Pheromone, page 2
part #1 of For the Love of Aliens Series
“Go ahead and try,” the man replies smugly, allowing one of the paramedics to examine the bite on his hand. It’s not really all that bad. To put it nicely, I feel as if he’s … sort of a little bitch. “I have connections you wouldn’t dare dream of, little girl.”
Oh. Wow. I don’t like Tabbi, but the patronizing tone this guy is taking on would have me in a rage, too.
Tabbi manages to escape from Jane’s grip, the possum clinging to her shoulder as she throws a punch that rocks the lawyer on his feet. He stumbles back, clutching at his face as far more blood streams from his nostrils than ever came from the bite on his hand.
I stand there gaping as Tabbi shakes her hand out, sniffling as she slides her phone from her pocket and flicks it open—it’s a Z Flip, obviously. Samsung is one of her sponsors. Maybe … not after this clusterfuck though.
“Can you guys come up to the roof?” she asks, sniffling sadly, tears welling.
“You didn’t invite those weirdos you met in the club the other night, did you?” Jane whispers, eyes flicking from the yowling lawyer to Tabbi to me. Clearly, she’s begging for help here. “If you did, then uninvite them; I don’t trust them. Besides, if you haven’t noticed, we’re in a bit of a pickle here.”
“Pickle?” Tabbi asks, looking at me for some reason and not at Jane. “Did I do anything unreasonable here, Evelyn?” she asks, and I sigh. I’ve mentioned a good two dozen times before that my name isn’t Evelyn; it’s just Eve. No matter. We have bigger fish to fry.
“You punched the mayor’s lawyer in the face just now,” I remind her, and Tabbi turns a look over her shoulder, Madonna’s tiny, clawed feet clutching the fabric of the pink cardigan for support. It’s a ridiculous situation, something I’m bound to find funny later. Jane and I will settle in with some saké, sushi, and a playlist that does not include any of Tabbi’s music, and we’ll howl with laughter over this.
For now, I try my best to take control of the situation. Jane’s got that look on her face that says she’s about to panic.
“This prick?” Tabbi asks, turning around like she’s ready to fight again. “Some washed-up old man with an ugly hairpiece? What is he gonna do, huh?” she queries, crossing her arms obstinately. After a moment—and I wish I could make this up—she gets her phone out again, popping open her selfie-stick, and then starts to film something that’ll inevitably go viral as soon as she posts it. “Some guy slapped Madonna, and she bit him. Then I punched him. Who’s at fault here?” she asks as Jane’s eyes get wide, and she lunges forward.
“Do not post that,” she grinds out as I snatch Tabbi’s phone from the end of the selfie stick.
“You’ve just forfeited your entire career, sweetheart,” the man snarls, swiping blood from the lower half of his face. He points at Tabbi with a shaking hand as the two paramedics exchange a look, standing there with their bags in hand and looks of unbridled annoyance on their weary faces. When there are lives to save, here they are, stuck in a rooftop garden with a pop star and a lawyer. Gross. “I never allowed my daughter to listen to your music; it’s garbage.”
“Excuse me?” Tabbi breathes, as I hold up my hands, trying to step between her and the lawyer.
“Oh, and the food tonight?” he adds with a sly smirk, stepping up far too close to me to be civil. “It was inedible.” The man squeezes my ass, and I turn suddenly, elbowing him in the face on ‘accident’.
“Oh my God, oh no.” I put my hands over my mouth to hide my own smirk. The guy is just gushing blood from his nose now. “Did I accidentally hit you?”
“All of you bitches are in trouble now!” the lawyer—I’m not sure what his name is—screams as he backs up toward the door.
It opens then and two men step out, both of them tall and muscular and identical. They even saunter forward in unison, arm muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of their too tight t-shirts. Matching smarmy smirks. Tight jeans draped over thick thighs and bubble butts. Holy crap. Not only are both guys gorgeous, but they’re almost … inhuman. Who has skin that perfect, hair that shiny, abs that tight? They’re barely human.
Then again, this is exactly the sort of crowd that Tabbi usually hangs out with. Other than the twin thing, they don’t look any different than the six-foot-four models that Tabbi dates and discards on the regular. What’s new?
“Boys!” she whines, putting one of her hands on either of their chests as they step up on both sides of her. “Can you please take me with you? Wherever. Anywhere. I’d jet off this fucking planet if I had the chance.”
The two dudes turn a look on one another that creeps me out. It’s even worse when they smile and one of them rubs his large hand in a circle on Tabbi’s lower back. It doesn’t look comforting; it looks assessing. Clinical. Huh.
“Don’t worry, Tabbi Kat, we’ve got you.” The first man flicks a coy look over his shoulder, his smile growing even wider as I find myself taking an unconscious step back. Jane notices and reaches out to grab my wrist.
“Get your hands off of me.” The lawyer slaps away the female medic’s hand and storms off in the direction of the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” the second musclehead purrs, and then he’s moving to block the lawyer from leaving. “You’ve made our kitty cry.” His hand comes out and wraps around the lawyer’s neck, causing the man’s eyes to bulge almost comically out of his head.
“Oh, shit,” I murmur, lips parted in shock.
“Um, Eve,” Jane whispers, her voice strangled in a way I’ve only ever heard the day her mother was arrested. She’s looking up so, as expected, I also look up.
That’s when I see it: an angry-looking vessel crafted out of some strange iridescent metal.
Uhh …
Someone is screaming bloody murder—it might be the lawyer—and then that’s it.
I’m opening my eyes to find that goddamn sign again.
Humans … pets, meat, or mates.
However you choose to interpret that … it doesn’t bode well for me, now does it?
Where am I? I wonder as I struggle to sit up with the help of the male paramedic. He offers me some water which I take, gratefully slurping down half of his water bottle before I pass it back. Using the heel of my hand, I rub at my heavy lids and try to clear my blurry vision.
I was bleeding, right? But why? It was the lawyer who was bleeding earlier, not me.
I squint at the paramedic, blinking him into focus only to wish I hadn’t done that. He has a huge gash on his forehead, a waxen expression, and pursed lips. Mostly it’s the fear in his eyes that makes me wish I was still having trouble seeing.
“What’s going on?” I ask, wondering which parts of my delusion—the strange sign, the mention of fighting off things, and the spaceship—are real, and which are fake. Hopefully, I just imagined some gross middle-aged lawyer cupping my ass and mocking my food. “Where are we?”
I look around, noticing that we’re in a tent of some kind. Not like a small camping tent, but one of those big white ones used for weddings and other outdoor events. Only, there are no openings in this particular tent; it appears to have a large zipper in the center of one wall, like a raincoat or something. The fabric itself is translucent enough to allow light in, but only just. It’s a frosty, opaque material that reminds me of a shower curtain. Only the roof is see-through.
That’s where the sign hangs, a banner of white fabric with crudely drawn letters in at least half a dozen languages.
I drop my attention back to the paramedic, and then let it shift beyond him to where the lawyer guy is pacing a frantic back-and-forth, his hairpiece missing and his fingers playing in the thin strands that circle the crown of his head.
Tabbi is sitting about a dozen feet from him, stone-still and staring at the dusty gravel beneath us like it holds the answers to the universe’s most poignant questions. Madonna the Possum sits stiffly on her shoulder like a pirate’s faux parrot prop in some community theater production.
I don’t see Jane, but the female paramedic is applying a bandage to my upper right thigh, fingers stained with blood. Actually, she’s wearing a lot more of it than makes me comfortable. I glance down to see that there’s an IV in my arm, a bag attached to it that the male paramedic is currently holding in his right hand, keeping it aloft for gravity’s sake.
Speaking of, I feel so damn heavy, like the weight of the world is perched on my shoulders.
It takes me three tries to get the question out.
“Where’s Jane?” I ask, and that’s when things get scary. Male Medic glances over at Female Medic, but neither of them chooses to answer my question. The former offers me the water again while the latter secures the bandage and then sits back on her calves.
“You should take it easy for a while,” she tells me, but I’m already getting dizzy from the implications. There’s blood everywhere. Jane is missing. Someone … kidnapped us? I flick my eyes around the confines of the tent again as my mind races with horrible possibilities.
Those weirdos that Tabbi picked up at the club did this to us! Surely there was no spaceship—we’ll chalk that sighting up to blood loss—but the fact that we’ve been kidnapped is undeniable. I just stare at the lady medic until she finally looks back up and accidentally catches my gaze. Her cheeks immediately turn pink. For this woman who just saved my life to look sheepish about something, it must be bad.
“Jane …” I start again, and the dude medic sighs heavily.
“I don’t want to upset you considering the state you’re in, but there’s no point in sugarcoating it: you’ll find out soon enough whether you like it or not.” He sets the water bottle aside and pushes his glasses up his nose. I realize now as I sit here that his hair isn’t black; it’s a very pretty blue-black. My vision narrows in on that color before I force myself to inhale and blink through the urge to pass out again.
“Sugarcoat what?” I whisper, already anticipating what he’s going to say. Kidnapped by some of Tabbi Kat’s crazed fans. Kidnapped by some of Tabbi Kat’s anti-fans. Kidnapped because of Tabbi Kat since there’s no way this isn’t one-hundred-percent her fault.
“We’ve been abducted by aliens.” Medic Guy isn’t smiling. That’s what makes it so damn funny, the way he delivers the words totally deadpan like that. I laugh at him. What he says makes me feel so much better. If he can joke about our situation, then I don’t have anything to worry about.
Deep inside, I realize how much of my blood is on Medic Girl; I feel Jane’s absence like a thorn in the side. Some irrational inner protection system clicks into place, and I can’t seem to stop myself from laughing until I’m coughing. I gesture for the water, and the male medic hands it to me.
He watches me carefully as I drink it, but Medic Girl just leans in with an austere expression on her face.
“Jane was taken a little while ago; we weren’t prepared then, but at least we know what’s coming now.”
“Would you guys please stop?” I snap, irritation threading my veins. I’m just pissed the fuck off now. “Where is Jane? What’s going on?”
The zipper near the front of the tent begins to slide down with the click of metal teeth.
The two medics exchange a look before pushing up to their feet.
“Take this,” Medic Guy hisses, gesturing at me with the bag of fluids. I’m so surprised by his anger that I grab onto it as quickly as I can, holding it up to keep the flow going. Pretty sure I won’t be awake for long if I miss getting whatever’s in this bag.
The pair of them head straight for the lawyer, grabbing onto his arms as he tries to jerk back and away from them.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” he shouts as they drag him forward, shoving him suddenly toward the tent’s fabric as it begins to gape open.
One of the muscular guys from earlier on the roof steps in. Only … he looks a little different. His skin is a pale green color, his hair a spiky mess of emerald shards, his mouth far too broad to be human. My eyes open wide, and my hand begins to tremble as it clutches the bag. Cosplay? I wonder, even as I know I’m denying an itchy, impossible reality.
No, Eve, this isn’t some guy in an alien suit; he’s an alien who was wearing a human suit.
“Trevor!” Tabbi shouts, shoving up to her feet. Madonna hisses again, but Tabbi ignores her, stumbling over to the green-skinned dude and clutching onto one of his massive forearms. He has four of them, by the way. “Trev, you gotta tell me what’s going on. Is this a reboot of Punk’D? As long as Justin Beiber isn’t the host anymore, I can deal. If it’s Ashton Kutcher, then … well, I don’t like him either.”
I stare at Tabbi as she babbles on incoherently.
The guy—Trevor, I guess—shakes her off with a growl that’s nowhere near human before turning to the front of the tent. I notice then that he steps halfway in front of her, as if to keep her from whatever it is that’s coming in here.
There’s this horrid sound, like a slug scraping its slimy body over broken glass, that precedes the creature’s appearance. As soon as I lay eyes on it, I understand what Medic Girl meant when she said that they needed more humans to fight those things.
There’s no other way for me to describe what I’m looking at other than to say … it’s weird. And disgusting. And terrifying. I almost scream, but the lawyer beats me to it, turning around to see what everyone’s staring at.
After the medics shoved him forward, he spun around like he was planning on fighting them, but they wouldn’t let him close. One of them even wielded a scalpel in his direction, like she might actually cut him with it.
Now, I get why they did what they did.
The creature—a horse-sized slug thing with pustules and compound eyes and antennae—opens up its giant mouth like a snake, unhinging a jaw I wasn’t even sure it had. Until just now, it didn’t appear to have a mouth at all. It opens wide, proving me wrong, and reveals a slimy, gummy pink mouth and a fat tongue like a frog.
That tongue lashes out like a whip and curls around the lawyer’s middle as he screams. If he hadn’t touched my ass I might’ve felt sorry for him as he’s tipped headfirst into the creature’s throat. With a disturbing undulation, the monster contracts and swallows the man down whole.
The really messed-up part is that I can still hear him screaming.
Trevor—I highly doubt that’s his real name—barks something out in another language, and puts a hand on the weapon at his side while the slug turns its eyeball-topped antennae in the direction of the Male Medic. The guy is trembling, but to his credit, both he and his partner seem to be handling this situation admirably well.
If someone had to go, it needed to be the lawyer.
And that isn’t just a bad lawyer joke: he was an asshole.
Tabbi collapses on the ground again as the slug monster reluctantly leaves and Trevor stalks off, zipping up the tent behind him. Both medics rush forward and attempt to drag the zipper back down to no avail, cursing and looking at one another as they murmur to each other under their breath.
I’m still sitting there trying to understand what’s happening when they approach me again.
“My name is Avril,” the woman says, putting a hand to her chest as she gets to one knee beside me. She nods her chin in her partner’s direction. “This is Connor. Your name is Eve, right?”
“Jane is … she was eaten?” I whisper, immediately hating myself for even asking the question. I shouldn’t have gone there. I can’t think about that. Isn’t it more likely that I slipped and fell off the roof? Maybe I’m lying in a hospital in a coma?
Does it hurt if I pretend the aliens are real and try not to die?
“She wasn’t eaten,” Avril offers cautiously, as if she isn’t sure how much more to say. “You don’t remember?”
I squeeze my eyes shut—not because I think I can actually summon the lost memories—but because I don’t want to consider any other possibilities. Being eaten alive is horrific, but there are worse things. Aren’t there? Maybe not.
I open them again to see that Avril’s waiting for me.
“You were drifting in and out of consciousness, so I’m not surprised. She wasn’t eaten, just … sold, I guess.” Avril sighs and reaches out, placing something into my hand. It appears to be a large needle. “We don’t have a lot to fight back with, but it’s better than nothing.”
Without waiting for her to suggest it, I turn and try jabbing the needle into the tent’s fabric. Instead of tearing the plastic like I’d hoped, the needle scrapes along it with a shriek, almost as if it’s metal-on-metal.
“We’re not getting through the tent,” Connor explains, shoving his glasses up his nose. He remains standing, pacing a tight circle on my right side. Just seeing him do that makes me realize how weak I really am right now: I couldn’t get up and pace if I wanted to.
How am I supposed to fend off an alien if I can’t even stand up by myself?
Shit. Oh Jane, where are you and what the fuck do I do?
“Listen, Eve. You’ve got a nick to your femoral artery, and you’ve lost a ton of blood. We stitched you up and wiped you down, but you’ve got to—” Avril cuts off abruptly as the zipper at the front of the tent comes down and she stands up, spinning to face the oncoming threat.
I smell him before I see him, a cardamom and honey laced punch to the gut. The fine hairs on my body stand on end, and my throat gets tight. My wounded leg throbs, like my very blood is staging a revolt to escape my skin. What the hell? My body comes to life when I suck in a breath that’s heavy with humidity and desire, igniting this violent ache in my chest that has no discernible explanation.
Trevor the Unfriendly Green Giant steps into the tent first, followed shortly after by a man with large, dark eyes and a white fur cloak slung over his shoulders, trimmed with red at the throat.
I drag my limp body back until I’m pressed up against the plastic wall. There isn’t a single part of me that isn’t trembling, and I can’t exactly explain why except to say that the air smells different. Feels different. He’s making it taste this way, I think as I inhale and find myself sampling a strange musk on the back of my tongue. It fills the space and makes me even dizzier than I already am.
