After Earth: A Perfect Beast (21 page)

But she didn’t see herself as having an abundance of options.

“Look,” she said desperately, “I’m not a Ranger anymore!”

“Sure—”

“I’m not. Look.” She held out her right hand flat, palm to the ground. It was trembling, shaking steadily as if she were palsied.

The black marketer stopped and stared at it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said warily.

“Nerve damage,” she said. “Sustained in the line of duty.” She pointed to the lengthy scar that ran along the inside of her forearm. “Can’t hold a gun steady. Can’t aim. If you can’t aim, you have no business being a Ranger. And if I had taken the desk job they offered me, it would’ve meant just sitting around watching my old friends do what I couldn’t anymore.”

“My heart bleeds,” he said with a sneer. Then, intrigued in spite of himself, he asked, “They couldn’t fix it?”

“They did. It was worse than this before.” She lowered her arm then but kept both her hands out, palms up. “I got married to a great guy. He was a factory
worker. But the factory cut back, and he was asked to find work elsewhere. With the drought, easier said than done.”

The Novans had experienced droughts before, but never like that one. It had lasted for months, and eaten deep into the food surpluses the colony had put aside. It had sent the Savant’s meteorologists scurrying for explanations, spurred new research and new conferences. But mostly it had left people hungry and miserable.

“We have two children,” Cecilia continued, “and we’re both out of work …”

“You’re telling me your life’s story?” The black marketer chortled. “Oh, this is great. This is too much.”

“I know you don’t care—”

“No, no, go on.” He gestured for her to proceed. “I’m loving this. It just doesn’t get any better, you standing there telling me why I should feel sorry for you.”

“Look,” she said with growing urgency, “whatever else you may be, you’re still human, just like me. And we should be standing together against these creatures that are trying to wipe us out, not standing in each other’s way as we try to survive.”

“Yeah, that’s a great sentiment, princess.” There was nothing but contempt in his voice. “Except if you hadn’t gotten your arm messed up, and you were still wearing your Ranger uniform, and I told you some long sad story about my personal problems, what would you do? I’ll tell you: You would throw my ass in Ranger lockup. Yes? Am I right?”

She couldn’t look him in the eye. “Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Definitely,” she said with a sigh.

He bowed slightly, although it seemed more mocking respect than anything else. “Thank you for your honesty.”

And then he turned and started walking away. He kept the oversized pulser in his hand, not holstering it.

“Wait!” she cried out after him. “Please, sell me the food. We need the grains, the greens …”

“You?” He whirled and leveled the gun at her. “You’re damned lucky I don’t kill you where you stand! Only reason I don’t is that I want you to remember what it was like for a woman like you to come begging to a guy like me! I want you to—”

A cold fury was swelling up within her. She still had the knife in her boot. She was calculating whether she would have the time to draw it, pull back her arm, and throw it with enough strength and accuracy to bury it in his chest. Could she stoop to that? Could she become a murderer? Was she that desperate?

Then she realized that the black marketer had stopped talking. His face went deathly white. Then he brought the pulser straight up and fired right at her …

No. Not at her. Above her.

And from behind her, in the distance, came an infuriated roar of anger and annoyance.

She didn’t even have to look. The instant the Ursa bellowed, she ran straight toward the man who had opened fire on the creature. Her arms pumping, she sprinted right past him as he continued to fire the pulser. He seemed rooted to the spot, and the only thing he could do was keep blasting away.

She felt the ground thundering under her. The Ursa was charging, closing the gap. She had no chance against the thing, she thought, as she heard the high-pitched scream of terror from the black marketer, followed by the sounds of bones crunching as the Ursa leaped on him.
I never even knew his name
, she realized abruptly.

She knew that as long as she heard eating noises from behind her, she had time. She prayed desperately as she sprinted toward the skipjack that it would be enough time.

When she was within a couple of feet of the skipjack, the slurping and bone-crunching noises ceased. Terror slammed through her, and it served as a propellant, sending her leaping onto the skipjack and gunning it to life.

Unfortunately, it also served as a beacon and a spur to the Ursa.

It pounded toward her as the skipjack lifted into the air. She had just enough time to glimpse the ruined body of the black marketer nearby, and then she whipped the skipjack around in a fast one-eighty and started to tear away from the area.
Thank God they can’t fly … can they?

Suddenly the skipjack was yanked sideways. She shrieked and looked down, knowing what she was going to see. The Ursa was on its hind legs, and it had sunk its claws into the sacks that were dangling from behind the vehicle. It was shaking the skipjack like a cat worrying a mouse. Cecilia hadn’t had time to belt herself in, and she was holding on to the handlebar controls desperately to avoid being thrown off.

The monster was growling furiously, trying to use the bags to drag the skipjack to the ground. It outweighed the small vehicle so vastly that the skipjack didn’t have a chance against it. Cecilia had altitude, but that was all, and it wasn’t going to last very long.

The skipjack was now tilting at forty-five degrees, and Cecilia was in danger of losing her grip. If that happened, she would tumble straight down into the jaws of the Ursa.

She did the only thing she could. Releasing her grip with one hand, she yanked her dagger out of her boot and then bent backward. The only things keeping her anchored to the skipjack were her legs clamped around the seat and her feet wedged into the stirrups.

She swung the knife almost blindly and sliced through the rope that was keeping several of the bags attached to the skipjack. The rope obediently parted, and the Ursa fell back, clutching three of the four bags in its claws. The cloth got hung up in the creature’s claws, and with a frustrated snarl the Ursa tore away at it, sending food spilling every which way.

Cecilia slung herself forward and grabbed the handlebars once more. A single sack of food was dangling
from behind. She kicked the skipjack into top speed and tore out of there, the lone remaining sack of food dangling behind her.

Sparing herself a glance over her shoulder, she saw the infuriated Ursa stomping around on the food that had spilled all over. Cecilia wanted to sob seeing the much-needed food being destroyed under the paws of the creature. She realized that she had no business complaining; but for a bit of luck, it might well be her carcass it was stomping.

She supposed she should have felt sorry for the black marketer. She allowed herself to wonder briefly if he, too, had a family, people who would now wonder what had happened to him.

Then she stopped worrying about it. She was alive, and that was all that mattered. That evening, with the bag of vegetables Cecilia had managed to salvage, she and the neighbors made soup for everyone. It seemed the best way to share the bounty she had happened upon. For the most part the soup consisted of water with vegetables sparsely distributed through it. But it was just enough to provide some decent taste for the soup, and all the neighbors greatly appreciated the thoughtfulness of the Ruiz family.

Her husband, Xander, pulled her over as the children were feasting. The adults were all watching solicitously, waiting for the children to eat their fill before helping themselves to it. “Do I want to know where you got all this?”

She kept a smile fixed on her face. “No,” she said. “Don’t ask again.” And he didn’t.

Trey Vander Meer had lost track of time.

It could have been a week or a month since his family was slaughtered. He knew it wasn’t yesterday, but beyond that, things were fuzzy. Each time he closed his eyes, he heard the screams in order: Elena’s, Michael’s, Skipper’s, Natasha’s. Every time he tried to sleep, he remembered the nice bald-headed Ranger consoling him, checking his vitals, sitting with him in the shelter.

At some point an augur had appeared to take the Ranger’s place. He had prayed for Vander Meer, staying with him, making sure he washed, ate, and at least had the opportunity to sleep. The poor fellow had put up with Vander Meer’s ravings, which must have been many and awful to contemplate.

Pham had visited as well. He had come to comfort his friend, he had said, though Vander Meer had never really thought much about their relationship before. They had been coworkers, certainly. They had discussed matters honestly even when they didn’t see eye to eye on an issue or a method. But friends? That was a new concept for them and one Vander Meer wasn’t sure he could accept. It felt too much like pity.

Everything else was a blur.

He remembered someone saying that their part of the city had been abandoned by the Ursa, that the beasts had plagued other parts instead. He didn’t recall who had said it but was sure he had heard it.
Too late
, Vander Meer thought at the time.
Too late, I’m afraid
.

Friends and neighbors braved the streets and came to see him in the shelter. The augur, whose name Vander Meer kept forgetting, guarded the door and would admit only those Vander Meer approved with a nod.

Most of them just came to sit and hold his hands or share stories about his family that he might not have heard before. Friends of Michael and Elena turned up, too, feeling a need to be there, maybe just so they could accept that the kids were gone. The young ones had little to say to Vander Meer, maybe a mumbled word or two, but he accepted their clammy handshakes and awkward hugs. The augur encouraged them to go home as soon as they could, while there were Rangers available to provide an escort. He also watched to make sure they didn’t take any food, because the shelter barely had enough for those inside it.

One morning the augur helped Vander Meer wash, shave, and dress. Then the two of them went to the nearest house of worship—one that was only a block away—where services were held for the newly dead, including Vander Meer’s family. He sat in a haze, repeating the words of devotion by rote memory, aching from his loss and feeling little else. Burial, he was told gently, would be at another time. The bodies would remain refrigerated until the Ursa threat was over.

“Would that be by next week?” he asked the augur in his fog. “It will be Michael’s birthday then, and we can have a party.” The look in the man’s stricken eyes kept Vander Meer from asking again.

A day or so after that, he asked to visit his studio. The augur brought him to the front door despite the danger involved. The young man was prepared to wait until Vander Meer wished to leave and then walk him back to the shelter.

But Vander Meer thanked him for his time and effort and sent him away, saying he should tend to those in greater need. “I’ll be fine here at the studio,” he said, “where I can resume my work.”

Pham was at his accustomed post when Vander Meer walked in. He looked surprised to see his partner.

“Trey,” said Pham. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Pham shrugged. “I felt like people should have some comfort. Some contact. And I only live a couple of blocks away; you know that.” He smiled. “You … you want to record something?”

Vander Meer took a chair. “Not today, thanks.”

“Okay,” said Pham, “whatever you say,” and returned to his work.

The hours stretched on. Vander Meer watched the news feeds and noted that though the Rangers continued to fight the Ursa, both Rangers and citizens alike were dying. The alien creatures seemed invincible.

There were runs on supplies. Even the relief drops from New Earth City were not proving to be enough. People were starving, and the tripartite leadership seemed incapable of staying on top of the crisis.

The Prime Commander refused to help people who wanted to flee the city. Her concern, as she had expressed it on several occasions, was that the Ursa would follow them and hunt them down and become aware of New Earth City in the process. The people of Nova Prime City might have understood and maybe even agreed with Wilkins’s judgment, but they still felt like sacrificial lambs.

As day turned to night, Pham seemed to want to head home. However, he hesitated when he saw that Vander Meer was still watching the news.

“How’d you like to come home with me?” Pham asked. “Can’t offer you much in the way of a gourmet meal, but at least you’ll have company.”

“No, thanks,” said Vander Meer. “I’ll be fine here.”

He watched the news throughout the night, and with the passing hours he absorbed the personal accounts of Ursa sightings, the acts of individual heroism, and the stories of tragedies not unlike his own. Even through the veil that clouded his mind, he could see the mounting
stress on the systems that maintained society. It was clear to him that the Ursa were winning. In his mind, he could see a clock counting down to the death of Nova City in the corner of every screen.

Vander Meer reached conclusions that once might have seemed radical to him but seemed perfectly rational now. He began formulating a commentary in his mind, and as the first hints of dawn appeared in the window, he delivered the commentary to the mirror where he was used to putting on his makeup.

Not good enough
,
he thought
.

He made some modifications, adjusting the order of things, and then repeated the piece. By the time Pham arrived early for the workday, no doubt out of concern for his friend, Vander Meer was ready.

“I have a commentary to record and broadcast as soon as possible,” he said by way of greeting.

Pham broke into a grin. He handed Vander Meer a container of coffee and a sweet roll that he had brought from his dwindling supplies at home. “I’ll go clear time on the schedule.” He hurried off.