Totem: Ch 2. Man-Rat (Patreon)

Let me back up a moment.

You know how it is back on ol’ earth in the 22nd century. The only nature you could get would be out in the preserves, rich people gardens, or the elite zoos. The ones with real animals and not the holograms. 

Whenever there was a clear day without a superstorm, I’d request a pass to get out of the city dome.

Rebreather masks were a pain in the ass and there was never a lot to look at once you were outside. Everything had been scoured from the planet before my parents were born. But the hardy lichen and moss that was left still came in dozens of greens, some shading to yellows and reds in the fall.

I used to stand there and just take in the sheer space without any borders. It was a reminder that the world was a lot bigger than I let myself imagine in the dome.

Now, in my new home, I could push back the woven mat we used for the door and step outside. Outside! 

Within a few steps I’d just… be out among nature.

I could run in tall grass that grew wild everywhere, trip over sticks and jump over rain puddles left over from actual weather events. Birds flew overhead, and bugs were everywhere.

Have you ever seen a spider in real life? Those mother fuckers are creepy. Hell, there’s a guy in the village with a spider totem and he was creepy. I think it was the extra eyes on his forehead.

I never got to hear his story. He was killed in my first raid.

Going back to that:

I’d been in the village for about a month. You’d think that being aged down to a baby but with a full-on adult mind would be degrading. 

It was. But honestly…. It could have been worse.

Most of the adults, including my new parents, had a hands-off approach on child rearing. I was two years old and allowed to toddle off and explore — within limits. The other villagers kept an eye on me and the rest of the kids to make sure we didn’t go too near the big slow river on the edge of town.

There weren’t any vehicles to run us over, no mega-storm alerts, or pressure integrity breaches in the dome to worry about. The village was small enough that everyone knew each other, especially in the small cluster of huts that made up our “neighborhood”. Stranger-danger wasn’t a thing. No gangs looking to scoop up anyone healthy to sell their organs. 

So when the horns blew a warning, I had no idea what was going on. 

Around me, everyone else snapped into action.

I had been a few huts down from my own home, trying to map out the village. Was it all mud houses or was there a central meeting place? Maybe a library? My language skills were shaky, but sooner or later I’d have to puzzle out written language. Assuming these people had one. There was nothing written inside the house.

A deep horn blew from somewhere to my right side. I stopped and looked around, wondering if it was some kind of new animal. I was still cataloging those, too. I had seen literally dozens so far.

Within a few moments, that horn sound was taken up by others until a long, droning buzz filled the air.

I couldn’t say why even then, but it raised the hair on the back of my neck.

Suddenly, I was seized under the armpits and lifted into the air.

“Hey!” I yelled in English. “Put me down!”

Twisting, I found I was in the arms of a lady I thought of as ‘Crane woman’. She had a spray of white feathers down her arms and her neck was unusually elongated, with a too-sharp nose. Not a great look, but it wasn’t the worst I’d seen in the village.

She ignored me, like all adults. I think they assumed English was a complicated baby babble.

Crane-woman only went a few steps before I found myself pushed into a pair of large, masculine arms with a dark sprinkling of hair down the sides.

That would be my adopted father.

He yelled something I thought was a “Thank you!” to Crane-woman and whipped around to take me to our house. As he turned, I caught a glimpse of the rest of the village: People ran this way and that. Children and livestock were hustled indoors.

When I was a kid — the first time on Earth — my city’s dome was hit by a cat seven hurricane. This looked a little like that: Everyone battening down the hatches in a rush.

My eyes flicked to the sky. Blue and clear.

What was going on?

In the next moment, Dad had hustled me inside, plunked me down on the bed we all shared, and turned to the door. With a grim look on his face, he waved his hands and the entrance sealed up in mud.

What the fuck? Was he leaving his wife out there?

“Mommy?” I asked, in the proper language this time. I pointed to the door, frustrated I didn’t have the words. “Mommy? Where?”

He turned, face softening. He picked me up and patted the back of my head, murmuring something I thought was: “Shh, son. It’ll be okay.”

Typical stuff you’d say to keep a kid from becoming hysterical. But I’d also seen the two of them together over the last couple weeks. They got along, and my dad had a soft way about him. He didn’t strike me as the type of man who would lock his wife out of the house in an emergency. 

Whatever the hell was going on, I had to trust he knew what he was doing.

A scream came from outside -- muffled thanks to the earthen wall.

Because I was currently in Dad's arms, I felt how the coarse hair stood up on end. He turned and made a clawing gesture at the floor.

A mud slab a foot thick rolled away like it was fancy carpet. An empty space sat underneath.

I shouted as my father dropped down into the darkness. We landed a moment later, and Dad sat me down in a corner, turning to mud shelves which had been dug out of the walls.

This pit was a family... cellar? Panic room? 

Dad opened an earthen jar. Light spilled out, illuminating the space completely. It was small -- I doubted he could have spread his arms without touching either side. The walls were made up of shelves which contained jars. Some had cracked and seeped with age, so I saw they contained water or cooking oil. Likely more contained grains.

The jar Dad opened seemed to be some sort of a lantern. This was good because, with another gesture, the thick mud carpet rolled back over, sealing us in.

Good thing I wasn't claustrophobic.

Sitting down, Dad gathered me up in his arms.

I think being a kid affected my brain. It made sense -- my consciousness, my memories and my soul were that of a full-grown adult. But the meat-space that housed it all was that of a young child.

That's my excuse for feeling comforted instead of embarrassed.

"Mommy?" I tried again and reached up to the ceiling.

He shushed me once more and muttered something I think might have been an explanation. Hell if I knew what it was, though.

A loud thump came from upstairs, followed by another.

Oh shit, was that Mom trying to get in? Our few pieces of furniture being blown around by high force winds? An invading army?

More thumps followed by an unearthly screech. It sounded half tortured animal, half tortured human.

I stiffened. My father put one of his hands over my mouth, probably worried I was going to cry out. Well, my body might be that of a little kid, but I didn't have "stupid" tattooed on my forehead. I kept very quiet and very still.

Then I heard the sounds of frantic scratching. Someone was digging down from above.

My father set me down and stood, a not-too-human growl escaping his throat. The streak of white hair on his head and down his neck took on a luminescent sheen, visible in the dark. 

He looked like he was gearing up for battle.

Because I didn't have any badass animal magic, I felt around half blind in the gloom for a rock or something.

I found a piece of pottery from a shattered jar. The edges were worn smooth from age, but the tip was good and sharp. I hid it in my hand. If the worst happened, I'd jam it in someone's eye.

The frantic scratching above got louder. Little bits of dirt rained down on us. Dad growled again and held up his hands. I got the impression he was reinforcing the soil over our heads.

Then, just as another burst of soil rained down over us, I heard another crash. Someone shouted -- a male human voice followed by a familiar female. Mom!

There was another shriek and then thudding, yelling, crashing. It sounded like a full-on brawl was going on above our head. I clutched my shard of pottery harder.

Then, with a crash, it all collapsed over our heads.

My father dived over me at the last second which kept me from being squished like a bug. The next few moments were chaos with screaming, unholy howling from the human/animal throat... and a roar that came from my father.

I'd only known him for a few weeks, but I got the impression he was a peaceable man.

The thing is: You don't want to corner a badger.

The white streak down his head and spine blazed to life and he turned: fingernails shaped into claws.

His opponent looked every bit as ugly as it had sounded. Some sort of rat-human thing with a pointed face that pushed his human eyes to the side of his head, front teeth that extended way down past his jaw, creepiest fucking gray-brown hands, and a tail.

My Dad turned to it, slashing, and the man-rat launched itself at him. Mom screamed from above.

I rushed in to drive the tip of the shard into man-rat’s ankle.

The shard bit in, but  but the naked tail knocked me away. I hit the wall -- my left asscheek hitting something hard.

The next moment a ghostly pair of alligator jaws leaned down and closed over either side of Man-Rat's head. It turned, twisting the attacker's neck at an unnatural angle.

The man-rat fell at Dad’s feet, dead.

The ghostly jaws retracted, and I saw my mother leaning over the edge of the hole, calling down to us.

She looked half-frantic, which I didn't blame her for. My dad was covered in blood and--ow, what the hell was I sitting on?

I reached behind myself and grabbed a half-filled leather bag a little bigger than my fist. The thin leather cord holding it shut had snapped. Several white-blue glowing balls spilled out. 

From the rotten smell of the bag, I think it belonged to Man-rat, but had gotten flung away during the fight.

I blamed what I did next on my hard-worn Earth instincts.

You know how it is with the rations and credits: Every time you find something extra, you'd better grab it before the next hungry person does. It isn't pretty, but it's life.

So I stuck the bag down my baby pants.

Not a second later my dad turned, saw me, and lifted me up.

"Seth!" Mom cried, reaching down to me.

I was passed from one parent to another and had to put up with my face being kissed all over and my limbs looked over to make sure nothing was broken. I twisted to keep my newfound prizes to myself. Luckily, no one checked to see if I had soiled myself. I kept the bag between my thighs.

The house was a mess. The brawl that had taken place had splintered some of our few pieces of furniture and dumped over expensive spice jars. There was a huge hole in one of the outer walls. Figures darted back and forth in the flickering firelight outside.

My dad yelled something where he stood at the bottom of the hole.

I learned in my mom's arms to look over. He held up two pea-sized white-blue rocks. They'd fallen out of the bag I'd hidden down my pants.

A grin stretched my dad's bloody face. I guess Man-Rat gave him a bloody scalp wound, but at that moment he looked like he had just picked up a hundred-dollar credit chip from the street.

Mom said something to him. "Careful" was among the words. I knew that one very well as she was always admonishing me... before she then kicked me out of the house to play in the wilderness.

The grin didn't fade from Dad's face. Fingers still lengthened into claws, he had no problem getting out of the bolt hole. Once at the top, he handed one of the glowing orbs to Mom.

"Quickly," he said and popped one in his mouth.

She did the same. A moment later, larger orbs flared in their middles before they dimmed again.

Dad was no longer bleeding.

Holy shit, I thought. I found a bag of magic pills.

I wasn't a huge dick. I'd share my loot with my adoptive parents. But not until I tried one for myself.

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