aphid behind me. The dog scrambled backwards.
“Oh no, wait.” I lunged after him, palm out. When he nudged my hand, I led him away from the bug, scratching and rubbing his ears as we walked.
How was it that he and I survived when so many hadn’t? Was it genetic or environmental? Did some kind of Peter Parker freak exposure make us super ? Maybe I watched too many movies. Whatever the reason—survival of the fittest, natural selection—the dog and I survived. The knot of loneliness in my gut loosened, cracked, and the sharp edges fell away.
“I’ll call you Darwin.” A symbol of his unfavorable survival against nature.
He barked and lathered my cheek.
We shared an MRE and I cleaned the carbine and daggers. That done, I perched beside the mutilated aphid, dagger in fist. Then I took a steadying breath and sawed through its neck. It took longer than expected. My stomach twisted and burned. What was happening to me? I wanted to do it. When the neck snapped and the head rolled off, the eyes went flat. The tension in my guts uncoiled.
I dragged the head into my lap and scored the skin to peel it from the bone. With another knife wedged as a chisel, I pounded it under the top of the skull and pried it off. The pinkish gray brain had two halves and filled the bulbous cranium. I scooped them out and scraped off the membrane covering, revealing a tofu texture. I didn’t know what an insect brain looked like, but I suspected it was very different from the human-like brain in my lap. Did it mean they still had emotions? Memories? Christ, what if they were still human, trapped in these bodies?
My mouth went dry. I couldn’t think like that. They showed no anger, no remorse. An aphid wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. Which was why I had to kill them first. I tossed the brain onto the heap of limbs. Then I washed my hands with my camel back and joined Darwin at the tree line.
We plowed east through Missouri’s Ozark Mountains. I followed Darwin up and down rugged slopes, his paws hooking around boulders and loose rock with ease. I chased him along the river way, wheezing, my calves burning. Often, he sprinted too far ahead and disappeared into the bush. Minutes felt like hours until he returned, bearing fresh water fowl.
A week passed and I grew dependent on his low growl, his aphid alarm. He sensed them before I did. For fear of losing him again, I’d herd Darwin in the opposite direction of the threat. I knew I was just tarrying until our peacetime lifted. The buzz of aphid hunger vibrated the air. I couldn’t run from the aphids forever. I needed to test the dog’s reaction to gun fire.
“ Hier , Darwin.” He ran to my side and leaned against my leg. I scratched his head and kissed the bridge of his snout. No doubt he knew more Schutzhund commands than I did. Maybe he’d been a police dog.
“ Fuss .”
He obeyed, heeling as I walked along the riverbed toward an open field. The field animated with sunflowers, swishing and stretching to the summer sky.
“ In Ordnung. ”
Darwin took to the field, romping through the yellow blooms like an adolescent whitetail, spraying them to and fro in his wake. Then he stopped and looked back at me. He was really enjoying himself, his playfulness contagious. Focus, Evie.
I targeted the carbine on the trunk of a dead cottonwood bridging the river. Exhale. Pop.
He pricked his ears, the only thing he moved.
I sighed my relief and tramped to his side.” Sitz .”
Darwin sat on his haunches.
I raised the AA-12. Sighted it down field. Told him to stay. “ Bleib. ”
Exhale. Clap. Clap.
Shotgun still in high ready, I gave Darwin a sidelong glance. His eyes met mine, his body stiff with attention. My lips twitched. Wouldn’t it be something if Darwin were there because of Joel’s doing? Joel always knew what I needed. My injuries were healing without infection and Darwin kept my mind off them most days. The dog numbed my pain.
I bent and hugged him. “Well done,
“Oh no, wait.” I lunged after him, palm out. When he nudged my hand, I led him away from the bug, scratching and rubbing his ears as we walked.
How was it that he and I survived when so many hadn’t? Was it genetic or environmental? Did some kind of Peter Parker freak exposure make us super ? Maybe I watched too many movies. Whatever the reason—survival of the fittest, natural selection—the dog and I survived. The knot of loneliness in my gut loosened, cracked, and the sharp edges fell away.
“I’ll call you Darwin.” A symbol of his unfavorable survival against nature.
He barked and lathered my cheek.
We shared an MRE and I cleaned the carbine and daggers. That done, I perched beside the mutilated aphid, dagger in fist. Then I took a steadying breath and sawed through its neck. It took longer than expected. My stomach twisted and burned. What was happening to me? I wanted to do it. When the neck snapped and the head rolled off, the eyes went flat. The tension in my guts uncoiled.
I dragged the head into my lap and scored the skin to peel it from the bone. With another knife wedged as a chisel, I pounded it under the top of the skull and pried it off. The pinkish gray brain had two halves and filled the bulbous cranium. I scooped them out and scraped off the membrane covering, revealing a tofu texture. I didn’t know what an insect brain looked like, but I suspected it was very different from the human-like brain in my lap. Did it mean they still had emotions? Memories? Christ, what if they were still human, trapped in these bodies?
My mouth went dry. I couldn’t think like that. They showed no anger, no remorse. An aphid wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. Which was why I had to kill them first. I tossed the brain onto the heap of limbs. Then I washed my hands with my camel back and joined Darwin at the tree line.
We plowed east through Missouri’s Ozark Mountains. I followed Darwin up and down rugged slopes, his paws hooking around boulders and loose rock with ease. I chased him along the river way, wheezing, my calves burning. Often, he sprinted too far ahead and disappeared into the bush. Minutes felt like hours until he returned, bearing fresh water fowl.
A week passed and I grew dependent on his low growl, his aphid alarm. He sensed them before I did. For fear of losing him again, I’d herd Darwin in the opposite direction of the threat. I knew I was just tarrying until our peacetime lifted. The buzz of aphid hunger vibrated the air. I couldn’t run from the aphids forever. I needed to test the dog’s reaction to gun fire.
“ Hier , Darwin.” He ran to my side and leaned against my leg. I scratched his head and kissed the bridge of his snout. No doubt he knew more Schutzhund commands than I did. Maybe he’d been a police dog.
“ Fuss .”
He obeyed, heeling as I walked along the riverbed toward an open field. The field animated with sunflowers, swishing and stretching to the summer sky.
“ In Ordnung. ”
Darwin took to the field, romping through the yellow blooms like an adolescent whitetail, spraying them to and fro in his wake. Then he stopped and looked back at me. He was really enjoying himself, his playfulness contagious. Focus, Evie.
I targeted the carbine on the trunk of a dead cottonwood bridging the river. Exhale. Pop.
He pricked his ears, the only thing he moved.
I sighed my relief and tramped to his side.” Sitz .”
Darwin sat on his haunches.
I raised the AA-12. Sighted it down field. Told him to stay. “ Bleib. ”
Exhale. Clap. Clap.
Shotgun still in high ready, I gave Darwin a sidelong glance. His eyes met mine, his body stiff with attention. My lips twitched. Wouldn’t it be something if Darwin were there because of Joel’s doing? Joel always knew what I needed. My injuries were healing without infection and Darwin kept my mind off them most days. The dog numbed my pain.
I bent and hugged him. “Well done,
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