Chapter Text
When your Olo'eyktan wakes you up early and orders you to come with him, there are far too many possibilities as to why that might be. Too many to even name.
Why does that Olo'eyktan want you to bring your rifle? That narrows down what the reason could be. However, none came close to what Jake was staring at. It was an ilu, or to be specific, it used to be an ilu.
It had beached on the island, the grooves in the sand betraying that it had been trying to escape futilely. That alone was unusual, given that the ilu were usually smart enough to avoid getting too close to the beach. But it's the appearance that horrified Jake.
He's seen decayed bodies. He's seen a lot of decay and death on Earth, but nothing like this.
The body of the ilu was unlike anything he'd ever seen.
The streamlined body of the Ilu, once comforting and beautiful, was marred with growths that resembled teeth or scales. The way the jaw was splitting, how the fins were malformed and twisted, it wasn't enjoyable. With growths emerging from within like a morbid flower, the ilu's head had split apart.
A few weeks ago, before Jake moved his family, some Aranahe members spoke of a strange sickness that was affecting the animals and plants, making it nearly impossible to produce their fabrics. They had described a yerik with growths much like this ilu, but Jake hadn't taken it seriously, assuming it was a plain genetic defect or the result of constant pollution.
Even the texture, almost like bony bark, and the distinct rotten smell were too close to their descriptions to be a coincidence.
But that would mean it had spread from the jungle out here, or the other way around. Either way, it horrified him. Never in Jake's life had he seen anything close to such an abomination.
When Tonowari said that he wanted Jake's assistance with a problem, this was the last thing he expected to witness.
The corpse wriggled, causing Jake to jump back in shock. There was a disgusting gasp, an attempt to move, and the cracked head started to move. Even though the eyes were gone, it felt like it was looking at him, seeking him. The jaw dangled against its throat, strangled, wheezing, agonised.
It hurt his heart to witness.
Such anguish, such pain. It needed to end, the poor thing.
When Jake attempted to approach the creature, Tonowari used his spear to keep Jake at a distance.
"It became one with Eywa the moment it became infected," the chieftain said, looking down at the creature with an unreadable expression. "We call it the Naga. It began in the north and has been spreading. This one, from the Naga'tsawke, became infected a month or so ago."
The Naga's Teeth, that's what they called the growths. It's not inaccurate.
Tonowari's piercing aquamarine eyes went from the creature to Jake's rifle.
Carefully, he unholstered the weapon from his back. He did wonder why Tonowari had requested that he bring it in the first place; he'd incorrectly guessed it was in case of sky people.
"Do you want me to shoot it?"
A bit of a dumb question, but Jake wasn't thinking clearly, not with the monster wheezing at him.
"The loud metal can hit faster than an arrow and break through bone and armour at a great distance. Yes?"
"Yeah. If you're talking a sniper rifle, pretty dang far."
"Arrows struggle against Naga'tsawke, even the bow caster. Spears require that we get close. It only takes a bite or scratch, so it is not optimal."
That's all? Just a scratch?
The former ilu croaked, still trying to move towards them. Due to its aquatic nature, it wasn't making very far on the beach.
Jake aimed at its head, silently praying that it would find peace within Eywa. With a quick pull of the trigger, the creature no longer moved. The bullet had gone straight through its skull and destroyed the brain.
Tonowari was quite pleased with the test.
He poked it with his spear, checking for sure that it was entirely dead. Once satisfied, he crouched, pushing it onto its back. Sure enough, on its stomach was a deep bite. The shape was na'vi.
A Na'vi with this infection was out there. Someone was suffering.
"Have you seen a na'vi with the Naga before?"
"I have. It is one thing to put down a beached beast, Tsyeyk, but it is quite another when they fling themselves at you with a ravenous hunger. There is no regard for the self, only the desire to spread."
"Jesus..."
"I do not know who that is, but I believe I understand your meaning. Indeed, it is harrowing. The Ta'anui once spoke of an infected whose Naga'tsawke had consumed the head, and it used clicking to track you down."
"Echolocation? Seriously?"
"Given how rapidly the Naga is spreading, we're sure to encounter it, and we will need your loud metal."
"Yeah, understood. It might be good if I equip you guys if it's getting worse."
"As much as my mate and I loathe the sky people's metal creations, they prove fruitful in this regard. Come. We must check the rest of the beach. There could be more."
"Got it, sir."
The last thing that Jake wanted to see was another one of these things.
"Sir. Is that a name?"
Out of the Metkayina, Tonowari is one of the more conversational types. He was stern, wise and reliable, but had a curiousness to him. He brought Jake out here to test if his rifle would be helpful against the Naga, a little experiment.
If she could, Grace would've loved to have met this guy. His cautious intrigue about humans made him more receptive to Jake's "oddness" than Ronal, who seemed to genuinely despise Jake for being a former sky person.
She and Neytiri weren't getting along. That was fair, given that his mate didn't want to come out here in the first place. However, it's not like Ronal was making the transition any easier.
Eventually, they would have to find common ground. Eventually. Hopefully.
If there's anything he's learned about na'vi women, they hold grudges. Many were well earned in Neytiri's case, considering how much she's lost. What was Ronal's story?
Perhaps Tonowari will tell him someday.
Oh, speaking of.
"Oh, no, it's the English version of sir."
He felt like an idiot for waiting too long to answer the question.
They were getting past the sand and onto dried dirt and fallen tree leaves. There were signs of disturbance, so Jake prepared himself for a potential encounter.
"Hm. Speaking many tongues must be confusing."
The sea people had a slight dialect difference from the jungle folk. Not enough to cause significant problems, but pronunciation occasionally led to miscommunication. That's natural, though. It's like an accent.
For the life of him, Jake never really understood the rural southern people. He struggled to understand Quaritch at times. The guy was definitely somewhere deep south.
Jake's from Massachusetts. And his closest human friends weren't southern, either - Grace was a New Yorker, Norm was from Oregon, and Trudy was Canadian. The only one who understood yeehaw was Grace.
"Eh, after sixteen years, it's not so bad. English is one of the hardest languages to learn on Earth. I used to be able to speak a bit of French, but that's more than rusty."
He only learned some because Tommy got so mad at him that, for nearly seven months, he only talked to Jake in French. Naturally, he picked up a few things.
"How many tongues are there on your original land?"
"Uh, off the top of my head, maybe about five thousand? Give or take a hundred."
"All with their own cultures? All of them?"
"Yeah. My old home was complicated. It was one country, a single territory, but with fifty states - think of them as huge islands. There were cities - massive villages - and towns, which are more like Awa'atlu, only a lot bigger. My state was Massachusetts, and my town was Foxborough, but I had to move to Cambridge after my injury. A lot of differences."
"Complicated is an understatement, Tsyeyk. I almost regret asking."
That's more than fair. Many na'vi struggled to comprehend how crazy Earth was. And that's without detailing just how horrible it was to live there.
"It doesn't matter anyway. Earth is dying. It's why all the humans have come here - it's either find a new home or die."
"Why not seek Uturu? Though I have never seen a human personally, you were one once, born and raised as one. If you can abide by Eywa'veng, then so could they. Why destroy? Does that not go against their own best interest?"
How to explain corporations and greed?
There isn't an easy way. Things like currency aren't a thing for the na'vi, other than the Tlalim, and even then, they only used beads.
"It does. Survival-wise, at least. But the ones leading the humans to their new home don't want to abide by Eywa; they are selfish and cowardly. They seek control and domination, not peace, and everyone suffers as a result. The human word is greed - to hoard and take what you don't need and keep it from others."
"I do not like this concept. It sounds counterintuitive. An effective leader must give everything to their people, not squander the responsibility by hoarding it for themselves. It is foolish and childish."
"That's the RDA for you. Anything for themselves, none for everyone else."
"They sound like the Naga. Spread, take, destroy and harm, yet even in death, they will not cease."
"Sadly, that's a pretty good comparison. And groups like them have destroyed my home world. They killed their All Mother long ago in the name of self-gain. The lust of the few crushing the many."
"Greed. Reprehensible. I pity those trapped in such a grasp of despair."
"That's more than the leaders give. Do you think you could do it, though? Accept humans in the Metkayina?"
"I accepted you, did I not?"
"But I look like you. Humans are small, fragile, and they cannot breathe without a mask."
"Tsyeyk. The extra digit and hair upon your brows merely confirm what we already know. The only one of your family without the smell of sky people is Neytiri."
They could smell it? How has Jake lived here for nearly sixteen years and not learned that!?
Jake's learning a lot of things today.
"If I can stomach the Naga, I will manage fine with a human," the Olo'eyktan continued, and that was a fair statement. "I believe we are following the trail of one as we speak. Have your loud metal ready."
Always.
There were certainly signs that something had come through here erratically. The prints seemed na'vi enough, but that could be from fleeing from an infected rather than being an infected.
It made him think of all those old zombie movies. He should've guessed there would be something like that out in space, something that twisted you into a ravaged monster. Freaky alien stuff that didn't make much sense, not even to the people.
Why would Eywa have such a thing in her world?
With a subtle hand gesture from the larger na'vi, Jake crouched, ears up with alertness. His chief crouched beside him near some shrubbery, looking over in a specific direction.
For a bit, Jake didn't see anything amiss. However, there was a smell. It reminded him of that ilu.
These things had a scent, whatever it was.
Slowly, a form emerged.
It was a na'vi. Once. Now, the Naga's Teeth smothered it, looking like a fungus of sorts. How it twitched and croaked, most of its face gone due to whatever attacked them. It had many injuries on it, even bits of a spear sticking from its thigh, but it wasn't dead or down.
It turned to them, perhaps smelling the shared fear between the two.
Tonowari had understated it when he said they flung themselves at you. It's like the infected being had springs in their feet, launching and scrambling to them, crazed and vicious, screeching in a way that would shred the vocal cords.
Without hesitation, Jake shot at it. The bullets sank into it, some breaking off bits of Naga's Teeth, but it only stopped when it hit the brain. The former na'vi fell unceremoniously to the ground, still twitching, but finally dead.
Whoever that was, he was sorry that they had to suffer so much.
"We must burn it, Tsyeyk. It spreads to more than flesh and bone, but plants as well. This whole island is unsafe to forage from now on, perhaps forever."
"So not just bites and scratches, but ingestion, too?"
"Yes. Before you joined us, we had a hunter fall victim when she thought cutting off the Naga'tsawke would rid it of its power to spread. That was a harrowing eve, I assure you."
"Oh, was that Foayngiä? I remember Rawevo mentioning that he lost Angì's mother recently to illness."
"Indeed. Foayngiä is why Rotxo's parents are no longer with us - in an effort to save their son and protect the village, Tau'ì and Kanan lost their lives. We grieve all three. It was no fault of hers for something she did not know. And we learned an invaluable lesson regarding the Naga'tsawke."
That poor boy was made an orphan in a day. It explained why he was living with Tonowari and Ronal, despite him not being their child. Perhaps they were going to adopt him?
Not only saliva, but the growths infect you, too.
"Burn the beached one too, right?"
"Yes. And there's always the potential that there are more, so be vigilant. I'd rather you not perish before understanding your loud metal better."
"Was that an attempt at a joke?"
"That depends on whether we make it off this island or not."
"You're not funny."
"I am funnier than you."
"Ouch."
Phantasma. It was a silly name, but it was the current nickname for this vicious virus. Infection. Whatever the fuck, she wasn't a scientist.
They had to call it something after all.
The terrifying virus that mutates you into a vicious monster is a mouthful.
Thus far, the RDA have determined that it originated from the northern area, possibly from a facility that was handling fire too recklessly. It wouldn't be the first.
Whether it was an altered version of something that already existed, there was no way to tell. The moon was a freaky place.
All that Ardmore could gather was that this didn't exist until the RDA returned. There was a decent chance they were responsible for Phantasma. Great. Just what Ardmore needed when trying to dig out a ditch for humanity to survive in.
Whoever was responsible for creating it, she wanted their head on a spike. Somewhere high for everybody to see and remind them not to needlessly fuck with things that they shouldn't.
Phantasma wasn't a cold or the flu. It sank into your very bones, taking root and growing outwards. The closest equivalent was the earth fungus Cordyceps, which was horrifying. As soon as you were infected, you were screwed.
It wasn't just people, though. The animals, the hostile natives, even the fucking plants were susceptible to it.
If someone's bitten or gets infected, it's kill on sight. Even with the effort of making Bridgehead impenetrable, there were constant alarms of some idiot somehow becoming a raving monster.
There's no tolerance. Some soldiers are being given suicide pills in case it happens.
They're burning as much of the forest as they can to get rid of the Phantasma, and yet, it persists. Annoyingly so.
The Recombinants will eventually have a briefing about it, but there's a lot of chaos going on. Nobody has the time to explain a plague to a bunch of stupid marines in big blue bodies. So long as they stuck to looking for Sully, they should be fine. He fled east, away from the danger zone.
It's not like Ardmore cared for them anyway. They're assets like any other machine. When they're no longer needed, they'll be decommissioned and recycled.
If there's a God out there, hopefully it'll get all the native wildlife so they could napalm it to hell. That way, it'd be easier and safer to colonise. How is she meant to run this city if everyone's scared of this thing?
Ardmore couldn't always hide her nervousness about the growing problem. With everybody capable of being infected, it caused widespread stress.
She's reasonably stressed about it. Unlike most, Ardmore had gotten videos and photos of how bad it can get. With any luck, they won't get another Rat King. That took way too many people to take down, and even then, they dumped a payload of bombs on it to finally kill it.
These things won't die. Even destroying the brain wasn't always enough.
"General. The scientists have requested you at the lab," came one of her many, many exhausted underlings.
The people are afraid. When people are so scared, they make drastic, silly choices.
A downside to Bridgehead was that it was a pain to get anywhere due to its size. Even the skel-suits barely helped.
It took about half an hour to get there, specifically the restricted area where they were studying this thing. They'd captured fauna to infect and observe deliberately, and the time it took to succumb was a little different for each of them.
Time-wise, it seldom took longer than, at most, half an hour. A majority didn't make it past a minute.
They would kill the subjects and dissect them. Often, the infection remained active in them. It was yet to be determined if it was a hostile parasitic thing that fed on the body, or merely controlled it. For all they knew, people were still conscious as they became monsters.
Pretty messed up stuff.
The quacks wanted her to see a particular subject, though.
Natasha Maximoff, a former communications operator. She was how they discovered Area 6B's water was contaminated, and the transformation didn't take long. It took fifteen good soldiers getting her in containment, and they've been watching her ever since.
Thanks to her, they knew that the longer the infected remained "alive", the more they changed. The growths akin to a fungus spread, breaking bones and altering her body. They didn't need food or water to keep operating, sadly, so there was no starving them out.
Interestingly, if you put another infected with them, they would eventually merge. It was a gruesome affair, like that monster from The Thing. Although parasitic and fungus-like, the sciency people basically called it super space rabies. She didn't buy that, but she wasn't a scientist.
At the moment, the only thing that worked on these things was a shot to the brain or fire, and even then, it didn't always work. For instance, if Ardmore shot what remained of Natasha in the head, the other organism would just take over. Or the infection had sunk so dead that it didn't need the brain anymore.
It affected the plants, the animals, and people, and even affected specific machinery.
Right now, Natasha was looking particularly heinous. Even through the several security layers of containment, Ardmore could almost smell the rot. Disgusting.
"What is it this time, Mengele?" Ardmore questioned, the insult to the lead scientist barely reacting to it.
God damn Griselda Baniszewski.
She was explicitly appointed due to her 'moral impairment', a fancy way of saying a sociopath that sought answers, regardless of how she got them. Some just called her Báthory.
Ardmore preferred her nickname for the demented lead on the problem. If not for the fact that she was a genius, the RDA would've let her rot in an institution.
"I always liked Dr. Moreau," Baniszewski chirped, wearing the mask of someone capable of such things. "Josef's work always lacked that 'pizzazz', the glimmer of the finish line. Although Moreau is fictional, he strived to combine the intelligence of humans with the biological benefits of the animal kingdom, much like we've done with the avatars and recombinants."
It wasn't very comforting how cheerful the woman was. Behind that fake smile was a monster, one that had many restrictions due to her... proclivities.
If only she weren't so useful.
"My question remains."
"The Phantasma reacts negatively to unobtanium," Baniszewski said, not looking at Ardmore. "It reacts much like fluoroantimonic acid would on human skin."
"English."
"Ever seen the movie Alien? Think along the lines of that in terms of corrosive. It's like a hyperallergy."
"I'm feeling a 'but' coming."
"The more advanced the mutation and infection, the less effective it is. By stage four, you may as well use regular metals, which remains another problem due to the calcified growths - they're like natural armour plating, curiously."
"And the estimated time to get to stage four is five weeks. We have to kill every infected with unobtanium bullets before the fourth stage. And plant life?"
"An inconvenience, but manageable by man's best friend. Fire! For now, at least, until I find myself a botanist."
A botanist who wasn't absolutely petrified of her. Short list.
The plants would have to be secondary to the fauna and people.
How was she supposed to explain to their very profit-driven bosses that the metal, which is worth $40 million per kilogram, was needed in an unfathomable amount of bullets to hunt down hell knew how many infected organisms?
They were going to have to refine it here, make it into weapons, armour, anything. Mining would have to take over everything else. It wasn't ideal, but at least they had something.
"This could've been an email," Ardmore sighed.
"That would ruin the mystery and intrigue! And besides, I don't get to see you much, and it's far more entertaining making you squirm over these little buffoons."
"If you weren't so needed, I'd throw you outside without a mask."
"Interestingly, the toxicity of the atmosphere doesn't affect infected humans - we should test that more. Thanks for the idea, Franny!"
She hated this woman far more than she could ever despise Sully or his merry men.
Norman Spellman wasn't having a good day. Not at all.
The Aranahe are down to six survivors. There's no word on how the Tipani are doing. The resistance is in shambles. And so many clans are just plain gone.
The Anurai, Yeewtä, Ze'ìru, Izatlä, Tawkami, Pämìawng, Kekunan, Huyuticaya, Olangi, Räiocaya, Rey'tanu - the list was getting longer every week. There were only a small handful of survivors, or they were all gone with very little in between.
Many of the Olangi were Norm's friends. The woman he fell for, whom he mated for life, and her whole family were gone. Fortunately for her, an accident took her two years ago, long before such horrid days.
He'd visit them often, taking their children to visit their grandparents, people that Norm saw as parents as well. They shared their grief for Kuseng, bonding over her passing.
No more nana Tanìkuo or grandpa Zìatawi, no auntie Mowäelay or uncle Wukhoa, nor cousins Homorkon, Peyngveu or Naltik.
All gone, much like Norm's family on Earth. He had nobody back there, making him a perfect candidate for the Avatar Program. But he'd lost so much more than he had back then.
Akwey was dead. As were his sons and daughter: Kepo, Txuruong, and Uluraì would be just as missed as their father. Dear friends, the ones who helped save his avatar and got him and Kuseng together.
There wasn't a kind way to tell his kids that they'd just lost everyone. And like a coward, he'd been putting it off as much as possible.
He and Kuseng didn't think they'd have kids, so they adopted Tayze and Eynngo. Many did, given the number of orphans from the first war. Then, after eight years, Kuseng surprised them with Popiti, and little Rìul came four years after.
They had no idea that their mother's side was all gone. He didn't have the strength to tell them.
All of that energy went into thoroughly examining food. Whatever was foraged had to be extensively tested before it was safe to eat, and supplies were already low. It's getting worse, too.
Rationing started as soon as the war started, and the na'vi's refusal to stockpile had bitten them in the tail. They're running out of equipment for testing, running out of everything.
The over silver lining would be that the RDA was suffering the same affliction. Their activities had slowed due to the onslaught, and Norm hoped it wasn't as bad for Jake out there in the sea. If not for the fact that Norm had an obligation to the Omaticaya, he might've joined him.
Some nights, he ponders taking the kids and going somewhere far, far away. It's heinous and cowardly, but he's terrified.
This virus, whatever it was, was a wildfire in a field of kerosene-soaked matches.
Norm had watched people he called friends devolve into monsters within a minute. Nobody was spared, not even the animals. And with them being in the mountains, any infected ikran was a serious concern. There were genuine fears that the toruk that lived in the area could get infected, too.
He couldn't sleep. Barely eat. And after what happened to Jocelyn Belova, he was afraid of getting into his avatar.
Jocelyn's avatar got bitten, and she experienced the infection, the mental suffocation and the stripping of her mind. She hadn't spoken since, and he didn't blame her. Even though Norm wasn't shot in his human body, he still felt phantom pains in his shoulder, the place his avatar was hit.
You'd think a lifetime of famine and horrors on Earth would prepare you for another apocalypse, but no. There was no preparing for this. They didn't even know how to fight it.
Spider loved Pandora the most when it was dark. The incredible life swirled around him, the bioluminescence bringing great comfort. Every step caused a wave of shimmering beauty, each feeling like a hug from the All Mother herself.
What he wouldn't give to breathe it in, smell the world for all it was, the only home he'd ever known.
A home that many didn't want him to have.
For all of Spider's life, he was only a burden. Nobody wanted him other than Kiri, Lo'ak, Tuk and occasionally the scientists. To anyone else, he was a bad omen, bad luck, a demon child.
After getting kidnapped, Spider rightfully assumed that he would be in for a long time of torment and anguish. After all, all he knew about Quaritch was his past actions and the stories told by the other adults.
And yet, it was that same man who offered Spider the only paternal attention that he'd craved for so long.
The man who called himself Spider's father.
The father, who technically kidnapped him, also saved him from that really nasty machine. Against the RDA's wishes, too. If up to the General, Spider would've died in the neurosect, and they wouldn't have cared.
Nobody had come for Spider. He knew they couldn't have stormed Bridgehead for him, but deep down, he knew they didn't want to, either. That was the price of being the demon spawn, the burden - as soon as someone took that blight from their lives, why take it back?
The Recombinants wanted him, though. It's what made the situation with them so complicated, because Spider wanted to hate them. Even after they'd threatened his friends, he couldn't.
They were the first family who chose to keep him.
Not once since Spider made it apparent he wanted to be called Spider had they said otherwise. Immediate respect for his wishes.
They didn't try to force him to wear clothes like other humans, to change how he acted or behaved, or his hatred of shoes, not the stripes he painted himself with - Prager even kept a lookout for yovo berries so Spider's stockpile wouldn't run out.
The only thing he and Quaritch had bickered about thus far was his hair.
Spider wasn't dumb. He knew it was matted. However, it looked like Jake, and he felt more na'vi with long hair like that. He didn't understand what Quaritch meant by "healthy vs freeform", though.
So what if his hair was messed up? It made him more na'vi than them.
"Hey, kiddo!" called out Zdinarsk, waiting for him on the ground. "Need you to have a look at something!"
What had these idiots walked into now? Last time, Fike managed to get caught in a trap and was dangling upside down. For half an hour, too.
The idiots were figuring out how best to get him down for ages, often devolving into debates over stupid stuff. When Spider's father returned from a call with the General, he took one look and shot the rope, dropping Fike unceremoniously.
Why there was a trap out here, seemingly a na'vi made one, remained to be answered. It wasn't typical for hunting, but there was no mistaking the material and technique. Off the top of Spider's head, he would've assumed it was Tipani make.
It was funny how it came across like Quaritch was more of a father to the other Recombinants than a Colonel. That was especially true for the youngest of the Recoms, Aiden Brown. He practically skipped whenever Quaritch positively looked his way. Even the older ones treated the word "sir" as they would "dad". It was synonymous with them.
How these were the same morons that scared Jake so much that he up and fled, astounded him. Seriously.
Even when they got their ikran, they were absolutely ridiculous. Who would punch an ikran in the face like Quaritch did? It was outrageous!
Easily, Spider climbed down, joining Zdinarsk. She definitely had the most incredible tattoos out of the group.
"Fike in a trap again? The old man can sort that out."
"Nah, kid. This one's far outta our expertise," she said cryptically, using her tail to pat his back. "Say, later, you mind making sure Ja and Walker don't cheat next race?"
"You know that Manny or Prager'll just win like usual."
"Yeah, but I'm not letting Ja get slick with me again, the găoază."
That's another thing Spider's experienced with this bunch. A lot of them spoke different languages, many that Spider had never heard of. With Zdinarsk, it was Romanian.
Her language was easier to understand than Quaritch's when he got mad. According to Zhang, it's called "Cajun". Nobody understood it, though that was mainly the accent, which was thick. But whenever it was used, everyone listened, because it meant they were in trouble.
There were also a few Louisiana sayings - Spider had learned that saying "pass you a hot one" meant getting punched very hard.
He's heard Spanish, Cajun, Ojibwe, Chinese, Welsh and Ethiopian.
Zdinarsk guided Spider to where the team wanted him to look at something. Hopefully, it wasn't another debate on whether it was a termite mound or 'angtsìk shit again.
It wasn't.
The Recombinants were looking at the cadaver of what was once a yerik, a mature female from the crest shape. There was a lot of blood, more than Spider had the stomach for, but he had to hold it down so he wouldn't ruin the only mask he had.
"Been on this moon twelve years. Ain't never seen shit like this," Quaritch said, crouching to get a better look at the wounds. "And I doubt much has changed in the fifteen years I've been dead."
For once, Spider didn't have anything to say against the oversized blueberry.
Never in Spider's life had he ever seen such senseless carnage. Not from an animal, the na'vi, not even the RDA.
The poor Yerik died an agonising death, ripped apart in a mindlessness he couldn't fathom. It was so wasteful, too.
Even those ferals didn't cause this much damage.
Spider got close, inspecting the injuries. They were far too wild and crazed to make sense of. There was no telling what could've come from a tooth, claw or a knife. It just didn't make sense. Nothing on Pandora would do this.
"How long's it been here?" Manny questioned, shaking her head in shock and disgust. "Perp might still be nearby."
Perpetrator. So, she didn't believe it was an animal.
Spider felt its side, trying to estimate by the temperature of its hide. He thought he felt it move, but that wasn't possible. Nothing could survive such blood loss.
And yet, it did. Though the head was limp, most of the face ruined by whatever attacked it, it still attempted to bite at Spider's face. His mask had minimal durability.
If Quaritch didn't move Spider out of the way, the yerik would've gone right through his mask. Instead, its maw locked onto Quaritch's hand, catching the spot between his thumb and first finger.
Just as quickly, Prager shot it in the skull, causing it to go limp once more.
The animal was already dead. How could it have done that? How? That was impossible!
"Dang thing bit me," Quaritch grumbled, looking at his hand.
Spider rechecked it, feeling Quaritch's eyes on his back. This time, the animal didn't move. It was definitely dead now, but what was different from before?
And yeriks don't bite. They barely even had teeth, yet it still broke the Colonel's skin, red dripping from the bizarre wound.
They're peaceful animals, preferring to flee rather than fight. It wasn't in their nature to be aggressive, not even to rival males during the height of mating season.
"Probably died from how bad you smell," Fike cackled, elbowing the Colonel. "You need a bath."
"He's not wrong. I think we could all do with one," Zhang added, glancing at Quaritch's bite. "There isn't a space rabies, is there?"
"Ey! Colonel Cujo!" Lopez snickered, earning a smack upside the head from Walker. "C'mon, that was a good one. Cujo - the rabid dog? Stephen King? I can't be the only fucker here who reads books."
"Isn't that the guy who wrote a child orgy in the story about a clown?" Mansk asked, concerned.
"Oh, yeah, IT! I liked the movies - they cut all that out," Brown nodded, confirming that horrific information. "Guy was on a lot of cocaine."
"I've known a lotta fellas that went on the powder, kid, and ain't none of 'em wrote a book 'bout kids fucking," Quaritch said, visibly disgusted. "This shit's why I don't indulge in that media stuff. Always some asshole that messes around with kids."
"Or because you're old," Lyle snickered.
"This ol' man will give you an ol' style ass whippin' if you don't shut your dumbass mouth, Corporal."
Watching the Recombinants bicker was entertainment for Spider, but it didn't take away from the immense anxiety building in his stomach.
Yeriks don't bite. They don't.
So why did this one? And what mauled it so severely?