Dominant Species Volume Three -- Acquired Traits by David Coy

my
pleasure.”
    The sound
that came out of Rachel was a groan; a long undifferentiated sound like a deep,
far-off horn. John felt her leg go stiff where they touched. Then, as if he’d
already seen it in his mind, he watched helplessly as she pitched forward onto
the floor in a full seizure, her body vibrating from head to toe.
     
    * * *
     
    This
time, Rachel went to a place where the air was as thick and as tangible as
muddy water. Her legs and arms pumped while the fear and panic of the chase
beat in her heart. The thing that chased her was formless, but she knew it just
the same. No species, no creature, no living thing was more despicable or
loathsome. She wanted to turn her head, and by sight in her dream-mind’s eye,
give form to the revulsion for only an instant.
    She
stopped and turned.
    Her
scream erupted from deep down. Up and out it came, pulling her insides behind
it in a visceral trail that left her empty. Her barren shell floated aimlessly
in the muddy water until it was sucked in, swallowed whole by the vile thing in
a single gulp. She felt herself inside it, churning around and around, then the
vile thing coughed her up in pieces barely connected and that wriggled
obscenely.
    She
groaned.
     
    * * *
     
      “Rachel . . . wake up,” John’s voice gently
coaxed.
    She heard
his voice and saw the light above. The light was pale, green, and unnatural.
She squinted against it. She felt his firm leg under her cheek and felt his
warm hands on her arm and head.
    “Where
are we?” she asked.
    “In a
jail—of sorts,” John said.
    “It’s a
shelter they’re using as a jail,” Donna said, with a tone of weary
indifference. “It’s got bars over the windows and everything. Bastards.”
    “I’m
hungry,” Rachel said weakly.
    “I’ll
make us something,” Donna volunteered. “They left us some food. I think it’s my
turn anyway.”
    “Looks
like they caught us,” John said after Donna left. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s not
your fault,” she said.
    “I could
have been more vigilant.”
    “No,
don’t . . .”
    “I wasn’t
watching. It was my job to watch.”
    “Don’t
blame yourself,” Rachel said, almost begging.
    He
stroked her forehead and ran his hand over her thick hair.
    “They’re
probably going to execute us,” he said finally. She smiled a wry smile.
    “That’s
funny?” he wanted to know.
    “He’s not
going to kill us.”
    “How do
you know?”
    “I
dreamed it.”
    Her
seizures were always accompanied by dreams; bizarre dreams that she would
interpret on waking as something meaningful like an ancient shaman would read
in bones tossed on the dirt. He and Donna had learned to humor her and listen.
It seemed to soothe her to listen to her dreams.
    “Tell
me,” he said.
    “I
dreamed I was being chased.”
    “I hate
that kind,” he said, an impish smile beginning to form at the corners of his
mouth.
    Rachel
didn't find any attempt at humor to be appropriate.   “The thing that chased me was horrible.”
    “They
always are.”
    “He wants
us,” she said.
    “Who?”
    “Jacob.”
    “Why does
he want us?”
    “To
change us.”
    “To
change us to what?”
    “I don’t
know that part.”
    He
stroked her again. “Okay, we’ll figure that part out later, then.”
    “Okay.”
    “Okay.”
    He felt
her grip on his leg go rigid. “I’m scared,” she said, “Really scared.”
    “Me,
too.”
    Her grip
tightened a little.
    “John?”
    “Yes?”
    “Could
you kill me if I asked you to?”
    The
question felt like a blow to his head. The way she’d put it, the tone of her
voice told him it was not a rhetorical question. She’d meant every word. He
felt tightness in his throat. He was afraid that when he spoke, nothing would
come out. “Hush . . .” he said. “Rest now.”
    “We have
to get out of here,” she said. “We have to get out.”  
    “There’s
nowhere to go.”   
    “Yes,
there is. We can live in the jungle like before.”
    “No,
Rachel, we