How did the creatures replicate so fast? Why didn’t Thorn tell me he was growing a veritable Red horde, and why did he let them out? Jan can’t know about the Reds! But now he’s seen them. Does Thorn know about this attack? Does he have any control over them? Are the Reds turning violent? Bloodthirsty?
“Off! Get off!” Jan screeches as they form-fit their wings to his body. It’s quite spectacular, really, a breathing exo-skin made up of dozens of Reds glommed onto his writhing torso. But it won’t be beautiful for long because Jan is trying to wriggle his arms out from under them in order to fire his gun.
Meanwhile the strange ship rolls upward like a monstrous pearl and disappears behind a hazy vapor cloud. Jan curses as yet another formation of Reds dive-bombs him. He’s managed to grab his pistol from the holster and he’s aiming up at them. No! I can’t let him shoot! Where’s Thorn?
Scrambling down the Fireseed stalk, my panicked limbs become clumsy. My heart fairly chokes me as I race toward Jan. There’s a deafening shot, then another. A plaintive squealing turns me inside out. Crashing through the dense field, I finally see it. A limp Red is dangling from Jan’s hand, it’s snout or whatever it is exactly, is agape in a display of tiny teeth.
Jan stumbles forward, the fluttering, squealing mass of Red wings still clamped onto his skin. I can’t quite see what they’re doing with their snouts. Are they biting at his burnsuit? If Jan doesn’t kill them, Nevada will surely put them to sleep with an injection when she finds out they attacked one of the students. That can’t happen! The Reds are Thorn’s—his project that we pray will win us enough money to save our family and friends back home and get them to safety.
“Jan, put your gun away!” I yell. Too late, I hear another sickening pop. “Stop your shooting! The creatures are friendly,” I insist, though I know nothing of the sort.
This time, he hears me. He wheels around with the Reds still stuck to him like so many Vampire bats.
My mind calls out to them: Off! Off! Off! And then, in a desperate appeal to Thorn to come fast from wherever he is: Thorn! Fast. Fast!
Off! Off. Off! Comes the refrain, not from me, but from my brother. Though I don’t know how I know, until I see him, tears streaking down his face as he pulls one of the carcasses from Jan’s fist and cradles it in his arms.
Jan wastes no time in yanking the Red out of Thorn’s arms and stuffing it in his latchbag. In the flash of movement, there are no drips of blood, only a drool of green on Jan’s burn glove. “Whatever the hell that thing is, it scratched clear through my suit sleeves,” he growls. “I’m taking it to Nevada for identification.”
Thorn turns bright crimson. He kicks Jan in the thigh, again and again. Thorn’s small but these days he’s a powerhouse. I can tell by the way Jan flinches he’s doing a bit of damage. I’m caught between blurting out the truth: that the Reds belong to Thorn, that they’re his creation, and between silence and simply trying my best to get the limp corpses away from Jan. That’s what Thorn seems to want.
En masse the Reds alight from Jan’s suit, and make the strangest, mournful yeep sounds as they flutter off into the forest. The Fireseed is humming its own tumultuous refrain. I sense the Reds perched in the shadows, waiting for another command from Thorn to attack.
With one hand, Jan bats Thorn off. With his other hand, he tosses the second Red body in his latchbag. Again, Thorn charges forward and lands more kicks. Jan groans but isn’t deterred. He grasps Thorn by his slender shoulders and pitches him down. Thorn’s head clunks against the woody trunk of a Fireseed stalk.
“Stop that!” I yell. “You’ll give my brother a concussion.” I begin to pummel Jan with my balled fists.
“Crazy woman!” He catches my fists and holds me there.
I shake him off and step away. He’s too strong for me, plus my eyes have caught sight of his pistol, undoubtedly loaded and ready to kill again. Another tactic will have to do. “Give us back those animals, they’re—” is all I dare say. Because Thorn, having scrambled up and brushed off, is frantically shaking his head at me. Beet-faced with silent rage, he’s begging for me to shut up.
“What? You think these are your pets?” Jan yells. “No way I’m giving them to you. They may have infected me, they need to be tested.”
Thorn inches up, ready to land another kick. Brave, hotheaded soul.
Jan slides his gun from his holster and slowly levels it at Thorn. “Don’t you try anything more,” he warns low in his throat. “So help me, I’ll shoot you down.”