The Himalayas, 15 years ago
An insistent tapping sound served as an alarm clock, breaking through the Feeder’s sleep. She awoke, still crouching against the wall, to find the man still asleep, seated in an upright position next to her. The Mole had returned and was sitting a few feet away, tapping his claws against the cave floor. Trying not to move too much she took stock of the creature. “The Cure”—as the non-humans liked to call the combination of the two biggest mistake in corporate history—had afforded moles an immense increase in average size. Still generally assumed to be rodents, they sported long cylindrical bodies, claws that could cut diamonds and an incredible set of senses.
Sensing her movement the creature turned his sightless eyes towards her and resumed tapping and scratching on the floor.
TapTapTap Scratch Scratch Scratch TapTapTap
TapTapTap Scratch Scratch Scratch TapTapTap
It took a moment for her sleepy brain to register the rhythmic pattern as an SOS. The recognition brought confusion and then morbid humor.
“SOS? You’re just about the only person here with an escape route, my friend. How the hell can I help you?” Standing in spite of the pain in her starved and cramped muscles, she checked her weapons for the umpteenth time and moved slowly to the cave opening. It was still dark outside, the birds had not resumed their vigil. Angrily she turned back to the creature and continued, “You drop your dying friend on me… here of all places… and ask me for help, like I have the means.”
The NeoMole shook its head side to side and continued tapping.
“You’re giving me a headache. I get it, Okay! You know Morse Code. Big deal.”
Scratch tap tap tap tap scratch tap tap tap tap
“D U H.. Duh?” The aggravation leaked away as she stared at the man-sized mole in astonishment. “Shit! You really do.”
Satisfied that he now had her undivided attention, the NeoMole tapped out a new message. Gesturing with his head to a pile of packs that had been dumped next to his human companion, he tapped out “food”, “water” and “meds”. Tearing through the packs, some of which she recognized, the Feeder found a bottle of water and an energy drink. She slowly drank half of each and then put them aside in favor of an energy bar.
As she ate, she watched the NeoMole. He grabbed her discarded water and slit the bottle the long way so that he could fit all four digits inside. After effectively washing the dirt off his claws he used one to puncture a hole in the side of the half used energy drink--which he then held to the man's mouth. She marveled at the delicacy of his touch as he manipulated the human’s head with his clawed hands. Satisfied that his companion had had enough to drink, the mole carefully ripped open the other packs and began to sort the contents. Bandages, weaponry, food and gear—in the growing piles, the Feeder recognized supplies that had to have come from her own truck.
"You really went on a shopping trip down there didn't you?" She asked, not caring for an answer. Now that there was equipment in the equation, her mind was working on their chances for escape.
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The Mole simply pushed a pile of weapons and spare magazines at her. She dug through it until she found her backup weapon, twin to the one she already held. In the pile she found two magazines that fit and added them to the pack on her back. The remaining stuff, she shoved to the side.
“You must be Elsbeth Jones.” The voice behind her was hoarse and betrayed a timbre so deep it was almost indecipherable.
Pulling herself away from thoughts of escape, Elsbeth looked back into a pair of piercingly alert eyes. The man was awake and sitting upright against where his body had previously slumped against the wall.
“That I am! Who’s asking?”
He did not answer, betraying his wounds with a slight gasp, he leaned his body to look past her at the mole. He smiled. “How far did you drag me this time, old friend?”
The mole’s nails beat a rapid rhythm on the rocky floor and the man laughed. “And many times more, I would think.”
“So! What’s a New York Merc doing all the way out here, anyway?” he asked turning back to the woman in front of him. Elsbeth bristled, choosing to spend a moment inspecting her weapon. The man had to be a Kull. Only the Kull had so little respect for the Feeders and the service they provided to the other species. She’d faced her share of them, often had to fight for every bit of respect they gave her, but the feeling of inadequacy never went away.
“Feeding my people. Better a Feeder than a murderer, I say.” She faced him head on, but was surprised to see no reaction in his face.
“Well Jones, I figure we’re both murderers. The difference is one of us is a cop and the other is a hunter. I didn’t mean shit by it.”
Elsbeth shrugged, “Whatever. Can you climb? How the hell are we getting you out of here?”
The man pressed his back against the wall and slowly worked his way into a standing position. If Elsbeth had not been watching him carefully, she would’ve missed the wince that accompanied his movements. Bending over to touch his toes, He let out a stifled scream as the skin around his wounds stretched. He stood abruptly and then moved across the cave as if he’d never been mauled and near death.
Crouching near the cave entrance he looked out at the birds circling in the sky. Unlike the ominous precise tornado of the previous day, the chough glided and dipped in the air above the mountains. Flying randomly, they were scattered nowhere near as vigilant as they’d been. They finally looked like the simple birds they were supposed to be.
The man watched them for a while, then walked back into the cave and crouched between Elsbeth and the Mole.
“I’m Q and he is Maji. I think he has a plan to get us out, but I have a job to finish. I need to cull at least half the flock.”
Elsbeth shook her head. “I’m not gonna just let you kill them all off. I lost four team members. I need to take at least forty of them back.”
Q smiled at her. “There are about three hundred birds in this chatter. I promise you’ll come out ahead.” He seemed to think about his words and then added, “Ahead of the job, at least. I’m sorry about your team.”
The Feeder ejected, checked and reloaded her magazine. “They were not friends, just the bravest men from the poorest neighborhoods. I can’t go home with my catch and let their people starve.”
Q nodded understanding as the mole tapped out a speedy sentence, then translated for her. “He says you play with your guns when you are nervous. You’re nervous a lot.”
“I’m confident in a hunt or battle. It’s the down times I have issues with. So… what’s the plan?”
The mole began ‘talking’ again. Elsbeth could not follow the rapid code but Q seemed to have no trouble with it. He began translating as soon as the first sentence was out. The Mole had not only made an escape route, but he’d also designed a stellar plan of attack.