By Emelyn
Liz treaded water with a sour look on her inhuman face. She’d fully expected to be scolded- and seemed visibly disappointed where she remained, hovering on the other side of the barrier.
“Cooodyy…” she trilled, an almost-purr rolling the word out of the back of her throat. “Don’t you want to come and join me?” The words were syrupy with a goading, albeit charming tone that was the girl’s trademark. The girl knew there was no way her tutor would cross the barrier to join her- Liz’s words were meant for one purpose, and one purpose only.
But if she expected that to be Cody’s last straw to being incited to irritation, she was to be disappointed again. The half-dolphin man continued to swim his short laps back and forth only feet away from the shore, his eyes hidden from Liz’s view by that mess of hair that always seemed to be pressed to his forehead, slicked down by a constant sheen of water. Even moistened, it was no more than a shade or two darker than its original sandy blonde.
When the tauric man didn’t respond to her second goad, Liz wrinkled the skin along the bridge of her wolfen muzzle in distaste- a human gesture that had to be acquired, rather than innately learned. There simply wasn’t enough natural human DNA in the girl to lend her to such a gesture without the outside patterning of her elders- those who still clung to their human affectations, to the small pieces of their pasts that would remind them what they had been at their journey’s start.
“Cooooddy..” It was no longer a trill, but a whine. The teenager splashed water over the barrier in the direction of the older man.
Finally, the man being pestered turned towards his young pupil where she stayed, just beyond the edge of the freshwater inlet barricade. He sighed, and a part of him wished to duck beneath the water’s surface and disappear into one of the access aqueducts that led to the various water tracts dotting the interior of the island- deal with his precocious pupil another day. He stayed above surface, however, a tired, preoccupied cast across his eyes. Cody knew that Liz wasn’t truly expecting him to join her- not when she knew that the response by the offshore patrolmen would be an automatic buzz-out… beyond which, his physiology was so much better suited to this freshwater haven that he had no desire to stretch his limits beyond the barrier that had been installed so many years before. Liz taunted the tauric man mostly to get enough of a rise out of him- to be amused- but also, he guessed, to gently remind him that she was capable of more than he. She didn’t mean any harm by it- she never did. Liz was just the sort of girl who had always gotten what she wanted- and what she wanted was the full spectrum of human and animal emotion- of instinct, of action. She was a child of nature- a true force of spirit- which was what had made the young Maurlias such a rewarding pupil. There were things that the half-dolphin man didn’t bother to teach her, however. For one, it would do her little good to know that her attempts to goad him were more-or-less off the mark. True, when the girl would use the time that was set aside for their swim and gathering lessons to crawl over the barricade, he was almost always annoyed- but not for the reasons Liz imagined.
When the freshwater inlet had been installed almost thirteen years before, Cody had been relieved, even ecstatic that his world had been so suddenly expanded. He joined the rest of the ‘marine life’ islanders in rejoicing that they were no longer confided to the lake, the rivers, and particularly to those rooms in the community center which were less-than-affectionately referred to as “the tanks”. While the others gradually became disillusioned with this expansion of freedom- seeing the barrier between them and the saltwater expanse of ocean as a symbol of what they could never have- Cody had only ever been dismissive of the sectioning. But, then again- he was different. He was the ‘bridge’ between the two generations on the island- sandwiched between those who were weighed down by what had been done to them- and those who were exquisitely, almost innocently happy in this- their island paradise where they were the ever-sheltered, ever-loved few. The interim was a difficult place to exist- and a precious few- namely, Cody and Colche, her innocence carrying with her through the years, subsisted there. They were not the young- and they were not the old, but, rather, an ageless, grateful cartilage between the two. It made for a very different existence than the bulk of the islanders experienced. It also made what was on Cody’s mind- all the more troubling.
“
“Aww, Cody- don’t be cross with me. I was only teasing.” She crawled over the barricade- its height wasn’t what kept the water divided, after all, but a series of pulses and tide-buoys- and started in lazily to where Cody Archer waited, gliding effortlessly with his lower three quarters beneath the beautiful blue.
He shook his head, and looked again out into the jungle- as if expecting someone to come through the trees onto the long white stretch of beach. “No,” he said, his voice as patient as before, “it’s better if you go home, anyway.”
“Why?” Liz said, closer in her lazy breaststroke. “Is someone coming to see you? Your girlfriend?”
It was another goad- as far as she knew, Cody wasn’t attached to anyone. He spent most of his days here, in the inlet, or flitting about the island’s tributaries with an abandon known to few other of his island compatriots. Perhaps it was the age gap that kept him single… or merely the aura of happiness the man seemed to possess was all he’d ever needed. In any case, it was another failed tease- Cody waved his hand at her as she drew ever nearer.
“Don’t bother with it,
She sensed by the tone in his voice that he was, in fact, done for the day- so she paused in her swim to tread water and nod, dipping her chin in and out of the water.
“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow…”
She didn’t get an answer. Almost as soon as she reached the end of ‘tomorrow’ he’d seamlessly returned to the deep. Liz was left to swim to the shore alone- where she shook out her water-laden fur in an almost dog-like fashion. She was already wearing her bathing suit- the sake of clothing being another human affectation she had acquired- but on the shore was a pair of knee-length green cargo pants, which she stepped into as well. Her tail slipped through a sizeable cut which had been tailored into the rear, and wagged in an automatic gesture after it did. Droplets of water fell onto the sand from this sandy-grey, wolfen appendage and evaporated on the warm sand- disappeared not long after the girl herself ran into the jungle.
* * *
Elizabeth Maurlias had not been built for speed. Truly, she had not been built for much in particular. The desire for her to exist had been enough of a reason for her creation: a painstaking process of splicing and bolstering that proved… a point. In many ways, she was a ‘designer model’- and yet, for all the particular combinations and painstakingly sculpted pieces that had gone into making her, she was… a mishmash. A hodgepodge- a happenstance of where the genes fell into her long, exotically rich strands of DNA. The labs had not intended for the girl to be born with wolf ears and muzzle… such human eyes made vivid by the dark, genet marks about them. They had not struggled to find a balance in her genetic makeup- to realize what she would look like with a mostly genet body- a long, lean neck with sinewy torso beneath, and longer, more muscular wolfen appendages- arms given the jointed opportunities of what little human ancestry she possessed, and legs low and muscular with canine strength. Her tail- that, too, belied the genet in her, taking only the sake of her mother’s coloring to ashen its length. She was put together only to function- to exist. She did not realize that there had been a host before her- creatures so twisted and amoral that there was little cause to call them her brothers and sisters- for never once had they touched the inside of their shared mother’s womb- or seen the light of day. They had started and ended their lives in the name of science- not nearly as lucky as she, their sister- who ran like the wind through the coarse jungle.
And she did run- so like the wind, breezing past the trees and howling around the whispers of the jungle with her liquid speed- that it was apparent. Even though Elizabeth Maurlias- Liz to most who knew her- had not been built for speed… it had been bequeathed to her anyway, by some hand of genetic chance.
There was a natural flow to her
run, a bowing and weaving sort of wave that she rode through the trees. She did not possess the same bounding,
straight speed as Colche- nor the powerful, pounding stride that her father
could summon. She was not so heavily
diluted with one animal’s DNA as they were- her form had not given over to the
general anatomy and workings of one particular animal, bowing to its mechanics
and movements. She was not cumbersome
with her mix- if anything, Liz found that her machine ran smoothly-
effortlessly. Perhaps the only price was
the ill-fit of several cogs… her genet body against her wolfen one, often made
for a difference in dynamics. She could
run- quickly, gloriously, effortlessly… for only the price of a ducking and
weaving motion that did not speak to her wolf heritage. She was a creature unto herself- a machine
that worked perfectly well… as long as everyone accepted the fact that a few
cogs may occasionally slip past each other.
But to
Liz, in a way- was thinking of her father as she ran. He had been awkward that morning- distant, much in the way that Cody had dismissed her, and it made the girl wonder. It was not often that she found herself ignored- not the ‘first daughter’- the miracle baby born to the island that paved the way for the others. There were few islanders that spoke of the days before she was born- except to refer to them as ‘the dark times’ or simply ‘…before’- always coupled with that pause. To some, that space between the weighted word and its utterance was ominous… and, to some it was soft and resolute. The others would lapse into a bitterness that Liz could not begin to understand before they curtly dismissed ‘the before’ and turned the girl to brighter things. As a result, she began to think of herself, and her birth- as being a glorious dawn of a new era- adding, not in small part, to her sense of well-fed self worth. Her vision of ‘the time before’ remained mangled- perhaps even more so as she realized that she was one in a line of ‘firsts’- she was the first daughter of the island- the first member of the new generation… where her father had been first before her. The connection pleased her in a way she only wished her father would completely understand. He hadn’t ever done so before, she knew- for whenever she’d mention it, sidling up to her blonde, wolfen father to remind him of it, he would turn his head away and look off- sometimes into the distance- other times, into the waiting eyes of his wife, her mother. It had always puzzled Liz. …There were many things about her parents that she did not understand.
It was her father that was still on her mind as she came to a stop at a point nearly through the great jungle. Her tongue lolled from her mouth so as to sop up the air about her, gasping- not for a lack of breath, but rather, so as to sustain it. It was an automatic gesture upon her respite- it had not been the reason she’d stopped. Instead, the flicker of movement that had drawn her still was that of a massive creature standing almost twenty feet away.
It was an amber beast. On all four of its legs, it stood no lower than Liz’s calves, and yet, she showed no fear- her only reticence in movement intended to not scare her away. …Her. Liz knew that the large, almost orange-colored creature was indeed female- not for any sake of general animal lore (which she had obtained plenty of from her tutors) but because this particular animal had a name. Fiona. An islander who had once been a girl- long before Liz was born- and had grown beyond her original serum- into something that was no longer human. Fiona fascinated Liz… she always had. It made for a spectacular story- the tale of the woman turned monstrous rabbit that still roamed the jungle, a massive, orange and cream thing. When she was younger, Liz would seek Fiona out, try to speak with her, sure that she was still inside- listening, waiting- like one of the enchanted folk from one of Colche’s fairy tales. It wasn’t until she was older that the girl accepted that Fiona was all that she appeared to be: a larger than life but otherwise unremarkable animal- protected from death only from the mutations of the serum… and for the sake of the other islanders, who had known her in ‘life’. …That was how Liz thought of Fiona, now that the illusions of her childhood had fallen away- dead. In all the ways that mattered.
She left the animal be- she would not be the one to be the final hand in killing what was left of Fiona’s physical self. None of the islanders would. Her father’s words- and those of Pyroth the Sage- echoed in her mind. The Hunting Order. It was a code she had heard since her youth- and, like anything taught passionately to one so young- she knew it by heart.
You
shall not hunt unless you have hunger.
…We do not hunt one another. Hold
onto your control, for it is precious- feed yourself well. When you feel yourself losing control, tell the
trees. They will sound the alarm.
The words Liz held in her mind were
spoken in the deep voice of Pyroth the Sage-and she
could almost see the familiar Order coming from the mouth of the old
coyote. The canine, at his ripe age, was
gaunt, his fur ragged and the bones he wore about his neck yellowed with years
of exposure to the elements- but with his years in Moreau’s jungle had come a
wealth of wisdom that had benefited them all.
He was always there in the wild, his old, red tattoos more visible now
that the years had thinned his fur, available for any who needed the
perspective of age and measured maturity.
Truly, though, his greatest contribution to the island was the
Order. It had been set down only a year
after Liz was born, after another islander was ‘relocated’ to the Feral
Enclosure. That night,
Many of the others gathered on their side of the fence, having heard the announcement as it rang out, cold and unfeeling over the loudspeakers, and ran to see if it was true- if they had lost another one of their fold. Liz was too young to remember, though her father had told her she was there, cuddled into her mother’s arms as the komodo-woman wept- rattled the fence with her claws, and as the last thread of hope seeped from the islanders like evaporating water. Too long, they had lived under this oppressive terror, this life of mock freedom. It was that moment- many of the islanders say… that they despaired the most- that they wished for any escape… even death.
But one islander had seen something more. He was with the crowd on the village’s side of the Feral Enclosure, but whatever the feeling was that flooded the air and caused the others to lose their hope… Pyroth, the coyote who had once been a man- felt the emotion, and turned it into… salvation.
The others embraced the Order- and eagerly implemented those measures of control that would return to them their freedom- to prevent any more of their makeshift society from being wrenched apart. In the beginning, it hadn’t been easy for the predators- particularly those who had become set in their dichotomous ways. It also was a problem, at first, to set up a reporting system that the islanders could monitor within themselves- to alert them when one of their own was on an edge and needed help to control themselves. They needed something to rival Moreau’s advantage- those security cameras that kept a watch on them at any point on the island. The closest thing they had was each other- and so, they tried to rely on that strength. It was, in the beginning, the Aviators- ‘The Parrots’- who tried to fill that void- keeping watch high above the island’s many jungles. The intention was they would sound the alarm, alert the rest of the villagers when one of their own was on the verge of losing control- but, in the end, their omnipotent island viewpoints could not always penetrate that dense canopy- nor could even the sharpest hawk eye make the fine discern between a predator gone feral- until it was nearly too late. They were trained to spot their prey- not predators. In the end, it was a very different sort of islander that came to realization of what must be done.
Not long after the Order had been implemented- when The Parrots were still struggling to maintain the alarm system, a single figure could be seen one day, on the edge of the jungle. She was greened and yellowed with a shiny tint, and covered in a multitude of red, white-tipped bulbs that glistened in the sun, and she stepped slowly and gingerly with gliding steps along the jungle’s edge. It was Anjali- testing the earth for a soft, rich spot, her face a sluggish picture of happiness where it was, tipped up to the bright, warm sun. The woman who had been so irrevocably connected with a sundew plant was looking for a spot to plant herself for a while- to find a point of rich soil and bright sun to enjoy while she conversed with the rest of the island’s foliage. Anjali had long since come to enjoy her life on the island, listening to the fauna as it spoke to each other. The long, languid, almost philosophical conversations that the trees had with each other as the wind whistled by were almost her favorites- and although she had always enjoyed the soft, simple thoughts of the grass and the shrubs… it was the bright, cheery hope of the flowers that she loved the most. They were so innocent, so carefree- that their ‘words’ were always more like feelings- bright bursts of emotion that lasted only as long as their short but beautiful lives.
On that day, however, Anjali had settled with the trees- fall was coming, and even in this tropical climate, the flowers could not always bloom. The sundew woman was expecting the near-proverb like thoughts of the trees, that day, as she settled her roots gracefully into the earth- but, found instead that the thoughts of the jungle were very particular. …One of the islanders was on the scent of the other- aimed to attack them. The trees recognized that crazed, animal look on Rex’s face- and whispered amongst themselves. It was then that Anjali realized that the alarm from The Parrots had not yet come- she looked to the sky and saw no flurry of wings above her, or the sound of the deep-throated caw. She was the one to call towards the village- and to send a cry to the other plant islanders, wherever they were, to warn the ‘movers’ to head in and stop Rex before he destroyed more than one life.
Rex was curbed in time- held by a
circle of in-control predators and brought raw slabs of cafeteria meat until he
was self-aware once more. After that
day, The Parrots were absolved of their alarm duties. (Much to their
relief. Too much of their important
hunting time had been consumed by the fruitless venture.) From that day, the plant-islanders took their
turns being planted on the edges of the great jungle- Taro, Liamh,
Anjali and the others- those who could move would
plant themselves- and those who had lost most of their human motor control
would be planted by the other islanders- moved in great large litters filled
with soil that were set aside for the plant islanders use. From that day on, all an islander who felt himself
losing control had to do was tell the trees- just a simple warning that they
were beginning to slip- and the alert would spread outward like a
wildfire. Within a matter of minutes-
sometimes seconds, the villagers would know exactly where, who, and when one of
their own was slipping- and rush to aid them.
Thanks to the Hunting Order,
Liz, like all children, could not understand the nature of the world before she was born into it. All she could fathom was that there had been a change- to divide what had once been and what now was- into the ‘before me’ and the ‘now’. Also, like most children- particularly those who have grown into a world of ease and love, Liz believed that the change had been thanks to her- that her birth was the event that stewarded in the ‘good times’. To some extent, the girl was correct: that night her mother had birthed her, alone except for the lab techs and Dr. Lockheart, while her father stood outside in the storm screaming and howling… had been a watershed moment for the people on the island. But she was wrong to think that it had been a happy moment. If anything, what should have been a blessed event put a measure of fear and sadness into the hearts of the islanders. Liz, despite how beautiful and wonderful she was- and the joy she brought her parents… had not been wanted. Or, at least her birth had not been the conscious decision of her parents. Her birth had been decided on the day Moreau discovered that a process of gene-splicing that could create a child where he and Aubrey could have none was possible. Elizabeth Maurlias was the test that was needed to become the precursor to his own child. The triumph of Liz’s birth had not that of the islanders- for she was the ultimate symbol that no aspect of their lives was untouchable by Moreau. She was the quintessential image of his control- and their lack of it. With her entrance into the world- so was a pallor of hopelessness and fear cast over the islanders. It would not be until that year later when the Hunting Order was spoken, that the islanders found themselves in their golden age.
To the labs, this act of self-reliance by the islanders was met warmly: the decision to move an islander to the Feral Enclosure was never an easy one- as they would ultimately lose valuable interaction research by the relocation. They welcomed the islander’s choice to take the matter into their own hands… however, if they had been able to look years into the future and realize what other changes it would usher in, they would have thought twice about their initially favorable outlook on the matter.
Eliminating the fear of the Feral
Enclosure was the first step in the islander’s realizing that they were
stronger united- and that there was a potential for a real future there, on
It was three years before the next
child was born- and another five after that until others started to truly
follow suit. It wasn’t long, however,
until the islanders made their second, grand stand against the labs- a much
more outright defiance than had been presented in their efforts with the
Order. Liz was old enough to remember
when the labs opened up a classroom complex in the community center- they had
provided it equipped with books they had carefully selected, and only those
sanctioned learning materials that they would have the second generation on
Moreau’s
The islanders, needless to say, had been incensed- offended to the core, and righteously indignant for the sake of their children, who they would teach what they pleased- and in the manner which they saw fit. There would be no compromise from them: the parents on the island, and also the community of islanders who, though they had not contributed any genetic material to the making of a child, considered themselves guardians of these children, nonetheless. Liz remembered how her parents and the others boycotted the school- parents kept their children home, and some of the predators leaving fresh corpses from their kills (and some not so fresh, as time went on) on the doorstep of the classroom in the morning. When they saw the two ‘teachers’ in the village, the children would hoot like monkeys and dance around them, spitting and laughing at the joyous game their parents had taught them. Moreau got the message soon enough in a wave of actions that suggested they would not budge in this respect… and before long, the so-called ‘teachers’ were gone- delegated to other duties or shipped back to where they’d come from- no one knew. It was a small victory for the islanders- but it set a very obvious message for the staff to understand that, where the children were concerned, there was to be no lab interference. They would be taught in a manner that they saw fit: which meant, for the most part, a large combination of classroom teaching which was overseen by Joshua, and, for some things, Emelyn- and then, a great deal of practical teachings which the students learned from their private tutors in the wild. They never knew why the staff let them win so ‘easily’- why there was not a greater opposition to their group defiance. Perhaps, they imagined, the labs saw that, on this, they were immovable. If there was to be a war on the sake of their children- it was war they would have supplied, and no lack of blood would have run down the walls of the lab on behalf of those small, innocent babes that looked so inhuman- and were so inhuman. The islanders were possessed of a power known- as family. It’s what they had become.
Before long, Fiona bolted away, alerted by some jungle noise in the distance that was suddenly interpreted as a threat. Liz watched her go- bounding off, a sign of an island she never knew, a community of fear that had, by and large, passed before she was born. She rose up a paw-like hand in a wave- only a pretense of the fantasies of sentience she’d held for the rabbit when she was young… and then, she too, was off.
Once again, her father was on her mind- how peculiar he had been, and Cody too- it was too coincidental for both to be so queer on the same day- so dismissive of a girl who was unused to being ignored. There must be something happening on the island, something the elders didn’t want her to know about. She could always sense when there was a buzz in the air- it was like a scent, something slick and almost visible with whatever the point was. That was it: there was always a point, something to the head of the issue that the adults always thought she was too young, too sheltered to understand.
As she ran, her mind drifted to these thoughts, and an expression of teenage self-righteousness seemed out of place on her animal features when she decided where she was headed. She ran off towards someone who, even if they wouldn’t be able or willing to tell her what was going on, at least would provide exciting. Liz stopped only for a moment as she left the jungle, resting on the edge of the village with her tongue lolling from her canine muzzle. In the distance, near one of the newer line of duplexes, she saw a familiar group of three huddled, conversing. She would have waved at the ‘bats’ of the island, surprised to see them out in the day, but they were too far in the distance, and too engrossed in their conversation to notice the wolfen genet girl. And so, Liz just added it to the wonderment of the day as she continued up a long, narrow footpath that wound up through a cache of dense shrubs… following the line of a multitude of painted stones. Before long, she came within view of a familiar clearing of dirt which had been reddened with blood.
* * *
Gnats peppered the air, particularly over those edges where the blood was fresh, and newer, rancid-smelling bones lay in piles that seemed to have an underlying design to them- a sort of morbid architecture. The smell was poignant- even vile, but it did not bother even Liz’s powerful nose. This was a smell she had experienced from youth- it was the rank of death, but at least… familiar death. And certainly not senseless death. Not in this clearing with its bizarre, almost grotesque personal touches and meticulously arranged painted bones and skulls- this was a temple to death. A shrine to it.
Two figures
waited behind the ultimate evidence to the reverence (if eerie reverence) that
this place possessed: the large stone altar. They were of the aviators- two
King Vultures, crouched with all their feathered and awkward glory- but none on
the island counted them in the ranks of The Parrots. They were not part of that group- not these
two, wide-eyed, multi-colored vultures that were so oddly decorated. Some of the Parrots- indeed- some of every
sort of islander still clung to some shred of human clothing, despite how
animalistic they were. For the most
part, it was the mammals that clung to their modesty- appalled at the thought
that their teats would be visible… but even some of the amphibious crew still
wrapped themselves with fabric- and a precious few of the Parrots wore bandanas
or wraps that would not impede their flying.
For these islanders, clothing was a symbol- a nostalgic trigger that
reminded them what they had once been.
To Kaveri and her daughter, their décor followed none of these
rules.
The belts of
small, painted animal skulls that hung from the two vulture’s waists were
religious in nature- as was the great large bit of knotted wood that Kaveri
used as a walking stick. She put it into
view as Liz came closer into the clearing, and Liz noticed offhand that the
feathers that hung from its uppermost knot had been changed since the last time
she’d seen it. The skull of an
adolescent boar that hung from the same knot, however, was the same it had
always been.
“Greetings, Kaveri.
Zachari.” Liz said as the two birds
shuffled into view on their pebbly-scaled grey legs.
“Elizabef,”
The words from Kaveri’s beak were stifled and chewed- a common problem among
the aviators. “You haf come for to ask
for de forgiveness from de God for killing wif your
own hands?”
“No, not
today. …I ate what the Keepers killed.”
It was
impossible for Kaveri to smile with her fully formed beak, but she clapped her
two great wings together and turned her head to the sun in her approval. Liz grinned- a gesture while, not easy for
her, was surely more possible than for Kaveri- at the sight of little Zachari,
who mimicked her mother’s movements exactly where she stood at her side.
“Good. Dat is good. De God has said to let de others kill what you
consume.” She looked back down at the daughter of Ambrose Maurlias, and shook
her head. “I wish I had a present for you.
But I gave de last of de skulls to Natsumi
when she came to see us.”
Liz nodded her
‘forgiveness’. “It’s alright. I
understand.” She had a shelf full of the odd, morbid decorations in her room
already- and although she was always on the lookout for a new, interesting
piece in her mini-collection, there were more important things on her mind.
“Kaveri?” She
started slowly, moving into the clearing and shuffling the red-stained dirt
around her foot idly. “Do you know what’s going on right now? I mean, on the
island. People are acting strange. I thought you might …know.”
She paused,
once, as the vulture-woman moved away from her, and back around her massive
stone altar. Liz waited as the woman
took position, then lifted her wings up to the sun as she spoke. Little Zachari at her side wordlessly did the
same thing.
“Change is
like deaf. And deaf… leaves room for more.”
Liz screwed up
the furred flesh atop her muzzle, lining it in confusion. “Change? What do you
mean? Is something changing?”
“Deaf is to be
accepted. De God frowns ‘pon dose who fear deaf. It is… irrational to fear what is
necessary. What cannot be escaped.”
“Not be
escaped.” It was little Zachari’s voice, chiming in at the end of her mother’s
sermon. Liz sighed. Kaveri was no good for legitimate answers
when she was like this- preachy. So she
stopped asking questions, and instead took a seat on the edge of the clearing
and half-listened as the sermon continued.
It was on the God’s realm- which was one of the sermons that bored her-
one she had heard many times before. So,
instead, she spent the diatribe with most of her attention on the little mimic
at the woman’s side.
Zachari was a
little thing, not even coming up to her mother’s great feathered waist. Come November, she would be five- but
November was a far cry away.
The little
king vulture babe was one of the island’s true mysteries- and not a few times
that Liz came to Kaveri’s clearing did she spend watching the little enigma,
wondering if the nature of her existence would ever be revealed. She knew as much as the other islanders knew-
that, some four years before, Kaveri had lain an egg which had almost
miraculously hatched into the little vulture chick- though everyone could swear
that Kaveri had never gone to the labs or asked to be impregnated. The little creature seemed to be exactly as
her mother- and so, many had questioned if the little one was a clone. However- there was the baffling nature of the
little vulture-girl’s name: Zachari. It
was pronounced exactly as Zachary- who had been dead for many years before.
There was no way he was the father- or was he?
There were grisly rumors that the labs had dug up the remains of the
dragon man and used his genetic material to create little Zachari… and there
were those that said that the name was just the case of Kaveri’s memorial to an
old, deceased friend. But whatever the
truth of her creation was, the result was the same: a little vulture baby that,
thanks to the lack of sexual dimorphism in her species, was indistinguishable
in her sex- but was, as her mother professed, a little girl.
She and her
mother were irreversibly bonded- it was said in the village often, and with a
smile, that the closest relationship on the island was between Kaveri and her
little one- they were never, ever apart- not in their scavenges, and not in
their weird religious practices in their clearing. Little Zachari did not attend the school that
the other children attended in the village- and, consistent with the islander’s
insistence that they would be in control of their children’s futures and
educations… no one pressed the issue. It
was enough that little Zachari was happy there with her mother in their strange
little dual world of blood and bones. In
fact, that had become a sort of unofficial motto on
“Elizabef,” Kaveri’s voice snapped her out of her daydream. “We are going scavenging. Do you come with us?”
Liz stood and stretched, giving her long canine legs a kick each to work the muscles. “No, thank you. I’m going to go to the schoolhouse. I’m picking up Jerrod for Emer.”
The vulture woman only nodded, and waved a great wide wing at her.
“Feast well.”
“Feast well.” Little Zachari chimed after her mother. Liz nodded somewhat mildly, but smiled as she turned to leave.
“Thanks. You too. See you later!” She wagged her tail at them as her final goodbye, and then loped at a medium pace back down the winding path towards the village.
* * *
The classroom complex had, for the most part, remained the same since the day Moreau’s hired teachers were given the boot. The structure itself had not been under question- merely the intentions behind the institution. It was only a week after the interlopers had left that the parents examined the complex and found it an ideal place to teach their children, and proceeded to move their own ‘establishment’ in.
The complex was located within the new annex of the community center, down the long hallway from the room that had once been the cafeteria. It was technically two rooms built together to create a very spacious area that was filled with accommodations for the children and their parents. For one, the main room was incredibly wide, and the ceilings were tall (fortunately for Joshua), and the seats were varied in nature- from the more traditional chairs to the wells of water that rose up in ribbed pools that were connected to the access aqueducts that veined the island. The other room was an above-ground tank that fed into one of the access ducts. One of its walls was sheer glass- and that was the one that was connected to the major room. The glass was specifically designed so that the students could hear what went on in the other room, and they had special pressure pads built into the walls that they could use to transmit questions and answers to the teacher’s consol on the other side. It was mostly for the student’s comfort- as there were very few islanders- and no students- that could not at least partially breathe air. For the most part, the student that had water animal in his genetic makeup stayed in the groundwells, half in and half out of the water- only moving to the tank room for a break, or to go to recess. There had been a discussion a few years back as to whether to drain the tank, or to dissemble it and have something else bought in that spot, but eventually the islanders realized that even if there were no children now who couldn’t breathe air… they didn’t put it beneath Moreau that it would one day be a possibility. It was a depressing thought- and the tank remained.
When Liz walked into the room- she saw the students in small groups, talking, or looking through animal anatomy books. They were all self-occupied, and it surprised Liz to see that class seemed to already be over. She wasn’t lying to Kaveri that Emerwyn had asked her to pick up Jerrod from school that day- but she hadn’t been entirely truthful in saying she had to leave straightaway to make it in time. Class wasn’t out until at least another half hour. For a while, she wondered if the clock outside the community center had been wrong. But as she looked around at the idle children, she realized that if it was indeed the end of the school day, she would be surrounded in doting parents. As it were, the only non-students she could see were Joshua, standing up against the far wall, his long giraffe neck bent down as far as he could manage while he talked to Gaius. Their expressions were hidden from the girl’s view- the horse-man by his massive black wings, and Joshua’s because his head was turned askew, as if whispering more to the wall than the parent of one of his students.
Liz strained her great large ears to hear what was being said- but the professor turned all-age tutor had learned from years of teaching students with sublime hearing that an incredibly soft voice was needed when speaking to another adult. His breathy whisper, combined with the raucous room, made it impossible for her to discern a word. She moved closer to them, smiling the bright wide canine smile that she knew the adults couldn’t resist.
“Hello, Josh!” She said, coming closer to the pair, and tipping her neck back automatically to speak to the teacher. “Why aren’t you teaching?”
The two
turned as soon as they heard the young Maurlias’ voice. At the same time, they
fell silent- and Gaius crossed his arms before his great, muscular chest. “
Her smile faltered at the tone in the man’s voice. “I’m just coming to pick up Jerrod. I thought I’d watch you teach for a while before the end, though. …You know I love to watch you teach.” She beamed her charming, wolfen smile once more- but the adults seemed unmoved.
“Well, classes are over for today. And I don’t think you need to wait for Jerrod. …Ian and Emerwyn are coming to pick him up.”
She furrowed her brow- it was not so much a human gesture as the irritated wolf in her. “How do you know?”
“Because I do.” The giraffe man unbent his neck, stretching up almost unbelievably high once again, and answered her from that lofty position. Liz understood the message behind it- that they would answer only what they deemed necessary for her to know. All remnants of her charm were gone, then, as she crossed her paws before her and tipped her head down. The air about her was one of a distinctive pout.
“Josh, that’s just not fair. I’m not asking anything rude- I just want to know what’s going on.” She flitted a hopeful eye to Gaius where he stood, his expression unchanged. He was a reasonable sort, and a flicker of her charm returned as she plied him for an answer. “Come on, I’m just curious why everyone is acting so weird.”
But the two were as Cody and Kaveri- immovable and not ready to help the girl with her mystery.
“Be patient, Liz.”
“I am patient.” The pouting tone spoke to the opposite.
“Listen- why don’t you wait for your father? He’ll be along soon, and then you can talk to him.”
“My father?” The surprise was clear in her voice, as well as the remnants of her irritation. “Why is he coming?”
But that was the end of their conversation. Josh pointed along the wall to the long, padded bench that waited there, then turned back and put one of his hoofed hands to Gaius’ shoulder and led him out into the hall to talk. Liz watched them go, deep pout lines marring her uniquely patterned fur, then huffed to the bench and sat, slumped against the wall. Her tail was squashed beneath her, but she ignored the discomfort- scooting up to prevent sitting on it would ruin her perfect sulking posture. It was a sacrifice the one-time teenage martyr would make as she sat, idly watching the other children of the island as she realized how little she understood being told no.
While Elizabeth Maurlias sulked, the other children went about their business- unconcerned that class had been summarily cut short. The only one in the room that even seemed to notice that Liz was among them was the oldest besides her, Abby. The fourteen year old gave almost nervous looks at Liz, realizing that her usually unchallenged age superiority might be challenged if Liz started interacting with them. But, after she realized that the wolf-genet girl was busy in her mope, the girl calmed considerably, and rolled her wheeltank over to where the younger children played, acting once again like a second mother to them all.
Abby was
the second child to be born after
From the
beginning, it was obvious that Abby’s combination was not as versatile as
Her anatomy, for a whole- was conducive to living- but not thriving. She had a mostly iguana-like structure as far as her face, hands, and tail- but the rest of her was shark-like in nature, and she possessed neither back legs nor most of the internal organs that an iguana would need to survive. Moreau and his lackeys were kind, however, in ensuring that Abby had both gills and lungs- she would not be forced to choose between her dual existences. Like most of the children, her human DNA was negligible- making up only a tiny portion of her foundation. It was in her innately human intelligence- in her reason, her human voice box and tongue, and in the connection she had to her much more human parents… that proved that she was also human.
Early life for Abby had not been easy- several months out of her early life had been spent in the labs while the doctors tried to discover why she was always falling ill. When she was out of the water long enough, her skin would start to dry up and flake off, and she would get terrible headaches that would cause the girl to scream viciously for hours on end. However, when kept constantly moist, the girl would go into a sort of shock, freezing up and shuddering until her entire, tiny body quaked. There didn’t seem to be a happy medium where the girl could survive- and it discouraged the islanders who had been excited to have children of their own almost as much as it terrified her poor, hapless parents who could do nothing but watch as the labs sent her home after an illness… only to watch her become sick again the next day.
In the end, it was Amaya who discovered what the labs and all their doctors could not. Everyone had been working under the assumption that the different parts of Abby were completely incompatible- and that she either had to exist as one or the other- either on land or in water, because obviously overexposure to either would damn her. In reality, however- it was not the water that injured the girl… but the temperature of it. Nearly a third of her was made up of iguana DNA- which, Amaya realized, wouldn’t be able to live in colder temperatures regardless- and if it was Abby’s nature to require water, as well, to sustain the shark in her- then it could at least be heated water, to keep the iguana going. She contacted the labs, and they had a prototype built up for her- a heated tank that took the place of Abby’s room in their family-sized duplex. It had worked marvelously, and the girl’s illnesses fell to the wayside as her parents found that ‘happy medium’.
In the year since, Abby had also acquired her own version of the wheeltanks that Awen had designed for her own use about the island years before. For most of the marine islanders, the wheeltanks- which were essentially a long, vertical rectangle of a tank with a shelf-seat provided and given mobility by a set of wheels and a motorized control on the side- were for convenience only. Although the aqueduct system had provided many areas of the island with groundwells for the marine life to use to participate in daily island life, there were still areas of the island which were not available by access ducts. The wheeltanks had provided a comfortable way to get around the island without maxing out their time on land- or becoming exceedingly, unnecessarily uncomfortable.
Abby’s wheeltank was the only one which had been deemed a necessity- and it was also the only one that came with its own heating system to keep the water a comfortable level for the girl. Luckily for her, she did not possess the shark’s need to constantly move- the water vine seemed to have helped with the suppression of that desire- for otherwise she would have been truly trapped in her room for the duration of her life. She couldn’t even travel in the duct system, or in the freshwater inlet. Ten minutes in that water and she would become practically catatonic.
Abby, for all the restrictions that had been imposed upon her life- was a cheerful, upbeat sort that was the picture of a Pollyanna- her optimism and good nature never seemed to be forced, or false. In reality, she had been born into a world that desperately wanted her- to parents that loved her to her very mutated core- and to mini-society where there was no ‘normal’. Abby would never know the stigma of being different, of being ‘wrong’- not in this place where every soul was as different as they could possibly be. Even if she was handicapped- the closest the island had to handicapped, anymore- she was still blessed with free range of movement- if only by her wheeltank on land… and with complete freedom in the privacy of her bedroom. Perhaps, though, by the look of happiness that seemed to permanently sit on that odd little grey iguana-like face… it was enough.
Though Abby was more than wanted, things had not been as the islanders expected after her birth. For one, Ambrose and Angelina were excited at the dedicated young couple’s expected girl- now, they thought, Liz would have a playmate that she could connect to and spend time with someone her own age. The other islanders, as well, waited for the girl as a sign that new times had come, and they would be able to start their own families soon enough.
As it was, however, the sickly girl who was soon delegated to more-or-less handicapped status was not readily available to be the constant playmate of the then four-year-old fireball that was Elizabeth Maurlias. It was not to be that the little iguana-shark girl whose mother followed close behind her at all times, would be the closest friend of the little wolf girl who was already learning how to dive from the cliffs into the perilous water below. (Much to the chagrin of her parents, who, even at that age, realized that the girl was unlikely to see the island as anything other than her vast playground.) Also, the girl’s unwieldy combination seemed to put a sort of… kibosh on the expectant hopes of the other couples on the island. As much as they wanted a child, there was something sad, almost painful about watching the little girl who was less than a third of any of the animals who made up her DNA wheel through the village with a happy, if not bizarre expression on her slick iguana-like face. For a long time there were no more children- and so, more attention than could be believed was rained down on the two girls. Liz- who was still the first, and the feisty little apple of their eyes, was constantly showered with love, attention, and presents.
Little Abby, on the other hand- while equally beloved- did not run from door to door seeking attention as did the little Maurlias girl. When the islanders did see her, she was slowly whirring her mechanical wheeltank through the middle of the village, an almost languid smile on her face from the warmth she was constantly surrounded by. She always seemed… frail, and even a little slow, thanks to the constant warm temperature she existed in which slowed her reactions considerably. It didn’t help that her mother followed along- looking almost more like a hawk than the iguana woman that she was, adding to the impression that the girl needed constant help.
In the years to come, some would
say that it was this aspect of Amaya’s personality: her almost dogged need to
remain at her daughter’s side and protect her above all other things, which
drew her priority away from her husband, and caused them to drift apart. Others would whisper that
The night that Antony discovered that she was pregnant was the same night that Alec moved out of the home he had shared with his wife and daughter for four years. There was no rumor behind that- it was widely known that it Amaya insisted he leave. Alec, as surprised as she about the baby- if not the affair- moved out in a sort of shocked stupor that left the entire village wracked with scandal for months.
It seems that the labs were not only
frustrated by the doldrums in the baby department- but also intrigued by the
thought of creating a consequence, as it were, for two islanders who were having
an affair. Perhaps, though, it was not
so much of a consequence but a sublime amusement for Moreau- to know that these
two, who might have gone on about their affair for years without any visible
sign, were now saddled with an almost soap opera-esque
response to their actions. Moreau was no
moralizer. He was, however, an
inciter. The ethics of what Alec and
In the beginning,
Little
Erica was one of them. The now-nine year old sat near her sister, showing Abby the book that she’d been looking through, and pointing at a picture with a smile. The older girl- who still had her father’s last name, smiled, and reached out with an iguana-like hand to touch her half-sister on the shoulder. She was very protective of the little girl who was half her mother, and half the man she now called Pop- an affectionate name that she preferred to ‘Gaius’ or ‘stepdad’. Abby was protective of all the children. It was in her nature.
The nature of Erica’s combination made her far more able than her sister- at least as far as movement went. After Amaya had remarried, it was natural to the sweet, loving parents that they would try to have another child. Erica was born shortly after their new union- and she was a strange little thing, if not cute. She, too, had her mother’s iguana-like face, though her nose was longer, and her teeth were undeniably that of a horse. Her body was iguana-like as well, and the labs had been kind to her by giving her the more dexterous fingers of her mother- only her back legs were tipped in the unforgiving, immovable hooves. Her tail was that of her father- long, black, and beautiful to behold- and two tiny black wings sprouted from between her shoulder blades. Only time would tell if they would grow- or become useful at all. In the meantime, however, the girl was nearly as bubbly as her sister- and certainly the newest joy in their parent’s lives.
Omar was only a month younger than Erica- and, true to their close age, the two were fast friends. Often, the rowdy little boy would convince the horse-man’s offspring to play tag with him- the results of which would be the entire village up in the middle of the night searching for the two who would stay out in the jungle until all hours playing. At the time that Liz was still waiting for her father, however, Omar wasn’t near his best friend. The boy could only be found in the tankroom, flitting lazily in circles and kicking off from the walls with his only slightly webbed- mostly human feet.
If there was to be an ‘outcast’ of the bunch- which, indeed there wasn’t- it would be Omar, based strictly on how different his appearance was from his classmates. Like them, he held within his DNA the even combination of his mother and father’s species- and those were represented in how he looked. But Omar… was almost ¾ human. What small bits that didn’t resemble a manta ray- or allow him to swim like his mother- were the obvious gifts of his father’s genetic makeup. And Bill Markerson was nothing… if not completely human.
There was one thing to be said about the
When Awen’s relationship with the lab guard came into light, there were more than a few islanders who opposed it. Mostly they were concerned for Awen’s safety, but there were the silent few who simply felt betrayed by the girl’s connection with a member of ‘them’- for, in the years together, the islanders had shared a sense of solidarity. ‘Us’ and ‘them’ was never more clearly defined than a few years before- when they had tried and failed to pass a new, separate Order that would prevent them from interacting with the staff. The suggestion was mostly a sentimental one- brought up by the severe emotions after Billy’s ‘accident’. No one on the island believed that the man had truly overdosed and then drowned- his ‘accident’ was no more than Moreau’s jealousy and anger. Although the islanders knew where the blame lay, they did not discount the fact that, were Billy to have not had personal contact with the staff- he would still be with them- and not the second out of the three graves that sat in the graveyard just outside the village.
The proposed Order rode the rails of good intentions- but- like any solution to an issue that is more emotional than reasonable- it didn’t make it to the islander’s near-sacred, canon self-guidelines. So although Awen had done nothing wrong by falling in love with the brusque guard, there was still a seething undercurrent of worry and resentment during the start of their relationship.
The islanders still weren’t 100% about Awen and Markerson- but a part of that continued prejudice was based on the fact that Markerson still worked at the labs. At least Awen and Omar had not been moved from the village- they remained in their family duplex, only living together as a complete family on the weekends when Markerson was free of his duties. They were, for the most part- a solemn pair- they didn’t often interact with the other islanders. Enough time had passed that they would have likely been accepted, had they opened up to those around them- been more engaged in the village life and the society that they had built around Moreau’s oppression- but at some point in her life on the island, long before she met Markerson, she had withdrawn. Perhaps it was the debacle with Dr. Duvert- or how she had informed the labs of Fiona’s near escape attempt all those years ago. Whatever it was, something had triggered a lonely gene in Awen, and she had turned in on herself- avoiding the rest of the islanders with an almost obsessive sadness that no one seemed to be able to breach. Becoming close with Markerson and starting their family was the biggest step she had taken towards happiness in a long time- and, gradually, the others were beginning to understand. And luckily, Omar never felt the stigma that his parents did for their relationship. Despite his mostly human appearance- he was still obviously one of them- he belonged, and was considered, as were all the kids- all of their children.
Jerrod- the little seven year old that Liz had been asked by his mother to pick up from school that day- was standing by the tankroom, tapping absently on the glass with a front hoof. The deer-boy was tall for his age- nearly as tall as Omar and Erica, and as beautiful and graceful appearing as his two deer parents. He was a quiet child, for the most part- a very sage little seven year old that only spoke when asked a direct question. He preferred being outside to in the classroom- which was why he stood, daydreaming about the next survival lesson that his class would get to take with his parents- who taught the ‘prey’ animals how to hide in the brush successfully when one of the predators lost control. It was a serious class- but, considering it was an outdoors adventure with his friends that he also got to spend with his parents- it was also his favorite. His was one family that spent little time in their assigned family duplex home. The spacious, much less sterile family duplexes had all been built after the first wave of ‘families’ emerged on the village scene- built in shorter rows to the south of the normal duplex lines- and, to most, they were a welcome change. But to Ian, there was little for them in a world where hoofs were not accommodated for- and he moved his family into the wild. Occasionally they would visit their more official ‘home’- particularly when violent weather terrorized the island- but, more often than not, Jerrod and his parents could only be found frolicking through the woods in a very deer-like fashion.
The last little one in the room was the youngest, save for Zachari, who was rarely counted amongst the children. Little Edward was five, and enjoyed the privileges of being the ‘baby’ as all the older girls fawned over him like second mothers, bringing him treats and reading him stories. He was, even then, sitting near Erica and holding up a book, asking her to read it to him with a cute smile on his tiny muzzle.
Edward- or Eddy, as he was primarily called, had been a long time in coming. Although his father had been actively trying to convince his mother to marry him for years, Emelyn had never bowed in her resolve to remain- if not single- then at least unburdened by the word ‘marriage’. She and Lucas had been together for many years, a relationship that the rest of the islanders, by and large, saw as undeniably sweet- if puzzling. Not only had the hedgehog woman refused to marry the kind, scruffy red dhole man- but she had actively opposed the idea of having her own child and bringing another life into the control of Dr. Moreau and his tyranny. Though Lucas had never swayed her on her dislike of marriage, eventually, the changing atmosphere on the island and the growing ache that Emelyn felt when she taught the other youngsters caused her to cave on one point- and Eddy was born, a late but welcome addition to the new generation. Afterwards, Emelyn would often tell people that she had no regrets- the little red, scruffy furred boy with his dhole paws, white, soft belly, his short, dhole-like nose, hedgehog ears, and red, soft spines all along his head and down his back- was the light of her life.
There was one child- besides Zachari- who was not present
in the schoolroom that day.
Just weeks after the sweet, energetic child’s second
birthday, he had escaped from his mother’s care while they walked through the
jungle and ran off- a thing he did frequently, for it was difficult to contain
the mostly squirrel-boy’s lively spirit.
He hadn’t even been gone for ten minutes that the alarms went off- a blaring siren over the loudspeakers that told the islanders in a stern, resolute voice that they were to return to their duplexes- and that anyone who went to the Feral Enclosure fence- would be zapped out immediately.
The alarm caused the heckles to rise up on
The repercussions of that day were grim. The techs that had been monitoring the cameras- a mostly redundant job since the islanders embraced the Order- were punished severely for what had happened. Emotions ran high, and there were none to step forward to stand up for them- saying what was indeed the truth… that even if their reaction times had been a few seconds better before buzzing out Jamal, it still wouldn’t have been enough. It was also said that the techs at the monitors should have buzzed out Pierre as he crawled over the Enclosure Fence- but, even then, the great likelihood was that the little squirrel boy would have still fallen over, and the white tiger man who stealthily waited in the brush would have ensured that the results were the same. A third plot finished out the graveyard- a tiny little headstone marking the place where an assemblage of bleary-eyed islanders cried as Antony commended the small coffin into the ground- closed, as it had been the entire, emotional ceremony. No need to break everyone’s heart even more- to see that crumpled little body, its brittle, beautiful little baby bones …irrevocably broken. Even so, there was not a whole heart to be had among the crowd when Alec, in a low, scratchy voice, sang “Hush Ye, My Bairnie”, his voice breaking almost continually as emotion racked him. It would be a long time in coming for the island to recuperate from that day. To some… it would never be the same.
Jamal was absolved of his punishment- for although there were those at the labs who were anxious to add another plot to the yard of the dead, Antony, of all people, stood up for the tiger-man, opposing the subject of his death. Enough had died, she had said, coming to the gates herself to speak to Moreau, consequently saving a man she had once been close to. Jamal would continue to live on in the Feral Enclosure- and the islanders were left in awe over the strength of character shown by the grieving mother. More than one islander wondered to themselves whether they would have been able to do the same. Few could honestly answer that they would.
Perhaps the only good thing to come out of the tragedy
was that the great rift between Alec and Amaya bridged itself: they would never
be the happy couple they had once been, persevering through their daughter’s
disability- Amaya was happily remarried, and their son’s death had brought Alec
and
In the years after the tragedy, life gradually returned
to normal, though the little boy was never too far from their thoughts. Especially on rainy, cold nights- everyone
knew that it was their joint responsibility to keep
It was not surprising then, that
“Hey there, kiddo.” She had her face turned to the door even before he appeared there.
Ambrose Maurlias took another step into the room- giving the place a sort of once-over before turning his attention to his daughter. The massive wolfman cut an impressive figure with his strong, furry wolfen form, and sharp, visible teeth that could have been the source of many a child’s nightmares. But his great wide smile wasn’t intended for anything other than as an expression of his mirth. Despite being more wolf than human, Ambrose was more of a teddy bear than anything else- sweet, accommodating, and the very beloved father of a girl who, although seventeen years of age, still saw the great large wolf as one very particular thing.
“Daddy!” She jumped up from the bench and wrapped her arms around his barrel-sized canine chest as well as she could manage and buried her face in his warm fur. Before long, she felt his arms around her, as well- and heard his heart beating through his massive chest. Liz was always excited to see her father- for the most part, growing up with such privilege, and being the darling of the adults, she had skipped past the need for typical teenage rebellion. Ambrose and Angelina were possessed of a child that, though spoiled, was for the most part a sheer joy.
She only let herself be eased out of the hug after a few choice moments. Liz was genuinely glad to see him… but it also didn’t hurt that she wanted something from him. Ambrose plied his daughter off to arm’s length with a smile that said he recognized her ploy.
“Hello sweetheart. What are you up to?”
“Waiting for you.” She blinked, and with those wide eyes framed in a forest of black eyelashes, the gesture almost made her look innocent. The wolfman just shook his head.
“Hm. …Did Joshua and Anatoli leave yet?”
“I didn’t see Anatoli. Josh was just talking to Gaius. Why, what did you want to see them about? Is something going on?” The eagerness in her voice was obvious.
“Hmm.” It was another noncommittal sound- and, coupled with the way he arched his eyebrow and gave her a questioning look, Liz cursed herself. She’d showed her hand too soon. “But they have left?”
She nodded. “They were out in the hall before. …I didn’t hear what they were saying.” She didn’t seem to mind that her hints were getting thicker. Her father wasn’t budging.
“Listen, Liz- you should get home.”
“…But…”
“No. Your mother is waiting for you. I’ll be along after a while.”
Her eyes narrowed and her ears flattened against her head- a sure sign that ‘the pout’ was returning. “People have been weird all day. Everyone is avoiding me, and telling me to go away. Whatever’s going on, I’m seventeen, and I’m old enough to understand!”
“I’ll not brook for argument, young lady. Now go. If something is going on, it’s for the adults to deal with.”
The obvious boiling resentment that the girl had for being left out of the ‘adult’ ranks didn’t have a chance to bubble over, however. For right as Liz opened her muzzle to insist that she was an adult, a very familiar voice crackled through the intercoms. A humming echo from outside told the two keen-eared part-wolves that the loudspeakers were blaring the same message: the voice was reaching every part of the island.
“Islanders. This is Dr. Lockheart-Moreau.” The introduction was needless: that weary, yet
insistent voice was known to all. “You
are to report to the cafeteria immediately.
…It is in all of your best interests to do so.”
A short burst of radio crackle was the last thing the islanders would hear before the intercoms clicked off. For several seconds, the island was bathed in an eerie silence. Possibility and fear hung palpably in the air- they could almost be tasted. Even the birds perched in the underbelly of the canopy were still, as if unwilling to break the tension with a single wing beat.
Elizabeth Maurlias looked to her father- a triumphant look on her overly canid face. She had returned to her natural state of happiness at the thought of finally getting the opportunity to understand what was going on. The announcement, her eyes seemed to urge her father to realize, had said ‘all’ the islanders- it had not excluded those ‘seventeen year olds’ that he apparently thought too young to understand.
But if she was looking for that realization in her father’s eyes- she would be disappointed- for the older Maurlias seemed to see past his daughter- an inexplicable expression on his face that looked suddenly more human than he’d seemed in many years. It puzzled Liz, and put a minute frown on her face before her father wrapped a gentle, if insistent paw around his daughter’s shoulder, and led her, wordlessly, out of the classroom and down the long hallway to the cafeteria.
* * *
The community center cafeteria seemed immense to the dozens of islanders that quickly congregated within its walls and looked around at the incredibly high, vaulted ceiling and the spacious accommodations, wondering if it had been increased since the last time they’d seen it. Or perhaps, they silently mused as they huddled in unconsciously selective- groups, it had just been too long since any of them had seen the interior of the room to accurately judge its dimensions. There had been no need for a public cafeteria- not for years, and, eventually, the labs had gotten the hint and closed the facility- disposing of the long, benched tables and dropping ‘lunch lady’ from Delia’s many duties- until there were no signs remaining that the large room had once catered to so many varied culinary needs. Instead, it had become exactly what it was: one of the few assembly areas that could contain the entire island population.
They filtered in quickly, at first- the parents who had not gotten far with their children after picking them up from school, and Ambrose with Liz were among the first, grouping together in a parental clump near the head of the room. Joshua and Gaius were close behind- not having gone far in wherever they had disappeared to with their hushed discussion. After not too long, a multitude of other islanders made their way through the doors and took up tentative positions around the room, eyeing those around them in a sort of wordless conversation. Not surprisingly, many came in recognizable groups- ‘the bats’ filtered in and took up residence in the back, as if to put as many islanders between them and the lights as possible- ‘The Parrots’ were not long in coming through the door, their talons clattering on the linoleum and turning all heads towards their perpetually stern faces. Behind them, Bobby, leading her group of Planters behind her- Colche gracefully sweeping in- naked as the day and quite unperturbed by that fact- Tim and Avery, their paws clasped together despite the dirt that clung to their claws- they had come straight from the fields, with Chana and Father Stewart close behind, along with several other of the Planters. Not surprisingly, at their heels, the Keepers came in, imposing- and- thankfully not covered in their work, as were their close compatriots the Planters. Despite their obvious differences, there was an underlying similarity in their work- and deep friendships tied the two professions together- Rex and Kikue and Brian came in and joined the Planters- standing over near the wall and almost completely silent, except for a few clandestine whispers.
It was a good while before Kaveri and Zachari came shuffling into the auditorium-sized space- they nodded at many and made friendly gestures to all, but stood alone, away from The Parrots’ tight cluster. Those who did not come in groups filtered in between- Angelina came, and silently joined her husband and daughter, clasping one of both of their hands and standing between them like a rock. Right before her came an onslaught of couples- Nita and Lauren, Vasile and Marlow, and other, younger islanders who had been added to Moreau’s grisly zoo only some years before. The aquatic islanders didn’t seem to have trouble finding the particular access duct that led to the cafeteria’s long-unused groundwell- the long ribbed pool which stretched along the southern wall was filled with the aquatic group, many with their still at least somewhat human arms looped over the rib. The land-islanders thoughtfully carved a path in where they stood so that their low-level friends could see the front of the room as well- where a makeshift stage had been erected which was as of yet… empty.
The reaction on the islanders faces were mostly the same- though the features on which the anxious, tense emotions were displayed varied greatly. The sense of barely-bated curiosity- and also fear- danced between them until the feelings created almost a second set of rafters- weighing above them all and nearly holding up the weight of the world with the significance that the rumors they had heard buzzing about the island may just be true.
If the islanders did not share a common apprehension before- by the time the final group of them slithered and crawled their way into the cafeteria, they were definitely on the same page.
They were called- not quite so affectionately as the aviator’s clandestine nickname- “The Creepy Crawlers”. It was not a term intended to offend- but a sweeter, more convivial name for the small but impossible to ignore group could not possibly be found. Not when every glance at their miniature troupe incited a deep, instinctual feeling of fear or avoidance. They were the closest to ‘outsiders’ that the island population possessed- and if was only for the sake of Thom and Cassidy- that they were not the severe outcasts they might have been.
The two snakes- the cobra and the brightly-winged python- were at the head of the group- slithering next to each other with their heads, though well off the ground- not nearly as high as they could have held them. A silence filled the room and almost- a hypnotic fear- as they snaked their way into the door and directly into a corner- followed by their dark collection of disciples, who remained pressed together in a near-vile throng.
A browned flea-man whose grotesquely large plates were speckled with wire-thick hairs lumbered against the broadside of a massive centipede whose scuttling legs made a sickening shuffling noise against the linoleum. Destiny, the scorpion-taur woman whose tail-tip always seemed to glisten with the promise of death, kept a low profile as well, ducking down as well as she could behind her closest friend- one of the more recent additions to their group- a man who had once owned a lumberyard in northern Minnesota, but now struggled under the cruel burden of his wasp-like form. The last member of their attention-grabbing group was, to some, the most fearsome: a behemoth of a tarantula- furred and imposing in its nonmorphic, fanged presence. More than one islander shuddered- even though the group went directly from the door to one of the far, back corners- they knew better than to pass by those who, despite the visceral reactions of disgust- they still considered their friends.
Ambrose, with the others, suppressed the shudder that crept up his spine. There was little for a wolf to fear from a collection of snakes and violent insects- but a part of him was still quite human- and there was little about the Creepy Crawlers to incite anything but a thinly veiled disgust in those who saw them. It was a true case of Moreau’s most poignant cruelty- that he would saddle human beings with creatures so irreconcilable to their fellow islanders- that the sheer sight of them could invoke fear- disgust... panic… or even hatred. It had started off slowly- Cassidy transformed into the massive snake within a year of coming to the island- becoming the first to discover the particular sort of ostracism that could be so unwittingly imposed by those she considered friends. Then Thom- who was only somewhat luckier in that he retained a shadow of his human face- and the precious commodity of human arms and fingers which, though they had mostly webbed over, were still invaluable to their faction of mostly opposably-impaired. The two commiserated over their lot, lamenting over the very real truth that the people they’d become close to on the island were visibly uncomfortable in their presence: there were few animals that could bear the company of snakes- especially such large incarnations of them that screamed to their innate instincts an endless, looping soundtrack of threats. Thom and Cass, locked in this mutual brand of sadness and regretful ostracism, were friends- and no more- for a long while. Hour upon hour they spent, leaving distinct slithering paths along the beach that would later be washed away by the ebb of the tides, talking in their adjunctive hiss-like speech of a type of regret and loneliness that they couldn’t bear to express to anyone else. It took years- and the realization of a purpose, when F and the other ‘undesirables’ found themselves in the same lonely lurch- before the two snakes would find themselves in a condition beyond mere friendship.
Though they had been ‘together’ in a more official capacity for several years- the two snakes had no children between them. Or, at least, they had never petitioned the lab for the sake of having them- but, in a way, many of those who had rallied under their care had become their adoptive ‘children’. Not F, however, who traveled with the Crawlers more for the sake of their company and lack of judgment than to fill the void of family that the others pined for. They lived together in the wild- deep in the jungle and in the caves which peppered the base of the mountain- coming together during the early mornings to slither together in their grisly pack, spending most of their days in scavenging activities- contributing to the islander’s makeshift society in the only way that kept them out of sight of the others. It was… a courtesy. In the time since those initial, shaky years of doubt and destruction- the islanders had found their niches- that particular ‘brand’ within their society that could sustain them. The Crawlers- The Parrots, the Keepers and the Planters, the Families- even the Ferals… they each filled a different level of their heterogeneous society.
Before the Crawlers had the chance to settle into their self-imposed corner banishment, three more figures came into the room from a single door at the front of the room. A dead silence gripped the assembly, and all eyes were upon Aubrey as she bridged the distance from the door to the makeshift stage. Two guards followed her- tall, burly fellows as brusque as Markerson, but younger. The doctor made her way to the stage with her eyes to the front- as if unaware of the multitude of faces turned to hers- but the guards and their anxious, almost jerky movements- were obviously very aware of the mass of islanders. As Aubrey took her singular position in the middle of the platform, the guards stayed on its either side- pressing forward slightly as if to push the throng of islanders further away from the Dr. Their nerves only added to the tension in the room- but, even still, the islanders disregarded them.
Aubrey Lockheart-Moreau, though taller than the average woman, seemed small- dwarfed by something- perhaps the gravity in her grey eyes. The woman was not young- white streaks already coursed through her once a rich chestnut brown waves, and the distinctive lines of life and age creased her eyes into a pair of gentle folds on either end. The glasses she had worn from youth, perched atop an almost impish, freckle-spotted nose, had gained thickness with years of endless nights of poring over lab reports. More than the accoutrements of age, the greatest change in this woman- was a sad defeat- and a finality, which seemed to course through her veins and emanate from her in a plaintive, yet all too accepting aura.
After several moments of silence, she spoke. She did not raise her voice any higher than the force of her normal volume: it was unnecessary. The very whisper of their collective breaths was the only other sound to be heard.
“Dr. Nicholas Moreau… is dead.”
And then, even the sound of their breathing was silenced.
“He died in his sleep early this morning, after a brief, but crippling illness.”
It was like a dream- some foggy, nebulous thing that was happening. Those words- and the realizations that came with them, were narcotic. No one’s mind was whole; no perceptions were left free of that fuzzed taint with swirling colors that illuminated every speck upon the air. Moreau was dead. Moreau was dead. It was the half-drunk undertone that swept, unspoken through the islanders. The rumors that had swept the island that morning were true- Moreau… was dead.
“I’ll say no more about him- and I’ll accept no harsh
words on the subject.” Her voice, before, had been even, almost necrotic with
its emotion-tinged monotone. But, now they came quicker, harsher- as if to
silence any who would speak with a joy about her husband’s death. Her eyes were not so sad and accepting, then-
a flash of righteousness gave her, for a moment- a flicker of what she had once
been, before the trials of her years on the
“No matter what he did- he was still a great man, and I love him.” Her choice of the present tense was evident- even defiant.
Nearly every islander had dreamed of the day that they would hear those words: to know that they were free of a tyranny which had forever changed and mutated their lives. Certainly, all had daydreamed about the day that they might be free- to return home, to look around and not see the cold, hard duplexes and the dark, pressing jungle, but the families that had been left behind so many years ago. Tearful reunions, trying to make up for precious time that had lost- there were very few that did not wake from these imaginings in the night. But none of their years of hoping and wishing- had prepared them for this day. Their reactions were many- and as varied as the whirlwind of emotions that raged in each of them.
One woman had begun to cry. She leaned over onto her wife and sobbed openly. Although the red panda woman was so much smaller than her lanky, yellow mongoose mate, she wrapped her arms about Lauren and held her tight. Her face, as well, was a picture of sorrow- though hers lie in the knowledge that the only father figure the love of her life had ever known… was dead. Nita had never felt the same way about her adopted ‘father-in-law’- but although she had never taken to heart Lauren’s deep devotion to the man, she could understand how his wealth, power, and generosity had struck a chord in the woman who had once been a lonely, scared girl- vicious with her need and hungry for more than simply the nourishment that her body craved. Nita knew, as she cradled the woman who had suddenly become as a child lost- that Moreau’s death did not mean freedom for all.
There were some, like Bobby, Lily, and a few others- who seemed stunned, their faces almost a sheer picture of the complete lack of expression. Others had paw-like hands pressed to their mouths- and some, whose transformations had left them with their human tear-ducts, cried silent tears that collected in dewy messes that clung to the fur on their cheeks. Likely- they were tears of happiness- or sheer confusion- but they came unaccompanied by sound. Only Lauren’s wracking sobs echoed out over their heads.
Some were still- others, like Chana and Father Stewart, had clasped hands and begun to prey to their particular Gods. Whether it was thanks for their deliverance, or a plea to the unknown, no one would know. Silence was the underpinning of their varied reactions- even Thom and Cass, far in the back, had silently wound themselves into a near single coil- the bulbs of their snake-like heads touched together, and the rest of their bodies intertwined, as if for warmth.
Ambrose had not moved from where he stood- balancing easily on his hind legs next to the two members of his family who did the same. At some point during Aubrey’s words, Angelina had loosed their hands from hers, and went around behind Liz to wrap her genet-marked arms around her daughter’s neck. She was still taller than the girl, and held her close- kissing Liz’s head and smoothing the hair away from her eyes in gentle, almost obsessive gestures of love. Ambrose looked at the pair during the ominous silence- Liz was staring straight ahead, her face and eyes round with wonder, but not much else. Her emotions were unreadable- but by the pained look on his wife’s face- Ambrose knew that more had to be said. He stepped forward.
The sudden movement alerted the guard closest to him, and the man tersely raised his automatic rifle to face the nose of the barrel squarely at Ambrose. The wolfman was still a good ten feet away from the platform- and he had no intentions to come any closer- so he raised his paws up to his ear-level for a moment, then dropped them to his side and left his feet where they were with a singular nod at the guard- who huffed and lowered his weapon. He kept his eyes on Ambrose, however- and continued to do so throughout the rest of the time they remained in the cafeteria.
“What…” he said, his first word drawing the immediate, if weary attention of Aubrey, “…is going to happen to us?”
The woman nodded- a deep, acknowledging gesture that seemed to thank the wolfman. She answered to the group at large- not bothering to raise her voice over Lauren’s now hiccupping sobs- letting them instead fall where they may in her multitude of words.
“That is why I called this meeting. …I know what you must be wondering. Will you be sent home, will you remain here- or will you be… otherwise taken care of. …I don’t blame you for having doubts, and worries.”
To those who had not entertained the possibility of Aubrey’s third, grim ‘option’, they were now- and new nuances of fear were injected into the atmosphere of the situation.
“But I’m here to tell you… that you don’t need to be afraid. No one will be killed, and I’m not going to try and- replace Nicholas.” She doesn’t have it in her, Ambrose thought- but kept it to himself as the woman continued. “With him, dies a lifetime of research… and sacrifice for the greater good. It takes a strong man, an impenetrable will- to be able to see beyond the sacrifices, and to the ends.” All at once, her voice ran ragged- and her impeccable control was revealed as a cultivated charade. The islanders watched as she lifted a single hand to her face and placed its palm against her lips. Her fingers, shaking with an invisible wind of emotion, rested on one closed eye. The gesture pushed her glasses up slightly onto her forehead.
No one’s view of the now-deceased doctor hand changed in the slightest way- not with the force of Aubrey’s words- and not for the sake of his demise. However, there were few in the grand assembly that did not feel a twinge, then, as they watched a woman who had only very recently lost her husband- and who stood before them, her words heartfelt, and her pain- her regret… raw and exposed.
“You must understand,” she said then, after a long pause in which her eyes glistened with the moisture, “that there can be no easy way of returning you home. …But,” she said quickly, to cut off any imminent protests, “it can be done. To those of you who wish to return home… as is… you must realize that your life will be one of constant hiding. No one can know what you are- in all likelihood, you will live in seclusion. Any of you who attempt to contact the media- or ‘come out’ about what has happened here… will be stopped.” The word was an ominous euphemism- and, despite Aubrey’s pained demeanor- there was not an islander among them that did not believe that the labs would be capable of such a feat.
“However- there is… another option, to those of you who wish to leave. Over the past few years, the labs have been experimenting with a… reversal process, of sorts. In our trials, it has consistently proven to be reliable- no more than 65% of the time.”
A flurry of movement and conversation coursed through the zoological audience- everyone had the same questions, and above the clamoring. Some voiced them louder than others.
“What does that mean?”
“Reversal? Reversal back to what? To human?”
“What happens to the other 35%?”
“Please.” Aubrey’s tired voice quieted them once again. “I know this is all a great deal of information for you, but if you’re only patient, I can explain. …Yes, the reversal process, when successful, will gradually return you to the state that you were in before the serum was activated into your bloodstream. In effect, you will become human again, if the process is successful. If it is unsuccessful, however, the result is death. However, please know that these are not your only options. I am staying behind- the island will continue to support those who wish to stay. You will have the choice- all the decisions from this point on are left to you.” She paused, as if to give her weighted words a chance to fall from her lips and settle down around those who were beneath her, waiting in a stupefied awe at the gravity of it all. “There is a transport ship coming in a few days- it will take those of you who wish to be relocated either to the mainland, or to a destination offshore that will take care of certain cosmetic surgeries that you may decide to undergo to make the process of fitting in… easier.”
“Cosmetic surgery?”
“Yes. For some of you- there is little way a veneer surgery can even try to make you look human again...” she nodded to where Joshua stood, his neck craned far above the rest of the crowd- and to those aquatics who peered up from the confines of the groundwell, “But for some… your hair can be laser-removed, and other things surgically altered- ears clipped to, if not resemble human ones, at least be easier to hide- tails removed.”
“Well, if those surgeries can be done- then why the hell would any of us want to risk dying?” The cross words came complete with the indignant whack of a cane against the linoleum- the old viperfish’s great wide jaw clattered with the nuisance of age, the long, unforgiving teeth creating a permanent snarl on Sid’s face. The stubborn old fish man did not truly need the cane- even with his advancing years, his gait had eased since his transformation. But Sid was stubborn- refusing even to wait in the groundwell where he likely should be, allowing his skin to soak up the needed moisture to be comfortable. As he often professed, the water was just ‘too damn hot’- and if he wanted to feel like that, he would simply go to hell, and skip the middleman.
Aubrey dismissed his ire with a shake of her head. “Even for the mammalian combinations, it would take far more surgeries than anyone would ever put themselves through to try and make a ‘perfectly appearing’ human. And who would want that kind of life? On the inside, you would still be a combination- a mix. You would need the same food sources you do now- you would have your animal instincts, thoughts- behaviors… and yet, be missing your tails- your teeth would be ground down to veritable nubs… would you also want your muzzle cut off, replaced by a bit of cartilage cut into the shape of a nose and grafted on with tacked on skin? It would be a sort of torture in and of itself, to go that far. All this option is offering- is the chance to have some interaction with the outside world… but as an outsider, a freak of nature.” She punctuated her homily with sighs and, again, the pressure could be felt as bricks, falling from the sky.
“And the reversal? What is that process like, exactly? I mean, what will entail?”
“Will it hurt?” Two questions- asked by two separate islanders- but the words could have come from any of them. Aubrey answered straightaway- her eyes blotched over from the emotion that still waited there, but her voice returned to its near-monotone.
“If you chose to undergo the reversal, you would be injected with a substance that’s not unlike your original serum- although, rather than containing the specific bolsters to maintain both the animal DNA and your own, it will have a substance that will begin to systematically break down the genetic framework- an anti-bolster, of sorts. You will receive periodical injections after that for about a month’s time- twice a week, you will receive a supplement designed to gradually break down more of the bolsters in your genetic structure, while also filling those ‘genetic holes’ that we produce with copies of your human DNA. You see,” she explained, the fascinating science behind the procedure almost making her forget where she was, “we would extract a sample of your DNA before the procedure, and harvest the human DNA- then create a new series- cloned, yet viable offspring of your original human DNA- then, in essence, while the bolsters break down, inject you with a ‘human’ serum. It would hurt about as much as your initial transformations did.
‘That 35% for which the process doesn’t work… is a regrettably unavoidable number. There are some instances… where the body reacts very dangerously to the bolsters being broken down. It’s very similar to the reason why anyone who fails to complete the regular serum cycle succumbs to a severe, sudden immune system cancer. Without the added injections to complete the ‘building’ of the bolsters, they will, in essence, crumble, and the body will attempt to compensate for them by a furious growth of unnecessary cells- a cancer. As far as the reversal goes- sometimes, when the bolsters begin to break down, the supplemental human DNA that we inject is not always enough- and, in some cases- and without warning- the cancer will strike. …Anyone who would like to undergo one of these processes, you will have several nights to think it over. The boat who will come to take you to the mainland- or to the offshore facility that will alter you- does not come for several days. And I will not begin a reversal process for anyone who has not had several days to mull it over.”
The room, again, was entombed in silence. Only one voice was not made dumb: another fear, other than death- had settled in.
“So- if the reversal process reverts us back to what we were originally- breaking down these… bolster things… what does that mean for the children?” Gaius did not step forward to ask the question- but rather, kept his hooves resting on Abby’s shoulders- silently supporting his stepdaughter. A gasp echoed around the room. No one had thought… of the children.
By the look on Aubrey’s face, however- she had. Ambrose knew, almost only by the way she closed her eyes for a moment before answering… exactly what she was going to say- and it tightened his heart. Out of the corner of his eye- he saw Angelina’s head drop down, her face disappearing into their daughter’s dark, beautiful hair. She knew it, as well.
“The nature of the procedure ensures that the children… cannot be reversed. They are made up of too many different species- their balance, already- is precarious at best. They are stable now, as long as their DNA is not further tampered with. Without question- if any attempt to turn them completely human were made, they would… not survive the process.”
If there had been silence before, now there was chaos- a veritable uproar of screams and furious questions- and even tears- Lauren was joined by the choking sobs of Amaya. The lizard woman shook with something other than the cold, and dropped her mutated face into her equally altered hands with a defeat that was painfully clear to everyone around her. Even those who were not parents felt an excruciating ache at the sight of the woman. There was something cruel and ugly about the sight of a mother who knew that no amount of love and sacrifice could save her children. Even Father Stewart looked to the sky with a furrowed, almost angry brow- as if to ask his beloved God... where he was.
The children felt it, as well- and it was that untouchable despair, more than Aubrey’s words (which few could truly understand the gravity of) that caused them to join in with tears. Erica wrapped her arms around her mother’s legs and began a frantic, ragged cry that almost robbed her of her breath- she brayed and gasped for air, holding tighter to her mother with every wail as if she expected to be torn away from her at any moment. Abby, too, in her wheeltank, though she made none of the demonstrations that her mother and sister practiced, seemed- lost, and she sat, a silence about her that made her seem a phantom of the cheery girl everyone knew.
Eddy was upset, as well- but his cries were muffled into
his father’s shoulder, where the man cradled the little boy and whispered into his
ear to calm him. Jerrod, the sage, tall
deer boy, had not cried- nor had his expression changed as he looked
plaintively into his mother’s eyes where she had knelt, two hoof-hands on his
arms, and her words low and calming.
Ambrose could not hear what the woman said- Emerwyn’s words were
breathy, almost too soothing to travel far upon the air- and the room was too
filled with the laments and overlapping questions of the islanders. The wolfman looked around at these, his
friends and companions of the past twenty years- at their varied reactions to
this overwhelming news- but the one set of eyes he didn’t seem to be able to
meet were those he was the closest to.
After several minutes of this seamless cacophony, the din still had not ceased- and Aubrey had given up on trying to cut through their voices. She stood, her thumb viciously pressed into the point where her eye socket met her eyebrow, as if to banish the headache that had been born there, throbbing and singularly insistent upon that one spot. Ambrose saw a certain cruelty to the situation- in expecting a woman who had just lost her husband to tackle the fears and emotional heartbreak of a population of people who had just had their lives turned upside-down. Despite everything that Aubrey had done- or at least let happen… she didn’t deserve this. Ambrose Maurlias’ altruism was not foolproof, neither was it saintly. He was a man, after all, underneath it all, and no man is perfect. But there was little in Ambrose- wolf or man- that could bear to see such suffering. He may not have been perfect… but he was as best an example of how to do imperfect properly as anyone would ever see.
The massive man turned on his back paws and howled- it
was a singular, piercing sound that echoed in the high ceilings and rattled off
the walls, collecting the sudden silence of everyone it met until the only
sound left in the room was the faint shadow of the rallying cry- a strange
mournful quality lingering as the air swallowed its last remains. All eyes were upon him: all hopeful, fearful
eyes- as if asking him to save them.
Even before the community which ultimately gave their lives a sense of
purpose had emerged, Ambrose Maurlias, that self-contained, proper
“Everyone,” he said, after the howl had dissipated, “Please…go
to your homes, and sleep on everything you’ve heard.” He finally let his eyes
fall back to where his wife and daughter waited- and a deep chord echoed in his
heart to see that bewildered look on
To his surprise, there was no argument. Some of the faces nodded- others just turned to each other and began to whisper- but there were no more violent outbursts or frightened questions to Aubrey. They seemed to be tired, swept away by the event they had all dreamed would happen but… now that it was here, there was not the upwelling of rejoicing that they had supposed. Moreau’s death had not been the clear-cut chance for joy that the islanders had expected but, rather, a recipe for an emotion in which only one single ingredient was joy. Despite their overwhelming hatred for the man who had crippled their futures and manipulated every aspect of their lives for so long- there was no denying that they had made a sort of life here- a world that revolved beneath the almost omnipotent shadow of Doctor Nicholas Moreau. He was everywhere on the island at all times- he knew everything, and, unquestionably, their lives were his whim. In a way, the man was the closest thing to a God that any on the island knew. And the death of a God- however hated- created a very complicated web of emotions. At the very least- their very world, the society they had nurtured and birthed from its infancy nearly 17 years before- was forever changed.
The islanders left, filtering out of the massive room quite the way they’d come: with puzzled looks on their animalistic faces. The aquatics were among the first to leave- flitting back down through the ducts that would lead them back to the sea- to the underwater structures that had been built on the bottom of the bay, a sort of aquatic gathering room and second home to many of those who had left their strictly-land lives behind many years before.
Ambrose did not speak to his wife or daughter- not then. They would have much to discuss back in their family duplex, as Angelina’s tired eyes suggested as she gave him one single ‘are you coming’ look on her way out. She had, for the most part, released Liz, whose expression was hidden from her father- but the genet woman still had one protective arm on the girl.
Ambrose shook his head, and gave a ‘go on’ gesture with a flick of his paw- he also flicked an ear back to where Aubrey still stood. His wife understood, and gave him one last nod and a look that seemed to ask him to be home soon. He silently agreed, as she walked out of the cafeteria behind the still sobbing Amaya, who was being gently led by her patient husband by one arm- his other supporting their sniffling daughter on his opposite hip. He and Angelina would have much to talk about.
The last to leave were the Crawlers- who, sensitive to the other’s feelings even in these emotional times, had turned to the wall in their secluded corner as the others left. They waited until the last islander- sans Ambrose, where he stood up at the head of the room- had left, before Cass and Thom led the motley group out to wherever they were headed to talk, and make their decisions. Ambrose silently wished them luck and then, when the last scaly tail had disappeared around the corner, he turned- and walked to the recent widow.
Almost immediately, the wolfman was met with the barrel of a gun once more- and he paused, an instant, protective snarl curling his black lips away from two rows of knife-sharp teeth. The guard tensed- an overt scent of fear rushing from him. But he did not drop the rifle down- not until Aubrey’s irritated voice cut through the air.
“Oh for god’s sake, put that thing down. …You too.” Ambrose’s wolf-eyes were still slitted at the gun nearest to him- he had not realized that the other guard had moved to similarly protect her.
They did as they were told, tentatively lowering their guns, and stepping back as if to form a wall in front of the woman- but she clicked her tongue against her teeth and blew a ream of disgusted air through her lips.
“Go. Just go. If I’ll need you, I know where to find you.” Her words were sarcastic-but plain in their meaning, and the guards withdrew, however reluctantly. And then, Ambrose found himself alone with the unwilling head of Feral Labs.
“Thank you for taking care of the end, there,” she said, her voice leveling once more- only sighs punctuating her words as she moved to the front of the stage. For a moment, she stayed there, looking down on Ambrose, but it was not long before one of her many sighs seemed to deflate her, and she dropped to the stage to sit on its edge. The platform was not high- once they dangled over, her feet were only five or six inches from gracing the ground.
“I’m sorry, Aubrey.” He said- ignoring her earlier thanks and saying the case of his mind. There were the times that the niceties of man need be left aside.
“That’s he’s dead? …I doubt it.” She spoke carelessly- as if without aiming, or caring how they would seem.
“I know you loved him. No matter what we felt- or what he did… he was your husband. I’ve not been married for so long to not know that I would be lost without Angelina. So yes. I am sorry. If only for you.
She sat a moment, eyeing him as if to strip any insincerity from his words, only finally sighing with a measure of acceptance. She nodded then, and folded over, resting her torso and arms along the length of her thighs in an awkward-appearing position. Ambrose came closer to her, and put a massive, clawed paw on the makeshift stage near her.
“Were you… with him, when it happened?”
She nodded from her jackknife. “I’ve been up with him every night with him for the past few days. He’s been pretty bad recently.” Ambrose noticed her use of the present tense- but did not correct her, only nodded and rested the upper half of his form against the platform. “This morning it just came to a head. I’m just glad… he was awake for his last moments. Nick would…. have hated to go in his… sleep.”
Her words were filled with needless pauses, and her voice was scratchy and dry- likened to one who had been deprived of water for several days. But no generous outpouring of emotion filled her voice- she seemed more tired than anything else- weighted down. It was this lack of tears- or great show of pain- that gave Ambrose the courage to ask the question that was surely on every islander’s mind- even if only as a niggling question behind the more pressing decisions they had to make regarding their futures.
“…What… was it, Aubrey? The illness? I didn’t know that Moreau was sick.”
She shook her head. “No one did. He didn’t want anyone to know.” She shook her head again- she was as one caught on an unending loop of gestures and sighs, “It started as a stroke- he had a seizure of sorts, one afternoon in his lab- and it left him unable to feel most of his right side. I tried to get him help- but he said he would take care of it. I didn’t believe him, but sure enough, the next morning he was walking again.” During the recall, her eyes had been locked into the forward position- staring off as if intent upon something in the distance- but, surely, as she peered over her glasses which had slipped to the end of her nose- what would the woman be able to see, but a colorful fog? Aubrey had been nearsighted all her life- a result of both her genetics and a youth spent poring over books long into the night, despite the level of light available. Over the years, it had evolved with the progression of age- and the declination of her eyesight was, if not overly troubling to the woman- at least a notable interference when she did not have her glasses to aid her.
Finally, though, when her words trailed off, Aubrey turned her subject-less stare to Ambrose. She also eased with a grunt that spoke to her little care as to what others would think about her less-than-graceful appearance, into a more normal sitting position.
“He wouldn’t let me take a look at him- he said he was fine, and that he was taking care of it. It wasn’t another week until he had another attack- this time, he fell and struck his head, and I wasn’t there to help him. He almost died- and not because of the injury- but because we couldn’t get his blood to clot. …It refused- it was so damn stubborn.” She blew a tube of air from her ‘o’ shaped mouth and closed her eyes a moment, bidding a ream of emotion to settle down within her. Only after she was sure it had passed did she open her eyes again. “We couldn’t figure out what was wrong- until we realized that he had injected himself with some sort of … serum. I- we … couldn’t tell what it was. It wasn’t like anything the labs had been publicly working on. He must have done it after the stroke.” She dropped her face into her hands- not out of some outpouring of emotion, now, but rather, for the sake of a sheer frustration that had yet to find an outlet. Ambrose understood the action- it was the natural reaction to a source of idiocy on the part of someone you were close to, who you knew was capable of better. He’d often looked and felt the same when Liz would come back with needless wounds, or would do something irresponsible and stupid when she had been clearly instructed to do otherwise. Ambrose only nodded his understanding, however- this was not the time for his own side of a realization.
“Damn man. So proud- if he’d just accepted the fact that he could be fallible- injured- he would have been alive, still. Imperfect… but…” she stopped, then, and anger filled her eyes, along with something that had been long in wait: tears. They streamed down her face unapologetically and freely, making long tracks down the freckle-dashed cheeks and into larger drops which amalgamated at her chin- now somewhat jowled by the years. “So damn proud. Whatever was in that injection let him walk again- gave him another perfect week. But it ruined him, inside. There was nothing we could do- not in the last few days. At first, it was like a hemophiliac- any little thing would incite him to bleed.” A hiccupping sob- tiny, like an infant’s protest- stopped her for a moment, but then, she swallowed it and continued, not bothering to look away from Ambrose as she did. “But then- there didn’t even need to be something provoking it. He opened his mouth one morning, and it was filled with blood. It was seeping out of his salivary glands- out of his eyes, anywhere. …Everywhere.” The look of horror on Ambrose’s canine face did not faze Aubrey- she continued, undaunted by the grisly nature of her tale. “He still didn’t want to accept any help- once, he crawled to his private lab and locked the door behind us all. I think he was trying to heal himself, to take whatever damn injection he thought would fix everything. …It took ten of us four hours to break down the door. He’d had it reinforced with steel. Even I didn’t have a key.” She wiped at her eyes- but the tears sprang to fill the cleared gap.
“These last few mornings, it was obvious that he was… well… I was with him. This morning he woke up, and he smiled at me- he said ‘…See, Aubrey? What did I tell you? It will all be fine. I’m not even bleeding anymore. It’s just a trickle now. You should do better than to blow things out of proportion.’ …He’d stopped bleeding because there was so little left.” A great ugly sniffle punctuated her sentence. “I sat by his bed- held his hand. I asked him… if he would let me help him. I knew it was too late, but I begged him to let me in, to tell me what he had done to himself- to give me permission… to save him.”
And then- she laughed. It was a dry, coarse thing- befitting a drunken gambler sure of his hand, so much more than a grieving widow. It seemed… dreadful, and horridly amiss, coming from Aubrey’s lips. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then, looking up and to the side with a stifled sob in her breath.
“And… he said… that … he didn’t need my help. And to leave him… be. But I know what he meant. I know what he meant to say- what he felt. He didn’t trust me. He couldn’t accept my help- because he’s felt … be..be…betrayed by me.” She broke down, then, and open, braying sobs took the place of her words. Her hands, uneven and shaking, went to her face, alternating between covering up her eyes, and running over her shuddering, moist lips and nose. Ambrose moved until he was standing before her- hunched over on the edge of the stage, she was not so much higher than him- and he was easily able to wrap his arms around her and give her a soft, warm form to cry into. And she did- the boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them’ blurring as he comforted her.
The widow was exhausted- physically and emotionally- and had been left raw, her feelings and thoughts left flayed to the cruel open air. It had been so long since she had let herself cry- even before Moreau’s death- there had been a sort of coldness between them… years of hurt that had not been forgiven- and a love that could not seem to reconcile the deep-seated trust issues that had wracked their marriage. Aubrey had never learned how to understand her love of the man she had known as Nicholas Moreau- she was like the candle to his flame- she was always meant to give herself to him… let herself be burned, even consumed by his ever-hungry need. In a way, she had never expected to die before him- after all… what does a candle do… when its flame has died?
Ambrose let her exhaust the tap of her tears- they remained there, two friends locked in a wordless, wet embrace- until finally, Aubrey pulled away, wiping her red eyes and pulling her tear-soaked glasses from her face. She set them on the stage next to her and wiped at her face- which had become blotched and puffy with emotion.
“I’m sorry,” she said, but Ambrose cut her off before she could continue.
“No. You have every right. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. I would… want to die, if something happened to Angelina. At least I know that no matter what happens- I’ll have a piece of her in Liz. You…” he stopped short; he hadn’t meant to be callous, but the reminder of Aubrey’s isolation seemed particularly cruel.
But she seemed nonplussed. “He’s been my life since I was sixteen years old. I don’t need anything to remind me of him.”
“Do you regret… not having children?”
Aubrey sat for a long while- seemingly considering, but Ambrose knew how unlikely it was that the subject had been yet undecided in her mind. More likely, it was a case of a lack of words- or of a way to explain what had been a silent, inexplicably complicated subject that had spent many years buried beneath the surface.
“For a long time, I thought having kids would be the right thing to do. Then I’d have this perfect little thing that would love me no matter what- and who I could pour endless affection and care into- and it would all be… right. But there was a window- and a price to pay… and I think in the end, I just realized… that there’s no such thing as uncomplicated love.” She looked at Ambrose- the area around her eyes still puffy with their earlier exertion- but the eyes themselves… those grey, aged orbs- they were clear, and Ambrose knew that the subject was too difficult to possibly explain. But he thought he understood what she meant: that, in this unique world- and within the confines of such a consuming relationship as they had- there was simply not enough room in Aubrey’s life for two great loves.
“You would have been… a wonderful mother, Aubrey.”
“I know. But it wasn’t right. Not as some sort of stopgap fix. …Nicholas will always have a legacy.”
Ambrose felt his blood chill. “The Labs… are remaining open?”
She extended a hand to his furred arm and shook her head- an unsaid promise. “No. Feral Labs is going to be dismantled- piece by piece. Those subsidiary companies that can become legitimate- or are already… will be broken away and continue to function- and those that aren’t are already being disassembled- the higher ups debriefed, and put on a similar watch that the islanders who return to the mainland will be under. I’ve already made the steps to make the stock public. Before long, there will be nothing left of Feral Labs than a few innocent pharmaceutical companies… and this island.”
“You said you were staying here… what about the rest of the staff?”
“A few have chosen to remain- now that they have the option to leave at any time, some have realized that they don’t have it so bad, here.” She huffed a single laugh. “There has to be someone here to aid those islanders that stay- if any others would like to have children, for example. The rest are leaving under the same confidentiality notice that will be imposed upon the rest of you.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have a problem with that, Aubrey. At least- not from the islanders that decide to leave. There will be those who stay behind- at least the parents… and their children. We’ve been together too long, too close to return to the mainland and send a hoard of reporters to turn the children into freak shows. No offense… but we’ve all learned that there are those who will do… anything… in the name of ‘science’.”
Aubrey did not nod- she did not react at all, except to blink, and sigh. It was the only indication that she’d heard his words. “The higher up staff has mostly been disbanded- the geneticists are all returning to the mainland, and also- many of the guards. …I just thank god that Frost woman left so many years ago. I don’t relish the fight we’d have now, if she knew that Nicholas were dead. I think she always had something more devious than her petty mind games planned.”
Ambrose was not surprised that she did not mention Dr.
Duvert- not when he had been gone so many years. The wolfman could not recall exactly when the
bizarre white-haired man had left… but he knew it had been after
In her frustration, Aubrey had come close to calling Sabin back to the island- to ask him to train a special team in the perfection of the process. But, in the end- she had decided against it- memories of hurtful things that had passed between them still fresh on her mind- and, above all- a lack of knowing where he was. True, she knew there were little limitations to the labs ability to find someone: Feral Labs had extensive contacts- and nearly endless resources. But there was something about the way Sabin had been- quiet, almost subdued for longer than she would have expected of him, after Liz’s birth… the only a slight spark of the man she’d known had come when he was ready for his departure. Aubrey had not seen him off- he’d left in the middle of the night only days after his friend, Tavis, had come to the island to see him. She’d asked Nicholas about the circumstances regarding his departure- but Moreau had been tightlipped, even dismissive of the white-haired doctor. Aubrey would never understand what had happened to Sabin his last few years on the island- what had made him act the way he did… or why Moreau had avoided him, wished not to speak of him, in that time. She only hoped that the spark Sabin had shown those last few days before his departure… was evident that wherever he was- he had found a better life. A part of her wished that she could go back, talk to the man she had once considered a friend- but the rest of her knew … she would never see Sabin Duvert again.
“No… the true legacy of Nicholas Moreau will be in his research. …I’ve already started to disperse the results of these past twenty years through clouded channels- filtering down to facilities and research labs all over the world. No one will ever be able to tell where they came from… but within a matter of months- years… people will be able to piece together solutions to make leaps and bounds in gene therapy… cancer research- hundreds of diseases. And all without betraying the secrets of the island; we’ve been able to extrapolate information from our experiments to make these therapies available… even without the animal DNA.” She looked at Ambrose- her eyes resplendent amongst the red, swollen skin around them. “Countless lives will be saved. Made better.”
“Aubrey that’s… wonderful. You’re doing the right thing.”
She waved him off, picking up her glasses and rubbing them with the edge of her sweater. Ambrose noticed for the first time that she wasn’t wearing a lab coat- a thing he had not seen her without for many years. Whether her lack of the white staple was simply the carelessness of an emotional morning- or a sign of something deeper… he didn’t know.
“You have a lot to discuss with Angie and Liz. And I have …so much to do.” She eased herself down off the front of the stage and replaced her glasses on her nose. “If there’s anything else?” She gave him an expectant, questioning look- but her eyes said that she was done with the conversation. Ambrose shook his head, and Aubrey nodded, satisfied, and turned to leave.
Aubrey walked a straight, long line down the length of the cafeteria- out the same door that the islanders had arrived and left through. Ambrose watched her walk, and heard the light volley of her sensible-heeled shoes as they pattered their way down the line. She had not quite reached the doors that she turned to Ambrose once more.
The look on her face was that of a woman paying for a lifetime of someone else’s sins… as well as her own. The sheer force of her love and ache for her husband was evident- and at that moment, Ambrose knew that if there was one way to buy Moreau a space in heaven… it was in her love.
And then, Aubrey Lockheart-Moreau turned… and was gone.
When
Ambrose finally left the cafeteria, and walked out into the village- its
streets deserted and the lights shining through the duplex windows as the
evening deepened… he felt, for the first time- a sweet taste of something on
the air- something he had not felt for many years- freedom. For the first time in a long time, he
imagined what it would be like… to be home, again- to walk along the
* * *
The next morning, Ambrose awoke to a changed world- and a mind still undelivered to a conclusion by a barrage of muses. He and Angelina had been up well into the early hours of the morning- deciding about the future, and ruminating about the past. They’d kept their voices hushed- and their stream of caffeine steady (there were some things that even their animal natures could not dampen- and the need, every once and a while, for a good strong cup of coffee was one of them.
“Where did she go?” He asked his wife as he leaned against the banister. Angelina just shrugged, her tail curled around her where she sat on their living room couch. She’d only just finished telling her husband that Liz wasn’t in the house.
“I don’t know. When I woke up this morning, she’d already gone off somewhere.”
Ambrose sighed. It was common for the girl to run off whenever she pleased- anxious to meet up with one of her nocturnal islander friends, or just to get a start on a long and exciting day. The irrepressible teenager’s parents had long since dropped the need to be frantically worried about their daughter: no one on the island wished her harm, and she had always taken care of herself. That morning, however, there was some concern to be had- much had to be discussed with the girl before the Maurlias’ could even hope to make their decisions.
“I’m going to go find her.” Ambrose made a neat hop off the last few steps- it was easier than carefully placing his large paws on the narrow steps and balancing his weight anyway- and made for the door.
“Good luck. …I’ll be here when you get back.”
And so began the search for Elizabeth Maurlias. There was no obvious place that would yield the teenager: she was a true child of the island- she would be just as likely to be found on the cliffs diving into the morning surf below… or at the Feral Enclosure gate, trying to communicate with those islanders beyond the fence… as she was to be in the jungles, looking for Thom or Cass. Ambrose spent most of his morning running this way and that- searching the jungle and the lake, even peering over the tall fence to the graveyard- but not only did he fail to find his daughter, but also, he realized that there was an eerie lack of any other islanders about.
It was only after several hours of his fruitless search that he wondered if the girl had gone back to their duplex- there were few places he had not explored, after all- the mountain was left, the helipad, and the field complexes. It was the latter that he decided would be his final destination, as he traveled into the most southernmost point of the island.
The field complexes were a source of great pride for the islanders- and even distracted with his hunt, Ambrose did not fail to feel the same, deep respect for what they had done when he saw the gates and fields spread out before him. Only the fodder yards- an almost monstrous supply of livestock contained with corrals they had built themselves, and the connecting barns- were visible from where Ambrose stood, but he knew that just beyond lay an impressive stretch of farmland that had been maintained those years past by The Planters- led by Bobby and her cache of willing underlings who felt mothered and comforted in the presence of the massive swine-like creature. It had been many years since those first years of chaos- when the islanders lived off Moreau’s every handout and lingered in days consumed by self-destructive, even nihilistic pursuits. After the Order- everything had changed. It had been their collective decision, after a measure of time, to grow and raise their own food- they became connected- a true community. Though their initial needs had required that they obtain supplies from the labs: the seeds and the tools, and the beginning of their herd of livestock- it wasn’t long before they were able to make the cafeteria obsolete, and live off their own creation. The islanders didn’t delude themselves for one moment that they had refused Moreau’s help entirely: they still lived in his duplexes, for the most part, and still had running water, electricity- and medical help from the labs whenever it was necessary. They had not started from scratch- but what they had done was to find a way to consume their days with fruitful pursuits- and to bring themselves together. Everyone suddenly found that they had a purpose: the Keepers were responsible for their now immense herds of animals- the Planters supplied the vegetation needs for the herbivores and omnivores whose palates were still more evolved than to enjoy a life of island grass, and those who didn’t contribute by tending the pastures or the fields, or by teaching the children had work in the fishery or in simple scavenging for the greater good. There were few who did not frequently play a role in this massive framework of survival: Lauren and Nita, for example, were rarely seen in the village after they had been moved, some years before to a generous-sized bungalow near the labs. But even they would often appear during the days of the Harvest Festival- joining their once neighbors to celebrate the crop’s yield, or to dance into the night on the annual New Year’s bonfire on the beach. The other islander’s responses to these ‘staff favorites’ were polite, restrained- but inviting, all the same- the couple was never turned away from the Holiday festivals that the islanders had long since cemented into tradition.
As Ambrose approached the corrals, he saw no sign of the Keepers- not any of the many younger islanders who helped with the process of raising and slaughtering the beasts, or even Rex and Kikue- the two who were the unquestioned supervisors of the massive undertaking. He would have questioned, then, where their island population had possibly gotten to- if he hadn’t seen a form sitting atop one of the corral fences. It would be impossible not to recognize the woman who balanced there on the long bit of wood- a piece of fence that he may have well carved himself many years before when they had all pitched into its construction.
“Emelyn. …I was beginning to wonder if the island was deserted.”
The hedgehog woman cocked her head, and smiled. She was not as old as some of the others- but even still, the marks of age showed on her- even if only in her careful, ginger demeanor. She had abandoned many of the affectations of her youth: a pair of pilot’s goggles that many islanders would have recognized had long sat on the dresser in the family duplex she shared with her lover and son, and her choice of clothing had changed from a bikini- into a long dress, the back designed in a form of ties that could be winnowed through her mass of spines.
“Hello Ambrose.”
He walked closer to the woman, a soft, easy smile on his canine face, and questions in his eyes. He leaned against the fence, and looked up into her still so human eyes.
“Come out here to think?”
“Mm.” It was a singular sound of agreement. “And to relax. …Eddy had a bad night. I think he was scared by the meeting- he had nightmares all night long. Lucas and I were up with him until early this morning.” She gave a soft, almost contented sigh. “He’s asleep now- finally. …Lucas is with him. …You?”
“…
Emelyn nodded. She did not need an explanation for why the
man needed to find his daughter- nor did she need prompting to answer his
unspoken questions. They had been friends too long to need such a guiding
pretense.
“Lucas and I will be staying.”
“For Eddy.”
She smiled. “Yes. It’s a nice excuse.” She kicked her legs idly and they swung back and forth. It made Ambrose smile- it was a gesture more befitting a schoolgirl than a forty-something woman with hedgehog spines growing from every centimeter on her back.
“You want to stay?”
“I don’t know, actually. I think if I let myself think about it, I’d realize one way or another… but, luckily, I don’t have to delve that deep. Eddy’s enough. Lucas and I didn’t even talk about it- it’s just the… unsaid maxim. Yesterday after the meeting, we just went home, fixed dinner for Eddy, and then tried to get the kiddo to drift off to sleep. It was like nothing had changed.”
Ambrose’s black lips parted as a sigh pushed his muzzle open. “It won’t stay that way.”
She nodded. “But we’ll stay. It will be nice, I think- to rebuild this community, our society… see what it’s like to live without the undercurrent of hypocrisy.”
He could not help but laugh, then, tipping his head back and letting his mirth roll into the blue morning sky. “Your favorite word.”
She smiled. “Others are staying. I’ve heard word of already of a few- all of the parents- Thom and Cass… more than I thought.”
“What about the… reversal?”
“Mm. No one’s really talking about it. At least, not in public. But I’m sure Bobby will undergo the process. The same person who told me about Cass and Thom said that most of the Crawlers are risking it. And I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ferals tried, as well. After all…what do they have to lose?” She paused then, a minute, as Ambrose let the information wash over him, and added something that made his ears jump to attention. “We’ll miss you.”
“How do you know we’re leaving? …Even we don’t know that.”
“I know you. I know that you need to speak to Liz… and then, if she’s okay with it- you’ll be gone.”
The information weighed heavily down around him, and he sighed. It was true. “In a way, I’m glad I haven’t found her yet. It’s not going to be an easy discussion.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder- and, despite the rough paw pads in its palm, and the sake of the claws which rested very near to his skin- he felt comforted by its presence.
“You can’t think of it as leaving her behind. Now, don’t look so alarmed. All I mean is that this is the girl’s home. She… she… fits here. She belongs. Don’t let guilt keep you here.”
Belonging. To Ambrose, the word was heavy, raw, and…
precious. It was such a tricky, thin
thing- something that could slip away at any moment, never settling down to the
people who needed it most. Ambrose
Maurlias knew the sting of never quite belonging- for, although he had grown up
in a comfortable opulence- never the butt of a cruel schoolyard joke for having
poor clothing or a lack of designer labels- there was still a very large part
of the boy that had always been lonely… misplaced. He had never been the beloved son, the
accepted member of his preoccupied, distant family. He had only ever been another one of their
children- another soul who was burdened with maintaining the family name. His birthright had been one of an almost
choking propriety- defunct of any real feeling of belonging. There was nothing in the man that suggested
that taking
“I never would have guessed… that the most difficult decision I’d ever make… would be to leave this place.”
The look on Emelyn’s face at that statement was knowing- and kind. Had her body been built for the perpetuation of a sort of human affection she still sorely missed… she would have wrapped him in a loving hug. Instead, all she could manage was the sentiment speaking behind her eyes- and her words.
“…Liz is in the barn.” She pointed a clawed digit at the closest wooden structure- and gave a small, only somewhat apologetic shrug. There were things that had to be said before he could know where the girl was. Ambrose was startled, at first, then amused- understanding exactly what the hedgehog woman meant. He put a paw on her thigh- a gesture untainted by anything other than true, deep friendship, and thanked her.
“Any time, Wolfman.” She smiled, and watched as he loped off into the barn.
He found
“Hey Daddy.”
“Hey there kiddo.” She didn’t seem to be upset, which he was thankful for- but she did seem rather… bewildered.
“Did you and Mom stop talking, yet?”
He was surprised. “How did you know your Mom and I were talking?”
She rolled her eyes, still curled up between the hay bales. “Duh. Like I was just going to go upstairs and go to sleep. …I kept my ear pressed to the ground. I heard most of what you guys said. …So you’re leaving?”
He shook his head so vehemently that his blonde hair tossed from side to side. “No. Not without talking to you first. We wouldn’t make that decision without you. But- sweetie… you really shouldn’t have been listening to our conversation. That was a private thing that your mother and I had to decide. Besides, it’s very rude to eavesdrop.”
She huffed a sound of disbelief. Were she more human, it would’ve sounded less like a sort of touchy bark. “Whatever. You could have told me, anyway.”
“We had to talk about it first,
The girl wrapped her furry arms around her legs, and dropped her chin down onto her knees. She seemed expectant to hear something terrible, and she whispered her response. “So… what did you decide to do?”
“Honey…” he climbed up to be nearer to her- to look directly into his daughter’s eyes. “We’re never going to leave you. Not permanently. But… your mother and I… we’re going to go to the mainland.”
“You’re going to have the surgeries? Or the Reversal?”
“No. Neither. We wouldn’t dare try something that may take us away from you. …And as far as the surgeries go… I don’t think either of us could live like that.” He nearly shuddered at the thought- his tail disconnected, fur removed- he and Angelina would look more freakish than ever, and be essentially crippled. “We’re just going to go to the mainland in disguises- stay out of the way… see what has happened to our families, to the world. If you’re okay with it, that is.”
“And… you’d come back?”
He nodded, and placed his front paws on his daughter’s legs, holding onto her tight as if she would disappear at any moment.
“Soon. We’d not be gone for more than a few months, at most. And maybe later- after you’re much older, we’ll leave for a longer period of time- try the surgeries, and maybe even the reversal. But not now. But only if you’re alright with us leaving.” He repeated again, stressing to her that she had control over the situation.
Her reaction- was all too surprising to the wolfman. She beamed. “Don’t act so deep about it all, Daddy.” The affectionate term warmed his heart, and she leaned out to plant a kiss on his furred muzzle- not an easy task with her own protruding from her face. “I’ll be okay if you leave me for a while. I was just afraid that you were going to try for the Reversal… and that I’d… never see you again.” She scooted forward to the edge of the bale, and let her father lift her down to his level, where he wrapped her in an almost crushing hug.
“No matter where I go, you’ll
always be with me. I love you so much,
“It’s all going to change, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Are you scared?”
She bit a section of the lip that lined her muzzle, and shook her head. “A little. But… I know it sounds strange. But it’s also… exciting.”
Ambrose smiled. He understood.
“It’s a whole new world,
“It’s a whole new world.” She chimed after her father. “…A whole new world.”
* * *
Several days later, a large group
of creatures that were altogether less- and more- than human, assembled on the
Of those who walked up the gangplank to the deck of the boat- none knew who was headed to the offshore facility to be surgically altered- or those, like Angelina and Ambrose, who would be clandestine in their visits to the mainland. Perhaps they were all headed straight for the shore, Ambrose mused- and, perhaps… they would be the only ones not leaving the boat when they stopped at the facility. He did not know- but to all of them, he silently wished that they would be given their second chance at life.
On the shore, more than Ambrose
thought would stay waited, waving and covering their emotions with paws and
flippers over their mouths. Of those, he
knew that some- like the Crawlers who peered from the line of the jungle- even
now staying away from the main group- were staying for the Reversal
process. Bobby had already begun her
process, though the effects had not begun to take hold for the woman who stood-
still resplendent in her huge girth, waving with hoofed hands and blowing
kisses at those who boarded.
Joshua, Colche, Cody- they had all decided to stay… as had all of the plants. Many had been surprised at how sudden their decision had been- but, truly, they had explained to their friends: there was no way that they could possibly return to a life where they would be deaf to the fauna. It would be as one blind and deaf to their homeland- turned away with no way to ever communicate with those they considered family and friends. They would remain- gladly, almost unencumbered- on the island.
Although the number on the beach was greater than Ambrose would have supposed- he felt almost… sad, in a way, to see the diminished number spread beneath him on the shores. Angelina, seeing the look on her husband’s face, wrapped her arms around him, and turned her genet face to his.
“Liz is strong. She’ll be just fine.”
Ambrose shook his head. “She’ll do more than fine. She’ll thrive.”
“Mm,” Angie agreed, looking down to where their daughter stood, her arm around the shoulder of Colche, smiling up at her parents. “But I’ll miss her anyway. …Whether we’re gone a month- or a year. …I’ll miss her.”
“So will I. And I’ll miss them, too.” He indicated the entire assemblage on the shore with a pointed nod. The gesture was seen by one islander and, far beneath them, Emelyn smiled and raised her hand in a small, almost unnoticeable wave. Next to her, Lucas had lifted Eddy to his shoulders, where the little mammalian boy clung to his father’s head and used his other hand to wave furiously at everyone above him.
Angelina saw the response, and it reminded her of something. She rested her head against her husband’s great furry chest while she spoke, her eyes still cast down to where her daughter stood.
“Did you hear? Emelyn is going to start writing a book.”
“Really? That’s great.” He smiled down at the woman. “I guess now she’ll even be allowed to send it out to be published. She must be thrilled.”
“Mm. I heard it’s going to be about the
island. …Supposedly science fiction, of
course,” she laughed. “Can you imagine?
‘The
Ambrose shook his head as the deck beneath him started to move, and he looked out over those on the beach- and also, to those in the boat where they stood, leaning over the rails, waving- or holding each other as their lives separated, changed- all in an instant.
“No,” he said, “It wouldn’t be
about the island. …It would be about the people. About the love. The hate.” He saw where Amaya
stood with her children, not crying now- but holding Erica close, and smiling. Alec stood not two feet away, directly next
to the woman who had once been his wife. “The miracles… the tragedies.” On
Alec’s other side stood
Ambrose turned to his wife. “It would be about… us.” Angelina smiled, for at that moment, Liz had jumped into the watery wake that the boat had begun to leave behind- swimming out into the water with a wide smile on her face to wave at her parents even as they pulled further away. “All of us.”
“And what a story it would be,” Angie said, holding her husband tighter as they left behind a turbulent surf… and the sun setting over the Island of Doctor Moreau.