The Big One

by Greg Mitchell -

“No,” Dressler said for the fourth time, now folding his beefy arms, hoping to add to the effect.

Yulaura crossed the room, releasing an exasperated breath. She flopped in the seat across from him in Meryl’s crowded living room. At their feet, five children played and rough-housed, except for Edilyn. Dressler’s daughter sat next to him, stiff and serious. She was more hunter than child now.

“Dress, be reasonable,” Yulaura groaned. “We need this.”

“We? Or you?”

“Me! You!” She gestured to the cramped quarters, shouting to be heard over the lawless kids. “How long can you possibly stand to live here?”

An especially sharp cry split Dressler’s nerves as one of his nephews pummeled his squealing niece with a pillow. Yulaura had a point.

Only last week he and Edilyn had taken in a stranger who’d run into a spot of trouble. Turns out that trouble had followed him to their home. There had been an attack. Edilyn had kept her cool, and Dressler had never been prouder of her. Together they’d defended their home and kept their haggard guest safe—but the house was destroyed. His sister Meryl had graciously offered them a couch for the last few nights, but he and Edilyn were used to their quiet. Their solitude.

A stray pillow sailed through the air, smacking him in the face. He scowled.

“What’s the job?” he grumbled. “More importantly, what’s it pay?”

Yulaura’s bright eyes lit with excitement against her tanned face. Her teeth beamed white in a wide smile. “Big. This is the big one, Dress. My contact says that it’s a huge infestation. Biggest one they’ve ever had. Hunters from all over are coming, but there’s room for everyone. And money for everyone, too. Lots of money.”

He squinted at her, apprehensive. “Well, there would have to be, considering where we’re going.”

His stomach flopped, just at the thought of it. A wave of queasiness settled over him as he rolled the word over in his mind: Avenir. There was a damn bug invasion on Avenir. The thought of breaking orbit, going into space…

Dressler swallowed hard, his weathered hands feeling damp.

After his little “adventure” down in Eclectia’s oceans, Dressler was determined to keep nice, solid earth under his feet at all times from here on out.

He looked to Edilyn, heaving a sigh. “What do you think?”

His daughter leaned over and hugged his arm. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

He patted her curly, dirty blonde locks. He didn’t want to leave, either. Last time he’d left her, he’d followed his last partner on some harebrained scheme. That turned out badly, to say the least. He’d nearly died down there in those waters, facing off against that thing. Now he was thinking about going up into space and fighting the monsters up there?

Yulaura continued to grin, nearly bouncing in place. “Come on, Dress. We need this,” she repeated. “Think of Lyn. You guys can’t stay here.”

She was right. As usual. He didn’t now why Yulaura was so excited to leave the planet. Maybe it was just the lure of adventure. Yulaura certainly liked to live on the wild side, getting them both into their share of trouble during their partnership. But he trusted her. She’d not let him down yet.

Dressler looked to his daughter, apologetically. Edilyn rolled her eyes and let him go, realizing he’d made his decision. “Oh, alright. But hurry back. If I have to stay here much longer, I’m going to go out of my mind.”

Dress chuckled and gave her a playful smack in the face with a pillow. “Be back before you know it. Maybe I’ll even bring you a souvenir.”

Daddy/Daughter Date

By Greg Mitchell - 

“Steady,” Dressler whispered into the little girl’s ear.

He leaned in close, brushing his whiskers against her soft check, wrapping his arms around her to tighten her shot. He felt the rise and fall of Edilyn’s breathing, the slight tremble in her thin arms as she gripped his worn rifle.

“How am I doing, Daddy?” she asked in a soft hush, her voice slightly muffled through the breathing mask he insisted she wore every time they stepped outside into the harsh red sands of Eclectia. When she was younger, she’d nearly died from ash lung—he wasn’t about to tempt fate. Not after all he’d been through to receive her back.

“Just fine, Lyn. Now line up your shot.”

Up ahead, Dressler squinted against the light grainy breeze and saw the scurrying bug, foraging in the sand. About three feet in length, the hard-shelled critter scuttled about on a hundred legs, oblivious it was being stalked.

Edilyn took careful aim, holding in her breath, releasing it slowly.

“Take your time,” he encouraged her. “No rush. You’re in charge of the situation. You control how fast things progress.”

Dressler had been taking Edilyn out on hunts for awhile now. Eclectia was a harsh wasteland; only the strong survived. While his daughter was only eleven, it was time for her to learn how to protect herself from the varied predators out here in the wilds: both of bug and human kind.

“I think I’m ready, Daddy,” she said, and Dressler grinned, holding her in his arms.

“If you’re sure, take the shot.”

“I’m sure,” she said, nodding, her arms stiff and shaking.

He slowly released her, spreading his arms wide, letting her stand on her own. She leveled the rifle, one eye squinting, the stock pressed to her cheek. Dressler watched her, beautiful and powerful, ready to conquer the world. He felt old in that moment, yet born again, as well.

Then he glanced up. Saw a dark shape clamber over the hill, nearing the bug in Edilyn’s sights.

“Wait,” he said, quickly, and she jumped with a start. Yet, in spite of her surprise, she did not fire off a stray round.

She’s learning. Good.

“What?” she hissed back at him.

Dressler relaxed, still grinning, and gently patted Edilyn on the back. “Let it go.”

Edilyn kept her gun raised, but craned her head to regard her father. “What? Why?”

He nodded towards the horizon, watching as the larger bug collected its young, the two of them retreating over the dunes in peace. Edilyn watched, too, lowering the rifle, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. I guess they’re just like us, huh?”

Dressler wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “C’mon. Let’s get back home.”

Daddy and daughter returned home, the setting sun at their backs.

More Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler awoke on rock. Vision blurry, he heard the drip, drip, drip of water echoing in a cavern. Above, he glimpsed wet stalactite, glistening with reflected ethereal light.

Am I dead?

His head ached, but his thoughts were his own. Private once more, as they ought to be. The monster in his mind was dead—he could feel that. He’d done it. He’d killed the blasted devil.

But where am I?

Groggy, he stood, covered in cuts and bruises, sopping wet. Looking about, he saw he was in a cave, a giant lagoon at his feet. Was he still underwater? Had he floated up into some kind of air pocket after the blast? Kneeling to the edge, he peered into the water—

“Ah!”

A host of fish-like “angels” floated just below the surface, all of them staring back at him. He fell back on the seat of his pants, backing away. “No, no!”

{Wait} a soft voice implored him psychically, patient and kind.

“Where am I? What do you want?”

{You were foolish to come here}

“Yeah,” he said at length, standing again, feeling in no immediate danger. “I know. I’m…sorry.”

{We guard the Trench. There are many secrets in the depths that man should not know. We were trying to warn you, when you evaded us}

“It was a mistake…I didn’t know…”

{The dark can be deceptive and alluring. We understand how weak you can be, more than you do, it seems}

At the time Dressler was about to take offense, the angel’s soft voice soothed his heart. {But we also see how strong you can be. You have killed a terrible foe. And you did it at great personal sacrifice}

“How did you know?” he asked, then shrugged it off. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

{You have impressed us—one most in particular} A lithe feminine hand emerged from the lit waters. In its scaly palm, a tiny mess of tentacles, dark green in color, and squirming comfortably.

“What is that?”

{He doesn’t have a name. He believes in being defined by one’s actions. By your act of bravery, he recognizes you as kin. As family}

“He…thinks we’re related?”

{Of a sort. You would sacrifice your life to save your people from a wayward of our kind. He would like to return your generosity}

“I don’t understand.”

{Take him to your child. Fix him to her breathing port—her mouth. He will breathe into her. She will be cured of her ailment. He would consider it an honor to die so that his kin might live}

Dressler stepped forward. “Wait, die?”

{This act will be his last. He can save her, but he will die in the process}

“I-I can’t,” he said, painfully.

{But you must. That is what family does and he considers you family now. Do not dishonor him}

Dressler focused on the writhing thing in the outstretched hand, gently writhing, waiting for him to accept its sacrifice.

Carefully, he extended a hand in gratitude.

#

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels. The ones who saved me. And Crazy!”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in soft contrast. The sound of dirt and grit brushed against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler found pleasant and reassuring these days.

“Come on, Lyn.” He grinned. “How many times have I told you that story?”

“Not enough.”

There had been five Approachings since bringing back Edilyn’s cure. The little squirmy angel did it, breathing new life into his daughter, clearing her ash lung, and softly giving up his spirit in the process. Dressler didn’t know what “peaceful” looked like on an angel, but he’d liked to think he’d seen it.

Lyn was fine, running and playing again, living life. Dressler returned to hunting, even had a new partner. Yulaura was a pistol, a rough and tumble sort that kept Dressler on his toes, and so far, had shown no signs of being under some evil angel’s thrall.

He liked that best about her.

Life had returned to a modicum of normal, but Lyn still wanted to hear the stories.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged, healthy and full of life, his every prayer answered.

Maybe Trebs—as barking mad as he was—had been right: His faith had been rewarded. Dressler had never considered himself a man of faith before that day at the bottom of Eclectia’s oceans, but Life had a funny way of changing things.

“Okay,” he laughed easy, before kissing her cheek. “I tell you the story. One more time.”

The Last Fight (Part II)

by Greg Mitchell

{Awake}

Dressler opened one eye. The other felt tight. Swollen shut. Crazy’s dead. Would he be next?

Boots clanked on metal and he drew his head up, feeling it pound—full of thoughts, but not his own. He saw Trebs circling him, wiping Crazy’s blood off his knife. The killer bore no satisfaction on his face, in fact very little recognition that he’d murdered a good man at all.

{Welcome, believer}

“Trebs,” he muttered. “I’m gonna kill you…”

When Dressler wavered to weak feet, he realized Trebs had not addressed him. Beyond the killer, through the front viewport, Dressler beheld a crimson-colored fleshy mass, adorned in writhing tentacles. Large suckers from one giant appendage were fixed to a corner of the glass. A single baleful eye held him in place. Dressler’s mind pulsed and swelled. He gripped at his temples, gnashing his teeth.

{Welcome, believer}

“Why…do you call me that?”

{It is what you are} the Beast thought to him.

“You’re the angel?”

{Your kind must name everything}

Woozy, Dressler got out through grit teeth, his heart burning from betrayal. “Why did you bring me here? My daughter’s cure—”

“Don’t let the fish look fool you,” Trebs spoke up, and Dressler wondered if he were somehow hearing what the “angel” was speaking to his mind. “This thing is the real fisherman.”

He would kill Trebs. He’d settled that in his mind now. He’d killed a man before, out of anger and booze. He’d never killed clear-headed, but for Trebs, Dressler knew it was worth a try.

“You got me down here,” Dressler spat. “Why? What now?”

{Your faith feeds me}

Dressler massaged his forehead, the throbbing blood vessels there, and thought he might pass out. “Faith…what? I don’t…I don’t have faith.”

{No? Wasn’t it faith that led you down here?}

“You lied to me.”

{Faith is faith}

A deep chuckle rumbled from Dressler’s throat, passing his clenched teeth. “You went to all of this…why? For a snack?”

It was Trebs who answered, “Do you realize how many people it’s lured down here? The angels up top, they try and keep this place sealed up, to keep guys like this from getting out. The angels, they can influence your mind—project thoughts, Dress. But that’s not the only tricks they got. They can siphon thoughts, too. Emotions. Memories. Good ones, or bad.”

Dressler leveled his good eye at the monster outside the viewport, seething in contempt for the creature that had toyed with him, dangling Edilyn’s life before him as bait.

Trebs continued, “All that anxiety you got for Lyn, it was like a beacon to him!”

{Your misery called to me}

“So, I’m the delivery,” Dressler snapped, cutting hard eyes at Trebs. “And what were you, the delivery boy?”

Trebs smiled, opening his mouth to answer, but the Beast cut through.

{He is the entree}

Trebs quickly closed his mouth, swiveling to face the monster. “What?”

{You have pain, too, human. Fear of your father. It drives everything you do. It always has}

“Wait, wait!” Trebs waved his hands, stepping closer to the glass. “We had a deal! I was supposed to bring you Dressler and more!”

{I healed your body by stimulating your mind. Stopped your bleeding. Sped up your body’s natural restorative properties. Your life belongs to me, to do with as I see fit. Your faith has fed me, human, but I find it lacking. I am done with you now}

“Wait!” Trebs commanded once more, his voice shrill. At once, the seam in his leg that the bug had inflicted days before—the wound that would have, should have, cost him his life—opened up as though someone had pulled a zipper on it. Blood cascaded down the grievous rip and Trebs collapsed, gasping in pain and fear. “No! No, no, no!”

Dressler closed his fists, finding that, when once he held nothing but hatred for the bug hunter, now he felt pity. Undone, Trebs passed out from shock, and died in silence.

{He was but a tasting. Your faith is much stronger. I will gorge myself on it. Or…}

Infuriated, and feeling increasingly helpless to do anything about it, Dressler ventured, “Or what?”

{I could dine on your mind all at once, or feed off your pain a little at a time, allowing you to continue in your pitiful existence. Better yet, perhaps…you could fulfill the other human’s role…bring other faithful to me. Offer their minds to me in your stead and sate my thirst}

Images of Edilyn flashed before his eyes. When she was born, crying and naked and vulnerable, needing him to cradle her in his arms. Protect her from the terrible world she’d been born into. That’s all he’d wanted to do—save her life to bring some purpose to his own.

{Return to the surface, human. I will fulfill my promise and heal your daughter. You can live out the rest of your days with her…only do not forget our arrangement. Bring me others with strong faith like yours. Feed my hunger}

Edilyn would be safe, while Dressler would be damned. A monster, dragging jelly rollers into the ocean, to the consumptions of their minds—their very souls.

But Edilyn would be safe.

“No,” Dressler said, praying his daughter would understand. He wouldn’t be there to explain it to her. He would be long dead by then, unable to tell her that there were things worth fighting for. Worth dying for.

Edilyn was worth dying for.

But the destruction of this leviathan was worth more.

I’m sorry, Lyn. Don’t forget your old man.

{What are you doing?}

Dressler hopped over the back of Crazy’s empty chair at the deck, his hands hovering over the strange consoles. He’d never piloted before, but he only needed to know enough to charge. Following the instructions the best he could, flipping a number of toggles, Dressler finally powered the sub to life.

{You can’t run from me}

“Not trying to.”

In the process of rummaging through controls, music blasted through speakers. More of Crazy’s “hip hop”. Something called “Power” by K-West. He didn’t know if K-West was a great composer of ancient days or not. Dressler didn’t know much about culture. Didn’t know much about a lot of things.

He’d done the best he could.

Dressler pulled back on the yoke, arcing in the water. He felt the monster roaring furiously in his mind, but he pushed it aside. His brain hurt, swelling with rage, blood running out of his nose. The Thing was ever-present in his thoughts, drowning out his own, but he focused on Edilyn. Her laugh, her smile, her hand in his, her arms around him.

Tentacles snapped, slapping the sub. Glass cracked, alarms screamed, and sparks and hissing steam shot out of paneling. Dressler ascended higher and higher, then slammed against the yoke as one of the alien arms snatched his propeller. The sub lurched hard to the right and he was thrown from the seat, crashing to the floor next to Trebs’ lifeless body. Poor Trebs. All talk, and too dumb to know when to shut up.

Dressler picked himself off the floor and slid back into the seat, juking the sub, breaking loose of the tendril.

{You will not escape}

“You don’t seem to get it,” Dressler huffed, wheeling the sub around, aiming his viewport at that single glaring eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Reaching across the console, Dressler cranked the music up, its thumping beat moving in time to his heart. He grinned, eyes squinting back tears—

—and flooded the throttle.

The beast grew larger in the viewport as Dressler plummeted hard and fast. He screamed, cried, shouted, and laughed all at once. A female automated voice warned him the ship was in danger of exploding, and he was glad for it.

“You wanna feed on my faith? I hope you choke on it!”

The Beast screamed in his mind, as the ship pierced the eye. Dressler heard a pop, a sizzle, and was thrown backwards when the cockpit exploded. Water punched through the glass, carrying him away as the ship tore apart, carrying him into black oblivion.

The Last Fight (Part I)

by Greg Mitchell -

“Move!” Crazy hollered, his meaty fists wrapped around Trebs’ wrists. The knife in Trebs’ left hand wavered centimeters from the pilot’s gray-white beard. Dressler stood back, hardly able to comprehend the order of events. In a span of seconds, Trebs had pulled a knife and lunged for the sub pilot, just as they reached the meeting place with the angel that had Edilyn’s cure. Crazy held his own—and rightly so for he was three times the size of Trebs—but the bug hunter was nearly superhuman in power. A sweaty sheen draped over his face and his eyes were glassy and mad.

“Trebs, stop!” Dressler shouted, futilely. “What are you doing?”

Trebs didn’t answer, his beady gaze directed on Crazy. Unrelenting, he leaned on the blade.

“A gun…” Crazy grunted, struggling. “Cockpit…Under the pilot’s seat…”

Dressler thought to run across the sub to find it, but acted instead, lunging on his co-worker—his guide down here into this aquatic hell—and wrapped around his arms. Pulling with every ounce of strength hard work had given him, Dressler roared, “Let go! Get off of him!”

“The jelly roller’s…snapped!” Crazy barked, his thick arms visibly shaking, giving in.

Dressler put Trebs in a chokehold and pried him off the pilot. Trebs merely flexed his trim arms, and Dressler was thrown backwards, hurtling across the card table where they’d shared drinks moments ago. He collapsed the table, dashing the ceramic mugs to the floor where they popped. Dazed, he pushed himself to his knees, feeling warmth spreading down his temple. Blood dripped from his stubbled chin, dotting the floor.

Getting his senses together, he looked back to Crazy still bravely wrestling with the knife. The ogre was on the floor now, on top of Trebs, trying desperately to turn the blade back on his attacker. Trebs never faltered, his face blank and expressionless, his eyes distant but intelligent. Like a machine.

“Gun!” Crazy shouted once more. This time Dressler did not hesitate. He clattered out of the small cabin, bouncing against the handrails, clanking down the hall, racing for the cockpit. His heart rammed hard in his chest and he thought of Edilyn.

I’m never going to see her again.

He tripped into the cockpit, falling face-first on hard metal. From his vantage point he glimpsed the simple handgun holstered underneath the pilot’s seat. Scrambling on hands and knees, he undid the latch and drew the gun. Checked to see it was loaded. Cocked it and rushed back to his friend.

Re-entering the cabin, he saw Crazy, spread on the floor.

Unmoving.

Trebs stood over him, bloodied knife in hand, barely breathing hard.

“Dress,” he stated simply, Crazy’s life dripping off the knife’s edge.

A blossom of red spread on Crazy’s barrel chest, intermingling with his frizzy beard. The man’s eyes were cold, lifeless.

No…

“Dress,” Trebs said once more, snapping him to.

Dressler ignored the man. Bared his teeth and raised the gun, firing. Trebs ducked impossibly out of the path of the bullet and it ricocheted off the wall deeper into the room, throwing sparks. “I’ll kill you!” Dressler screamed.

He shot again, but Trebs moved fast and leapt, tackling Dressler backwards, smacking his head on corrugated flooring. He saw stars, then only black.

On the Eve of the End

by Greg Mitchell -

The sub was on autopilot. Crazy had since outmaneuvered the angels at the top of the Boatic Trench, hiding within a series of underwater coral caves. It’d been tense for nearly twenty minutes as Dressler, Trebs, and Crazy nestled in the coral, no lights on, running on minimal power. The sub had been quiet as a tomb, filling Dressler with dread. At last, the angels moved on and the sub resumed its underwater quest.

Now they were lowering their way towards the meeting place, where Trebs’ angel contact was leading him. It occurred to Dressler more than once to ask why, if the angels had invited him to the ocean depths, the ones closer to the surface were so intent on keeping them away. The couple times he’d posed that same question to Trebs, his co-hunter had simply said “Trust me.”

It was a lot to go on trust, but every time Dressler thought of returning to dry land, he only had to think of Edilyn.

Crazy sipped at a mug of steaming drink, the same as Dressler and Trebs tended. The three of them sat around a small card table in the sub’s hold, taking a moment for themselves while the autopilot finished its journey. The coffee break was equal parts celebration that they’d dodged the angry angels and a time of quiet reflection. A strange sort of bond had been formed through the experience, and Crazy was feeling chatty.

The large man went on, pleasantly enough, talking about his various adventures piloting the oceans. Dressler nodded in and out of the conversation, enjoying the man’s stories when he was listening, but mostly thinking of home and how much he stood to lose if this little sojourn went south.

“So you’re a bug hunter, huh?”

Dressler blinked, realizing that Crazy had addressed him. “What? Oh. Yeah.”

He sipped at his drink. “Thought only criminals took that job.”

Dressler shrugged.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Crazy quickly added. “If that’s the case, then that’s your own business. Just saying you don’t look to me like much of a criminal.”

“No, it’s okay,” Dressler said. “I…served some time.”

Trebs blanched. “You never told me that.”

Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t tell anyone, save his employers. “It was about three years before Lyn was born. My daughter,” he added, realizing he’d not told Crazy her name. He felt as though the man had earned that much—risking all he had to escort Dressler on this fool’s errand. “It was a bar fight. I was lit up and mad about something. Guns got involved…I got a lenient sentence on account that we both were drunk and no one could tell who started shooting first. But…”

Crazy nodded, listening with a sympathetic ear. “You’re not that man now,” he said, not asked.

Dressler felt a thin smile emerge. “No. My daughter changed all of that.”

“Kids have a way of doin’ that.” Crazy buried himself in his mug again, thoughtful.

“You have any kids?” Trebs asked the pilot, suddenly, and it felt as though the man was a third wheel, butting in on a private conversation, though he’d been there the whole time.

“Used to,” Crazy answered, and left it at that.

Proximity alarms bathed the cabin in red. Crazy simply rose, slow and steady.

“What’s that?” Dressler asked, his heart starting to race.

“We’re here,” Crazy announced, like they’d reached the end of a leisure tour. “Now it’s time to see what the fuss is all about.”

“Yes,” Trebs stood, solidly. “It is.”

That’s when Trebs pulled the knife.

Making the Run

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler settled in the seat of the sub, his thoughts a jumble. He was really doing it—going down to the depths of Eclectia’s waters. Trebs sat beside him in the cockpit, uncharacteristically quiet. A serene smile stretched across the resurrected hunter’s face, one that Dressler didn’t understand. He didn’t share Trebs’ newfound faith or security.

At the controls of the underwater vessel was Crazy. His hands roved like wild over the console as he chewed a fat wad of tobacco. Music blared from the sub’s speakers, some long lost ancient genre called “hip hop”, Crazy said. The hairy man bebopped his head, but the rattle gave Dressler a headache.

“This is the classic stuff!” Crazy guffawed. “This was back when folks knew what music was all about. Now it’s all just noise and drek.”

“If you say so,” Dressler replied loudly to be heard over the bass.

Crazy chanted along with the music, and Dressler’s eyes wandered to the viewport to his left. His ears popped as they descended deeper into the ocean and wondered how long this would take. How long did it take to speak to some angels and get a cure for Edilyn?

“You’re nervous,” Trebs seemed to pick his thoughts. The man leaned over with a knowing nod. “Don’t be. Believers are rewarded.”

Yeah, Dressler worried. That was the problem. I’m not a believer, not as such. Would the angels find him wanting? Would his doubts and Sheba-blamed practicality steal away the love of his life? He saw his daughter’s face in his mind’s eye, left behind on the surface with her aunt. Meryl, his older sister, with four screaming, joyous, healthy children.

He only had Edilyn.

What was he saying? That’d he rather see one of his sister’s children die than his own? Was he saying Meryl had some to spare?

I’m horrible.

“Whoa!” Crazy bellowed. At first Dressler thought he was injecting some flavor into his sing-along, then he glimpsed it. Glowing, ethereal, vaguely humanoid, but wrong somehow. Fish-like. Alien. Other.

An angel.

She—he assumed it was a she—filled his port, startling him. But she was not alone. More joined her, swimming around the sub. Suddenly, he felt words worming their way through his mind. Words of warning. Turn back now, and You don’t belong here.

“Told ya!” Crazy snapped, shaking his bushy mane. He must have been hearing them too. “Told ya they wouldn’t want us poking around.”

“It’ll be fine,” Trebs said, still calm. Still smiling. “It’s a test, that’s all. Scaring off the unfaithful.”

“It’s working!” Crazy said.

“No!” Dressler snapped. “I paid you for a job. Keep going.”

“I am, I am, relax. And hold on!”

The sub lurched forward, evading the angels, swirling down into the dark abyss of the Boatic Trench.

Separation

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler stepped over a scrambling child, Edilyn in his arms. The shrill screams of her four tiny cousins cut through Dress’ mind like a hot poker. He winced. Edilyn’s chubby hands cupped her ears.

“It’s loud here, Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s only for a couple days, though, okay? Then we’ll be back home to the peace and quiet.”

One of the ankle biters charged, a toy spaceship in his hand. The boy made aggressive laser sounds, orbiting Dressler in a strafing run. Edilyn looked at her father, helpless. She’d always been a shy child, but ever since getting sick, she’d been rendered nearly invisible by other children. She never felt well enough to play, and Dressler knew dropping her off here was a mistake, but he had nowhere else to go.

Maybe this whole thing is a mistake. Angels underwater want to give me the cure to Lyn’s ash lung?

I must be nuts to go down there.

But he’d already spent a small fortune hiring Crazy—the sub pilot. Along with Trebs, they’d made the preparations. He was locked into this course of action now, and could only hope it paid off.

For Edilyn’s sake.

Or maybe just for my own.

Meryl stepped in between two warring children shouting over who had a doll first. She looked flushed with embarrassment, or perhaps just exhaustion. “Hey, little brother,” she exhaled, beaming. “Hey, Lyn.”

Edilyn just buried her face in Dressler’s shoulder.

He stroked her hair, his heart breaking. Meryl rubbed the little girl’s back sympathetically. “It’ll be fine, kiddo. We’ll have lots of fun. You’ll see.”

Dressler appreciated his sister taking Edilyn in. Especially since he’d not told her what he was going to do. He’d only said that the bugs were migrating and they had to move with them for a couple days—just enough to bring back his quota. She’d accepted that. Meryl’s husband was a miner and knew that sometimes the job called for sacrifices. This whole blamed planet did.

Nothing comes without sacrifice. That’s what their father had taught them. Dressler wondered what sacrifice he’d be called to make to appease these angels. Benevolent creatures or no, he didn’t think for one moment they were just going to hand over Edilyn’s cure out of the goodness of their squishy hearts.

No, they needed something.

But for Edilyn . . . he’d pay any price.

He kissed his daughter on the head and sat her on her own two feet. Her arms tightened around him, breaking his heart. “I won’t be gone very long, I promise.”

“I’ll miss you,” she muttered, her eyes sparkling with budding tears.

He tried to hold in his own emotion. “I love you.”

She hugged his leg as he stood. “Thanks, Meryl, for doing this.”

His sister smiled, a bit sad. “She’ll be fine, Dress. Just take care of yourself.”

Then Meryl rubbed his arm. “We’ll say a prayer to the angels for you.”

Dressler grinned for his sister’s benefit, though in his heart, her words felt ominous and filled him with dread. “Yeah . . . thanks.”

Gettin’ Crazy

by Greg Mitchell -

“That him?”

Trebs led the way through the clatter and chatter of Maddie’s Pub. Dressler trailed behind uncertainly, nodding a friendly “hello” to the madam of the bar. She was a mother to all the rugged workers who came here after hours and Dressler usually spent a while visiting with her, but today Maddie would have to wait.

They were here to save Edilyn.

At Dressler’s question, Trebs answered, “Yeah.”

In the corner of the pub, a bear of a man sat alone. He had an old prospector’s hat on his head, a pair of dark green goggles over his eyes, and a great bushy white beard covering his cheeks, chin, and the better part of his chest. Presently, his head was leaned back against the wall, his mouth agape. A foul odor emanated off his gargantuan bulk and flies buzzed around him.

He didn’t appear to be breathing. Dressler hesitated. “He’s . . . not moving.”

The two inched closer to the old man. Not a snore escaped his lips. His chest did not rise or fall. No, this isn’t happening. Dressler worried. We need him to save my daughter. Dressler reached one hand towards his throat, intending to check his pulse. “I think he’s dead . . . ”

“Nope,” the man barked, sitting straight up, suddenly alive. Dressler jerked his hand back, startled. “Just playin’ dead. Tryin’ ta keep the lowlifes away. You the guys got a job for me?”

Dressler shared a hesitant look with Trebs, but his partner simply nodded with a knowing grin. Trebs seemed a lot giddier since his brush with death and the angels of the seas. He had a perpetual glow about him these days that Dressler had to admit was a little creepy at times.

“I need someone to take me below,” Dressler said, still standing.

The burly man raised his goggles and eyed the bug hunter suspiciously. “Let me guess. Angels, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You one of them jelly rollers? This some kind of spiritual thing to you?” Before Dressler could answer, the man banged the table, carrying on. “Used to be a time folks stayed away from those critters. Now every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to take a box a’candy down to them squid heads and learn about ‘em.”

“No,” Dressler corrected. “That’s not why I want to go.”

The scruffy brute swatted at one of the flies hovering by his nose. He snorted and glared. “Then what is it yer after?”

“I was . . . invited.”

“By who?”

Dressler shifted uncomfortably. “By them. The angels. They want to cure my daughter. But, I need a tub to take me down there. Trebs says you’re the best pilot.”

“Ha!” The man threw his head back, roaring. “The best. The cheapest, you mean!”

“That, too. I don’t have a lot of money, but if this saves my kid, whatever I’ve got is yours.”

The pilot snickered a bit more. “Angels don’t often take too kindly to our kind poking around in their habitat, invite or no. It’d take a crazy man to drive you down there to the deep to find ‘em.”

Dressler nodded. He knew the risks. But Edilyn was worth it.

The other man looked him up and down, but Dressler remained determined. “Will you take me?”

After a moment’s pause, the pilot stood to his full height; the hairy ogre was more monster than man. He swelled his barren chest, looking down on the two tiny mortals that sought his help on their foolish quest. At last he thrust out a hand the size of Dressler’s face, offering a shake. “Call me ‘Crazy’.”

Contact

by Greg Mitchell -

“Somebody help! We need help over here!”

Trebs was growing pale, his lips turning purple, his skin sallow and thin. Dressler struggled under the other man’s weight, barely able to breathe after their long journey. After the beetle attacked out on the field, Dressler had done his best to make a tourniquet for Trebs’ pierced thigh, but without medical attention his co-hunter was going to die.

“We need a doctor!” Dressler shouted once more.

“No, Daddy…” Trebs mumbled through cracked lips. “It’s too dark, Dad…too dark…”

By time they reached the infirmary tent back at camp, another sand storm had picked up. Waves of hard grit felt like needles on Dressler’s face. He had his goggles on, his kerchief over his face, but the heat was blistering. Trebs slipped in and out of hysteria, sometimes whimpering like a child, other times shouting at the air, cursing his father.

Medics hurried out of the tent, fighting against the high winds to reach Trebs.

“He got hit by a bug,” Dressler shouted over nature’s roar. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s delirious.”

Two strong medics, decked in thick coats, caps, and goggles, hefted Trebs between them and dragged him toward the tent. Dressler followed, feeling like he’d just lost a hundred and seventy pounds. His arms tingled as he moved them again, and he looked down to see he was covered in Trebs’ blood.

Dressler pushed his way through the tent, instantly relieved of Eclectia’s cruelty. His hearing returned, his breathing slowed, and he removed his goggles and facemask. Surgeons apprised themselves of Trebs’ condition, cutting away his pants and stripping them off of him with a wet slap. Dressler glimpsed the wound, pumping blood like a volcano. Doctors hurried to stop the bleeding, beginning their operation.

“You’re going to have to leave,” one of the doctors ordered Dressler. He obliged, feeling unwanted, and retreated back into the storm.

Against the harsh winds, he crossed the camp to another, larger tent. Entering, he saw other dirtied bug hunters eating, drinking, laughing. Dressler dragged himself through the slop line, craving a little R&R at Maddie’s Pub back in town, but the mess tent would have to do. Nobody said anything to him as he gathered his plate of goop and found a seat at a nearly vacant table. Nobody knew what he’d just been through, the attack, that Trebs was fighting for his life.

He and Trebs weren’t friends, not in the traditional sense. He knew almost everything about the man, but that came from years together chasing beetles for meat. Alone out in the sands, there was little to do but talk. Get to know one another.

Except, Dressler hadn’t told Trebs about Edilyn. He’d not told many, except his sister. Dressler’s daughter Edilyn was diagnosed three weeks ago with ash lung. Only three Foundings old and the “experts” had given her two to six months to live. Edilyn was holding up, putting on a brave face for her dad, or perhaps she didn’t realize what she was facing. Only a child, she didn’t know the things she’d miss—school, growing up, making friends, falling in love, starting a family. Common human experiences that nearly everyone took for granted, but Edilyn would never have that chance. Dressler knew that even after she was gone, he’d celebrate every birthday, imagine every milestone that would have come. He’d continue to think about her life and what it could’ve—should’ve— been, long after she’d stopped living it.

It was his curse to bear.

One other hunter sat along the table from him. They were alone, the two of them. Jax was a strange one. He seemed different than the others. Quiet, withdrawn, like he was always thinking about something. The other hunters had given him a wide berth ever since his recent arrival, whispering about where he came from or who he was before he became a hunter. Most of Dressler’s ilk was born into this trade, learning to use a spear and rifle as soon as they could pull a pacifier out of their mouths. It was their culture—the mark of true manhood. Bug hunters took great pride in their work, telling stories of daring adventures against bug-kind. They were a loud, conceited sort, and Dressler might have joined with them not too long ago. He would have laughed and drank and shared wild tales, but Edilyn…

“Hey,” Jax spoke, breaking Dressler’s thoughts. Dressler regarded the other man, surprised. Jax’s face was pensive, his tone soft but distant. “You okay?”

Dressler remembered he was painted with blood—both human red and bug yellow. But he wasn’t the confiding type. “Yeah.”

Jax gave him a doubtful look then resumed his fabled deep thinking, continuing to eat. Dressler stared at the mound of nutritional slush on his plate, but had a hard time bringing himself to consume it. He thought of Trebs, of Edilyn, of his life on this ruined rock, and held his face in his hands.

“Excuse me,” a timid voice interrupted.

Dressler saw one of the camp nurses standing over him, her gown splattered with blood. It was then that Dressler realized how quiet the mess hall had grown all of a sudden, as everyone watched her and, by proxy, him. The nurse wrung her hands and Dressler prepared himself for the news that Trebs was dead. He’d have to tell the man’s family.

“Your friend wants to speak with you,” the nurse said, biting her lip. Her face was a mix of worry and fear.

Dressler stood. “He’s alive?”

She nodded. “We’ll talk more…in private.”

The nurse left him there, throwing conspiratorial glances over her shoulder. The men watched Dressler, mumbling gossip amongst themselves. Dressler felt out of place and looked to Jax for support, though he had no idea why. At last, he followed the nurse outside. She waited for him at the side of the tent, away from the hunters. The storm had subsided now, the breeze caressing the desert sands.

Dressler approached the woman, and she whispered, “He’s…he’s healed.”

“Okay,” Dressler said. “I’m glad the doctors were able to get to him in time.”

“No,” she corrected. “He’s healed. The wound is gone. It’s like he was never attacked.”

Dressler’s mind went blank. “I…I don’t understand. He lost so much blood.”

“He died on the operating table and then he just…woke up. The wound closed up on its own. There’s not even a scar. Not a scratch.”

“How is that possible?”

The nurse leveled her eyes at him. They were filled with a quiet terror. “It’s not. But…he wants to speak with you.”

At once, Dressler tromped across camp, headed for the infirmary. With force he pushed open the front flap, and gasped. Trebs was in a gown, sitting up on the bed, the medical staff pressed to one wall of the tent, talking heatedly, their voices low. Trebs turned to Dressler and smiled.

“Hey, Dress.”

Doctors and nurses halted in their debate, eyeing the visitor. Dressler wanted to talk to them, to find out what had happened, but Trebs was focused on him, his face passive and full of light.

“Hey…Trebs,” Dressler greeted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Hesitant, he walked closer to the hunter on the cot. “They, uh, they said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Not me,” Trebs chuckled softly. “Through me, but it’s someone else who has something to say. Come here.” He lifted his chin towards the professionals huddling in the corner. “It’s not for them.”

Dressler did as requested, a foreboding dread gnawing at his gut. As he drew near, Trebs leaned forward, excited. “I saw them, man.”

“Who?”

“The angels.”

Dressler shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. I was dead. I was in the black…Then one of them came to me, glowing and warm. He, it, whatever, said that he would send me back. He’d heal me. He said I had good to do in my life. Hah, can you believe that? My old man,” Trebs trailed off, his eyes glistening with tears. “…he never thought I’d ever be any good…but I’ve got work to do, the angel said. And the first thing to do is talk to you.”

Dressler exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “Why me?”

Trebs looked to the floor. “Is, uh…is something wrong with Edilyn?”

Dressler felt as though a weight had slammed into his stomach, punching out his breath. “What?”

“The angel told me. He knows she’s sick, man. She’s dying. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. The angel wants to help. He said that he knows your kid believes and that ‘believers get rewarded’.”

Feeling faint, Dressler braced himself on the cot, trembling.

“You gotta go down there, though,” Trebs said. “I’m just the messenger. He said he can help you, but you’ve got to go down there. Under the water.”

Dressler wanted to protest. Why? How? The angel had healed Trebs—brought him back from the dead—from all these kilometers away. Why did Dressler have to brave the waters in order for Edilyn to be saved? It wasn’t fair. “Why can’t he heal her like he did you?”

Trebs shrugged. “I don’t know, Dress. I should’ve asked, but I was so grateful. You don’t know what it’s like when you’re around those guys. I felt it, man. It was like…joy. Pure joy. But you’ve gotta go to him.”

Dressler considered for a long moment, his mind filled with doubt, confusion, but most of all, hope. He spotted the doctors waiting on him, to hear his decision, and he would not keep them waiting any longer.

“Yeah. Okay. Where do I start?”

Dark (FLASHBACK)

by Greg Mitchell -

Shuffling. I can hear him outside, trying to find me, but I’m good at hiding. A loud clatter. Something falls over and breaks on the floor. He shouts my name, like it’s my fault. Everything’s always my fault. He’s been drinking again. I don’t want to blame him. He’s a miner, trapped in the dark for hours. Sometimes days. The dark does things to you, but I won’t be like that. I’m going to grow up and stay outside, where I can see the light. I don’t care about the storms. I’ll gladly face all that grit and heat—even the coldest day—just so long as I’m free. I don’t want to be alone, in the dark.

I’m alone in the dark now. He shouts my name again. “Trebstidium! Where are you, boy? Get out here, now!”

I’m alone in the dark, but I won’t be forever.

I won’t.

Only the Strong

by Greg Mitchell -

“It’s just a fact of nature,” Trebs said in a hush, watching through his set of green-tinted binocs over the ashen terrain.

Dressler kept his eyes forward, likewise watching the battle from the safety of the makeshift roost. Up ahead, two dominant beetles tore apart their weaker brother. Even from here, Dressler heard the shrill cries of the thing, and felt pity.

“It’s the Rule of the Strong,” Trebs added as one of the larger bugs tore a leg off the smaller. “Those that are strong make the rules, you get me?”

“I get you,” Dressler grumbled, wishing Trebs would quit talking. That was always the worst part when their shifts fell together. Despite the dangers, hunting bugs for meat was usually a time for quiet reflection—a time Dressler desperately needed since the doctor diagnosed Edilyn with ash lung.

“If you can’t hack it,” Trebs droned on, as the lesser insect finally fell in a spray of yellow gore, “You don’t deserve to live, know what I’m saying?”

A warbling shriek filled Dressler’s ears. He clutched at his head, startled.Trebs did the same. Deadly pincers pierced the scrap metal roof and tore it back, red sands and heat pelting the humans inside. Another bug—one they’d not previously seen—reared up on its back crawlers, its throat emitting a high-pitched rattle.

Trebs screamed, “It’s calling the others! We—”

The beetle that towered over them dropped its foreclaw like a pick axe, piercing the meat of Trebs’ thigh. He fell back, blood gushing everywhere, and hollered in anguish. Dressler reached for his spear and jabbed at the thing, searching for the exposed underbelly.

With its other claw, the monster slapped him away and Dressler crashed through the rough wall of their roost, landing in a plume of sand. He stood, disoriented, no clue where the spear had gone. Fear took hold of him and shook hard, the sounds of Trebs struggling for his life mere feet away. Dressler dropped to one knee and brought out the rifle slung on his back. A thunderous crack echoed across the canyon as Dressler’s shot struck the beast in the eye. It howled in pain, raining yellow blood on the ruined roost, and backed away.

The gunshot had scared off the other bugs, a prime reason why most hunters used spears. Even though they lost their catch for the day, Dressler was relieved. He rushed to the rubble, where Trebs was alive and in pain.

It’d be a long, miserable hike back to camp.

Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels.”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in harsh contrast. The sound of dirt and grit scraped against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler had all-but tuned out.

“Come on, Lyn,” he sighed. “Not tonight. You really need your rest.”

Through bleary eyes, she beseeched him. “I feel fine, Dad.”

A sharp pang pierced his spirit.

Three years old and she’s braver about this than I am.

“I don’t really want to,” Dressler grinned, his nose and eyes burning with tears that he kept barred.

“Please, Daddy,” the little girl begged, reminding him of all the little things in life she’d begged for. New toys, a special treat. A million trivial things he’d taken for granted. Things that would be left behind when she was gone.

Dressler cursed in his heart. Better do it. Better savor these moments. You won’t have much opportunity before long.

“Okay,” he relented, and the girl’s feet squirmed under the covers, her face brighter than 94 Ceti. “The angels are beautiful creatures that live in the ocean depths.”

“How did they get there?” she immediately asked her usual question.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve always been there. Maybe they came from somewhere else.”

“A boy in my class said they have magic,” she nodded eagerly. “Is that true, Daddy?”

“That’s what I hear, but I’ve never seen one for myself,” he chuckled. “I guess that’s why we have stories. Sometimes believing in a thing is more important than the thing itself. Does that make sense?”

She shook her head no.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me most of the time, either.”

Pausing, Edilyn furrowed her brow, the soft shush-shushing of the windswept sands comforting, even in Eclectia’s tumultuous storms. “Daddy . . . Could the angels make me not sick?”

Dressler’s chest tightened, his breathing short. He bit on his lip, forcing his emotions back. He’d cry later, after Edilyn was asleep. He’d cry ‘til morning. “I don’t know, Lyn,” he whispered in a raw croak. “But I’d like to believe.”