GREEN [complete]

CHAPTER 21: Sekam

The ripping, slurping noises of tearing flesh yanked Sekam awake. Consciousness came back to her in an elastic snap and she lunged to her feet, every nerve in her body screaming the same thing: danger. She skittered back from the source of the noise, reaching for her gun and preparing to fight.

But as she made sense of her surroundings, she faltered. Where there had been enemies—mongrels that wanted Mars, mongrels with guns that could hurt her—there was only Dylan. They sat on the corpse of one of the large mongrels, a black bottle clasped in their hands and their hood slouched around their shoulders. Clarity had returned to their eyes and the color to their face.

And Mars. Behind them, he was jamming a disembodied arm into his too-wide mouth. His jaw dangled at an odd angle and his throat bulged as he swallowed, like something alive was trying to force itself out. Muscles in his neck squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, sucking the arm down.

The human in him withered as the snake showed his fangs, and Sekam felt kinship. He was as parted from his true nature as she was. The bodies scattered around him were evidence. Their skin was ripe as springtime fruit; bruised to intense purples and reds and swollen around where he'd bitten them. Still, Mars dipped his head and looked away, shy as he always had been.

"Yeah," Dylan said, nodding like they were agreeing with her, "it's a little disturbing."

Sekam glanced down at them. "That might be what you think. Did he do this on his own?"

"Yup. He's not very good at taking care of himself—and he's been a little stressed recently—but he's a damn fine weapon." They looked over their shoulder at him. The hand jut out of his mouth, fingers bobbing like it was waving at her. "When he wants to be."

"I didn't know that."

"Do you want some?" Dylan offered her the bottle they were holding. "They got you pretty good—water might help."

Sekam rolled her lip between her teeth, shaking her head. "No." Her experience with the mongrels flashed back to her. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to be suspicious of. They fell easy ... but so had she. Their bullets weren't supposed to hurt her; they never had in the past. "What did they do to me?"

Dylan plucked the gun from the body of the mongrel they were sitting on and tossed it to Sekam. "Tranqs. They're ultimately harmless, but put you to sleep for a while. Honestly, they used way, way too many. Like enough to stop something Ahl's size. And you're—well, you're not small, but ..." Color stained their cheeks and they squeaked, "Sorry."

"Why?"

"I'm uh ... we're not ... it's not considered good to talk about the size of ..." They gestured vaguely to her and managed, "Women."

Sekam scoffed. "I'm not a woman."

She turned away from them, gathering her bearings as she took in her surroundings. The mongrels were dead, but the helicopter was nowhere to be seen. The static of one of the mongrels' microphones shivered in the stillness that wafted around the corpses. Sekam crept forwards, ears hinged toward the source of the noise.

"C9M?" the woman's voice said through the microphone. Sekam kicked over the body that laid on top of it. "C9M, if you can hear me, let me know." Mars leaned over next to the body he'd already mutilated and was working on their second arm, attention fixed wholly on the continuation of his meal.

"Are you hearing this?" she asked him, gesturing to the microphone. He looked up at her. His throat still warped around the shape of the mongrel's hand, distending unnaturally.

"C9M?" the woman repeated. "C9M, please come home." Mars moved closer. He plucked the microphone from behind the mongrel's ear, bringing it closer to his face. "If you don't come home on your own, I'm going to be forced to do something I'll regret. Neither of us want that, C9M."