Nasty Little F___ers-Kindle (20 page)

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.