Kudzu, Chapter 23

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book 3, chapter 23, kudzu, novel

Kudzu, a Novel

Chapter 23

 

Sir Reginald surveyed the walls of the laundry room. “Ah, there. Damn, I’m clever. Kevyn, help me move these dryers, if you would.”

Kevyn was doubled over, gasping for breath, holding her hand to her side. “Give me a minute.”

“You really must get into better shape, Ms. Vaughan.” He turned to Murphy, who was chewing her lip. “Kids today, and all that. Ms. Murphy, would you be so kind as to assist?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea how irresponsible it is to let that woman get her hands on a gun? She’s a psychopath! She will kill someone. I’m surprised I haven’t heard shots already.”

“I’m not,” Sir Reginald said. “You don’t think I’d give her bullets, do you? That would be highly irresponsible.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard it said, Ms. Murphy, that one should never point a loaded gun at anyone you weren’t willing to kill. I was never willing to kill you, especially not after the kindness you showed to my friend here. Now, then. Shall we get these dryers moved? And then we’ll be on our way, and we’ll leave you trussed up enough that you look like you had no choice in the matter.”

The dryers were industrial sized monstrosities — the sort an unlucky inmate might inadvertently fall into if she crossed the wrong people — and bolted together. In the end, it took all three of them to move them.

Sir Reginald tapped at the plaster. It was cold, and sounded like it had been laid over something solid. He continued until his taps rang hollow. A single kick shattered the plaster, and it fell in sheets. In the darkness behind it, the cinder block wall that lay behind the rest of the wall opened up into a small enclave, just big enough to fit Sir Reginald.

Murphy studied a piece of the plaster. A tight grid had been impressed in the back, as if there had at one point been a mesh backing. Whatever it had been was long gone, though.

“Interesting,” Sir Reginald said, looking over her shoulder. He shoved a piece of it into a coat pocket. “Kevyn, you go first, then Ms. Murphy. I suggest you hurry.”

A rope ladder was rolled up in the back of the hole. Kevyn released the catches, letting it drop into the darkness.

“The last time I followed you into a dark place,” she said, “I ended up in jail.”

“Fittingly, this time I’ll follow you into a dark place, and you’ll end up leaving jail.”

“You two suck at hurrying,” Murphy said.

“Fine, I’m hurrying,” Kevyn said.

She stepped across to the rope ladder and disappeared into darkness. When she got to the bottom, Murphy followed. As she descended, Sir Reginald felt around the inside of the opening. His fingers found something that felt like paper — real paper, not pulped kudzu — taped to the cinderblock above.

He tore the envelope open and glanced at the note within. His own handwriting, of course, though he had no memory of having written it. He read it through once, then again, to make sure he remembered the instructions. He frowned when he got to the last line, then folded it and stuck it in his pocket, next to the plaster sample.

Murphy reached the bottom. Sir Reginald followed.

~

The instructions were rather specific. Turn to face Kevyn’s voice. Walk until you bang your shin. Turn left forty-five degrees and take twenty-seven strides.

And so on.

They passed through a door into a lit corridor. The door clicked locked behind them. Sir Reginald led, striding purposefully at a clip that kept the women hurrying behind him.

“When are you going to let me go?” Murphy asked.

“My informant tells me that we will be in need of your services until we’re free of this facility.”

“You have an informant?”

Sir Reginald ignored the question. He pulled up short at a heavy, metal door. It was locked.

Kevyn pulled out Murphy’s key ring.

The sound of pursuit came from behind them.

Kevyn frowned at the mass of keys. “Which one?” she asked.

“Ms. Murphy?”

“Fine, fine.” Murphy touched one of the keys. “Try that one. That works on most of the storage areas.”

The key fit and turned, and Kevyn pushed the door open. She fumbled for the light switch. They closed the door behind them, and Kevyn locked it.

There were more voices behind them. The sound of running feet.

Sir Reginald looked at the instructions again, then pressed a finger into an indentation in the floor. With a click, a piece of the flooring dropped and slid to the side.

“Again with the darkness,” Kevyn said.

“Again with the we-have-no-time-for-this,” Sir Reginald responded.

“There’s no ladder.”

“Then it’s probably not very deep.”

Kevyn sighed. She lowered herself into the pit.

“I can close it behind you,” Murphy said. “If you leave me free enough to push the button.”

“I wanted to show you something,” Sir Reginald said. He handed her the folded paper.

“What’s this?”

“Instructions I left for myself. Read them. Kevyn? You get to the bottom yet?”

“Yes. It’s not far. You’re probably tall enough to lower yourself down without jumping. There’s a tunnel, but it’s not very tall.”

“Good,” he said. “Move out of the way.”

“Wait,” Murphy said. “What does this mean? ‘Bring the Murphy woman.'”

“Yes, about that…” Sir Reginald grasped Murphy by the waist and lifted her over the hole. He lowered her as far as he could manage before letting her drop. “I’m very sorry, and please move out of the way with utmost haste.”

Sir Reginald pressed the indentation in the floor again, and, as the floor began to slide back into place, he leaped down into the pit.

The drop was both farther and shorter than he expected, and his legs gave out under him when he hit. He sat heavily, and his chin banged against his knees.

“Oof,” he said.

A light flared in his eyes.

Murphy. She’d found the flashlight. Of course. He’d given her the letter, which told exactly where it was. It was a battery-free flashlight; he could hear her cranking the handle to generate power.

“You lied to me,” she said.

“I think I bit my tongue,” he said.

“You fucking lied to me!”

“That’s a matter of interpretation, and intention, and knowledge, and a bit of omission,” Sir Reginald said. “Something perhaps best discussed over tea, rather than—”

Kevyn squeaked. “Something’s on me,” she whimpered.

Sir Reginald grabbed the flashlight out of Murphy’s hand and illuminated Kevyn.

Spiders. There were spiders on her head, in her hair. The light wasn’t good enough to see how many, or what type, but certainly more than could be dealt with reasonably in the dark, cramped tunnel. Trying to brush them off would be messy at best, with spiders smeared into Kevyn’s hair. And there was always a possibility of one or more painful bites.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just, let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Just follow the tunnel until it ends.”

“We could go back up.” Murphy’s voice sounded faint.

“How would you open the door?”

“I don’t know. I’d… I don’t know.” Murphy sighed. “God, I can’t believe this is happening to me. This is the worst day ever.”

“No,” said Sir Reginald, who still remembered those devastating weeks when kudzu overran the Earth, and half the world’s population died. “I think it is not. Let’s go.”

 

Kudzu, Chapter 22

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book 3, chapter 22, kudzu, novel

We’re waiting for Stormageddon, which comes with the innocuous and PR-friendly name of ‘Sandy.’ Like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Harmless. It’s okay. We’ve stocked up on vodka. In the meantime we present the next installment of Kudzu for your reading pleasure.

Kudzu, A Novel

Chapter 22

 

It was Michael’s idea to tie a length of the kudzu vine to their harnesses, keeping them connected as they followed the path of the water condensing within the kudzu walls and spilling down the deep, wide well that burrowed away from the vast, windy chamber.

It was Colleen’s idea to follow the water.

“There’s water for a reason,” she said. “If we follow it, we’ll find out what that is.”

“Plants need water,” Michael said.

“Plants can get moisture from the air. I had an air plant when I was a kid. My dad got it for me. We never watered it. The steam from the shower was enough.”

“Yeah, but…” Michael didn’t bother finishing. Anyone clever enough to genetically engineer solar panels into a plant could easily make it absorb moisture from the air. If there was open water, there was a reason for it.

Like the rings of the Beagle, this giant mass of kudzu was spinning, which meant as they followed the tunnel, gravity would increase. Fortunately, the plant itself provided plenty of hand and footholds. But the falling water presented a potential danger, making those handholds slick. A slip and fall, especially considering the rotation, could be a brutal way to die.

“Have you ever gone climbing?” he asked.

“I had to climb a rope to pass my medical.”

“Yeah, alright. Before we go anywhere, I’m gonna teach you some knots.”

~

It wasn’t going to work.

Ash knew it already. Slim was too far away. Even coming to rest against a thin tendril of the damned plant, it was too late.

“Maybe I can kick off this thing toward you,” Slim said.

“Let’s see what we got before we try anything rash,” Susan said.

She’d reached the end of her tether; Ash was still sailing out, away from the ship. Away from safety. The tether unspooling behind him, connecting him to Susan, and to the ship, looked increasingly like a thread. Insubstantial.

It wasn’t long enough. He knew that. It still hit him like a punch to the gut when the tether tightened and jerked him to a halt.

He was still a good thirty meters from Slim.

“Ow!” Slim twisted around, scrabbling at his leg. “Damned thing bit me!”

It looked like the plant had twisted around Slim’s ankle.

“What do you mean, bit?” Susan’s voice was worried.

“I mean it fucking bit me on the fucking leg!”

“Plants don’t bite,” Susan explained.

“You tell that to the fucking weed. It bit me right through my suit.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Ash?” Jaworsky spoke softly, with none of his usual bravado. “He’s my best friend.”

Slim twisted and fought with a coil of vine. Ash could see the thing growing, exuding another creeper in Slim’s direction.

Ash’s hands shook.

He unhooked the tether from his harness.

“Ash?”

Ash wasn’t sure Susan could see what he was doing, but she could certainly feel the sudden slack on the tether.

“What are you doing? This is not part of the plan.”

Both Ash and Susan had a can of air they could use to propel them for short distances, in an emergency. Ash unclipped his from his belt.

“This is not part of the plan,” Susan snapped. “Put your tether on right now.”

“I’m coming to get you, Slim,” Ash said. “Don’t struggle, you don’t want to rip your suit.” He used short blasts of air to maneuver closer to the flailing raccoon.

“I don’t wanna get eaten, either.”

“Nobody’s gonna eat you,” Jaworsky said. “Too goddamn stringy. Now hold still and let the kid help you.”

“He’s almost there,” Amelia said. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but that vine is getting bigger. Like, a lot bigger.”

Ash had thought it was maybe an optical illusion. Hoped it was. But Amelia was right. The vine entrapping the raccoon’s leg was swelling, like a bubble in a hose, or one of those egg-eating snakes.

He sped up. Saving air for the return trip wouldn’t help if there was no return trip. If the vine kept growing like it was, it might have enough mass to support a leap back toward the ship.

And then Susan could save them both.

And that wouldn’t suck, either.

Ash came to rest on the swollen vine next to Slim. He clasped Slim’s paw, then handed him the can of air.

“All right, let’s see what’s going on with your leg, there.”

It wasn’t pretty.

The vine had wrapped completely around Slim’s calf. Something that looked like coiling tendrils had actually penetrated the suit. Slim was right; it had bit him.

“See?” Slim said. “I told you.”

“We’ve got a problem,” Ash said. He described the situation.

“Tourniquet,” Jaworsky said. “Wrap it around his thigh and make sure it’s as tight as you can make it.”

“Guys?” Amelia said.

“Yeah,” Ash said. “I’ll use my harness. And I think my flashlight would work for a stick.”

“Guys?” Amelia said again. “The kudzu…”

The kudzu had continued to grow, and now it sent thin vines out, coiling around Slim’s waist, and catching Ash as he bent double to pull his harness down over his feet.

Then the screaming started. There was puff of air as Slim’s suit tore, and then he was gone, swallowed up into the podlike belly of the vine.

Ash fought as best he could, but he wasn’t very good at it, and the coils wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides, pulling him in. His legs disappeared into the thrashing foliage.

When he had sunk up to his waist, he stopped struggling. He sagged, took a deep shuddering breath.

“So, this is it, huh?”

“No,” Tharp said. “Jaworsky, think of something.”

“God, you’re useless,” Ash said, as the plant pulled him in up to his ribs. “The good news is, it doesn’t hurt. I was afraid it would hurt.”

“I’m glad,” Amelia said.

“Y’know, I wondered what Slim was feeling, when we all thought he was a dead man–dead raccoon–talking. Feels like you’re all waiting for me to say something. Famous last words.”

He was up to his armpits in the thing.

He swallowed audibly. “All right. Here you go: Susan, I love you. And I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone.

Kudzu, Chapter 21

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book 3, chapter 21, kudzu, novel

A couple weeks back I was tagged to participate in the “Next Big Thing” meme, wherein writers answer 10 interview questions regarding a work in process. I decided that Kudzu counts as much as any other project I’ve got going, so, that’s what I wrote about. Take a look if you’re interested in a little of where this story originated.

Kudzu, A Novel

Chapter 21

Ash was terrified. Yeah, he’d spent years in space. Yeah, he’d set foot on Triton, as distant a point from Earth that any human had ever been, at least as far as he knew. But he’d never been in space. As in, floating around without at least two layers of reinforced metal hull between him and a very, very cold death.

But here he was, walking on the outside of the fucking hull, the wrong side, and the only thing keeping him from floating away like poor Slim was an electromagnet in each boot.

He hoped he didn’t piss himself.

That would be embarrassing. Especially in front of Susan.

It would probably also be uncomfortable.

He and Susan trudged across the hull, side by side. Almost like they were on the same team, for once.

That didn’t suck.

Slim and Jaworsky were trading insults, arguing like an old married couple. Ash knew it was to keep Slim calm, but he wondered how much air Slim had left.

“There he is!” Susan pointed.

Slim looked like a white doll, turning slowly against a speckled black field. Tendrils of green cut across the blackness.

He was so small. So very far away.

“There’s a post up ahead. Slim, we’re going to tie off there and then we’re coming your way.”

They had two long tethers. Susan clipped one to the post and the other to her harness. The second tether ran between Susan and Ash. Susan held the coiled length of it in one hand; the other found Ash’s. He gripped her firmly, and hoped he’d have the courage to let go when the time came.

“You ready?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

They shut off the magnets in their boots, and at the count of three, they leapt.

~

The nice thing about zero-G, Earl Jaworsky thought, is that it doesn’t matter how dizzy you get, you never fall down. There’s no down to fall.

Of course, floating around didn’t help much with fixing the dizziness, either.

He waved off Tharp. Again.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Go away.” He grabbed for the wall with his live hand. Breathe deep and steady, and focus on a single, non-moving point. That had served him well in the past, when it wasn’t an inner ear infection. Or vodka. He held his other hand in front of his face and concentrated on the center of the metallic palm.

Little singe mark. Yeah, right. His whole hand showed signs of the spark that threw him across the room. Good thing it wasn’t his flesh and blood hand, or he’d have been looking for another replacement limb, or worse. The insulating layer between his arm and his hand had probably saved his life.

The hand still tingled. He flexed it, the whole hand, and the wrist, then finger by finger. It seemed to be working just fine. Possibly the jolt just damaged some of the neural-optical interfaces. Docs had learned not to plug artificial limb I/O directly into the nerves. The slightest electrical jolt was magnified and zapped into the body. He’d had one of those early models for three months, bought used on the grey market by his cheap-ass former employer, until he found a job that didn’t suck.

The tingling was annoying, but the hand worked, and he could buff out the scorch marks later. He wondered if Ash or Susan had the skills to adjust or repair the optics. Probably not.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping Slim calm until he could be rescued. Jaworsky was aware, in a strangely detached way, that his mouth was moving as if on automatic, trading jabs and insults with his friend while he was concentrating on other things. Like finding a plan B for when Ash fucked up again and Slim drifted beyond his reach.

Focusing on his hand worked. He wasn’t dizzy anymore. But Tharp still hovered over him like a guilty conscience, arms outstretched as if to catch him if he fell. Stupid fuck.

Jaworsky slapped Tharp’s hands away. “Yer botherin’ me, kid,” he said. “Don’t you have anything better to do, being captain and all that shit?”

Tharp hesitated. “Yes, of course. But the safety of my crew—”

“Your crew is floating out in fucking space, and lost in a giant goddamn ball of kudzu. What are you doing about it? Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Jaworsky kicked off against the wall and sailed up the Beagle’s long central hub, away from the power plant that had almost fried him, and away from Tharp. “Amelia, I’m heading toward the air lock. What’s plan B?”

“There’s no plan B,” she said. “If Ash and Susan can’t get to Slim before we’re out of range, that’s it.”

“We can move the ship toward him.”

“We only have enough fuel for one maneuver,” Amelia said. “We move toward Slim we can maybe save him, but then we’re all together on a ship with no fuel, aimed at the surface.”

“Of the kudzu? That’s probably where we need to end up anyway.”

“No.” Amelia hesitated. “Of the Earth.”

~

Colleen and Michael stopped at the end of the tunnel and looked out across the massive chamber—the Cavern of Winds, Colleen called it.

“We should go back,” Michael said. He picked fragments of kudzu leaves out of Colleen’s hair. “So they can find us when they come back for us.”

“They’re not coming back,” Colleen said. She plucked a cluster of berries out of the air as it floated by and popped a couple in her mouth.

“What are you…?” Michael was horrified. “You have no idea if they’re edible.”

“Of course they are.”

“How do you know?”

Colleen gestured at the foliage around her. “This isn’t accidental. I mean, maybe the state of it is, but plants don’t just start growing in the vacuum of space by themselves, no matter how virulent a weed they are.”

“But–”

“But nothing. It’s got to withstand extreme fluctuations in temperature–and I mean extreme: not bad in the sun, but temperatures drop to 97 degrees Kelvin when in shadow. In here we’re insulated from all that. And these tunnels! Plants just don’t grow in air-tight tunnels unless they’ve been genetically engineered to. This is an intentionally created environment. It was made for us. For people.”

“How can you be sure?”

Colleen gave a purple-toothed smile. “Kudzu is in the pea family. Peas in a pod, you know. This kudzu has pods, yeah, but there are also berries. Have a berry. Or have some peas. The whole plant is probably edible.”

Michael shook his head. “What do you mean they aren’t coming back?”

“They can’t. At least not here. You saw how twisted the tunnel got after the breach. Even if they wanted to, there’s no way they could connect back up to the same tunnel. It’s all coiled up inside the larger… the larger body of the thing. They’d have to connect to some other tunnel, and I’m not sure how we’d even be able to figure out which one from here.”

Colleen laughed at Michael’s expression.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got food and water and air. We’ll be fine.”

Unlike Slim.

The thought was like a barb jabbed in the base of her skull. She stomped on it before it could take over. She popped another berry in her mouth, and concentrated on the bittersweet spray of juice on her tongue as she crushed it between her teeth.

Kudzu, Chapter 20

Tags

book 3, chapter 20, kudzu, novel

Last night I went to Lucas Mangum’s Awesome Reading Fest VIII, held at Between Books. It’s an open mic sort of event, for writers. We had people ranging from established authors like Gregory Frost reading from the novel he just finished, to people who are as yet unpublished. I read the first section from Ink, ending right before the naughty bits start. I’d just gotten copies of the book (Fantastic Erotica: The Best of Circlet Press) from the publisher, and sold out.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programme.

Kudzu, a Novel

Chapter 20

“Words, people.” Amelia’s claws flexed in agitation. “I need words. What’s happening out there?”

“We lost Slim,” Tharp said.

“No,” Ash said.

“He was coming through just as we separated, and he got sucked out into space.”

“No,” Ash repeated. “We can save him.”

“We can’t, son. We can’t risk it. We have to save the people we can actually help.”

Amelia could picture Tharp patting Ash on the shoulder. If she were in Ash’s place, she’d be taking a bite out of Tharp’s face right about then. She imagined Ash shrugging. Turning away. At least it wasn’t a person.

Bastard.

“We need to find Jaworsky,” Tharp said. “We need him to keep this heap running, and so we can rescue Michael and Colleen.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Ash said. “I have to try to save Slim.”

Amelia blinked. She felt her mouth open, but nothing came out.

“It’s not up for debate. If Jaworsky’s hurt, I’m going to need your help moving him to safety. For better or worse, I’m the captain of this damned wreck, and that was a direct order.” After a tense moment, Tharp cursed. “God damn it, I’ll do it by myself, then. Susan’s right, you are useless.” He continued muttering insults until Amelia shut off his channel.

“Thank you.” Ash’s voice trembled. “Susan? He’s drifted out of sight. I can’t do this alone.”

“I’m already halfway there, and I promise I won’t even slow down to kick Tharp in the nads. We can do that later. Together.”

“Save a piece of him for me,” Amelia said. “I’ve got Slim coming into view on camera three. And… and he’s waving.”

“Hey, ‘Melia.” Slim’s voice crackled. “I think I can see my house from here.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “You heard all that?”

“Yeah. Good to know who’s got your back, right? Ash, I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about you. Not that I’d ever say anything bad about anyone, y’know?”

“Um. Thanks?”

“So, what’s that I heard about Earl?”

“We don’t know. He got the power going and went silent. Could be his radio died. You know how things are on this boat.”

“No, that’s not right,” Slim said. “That man can never shut up when there’s a chance to kick his buddy when he’s down. Even if his radio shorted out, he’d find a way.”

“Even if my radio shorted out, it’d still be taller than you.” Jaworsky’s voice was shaky, halting.

“Fuck you,” Slim said, relief in his voice. “Where’ve you been? You’re missing all the fun.”

“I was just taking a little nap. Beauty rest, you know.”

“I’m getting suited up,” Susan said.

“Hey,” Jaworsky said, “here comes our fearless leader. I’m okay, all right? Just a little singe mark on my finger. Who knew a nuclear reactor packed such a kick? Every hair on my head is standing on end.”

Slim laughed. “Like a fucking porcupine. Prick.”

Amelia watched as his body spun slowly, gradually drifting further away from the ship. Slim had to know as well as she did that every minute that passed meant less of a chance he’d survive.

You’d never guess it from his voice. What the hell was taking Ash so long?

Amelia felt her claws digging into the wooden slats bolted onto the instrument panel, bit back a scream. She switched off her radio and leapt off her chair. The captain’s chair was bigger, more plush, more comfortable, and a lot more satisfying to shred.

~

Colleen felt gloved hands gripping her shoulders, spinning her around. Michael.

“Colleen! Your helmet!”

It was floating, off to the side. He lunged for it. Like it would have made a difference at this point. He caught it, gripped the wall when he came to it, spun and kicked back off in her direction. She batted the damned thing out of his hands.

“It’s air,” she said. “See? I’m breathing. It’s air. It’s fucking air.”

“But you don’t know what’s in it!” Michael was shouting to be heard through the helmet. “It could be toxic!”

Colleen tapped the oxygen gauge on his wrist. He had a little over a half hour’s worth of air. “It doesn’t matter. We’re cut off here. They won’t be back before the tanks run out. They won’t. They can’t.”

“But…”

“We might need it later.”

They floated together in the tunnel. Shredded leaves and bits of vine swirled around them; in this dead-end tunnel, there were no air currents worth noting. Emotions played across Michael’s face. There were questions he wanted to ask, questions he didn’t want answered.

Questions Colleen couldn’t answer if she tried. It seemed to fluctuate wildly, and she never knew where she’d be, emotionally, a minute into the future. She only knew where she was right now. Sometimes.

If he asked her about… she couldn’t bring herself to think the word. If he asked her anything about herself right then, she would drown in it.

“The light,” she said. “The light bulb leaves. Look. They’re still glowing, even though they’re in pieces.”

That was it. That was how she felt.

Michael unclipped his helmet and lifted it off his head. He took in a long, shuddering breath.

“Yeah. It’s kind of beautiful, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t looking at the plant.

“I thought I’d lost you, too,” he said. “I don’t think I could stand that.”

So much unspoken lay between them. Colleen hadn’t noticed before; she’d been so submerged in her own loss—wallowed in it, really—that she’d just been going through the motions of life. She’d been doing her duty, helping the survivors get home safely. But that was her body. The rest of her had been elsewhere, waiting for duty to end so she could do what she needed to without guilt.

“Listen, Colleen—”

Colleen pressed fingers against his lips and shook her head. Barely a tremor, but she could see he understood.

“We came here to explore,” she said. “So let’s explore.”

Kudzu, Chapter 19

Tags

book 3, chapter 19, kudzu, novel

It’s a grey autumn day, drizzling softly, and cool. Perhaps the first day of autumn this year, if we want to be truthful. We turned on an extra heater for the iguana. Yesterday I learned that trying to use a short sword against someone with a spear is damnably ineffective. A few weeks back I faced off dagger vs spear with surprisingly good results (i.e. somewhat better than 50% success). You’d think the longer blade of the short sword would do better, all things considered. But it’s not. It’s slower than the dagger enough to miss the blocks against the poke-poke-poke, and you don’t have enough leverage to make the block effective when you get it. 5% success if I’m being generous with myself. Today, I’m sore. But not too sore to fling y’all off into space for more weedy reading.

Kudzu, A Novel

Chapter 19

 

Colleen shook her head at Michael, who was waving his arms like an idiot, floating in the mouth of the tunnel. With exaggerated gestures, she beckoned him across the large chamber to join her. Finally, he gave up and launched himself across the room toward her.

Colleen hooked a leg around a sturdy vine and caught him. Of course, he hadn’t considered the possibility of air currents, and might have gotten swept away. And then where would he be? She pulled him toward the leafy wall, and when she was sure he’d gotten a solid grip, she tapped on the glass of his helmet. She pointed down (was there a down? she thought there was, just barely) at the rivulets of moisture running deep in the kudzu wall.

Michael ignored her. Instead, he grabbed her head with both hands and pressed his helmet against hers. His lips moved. She could hear his voice, faintly, transferred through the plexiglass.

“We have to go, now. The ship’s leaving.”

“What?” She’d heard what he’d said; it just wasn’t registering. She thumbed her radio on.

Susan’s voice blasted in her ear, loud enough to be audible over the heavy static. “—to the ship immediately. We have to break away. Plant destroying the ship. Away team, return to the ship immediately. We have…”

Colleen nodded, and gripped Michael’s shoulder “We can’t jump back the way we came. There’s some powerful air currents in this chamber, and we don’t want to get caught up in them. We’ll have to walk it.”

“You turned your radio off?”

Colleen didn’t answer. She turned and pulled herself across the chamber wall, keeping her back to him so that she didn’t have to see the look on his face.

She could hear his breathing through the crackle of static and Susan’s panic-tinged voice as he scurried to catch up.

“Why? Why did you turn your radio off? Are you fucking insane?”

Colleen snagged the next vine that came into reach, swinging herself around to face Michael, and pulling herself up short. Michael did the same, almost flipping heels over head before he got control.

“Insane? I watched my husband get sucked through a hole the size of a nail. You wanna know how long two minutes is? That’s the time it takes for the skin to break, for the intestines to spew out, and the aorta to rupture. And then he’s gone. The light goes out in the eyes, and all that’s left is meat. And then there’s not even that. Just a stain on the glass.”

She closed her eyes against the look of pity on Michael’s face. But that just left her with Henry, burned even worse than she had been, after he threw her through the inner airlock door as it started to slide shut because something in the explosion that had ripped through the ship had punctured a hole through the outer door. She opened her eyes before she had to see him mouth those three words again. Better to face Michael.

“Yeah, maybe just a little insane,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They made it back to the thick tendril leading to the ship. The softly lit tunnel pulsed gently, soothingly. Susan’s voice shrieked in their ears.

“I’m there,” Slim said. Closer to the ship, Susan’s voice bordered on being painful, almost obliterating Slim’s rolling chirrup. “You guys getting close? I can see Ash. He looks kinda frantic. And Tharp’s right behind him. It’s like a party.”

“Almost,” Michael said. “We’re right behind you.”

“‘Kay, I’m going through. But with Ash as my lifeline, I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up getting flung out into space. And it’ll be all your fault.”

First there was a tremble in the leaves, then the whole tunnel shook and twisted. Thick vines split with loud cracks. Thinner vines twisted and bent around them. Air rushed toward the ship, ripping leaves from the vines, and carrying Colleen and Michael with it. Pulling them toward open space, and death.

The leaves sounded like a thousand birds taking flight.

Colleen curled into a ball. It was all she could think to do. This was how she’d die, and it was only fitting, really. It was only fitting.

They heard Ash’s voice, faintly. “Oh, no.”

And then the wind stopped, and there was silence. Susan’s voice was gone, and Ash’s.

And Slim’s.

Michael called his name, screamed it, threw himself down the tunnel toward the hedge wall–visibly growing and knitting together–where the ship had just been, scraping bits of leaves, dark green and glowing both, off his faceplate.

Screamed until Colleen couldn’t stand it anymore.

She ripped the helmet off her head. Tore the radio bud out of her ear and ripped the cable out of the suit, throwing it as far as she could down the tunnel. Holding her breath, she reached for her helmet, spinning in the air next to her. Shredded leaves and bits of vines and berries eddied around her.

She left the helmet spinning where it was. She breathed out all the air left in her lungs, and then inhaled deeply.

She wanted it to be toxic. She wanted it to burn her throat and lungs. She wanted to die screaming, the way Henry would have if he wasn’t being strong for her, there at the end, even after everything she’d done.

The air was sweet. Fresh.

It smelled of life.

And Slim… Slim was gone.

A sob ripped from her chest. She hadn’t cried when the flames burned the hair from her head and the flesh from left side of her body. She hadn’t cried when Henry died. She hadn’t cried when they’d gathered the remaining corpses and laid them to rest in a storage room, stacked like a heap of rolled up carpets, and she hadn’t cried when they had abandoned the team, friends and coworkers and… friends and coworkers, stranded down on the surface of Triton.

It was just water on her face.

Condensation.

That was all.

Kudzu, Chapter 18

Tags

book 3, chapter 18, kudzu, novel

Was that just Sunday that passed us by in a flurry of strange and unrelated tasks? Why yes. Hello, Monday. Hello, October, even. (And Happy Birthday to Drein, whom I haven’t seen in lo these many years, but somehow always seem to remember on the first of October.) But enough prattling. On to the story…

Kudzu, A Novel

Chapter 18

When the guard opened the door, she was holding towels for them. She passed them out to the women as they exited the shower. Something about the prisoners made her suspicious. They were uncharacteristically silent: none of the normal locker room banter. They were up to something. She counted the women again, and kept an eye on them as she reached for the shower room door to pull it shut.

Her hand waved in thin air; the door handle was further than she’d thought. When she looked, the door had swung wide open, and she found herself looking down the barrel of a gun. Beyond the gun was a man. She tried to look at his face, but her eyes wouldn’t leave the gun. She swallowed, and held very still.

“No sound, please,” Sir Reginald said. “I apologize for this intrusion, and for the unpleasant circumstances of our meeting. I assure you that I intend you no harm. I merely intend to make a… a small withdrawal.”

Kevyn came up behind her. “I thought you were going to overpower her, not talk her to…” She caught sight of the gun.

Trust me, he had said. Though obviously he didn’t thoroughly trust them, to omit mentioning he had a gun.

“I see,” she said.

“Good,” Sir Reginald said. He smiled apologetically at the guard. “I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Reggie.”

“Um. Murphy,” the guard said. She hesitated, then gave her first name.

“Nee-av?” Sir Reginald repeated it phonetically. “You don’t perchance spell that in the traditional Gaelic form, do you?”

Murphy blushed. She hated her name. “My parents were stupid.”

“Stupid? Nonsense. Niamh is a lovely name. It means radiance—”

“Focus,” Kevyn growled. “Escape now, flirt later.”

“What? I wasn’t flirting. I—”

“You have a fucking gun?” Erica shoved Kevyn aside. She gripped the guard, Murphy, by the hair, twining fingers under the blonde ponytail and pulling her head back sharply. Murphy grimaced in pain.

“I’ll be taking that,” Erica said.

Grump shifted the gun, slightly. “You will not,” he said. “You will release Ms. Murphy forthwith, and you will go dry yourself off. You don’t want to catch a chill, do you?”

Unlike the guard, Erica had no problem looking past the gun that was now trained on her to glare daggers at Sir Reginald.

“Forthwith means ‘without delay,'” Grump said.

“Yeah, right. Of course. I don’t have anywhere to conceal the damned thing. But after we get clothes…”

Murphy looked substantially relieved. Clearly Erica posed an actual and substantial danger.

Kevyn took Erica’s place behind the guard. She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Jesus, this is fucked up. Do you have any idea how much danger we’re in, especially now that you have a gun?”

“Not nearly as dangerous as the situation that prompted me to spend over six quid to buy said implement in the first place. Ms. Murphy, I apologize profusely, but I fear I must ask you to remove your clothing. Please give them to Kevyn, who is of a size with you.”

At Sir Reginald’s bidding, the guard removed her clothing. Kevyn did her best to mute the cheers and jeers that spilled from the other prisoners. He took the elastic band that held her ponytail and told her to get in the shower.

“Wet your hair,” he said. “and get it all tangled. You’ll wear it hanging in front of your face when we walk out of here.”

~

Tricking the other two guards was not difficult. Still breathing heavily through a post-coital haze, they didn’t realize their error until it was too late. Kevyn got Murphy’s uniform. The second female guard’s clothing went to a woman who had been imprisoned only a week before Kevyn, while the male’s uniform went to Kimberly, the only one of them whose body filled them, and did not, as Sir Reginald put it, make the wearer “look like an orphan.”

Erica had been incensed, but Sir Reginald insisted, and so, Sir Reginald being the one with the gun, Erica grumblingly conceded. “The longer you have been here, the more likely that someone will recognize you as an impostor. The only logical people to wear the uniforms are those who have been here the least amount of time.”

Sir Reginald fumbled in his pockets until he found something resembling a badge, which he clipped onto his suspenders.

“Calina Ford, Private Insextigator fan club giveaway,” he said, to Kevyn’s raised eyebrow. “Mid twenty-first century late-night television show. Quite clever, really, and I’m not just saying that because one Sir Reginald F. Grump wrote two episodes. In the show, Calina’s badge held no end of fantastic surprises. This one only has a camera and an STD testing kit. For when you need to go undercover, so to speak.”

They left the two guards bound and gagged in the shower room, and, with Niamh Murphy in tow, the three faux guards and Sir Reginald escorted the prisoners back to their cells to get dressed. Murphy ended up with Kevyn’s clothes, an orange jumpsuit with Kevyn’s prisoner number stitched on the back. Grump followed Murphy into Kevyn’s cell.

“Where’s the laundry?” he asked. She told him. “Ground floor,” he repeated. “Good. And under that?”

“The basement. There’s a furnace room, and rooms full of food and linens and everything else. Supplies.”

“And below that?”

Murphy shrugged. “Probably rock.”

“Hm. That’ll take some doing.” Grump frowned, then handed her zip-tie cufflinks. “Put these on, please, in front of you.”

Once dressed, they made their way through the cell block toward the main entrance. They had, all of them knew, to make it past several layers of security before they would see the light of day. The question remained as to whether they could successfully bluff their way past them.

“Give this up,” Murphy said. “You can’t get out this way. You’ll get caught, and then end up with more time on your sentence, especially if someone gets hurt. And someone will get hurt.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Sir Reginald said.

Murphy lowered her voice. “And if that bitch Erica gets out? She’s a killer, and after you embarrassed her in front of the others, I wouldn’t be surprised if your name isn’t on her list.”

“Undoubtedly, it is. But she’s been put away for life, if I’m not correct, so I have little to worry about.”

As they approached the first locked door barring their escape, Sir Reginald told Kevyn to stick close to their captive. He made his way through the women until he reached Erica.

Covering the action from sight with his body, he slipped the revolver out of his pocket and pressed it into Erica’s hand.

“Take it,” he whispered, and she did.

Sir Reginald took a large step back. “Gun!” he shouted. “She’s got a gun!”

Erica stared at him, then raised the gun. “You fucking bastard! You are so fucking dead!”

He ran, slaloming through the other prisoners until he reached Kevyn and their captive guard. All around them panic erupted. He grabbed Kevyn and Murphy by the wrists. “Run,” he suggested.

Alarms rang out, and guards and prisoners scurried.

They ran through the halls of the prison until they reached the laundry. The door was unlocked, and the room was empty; all the prisoners were being rushed back to their cells for lockdown.

“I hope I live long enough to have done this,” Grump said. He scanned the walls, looking for something…

Down the hall, the sound of boots on linoleum rang out. They were running out of time.

Kudzu, Chapter 17

Tags

book 3, chapter 17, kudzu, novel

Today, I reorganized the attic. A little. Enough to lay some fiberboard down over where I cleverly ripped up floorboards in a failed attempt to install a ceiling fan in the bathroom, years ago.

In other news, if you have been enjoying my writing, a story I wrote maybe six years ago has finally found its way into print – A Domestic Disturbance documents one of those rare occasions when the gods squabbled. And today, my story, Ink, was podcast over at Nobilis Erotica. In case the name of the venue wasn’t clear enough, this story involves “adult themes and situations,” and if that isn’t your thing, you should maybe avoid it.

Kudzu, A Novel

Chapter 17

The sudden light assaulted Sir Reginald’s eyes, blinding him, and his foot came down not on filthy, mist-damp cobblestones, but on a flat, slick surface. The entire room was white–floor, walls, ceiling–and high-lumen florescent bulbs hummed above his head. Steam assailed him, and the intermingled scents of mildew and floral soaps. There was the sound of water falling. He flailed as his foot went out from under him, grasped the first thing he came across to steady himself.

It was flesh, hot and wet, and a bit sudsy, and it squeaked. And squeaked again as it lost its footing as well, even as he recovered.

Instinctively, Sir Reginald caught the squeaker under its armpits–her, he realized, oh, most very definitely a her–arresting her fall before she could bruise her tailbone.

Kevyn, most likely, Sir Reginald thought. She had been the person he was closest to when he had slipped. Close enough to influence–to impress her presence upon–whatever it was that caused his curious excursions, and to thus become the anchor for his return. Ah well, he’d talked his way out of more embarrassing situations.

He tried opening his eyes. The light was a bit closer to bearable, but his eyes were tearing, and the steam had fogged his spectacles. He still couldn’t see properly. Just shapes in the mist.

A half-dozen of them, of various sizes, perhaps more.

They were turning toward the source of the commotion.

They were, one and all, most definitely female. There were also all most definitely nude.

This would take some explaining, indeed.

~

Kevyn looked up at her assailant, who had pulled her off-balance and then caught her, and now held her up under her arms. One hand firmly on her left breast. That hand let go quickly, with a gruffly muttered apology, and grasped her arm instead.

“Sir Reginald?”

“Ah, yes. Kevyn.” Sir Reginald lifted her to her feet. “I apologize for interrupting you…” he cleared his throat. “Your festivities. And I humbly beg forgiveness, from one and all, and assure you, I had no intention of intruding upon your private moments, and shall take my leave with the utmost of haste.”

So far, none of the prisoners had said a word; they just stared at the man in the improbably anachronistic clothing–double-breasted Westminster with velvet collar, pinstriped trousers, and (admittedly worse-for-wear) homberg perched atop his head–who had somehow gotten himself into the women’s shower of Haviland Penitentiary without anyone noticing.

“You left me,” Kevyn said. She slapped at him.

He caught her wrist. “One moment, please.” He removed his spectacles, then let go her hand.

This time, when she slapped him across the face, he made no move to stop her. “You left me. In the dark. Locked into a building I had to break out of.”

“Ah, yes. Well, entirely unavoidable, I assure you, and–”

“And stop talking in that stupid British accent!”

A rough hand pushed Kevyn aside; its owner stepped up to Sir Reginald. Erica. A lifer. She wore her scars and her prison tats with enough pride that standing stark naked with half a head full of shampoo in front of a man she didn’t know did nothing to diminish her authority. The other women formed a wedge behind her.

If Sir Reginald was even remotely wise, Kevyn thought, he should be terrified right now.

“Where’d you come from?”

“Ah, now that’s a bit complicated.”

Erica thrust a shampoo bottle up against Sir Reginald’s throat with enough force to push him backwards, pressing him against the wall. The sound of a key in the lock stopped her from doing more. Erica gestured for the man to move into the corner, where the open door would partially block him from sight. The door opened a crack.

“It’s awful quiet in there,” the guard said, glancing in. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Erica said.

“I’ll be really unhappy if I have to get my shoes wet. I want to hear from all of you, is everything alright?”

One by one the prisoners called out their names, and affirmed that they were unharmed. Kevyn went so far as to step in front of the door to demonstrate a lack of bruises. She was the new kid on the cell block, and the most likely to be targeted for any abuse. Everyone, with the possible exception of Sir Reginald, understood that that was the guard’s real concern.

Satisfied, the guard closed the door. Erica motioned for the other women to resume showering.

“Kevyn,” Sir Reginald said, “please tell me that I’ve walked into some sort of kinky Milgrams re-enactment.”

“What’s a Milgram?”

Sir Reginald sighed, then remembered they weren’t alone. “God’s teeth, woman, what have you gotten me into?”

Kevyn shoved past Erica, slammed a hand against Sir Reginald’s chest. “What have I gotten you into? You got me thrown in jail for trespassing in your precious observatory, and destruction of private property. I have been poked and prodded, and fingerprinted and strip searched and… and deloused because of you.”

“Well, at least you got something out of it. I have a very bad feeling about that spaceship we saw, and we won’t be able to do anything about it if we stay in jail. I suggest that you finish your shower so that we can get out of here.”

“You’re not going anywhere ‘less you take me with you,” Erica growled.

“Of course, good lady,” Sir Reginald said. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you–” He looked around, and sighed. “Any of you–behind.”

Kevyn glared at him.

“Kevyn,” he said. “Trust me.”

And despite everything, she did.

Kudzu, Book III, Chapter 16

Tags

book 3, chapter 16, kudzu, novel, Sir Reginald F. Grump XXIII

I really need to figure out this time-management thing. Sunday has come and almost gone before I figured out that I should be posting something today. Linda and I managed to get some yard work done – I’m not certain, but this may be the first weekend all summer that hasn’t been either rainy or drought-ridden or mosquito-infested and oppressive. I also managed to break our brand new bathroom door. it hath been “fixed” with bits of wood, electrical tape, and spackle. Yay. And now, without further ado, we bring you another exciting episode of Kudzu.

Kudzu, a Novel

Book III: The Secret History of Trust

Chapter 16

Sir Reginald F. Grump XXIII hurried down the gas-lit cobblestone street. A furtive glance behind him assured him that his pursuers had not yet found his trail. Even this late at night the Whitechapel streets bustled with activity, but most of it was on foot; few people whose business interests kept them on the streets at this hour could afford regular meals, much less a horse. Still, he wasn’t safe yet. Those who sought him were not the sort to give up so easily one the hunt had begun.

And they were uncannily good at what they did.

Grump poked his head into a drinking establishment. No, it wouldn’t do. There was no rear exit that he could detect. And not enough people to effectively hide him, but enough to become significant collateral damage should he be found in their company. He kept moving.

The sound of horse hooves on cobblestone came from behind him, and the shouts of people scrambling to get out from under them.

Heart in his throat, Grump ducked into a narrow, dark alley. They couldn’t bring the horses through here, at least. He caught his foot on something as he ran through the darkness, and spun into the wall. His elbow struck brick, and numbing pain shot down through his fingers.

There was an alcove here. A locked door. He took shelter there, gasping for breath, and willing his eyes to adapt to the nearly absolute darkness.

He reached into his coat pocket. Yes, it was still there. He drew the pistol out and checked it. As his eyes adjusted, he could barely make out the shape of the thing. It was cold in his hand, a heavy, offensive weight.

He had two bullets left.

He risked a look down the alley. No dark-cloaked shapes with glowing red eyes were coming down the alley toward him. Not actually glowing, he reminded himself. Just a side-effect of their ritual pharmaceuticals. No shapes, glowing eyes or otherwise, human or otherwise, were coming down the alley toward him.

He put the pistol back in his pocket, and stepped out of the alcove.

And into the blinding light.

~

The worst part of jail, Kevyn thought, was the constant, casual humiliation. As if by having broken some law or another, one had abrogated one’s right to even the most basic of human dignities. Being herded naked with a half-dozen other women through the cell blocks to the shower room wasn’t even the worst of it.

There were eight of them, from three cells, and three guards, one male and two female. They’d been ordered to strip for shower time, searched for contraband, and then escorted through the jail to the showers, past all the other prisoners, who whistled and catcalled.

Kevyn ignored the running commentary from the male guard about her tattoos and piercings. One of the female guards called her a cunt and told her not to “get any fucking ideas.”

Kevyn noticed that the other female guard’s lips tighten at the assault. But she didn’t do anything to stop it.

They were escorted through what looked to have been a locker room at one point, but the lockers had all been ripped out. Only some plastic benches remained, bolted to the floor. At the end of the locker room was a heavy, metal door. One of the guards unlocked it. Beyond that was a room that had once held toilets and sinks. The stalls had been removed, and the sinks, and plumbing. All that remained were three seatless, dry toilet bowls, stripped of their plumbing, and a single storage chest against one wall. The prisoners and one of the guards entered, and the the others locked the door behind them.

Another door marked the end of what had been a lavatory. The guard unlocked it. She pushed the door open, then rummaged in the chest.

“Okay, ladies,” she said, “you know the drill. Here’s soap and shampoo. If you have any known allergies, I’ll try to accommodate. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” She glanced at the locked door behind them, shook her head. “Shit. Might as well make it twenty.”

She shut the door, locking the prisoners into the shower room.

The showers were not pretty. There were four corroded shower heads, each controlled with a timer switch. The timers shut the water off after thirty seconds, and couldn’t be restarted until another half-minute had passed, destroying any chance of actually enjoying oneself. The floor was cracked industrial tile, green—and slippery—with mildew.

Kevyn had been looking forward to her first shower since her arrest, three days earlier. Now she was less eager; no telling what she might pick up here, all before she had even managed to get a meeting scheduled with a public defender.

“When I get out of here,” she said, “I’m going to have a long talk with the mayor about the conditions in here.”

Kevyn’s cell-mate, Melissa, laughed as she ran water through her long, dark hair. “You think anyone out there cares what happens in here? Besides, what makes you think you’re getting out? Pass the shampoo.”

“I’m innocent, that’s what. This whole thing is just a big misunderstanding. Once I get to meet with my lawyer, we’ll get ahold of Sir Reginald and he can explain everything.”

Another of the prisoners spoke up. “Honey, if you’re depending on a man to save you, you’re gonna be here a long time.”

Melissa stepped away from the shower head as she worked lather into her scalp.

Kevyn pushed the button impatiently until water spat from the fixture. She stepped into the spray of hot water and, for thirty seconds, thought of nothing but the feel of water running down her skin, and the steam filling her nose and lungs.