Chapter Two

Flapping my arms. Tugging my hair. Jumping jacks. Belting out the lyrics to Bamboogie. After I'd made enough distance to consider myself safe for the moment (betting on the fact that a Taxxon wouldn't be dumb enough to chase me into human-drenched territory), I took every possible advantage of my reestablished freedom. Any late night insomniac would think I was just your everyday full moon lunatic, but not dangerous enough for a call to the police. No one knew I was free, a dog off its leash, a bird out of its cage...

Ah, tonight was bringing the poet out of me.

Street curbs. Empty soda cans. Tree roots. When Ira had taken hold of the reins, I'd forgotten about the hilarious little obstacles that one with common sense needed to watch. Every time I took my eyes off the ground, one of my feet caught onto something and I'd plummet face first to the pavement. Didn't matter. I raised one scraped, bloody palm up toward the clouds and laughed. I was the one being clumsy, not a Yeerk. Just me.

In between the erratic movements of my limbs, my constant tripping, and singing the chorus of an Offspring song, I would have made quite a spectacle had either of my parents been home. Thankfully, Ira had chosen this night because they'd gone to a Halloween party hosted by some of dad's partners from work. I wouldn't see them until well into the next morning.

Too bad. Probably was better that they didn't see their daughter acting like a wackjob on the front lawn, lying down and waving her arms and legs as though she was making snow angels.

Grabbing the house key from my back pocket, I sauntered into the place, removing my hoodie and shoes, and went up to my room. A bed, desk and computer, dresser, and stereo. Nothing too interesting, except for the pictures I'd taped to my walls, quite a few of them taken over the last year. Like trophies, as most contained former friends I'd brought to the Sharing.

I cranked the stereo to its loudest volume, my body almost vibrating from the sound waves, and started tearing them off, ripping the photos into tinier and tinier pieces. I tossed them like confetti across my room, gathered them up, and did it again. Lather, rinse, repeat. It helped curb some guilt.

Finally, I slumped down on my desk's chair, tapping a fingernail against its arm. Music continued to blare, photo fragments littered my carpet, the room mostly looked the same. What to do? Ira hadn't been one to collect mementos. No writings or artwork she'd made, no certificate of honor or whatever from the Yeerk military, no plants from the homeworld. Much as I'd joked about it, she hadn't even slipped a copy of The Prince into my book collection. The only souvenir I had of captivity was the Dracon beam sitting innocently on my desk and I didn't want to destroy that.

That left one question: what now? Sure, liberation was awesome, but I couldn't pretend that an invasion wasn't happening. Also, Worm would find me sooner or later, I was positive about it, and he'd no doubt want me to repay my debt. What was it that he'd said before I'd skedaddled? His species was in trouble?

Well, mine was too. I glanced down at the photo scraps, then back at the Dracon beam. It looked so guiltless, like a toy from a yard sale except for its distinctive silver sheen. A forward-facing, triangular muzzle atop a smooth cylinder containing the energy fuel cell and precious stones that focused the beam. Against the back of this device, a Teflon-coated grip with the setting dial on the apex and trigger in front.

A steel beauty, if weapons could be considered beautiful. Powerful, too, able to blast through titanium walls and fry Hork-Bajir into spare atoms. A mercenary would drool at the sight.

Aha! That's it! I wouldn't be paid (not too many customers in the silent alien takeover), so a vigilante then. I could be the Boondocks Saint of Pennsylvania, except I wouldn't kill them. The host anyway. I'd stun the person, drag them off to some obscure location, wait three days, and ding! have a couple ally. Build up my numbers until I had a formidable force. Maybe even some Hork-Bajir thrown in if I was lucky.

But... What about when the Dracon beam ran out of power? I couldn't just waltz into Radio Shack and buy a new power cell. When would the Yeerks start to notice their host supply draining? I'd been about as important as the toilet scrubber at the White House, but sooner or later someone would notice the septic tank about to explode. How could I transport an unconscious individual unnoticed? Sorry, folks, have to borrow your son for a few days. Why? See, there's this slug in his head and I have to starve it out. Whaddya mean did I forget my Ritalin today?

Hell, what if I missed my target and he reported my identity to the Yeerk authorities? Or, if I did manage to free people, would they even help me? Could I trust them? Worm had risked discovery and death to free me in order to have a comrade for whatever campaign he had planned and I'd run out on him. How many Amara Calnickys might there be in my presumed future team?

I reached into one of my desk's drawers and pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. Ira had kept me away from the cancer sticks to optimize my health and life expectancy. I shoved that thought aside. Did I have to keep dwelling on that? She was now immersed in hydrochloric acid in a Taxxon's gut. I wouldn't have to see her again. I fumbled for a lighter, lit the cigarette, and took a hasty puff.

Maybe I could start with non-Controllers? No, that was worse. They might not take it seriously enough and let their lips slip at the wrong moment. Or get themselves killed during a mission (doing what, I still needed to figure out). Or just call me crazy.

Alert the media? Provide proof with the Dracon beam and locations of Yeerk Pools, watch mass hysteria unfold, and... Or I could try to find that so-called Yeerk Peace Movement? Ha, may as well go to California and search for the Andalite Bandits. What the heck could I provide to either besides a security risk? Or I could... Um...

I leaned back in my seat, craned my neck back, and blew smoke towards my ceiling. Watched wispy coils tangle and compress and dissipate. Like the random half-formed plans drifting through my head. I flicked ash across my desk. I'd clean it up later.

I needed help. I mean, a lone girl with a Dracon beam against the Yeerk armada? As if.

Maybe if I got some sleep I'd think of a coherent plan. My head still spun from the slobbery Taxxon version of a lobotomy, minus the ice pick. In fact, Worm was starting to look like the only being I could trust. Damn. Smart move running out on him, huh?

I stamped the cigarette into the wooden desk, leaving a charred, black smudge.

xxx

Morning. A great time of day to start off with a great breakfast. Or at least as far as flaky eggs, charcoal bacon, and burnt toast could qualify as great. Despite my Italian heritage, I had yet to stumble upon the set of genes that would make me a culinary artist. Nuke one lousy waffle in the microwave at the age of eleven and your dreams of chefdom are over...

So far most of the room was intact, which had to be a sign that good things were soon to come. I'd woken up early sometime around seven. Why waste freedom on the snooze cruise? I'd chosen the simple plan: call up possible friends. Check to see if they'd joined the Sharing and what their opinions were of it. Ask to meet with them, tell about the Yeerks, and see where it went from there. Risky and possibly foolish, but I'd make it work. Just think of it as a job interview. Hey, wanna fight interstellar parasites? The pay's lousy as shit, but it'll look great on a résumé one day when you're applying for undercover government work. Or, more likely, werewolf hunting.

Lugging my plate of partially edible food to the kitchen table, I picked up the cordless phone and thumbed the first number to come to mind. Ring, ring, riiing. "Hi, you've reached the Carson residence. Sorry we can't come to the phone—" Click. Nope. I dialed another. And another. Lots of answering machines.

"For Pete's sake, someone please pick up. Son of a..." I spit out a string of expletives, my thumb a blur over the buttons. "Dammit. Someone wake up. C'mon, you stupid, lazy, moronic, insipid, asinine pieces of—"

Crackling. "Y'ello?" A disgruntled yawn.

"Jerome!" I said, digging a fork into my scrambled eggs. "Thank God you picked up!"

"Whuh?" Another yawn. "Amara, that you? Ugh. Do you know what time it is?"

"Eight-oh-seven A.M.," I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. "Listen, I need you—"

"No," he said. "How'd you know I was up at the cabin?"

"Already called your house and cell phone," I said. "Don't interrupt me this time. I need to know your opinion about the Sharing. What're your thoughts on it?"

A pause. Creak of bed springs. Shuffling on the other line. "You called me to ask about that club you joined Freshman year?" Another yawn. "You aren't trying to brainwash me into it, are you?"

"Brainwash is right." I grinned and laughed, gobbling up another forkful of eggs and bacon.

"Are you chewing on gravel over there?" Jerome asked.

"I decided to cook myself a healthy breakfast," I said.

"I've got Poison Control Center on speed dial," he said. "Wait, I thought you loved the Sharing. Oh, Jerome, we're so equal here. I'm such a wonderful person now. Don't mind that none of us know where the funding comes from or—"

"Okay, okay. I get it," I muttered, scraping my fork against my plate, leaving scratch marks. "I've changed my tune for the better."

"Wellp, that's dandy," Jerome said. "Are you calling to invite me over to celebrate after you shunned everyone who didn't follow your Sharing charade? I seem to have this nagging memory about you spending every God dang moment with your cult. If anyone dared to scoff at the Sharing, you'd flip out."

"I've got some explaining to do, I know," I said. "Just come to my place tomorrow. Please?"

"No."

"C'mon, please. We're pals, buddies, friends. Peas in a pod."

"Amara—"

"Please, Jerome, it's important. Seriously, I wouldn't badger and beg unless I no alternative to... I can't say now. We were friends all through grade and middle school. Can I have another chance?" Had this been a visual communication, I would've knelt on the floor and kissed the tiled surface before the screen.

"Shaddup," he snapped. "You're worse than Lazarus." Sigh, a bit of swearing. "I'll swing by after church, okay? Better be good." Click.

I stared dumbly at the phone. Sighed and placed my dish and utensil in the sink. Where would be the best place to tell him? Here? Wine red walls covered in little paintings depicting overweight chefs at work and displaying delicious delights. Broad counter tops on either side of the sink, piled over with recipe books, a blender, knife rack, mixer, and bread basket. Pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

Could I discuss an invasion in here? I played the scenario in my mind: Jerome walked in, impatient and suspicious, and sat down beside me. I'd have pizza (delivered, of course) and some soda from the fridge. Tap, tap. We'd chat about idle things, repairing our friendship. Say the usual boring stuff you might see in a B-rated high school flick. Tap. Then I'd drop the Y-bomb and... Tap, tap, tap.

What in the world? I swiveled my head toward the glass door facing the backyard patio. Like the kitchen, my mom had put hard effort into setting it up. However, I didn't take time to admire the homemade hummingbird feeders, nor the pots of cooking herbs.

Just the Taxxon knocking at the door oh-so-politely in broad daylight. Registering my attention, he widened his mouth in greeting.

"Worm—yah!" My chair toppled backwards, taking me for the ride. My head slammed against the floor. Wincing, I rubbed the sore spot and ambled cautiously toward the door, unlatching the lock, and sliding it open. What? Worm could've easily broken the glass barrier and I didn't need my neighbors getting curious about the commotion. "Ah." I bit my lip, my head starting to throb.

The Taxxon slithered inside, legs clicking against the tiled floor. He hissed and made a few sweeping, jerky gestures. It was not my intention for you to fall.

"Is that an apology?" I asked. Possibly the closest thing to it, since sorry wasn't in the Taxxon dialect as far as I knew. I leaned against the counter. "How did you find me so quickly? I know Taxxons have a good sense of smell, but I didn't think you make it this far in town. Garbage and other lovely odors. And in daylight, too!" I groaned.

Before I removed your Yeerk, she tried to threaten me by telling me her name. Said that she was important, Worm said, snuffling at the air. Hungry as always, no doubt. I checked your file on the Yeerk database. Found the address and dug my way here. He fixated all four red eyes on my green ones. Do you have anything to consume?

When a Taxxon directly inquired about food, it was usually a good idea to appease his appetite as soon as possible. I checked the fridge, where there was still another package of raw bacon. I ripped the plastic off and tossed the slab of salty meat to his waiting claws. "How'd you free me?"

So many questions. He gulped down the bacon in two bites and licked his pincers. On the Yeerk homeworld, there is a creature called a Yeerkbane. Real name I couldn't translate without writing material. It uses a tube-like mouth like my own to... suck Yeerks from hosts' heads. He screeched without gestures accompanying it. Chuckling, maybe? I tried it once before through a host's nose, but accidentally removed the brain too.

"How hilarious." My stomach turned inside my abdomen. What if he'd tried that method again last night? I shook my head. Better not dwell on that. "Can you do it again? Build up your team? I'm not exactly the best choice for a lackey. Thanks for the freedom, though."

Very difficult. Fangs pressed against warm, helpless, living flesh... Very hard to resist, very tempting, Worm said. Most of my people would have taken a nibble and arm by then. More screeching.

So what made this guy different? I'd ask that later. "Why did you free me?"

I already explained that. The Yeerks will eradicate my people, Worm said.

"What? Now?" I asked.

Soon, Worm said. For now, we both need to leave this residence.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. You should choose someone else. I don't know what you want, but there're probably far better humans out there," I said. "I couldn't even figure out what to do with my own freedom last night. How the heck can I help you?"

You only have to act as a diplomat. The Taxxon lashed his tongue and reared his upper body higher, gnashing his teeth before my face, then said, Hurry. Your time is limited.

"Whuh-what do you mean?" I asked.

I do not trust human fidelity. Your response to my actions last night gave weight to my suspicions. Even if you had agreed to join me, some creatures need prompting, Worm said. Before I dug my way here, I left a message for the sub-visser to find. The Taxxon looked at the kitchen clock. He should respond soon.

It was eight twenty-six now. Had Worm terminated my life already? Or did I still have time to pray that his message vanished in the depths of cyberspace, never to be seen? Worm watched patiently, blankly, as I trembled, unsure if I was going to scream or cry. Damn Taxxon... Wordlessly, I grabbed a knife off the rack and jumped at the alien, ready to carve away that ugly face.

"Screeep!" Worm ducked my first swipe, retaliating with a swinging set of pincers. I crouched down on the balls of my feet. Leaped for the soggy, baggy flesh and slashed effortlessly through it. Like the cliché, knife through butter. I raised the blade again and thrust at one of the spindle-shaped legs. The knife scraped against the exoskeleton covering it, not as satisfying a result. Worm hissed.

"Ah!" I twisted my blade-wielding hand, wrist trapped in the vice of a pincer. I kicked at his stomach, tried to push myself away with one free arm. "How could you? What'll happen? To me? My home? My parents?"

Worm held me far enough away to speak with his other claws. You will be reinfested. They might destroy the house trying to recapture you here. Your... progenitors will become hosts too.

"Them too?" I snarled. "Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck the Yeerks! Why can't you freaks leave me alone?" I shrieked. "Leave my parents alone!"

Are humans usually this bonded to their progenitors? Worm inquired, confused. He released me, leaving a plum-colored ring around my wrist. No time now. He cocked his head at me, pausing in thought. Your progenitors may be safe if you leave before they return.

I stood, ashamed that I couldn't stop the tears now blurring my vision. It always happened when I got ticked off. "Okay, alright. I'll be back down soon. We'll go and you'll tell me what the hell we're doing." Shuddering, I ran past him and up the stairs, into my room.

Couldn't I even have twenty-four hours to enjoy life again? I set the knife beside the Dracon beam and searched under my bed, pulling out an old, ratty backpack. Gave it one glance and dumped it on the bed, followed by myself. My fingers gripped the blanket, knuckles pale and stark white compared to my wrist's bruise.

It was so quiet, with only the slight breeze coming through the crack of my open window that I almost didn't notice the scratch of tires on pavement. Mom? Dad? I peeked out the window. A police cruiser rolled up my driveway, with two uniformed officers inside. There was no short joke or banter between them as they left the vehicle and slammed the doors shut with a loud smack. Just an ominous silence that spoke volumes, even more so than the glint of silver peeking out from their holsters.

Worm wasn't kidding. Better get my butt into gear.

I took the cases off my pillows, stuffed the Dracon beam into one, wrapped it up, and crammed it into the bottom of the bag. I picked up the knife, staring at the blade, sticky with Taxxon goo. Tossed it up into the air, watched it spin, and caught it by the handle. Toss, watch, catch. I shrugged and placed it beside the alien weapon. Clothes, money from a dresser drawer, other menial items went in haphazardly. Fingers twitching, I finally grabbed a spare notebook and half a dozen pens from my desk.

I shouldered the load and reluctantly tread back to the kitchen, glaring at my liberator and captor. Could I run? Yeah, but where would I go? Better to trail behind the devil if he was the only one who knew the way through Pandemonium and the Void.

Which, truth be told, didn't mean I'd escape. Still, it helped my bravado when I heard knuckles hitting wood. From the sound of it, I had a minute before the Controllers got serious and simply barreled it, knocking the door off its hinges.

Worm either didn't notice or care about my resentment, giving the shouting officers only a fraction more so of attention. He shuffled his way back onto the patio and toward the moonflowers my mom had planted two summers ago, their white blossoms wilted and limp from the autumn season. Goosebumps broke out across my arms. I pulled a hoodie from my pack and slipped it on. Worm stooped his upper half underneath the bushes, crawling toward a sizable hole in the earth.

"Mom's going to be pissed," I muttered. I snorted. Why do I even care about the flowers? If I end up in Yeerk custody again, Worm and I will end our days pushing up daisies.

Even back here, I could hear the sudden crack of my flimsy front door caving in. Hope Dad had some sort of insurance for that.

I hunched over and crawled on all fours toward where the giant centipede slowly disappeared into the hole, quiet except for the noisy consumption of soil and plant roots. Looking at the damp outer ring of the hole, I remembered at that moment that Taxxons had to expel the dirt as quickly as they ate it. What comes in must come out.

And with that lovely thought and the sound of men ransacking my house, I disappeared down the rabbit hole like a piece of crap down a toilet bowl.

XxXxX

Action should pick up in the next few chapters. I was wondering, should I have some in Worm's POV? I don't think I've seen more than two stories with a Taxxon's perspective. (shrug) Enjoy and please leave your thoughts!