Infestation Cubed. James Axler

more Tiamat, no more snake-face council, might wake up old labs.”

      “Canny reasoning, except that Enlil is operating on the far side of the globe,” Lakesh said. His face twisted in concern. “I can remember that, but everything else—”

      “Not natural,” Domi interrupted him. “Tangle brain caused by something different.”

      “I figured that much, probably once an hour for the past several days,” Lakesh lamented.

      Domi hoped that her ball cap and sunglasses hid the concern in her eyes, but the scientist still retained sharp senses, even if his memory wasn’t as keen as usual. He cupped her cheek. “You made a smart decision coming here, darling.”

      “Maybe,” Domi answered. Her attention was drawn by the flicker of a shadow.

      Downtown Vegas had shifted much when Sky Dog’s convoy blasted its way through, past a pitched ambush. Many of the buildings not wrecked in the explosive firefight, or by the tower collapsed to block pursuit of the convoy of Sandcats, looked about ready to collapse in on themselves. The sands had crawled over the cityscape in an effort to reclaim the territory that once belonged. Hardy scrub grew close to where underground streams still sluggishly rolled through old sewer systems, the southern Nevada reservoirs long ago shattered and deteriorated by the earthshaker bombs that destroyed most of California.

      Vegas was empty, but far from devoid of life. It was the signs of movement, the leftovers of habitation, that had left Domi on high alert. Someone was still present, or more likely, had been released in the wake of the devastating battle where she had nearly died, plucked instants from death via implode grenade and pulled to safety on Thunder Isle’s remarkable time trawl. Domi was aware that the laboratories in the depths of what used to be Area 51 had churned out a colony of hybrids; she’d seen the nursery, seen the babies.

      What if it wasn’t merely hybrids that lived there, or what if the infant hybrids who’d somehow survived had been altered, changed by Tiamat’s awakening signal? Domi wished she could pose these questions to Lakesh, but she didn’t even have a quarter of the vocabulary necessary to convey those thoughts to him when he was at his sharpest, let alone when he was halfway to full tangle brain.

      Domi advanced from cover. “There’s a hotel. We can stay there. The sun’s going to hot.”

      Lakesh nodded. Where she used to look to him as a source of learning, of protective affection unlike the grim, competitive existence she’d engaged in while growing up, now he seemed much less confident, weaker. Domi loved him with all of her heart. This was a man who had done what he could to teach her, giving her the ability to read at what he called “a third-grade level” and treating her as an adult, a woman who was an equal, despite her relative youth and her wild nature.

      That love was still there, evidencing itself in the form of trust in her, trust in her ability to cut through a torrid, hostile desert and into the ruins of a dead city that wasn’t so dead.

      Domi couldn’t give voice to many of the thoughts racing through her mind, but she had one clear message.

      “I will not let you down,” she whispered.

      PRISCILLA STAYED VERY STILL, the eternal shadow of a collapsed casino interior forming its protective cocoon over her as the grunts and snorting inhalations of the hunters resounded on the other side of a barrier of light Sheetrock. The dark might not have been good concealment from her “brothers,” but so far their noses were not keen enough to follow her spoor, even through a thin wall. She was also glad that even if their ears were sensitive, they made too much noise sniffing the air, trying to find her.

      She knew all she had to do was wait. Soon enough their interest would fade and they would go elsewhere, seeking some other form of prey. She cursed herself for a fool, allowing them to spot her when she’d assumed they would be snoring heavily during the rising heat of the day. Nighttime had been the cool period, when they could exert themselves without tiring under the blazing gaze of the sun. It didn’t help them much that daylight seared their sensitive eyes, especially in such a sandblasted environment. Priscilla was glad she had the intellect and calmness to make use of items left behind by the humans, like sunglasses. She’d read somewhere of a condition called snow blindness, and it was readily apparent that there could be sand blindness, as well, when the eye is so washed in the reflection of icy white or pale yellow that even the strongest contrasts couldn’t penetrate their vision. Her days of effort, leaving the great dead lake and its abandoned buildings behind, had made her aware of the need to protect her own sensitive eyes.

      She’d adjusted her schedule to the daytime thanks to the use of polarized lenses, knowing that the primitive creatures she’d struggled to escape had been forced by experience to adopt a nocturnal hunting pattern. The day was when she could forage, to escape, to breathe and not feel like a stalked animal.

      That was the source of Priscilla’s pride. She was not an animal.

      She wasn’t human except in the broadest sense of the term. Her limbs were no longer as slender as they once were, and in place of the silky-smooth flesh that covered them, she was adorned with a layer of scales, shimmering, partly erupted in a night of agony that had awakened her and torn her from the protein “womb” she’d been stored in. Gasping for breath, clawing at agar-slicked floor tiles, she’d made her first few steps, brain assaulted by waves of images, body tingling as it tried to grow, but something shorted out her transformation, much like what had happened with the others.

      Priscilla was the least affected. Many of her brothers and sisters had changed into the placid beings who, she assumed, were the final result of “the change.” From the thoughts that rained down upon her from Tiamat, she knew that the still, stolid reptilians were known as Nephilim, and they were the end result of a powerful psychic signal that flipped a switch at the genetic stage.

      Priscilla floundered in the underground complex, just strong enough to hold off her half-formed brothers one-on-one when they tried to rape her. For some reason she hadn’t descended into a savage half state, but from the behavior of the Nephilim, she realized that they were in a stage of evolution, or rather devolution, from human to alien servant drone.

      The hungry savages grew tired of the quiet ones and fell upon them, developing a taste for flesh.

      The weak, the infirm, the wounded all became easy pickings for the others, and despite herself, Priscilla found that she preferred when the hunters returned at night bearing meat from some unknown source. She forced herself not to concentrate on what had been killed to fill her stomach, but she had not become de-ranged enough to enjoy the flavor of raw, torn flesh.

      Slowly the hunters were learning to work as a team, and there was no way Priscilla would be able to hold off more than one rapist, no matter how much her intellect guided her nascent fighting abilities. She’d run far, all the way to Vegas, finding this little corner in the eternal shadows of the once neon-lit city. Here she’d managed to locate food, clothing and other necessities. Sitting just inside the shade of a looming section of roof, she was able to organize her thoughts better, reading and putting thoughts and descriptions to abstracts that had tumbled back and forth in her brain, scrambled images and concepts that had been implanted via infodumps as she floated in a nutrient bath, growing to full size, and the competing telepathic awakening given to her by a godlike alien mind. Something had given her the ability to be more than a mere savage when the others were snarling predators.

      Most of the books had decayed, their ink fading from two centuries of sitting, but there was still more than enough surviving text and information that she was able to make use of the vocabulary that burbled across from the extraterrestrial identity that had wanted to turn her into a mindless servant.

      What had failed?

      Even here, in the dark, with the grunts of her hated brethren behind a mere inch of brittle stone, she asked herself what had made her so different. Why had she resisted Tiamat’s call so well when they couldn’t?

      There was a change in the noises her pursuers made. Perhaps the sun had grown too much for their nocturnal eyes, or the heat had grown too much for them to do more