use the shotgun without hitting Carl too, so he pulled the Ruger. But before he could use it, Carl pitched over backward into the water.
That wasn’t all bad. The cenote thing didn’t seem to like water. It loosed it’s grip and buzzed back into the air, banking and gliding toward Jack. He already had the Ruger up. He waited until it was close, then fired at it head on. It dissolved in an explosion of green. As its wings fluttered to the ground, Jack dropped the Benelli and the Ruger and jumped into the water to help Carl, who wasn’t doing too well.
The water was waist deep and cool, its surface churning and bubbling from the wind and rain. The muddy bottom was slippery and sloped off on a steady decline. A bullet whizzed by, then another. Someone on the Horse-ship had spotted them. Jack heard Dad’s Mossberg boom, then a cry from the boat, and the bullets stopped coming.
“Carl!” Jack shouted as he leaned forward and stretched out his arm. “Give me your hand!”
Carl, with his poncho floating around him like a lily pad, thrashed and splashed and kicked his way shoreward. Jack grabbed his outstretched left hand and began hauling him in.
Suddenly Carl was jerked back. He let out a scream of pain and Jack was barely able to hold on to him as something pulled him back toward the center of the lagoon.
“Oh, my leg!” he wailed. “My leg! It’s Dora! She’s got me! Don’t let her have me, Jack!”
“I won’t, Carl.”
He started sobbing. “I don’t wanna die, Jack. Please don’t let her—”
And then his head plunged below the surface. Jack tried to dig in his heels but the bottom was too slippery. Another powerful tug pulled Jack forward so hard he went face first into the water. He was only under for a few seconds, but during that time he lost his grip on Carl’s hand. His feet found the bottom and he stood again, shaking the water from his face and eyes. He was shoulder deep now.
“Carl!”
Nothing. No reply, nothing but empty, wind-and rain-swept water stretching before him. He shouted the name again and thought he saw a hand break the surface and claw the air maybe fifty feet away. But it was there for only a second—if it was there at all—and then it was gone.
“Oh, Carl,” he said softly, staring at the spot. “You poor bastard. I’m sorry. So sorry…”
A lump formed in his throat. A good, simple man was gone. Jack had known him just a couple of days, but he’d come to respect him. He still didn’t know what had gone wrong with Carl’s right arm, but that didn’t matter. Carl hadn’t let it stop him from leading a useful life. He’d adjusted, with no apologies, no excuses.
A bullet whizzed by Jack and he realized he was a sitting duck out here.
My fault, he thought as he quickly waded ashore. If I hadn’t bribed him to take me to the lagoon, if I’d just said no tonight when he wanted to come along, he’d still be alive. Probably be sitting in his trailer right now watching his TV.
My fault. But not all my fault.
It’s Semelee…she’s controllin them.
Right. Semelee.
Jack reached the bank and climbed up onto the mud. He looked toward the cenote and saw maybe twenty of the winged things clustered over the opening. As he watched, they began to fan out and glide toward him.
His blood cooled at the sight. No way he and Dad could bring them all down, even standing back to back with shotguns. Some of them would get through. And once they got you down, you were finished.
Couldn’t stop the winged things…but maybe he could stop the one controlling them.
With the things trailing him, Jack ran back to where his father was still firing at the boats. He heard cheering from the decks as the clan spotted the winged things on Jack’s tail. They didn’t shoot. Probably thought it would be more fun to watch him get gobbled up like Anya.
“Behind me, Dad! Incoming!”
Dad was crouched behind a tree, with the trunk between him and the boats. Jack dove for the ground, sliding through the mud on his belly as his father looked around.
“Where?”
“Right behind me!”
Lightning flashed and he saw his father’s jaw drop.
“Dear God! What are—?”
“Don’t talk, shoot!”
And shoot he did, pumping round after round out of the Mossberg into the air behind Jack. Jack didn’t look around to see what effect he was having. He assumed it was about as good as it got. He laid the Benelli across Dad’s knees for when the Mossberg ran dry, then seated himself back to back with his father and turned to the Bull-ship. If Semelee was anywhere, that would be the place.
He wiped the rain from his eyes and took aim at the superstructure. The big Casulls would rip through it, in one plywood side wall and out the other. He couldn’t be sure he’d hit Semelee, but at least he could distract her…
9
This was so hard…
Semelee crouched in the dark of the cabin and pressed the shells tighter against her eyes. The chew wasps hadn’t wanted to leave the sinkhole until the sun was down, but she’d forced them. She’d tried that yesterday and it hadn’t worked, but this time she was able to coax them up. Maybe it was the storm or the nightlike darkness up here. Whatever the reason, they came. But so slowly…like only one or two at a time.
Then, once she got them outta the hole, she could barely see. Had to be because of the sun. Even though it was hidden behind mountains of storm clouds, it was still above the horizon; she guessed that whatever was filterin through was enough to affect the eyes of the chew wasps.
But she’d been able to see Carl who was right close to the hole and shootin at the boats. Traitor to his kin! She set a couple of the wasps on him, then went back to draggin others up.
Suddenly one of the ones on Carl got blowed up. And then the other. She seen it was Jack doin the shootin, and though she didn’t hate him like before, she couldn’t let this stand. She had to end it between them. One of them had to go. Semelee preferred Jack.
She had a whole bunch of the chew wasps up by then but couldn’t get them organized. They wanted to go here and there and it was just about all she could do to keep them together. Jack blasted a couple of them out of the air and then got four more with a grenade in the hole as she was pushin them up.
She had to attack with what she had, but couldn’t get the swarm to move. She could control one of them, though, so she sent it after Jack. Somehow it wound up on Carl instead. The wasps seemed attracted to sound and movement, and Carl had been makin plenty of both.
But she didn’t have to send Dora after Carl when he went in the water—Dora did that on her own.
Good-bye, Carl.
Finally she’d got the swarm to move. She didn’t know why she suddenly had more control. Maybe cause the sun got closer to settin while she was chasin Jack. Didn’t know, didn’t care, all she knew now was she was on the hunt. And though her stomach turned at the thought of havin to go through another chew-up with these things, it had to be done. The survival of the whole clan depended on her stoppin Jack and whoever was with him—probably his daddy.
As she guided the wasps after the runnin Jack, she heard the guys on the deck start to yellin. She wished they’d shut up. The chew wasps kept wantin to turn toward the noise. The voices pulled at them. She had to keep forcin them to stay on Jack’s trail.
