Bloodlines

Chapter 1


A clattering of metal made Lizard open his heavy lidded eyes to see that his companion was holding a knife and revolver, grinning widely.

“Naw, not now. I ain’t hungry.” Lizard stretched his once agile body over the sofa, a few springs creaking and threatening to fail against his grave weight. “And get down, you’ll tip us over.”

Three Finger swiftly hopped off of the back rest of the sofa with the agility of a cat, a twitter of laughter escaping his gaping grin every few seconds. The impact however caused the nearby turntable to skip, the music only briefly interrupted. Absent-mindedly humming to himself, the forest dweller hid behind the armrest of the furniture where his mate, propped up by various cushions and pillows, reclined. Lizard, eyes shut again, paid him no attention at first, knowing this was just another silly game Three Finger was playing to pass the time. The gangly man truly became bored very quickly. Perhaps letting him go out and hunt would at least give him something to do.

Hearing a more prominent giggle, the desert-born man opened his eyes again to see Three Finger leaning over him, smiling.

“Can’t yew see I’m sleepin’?” Lizard snapped wearily. “Y’know? Sleep??”

Three Finger’s smiling mouth twitched straighter, but only slightly. With a skip in his step, he ambled over to the edge of the couch, taking a seat and leaning his head against Lizard’s side. Ear pressed against the taut flesh, he could hear his mate’s breath, as well as a rapid thumping of someone else’s heart.

“Baaaabbbyyyy!” he cooed into the skin. Lizard rolled his eyes.

Three Finger still did not know too many words in English after another month, but it did not matter. He seemed to understand most of what Lizard said just fine. Hell, Pluto knew how to speak English and he was an idiot.

“Yeah, yeah, little pain in the ass, whatever,” the prostrate hunter said dismissively. He tried to shift his weight again, but it hardly made him anymore comfortable. Fuck, how could anyone find comfort with forty extra pounds of weight pinning them against a mattress which sprouted springs like a god damn horny toad.

Three Finger continued to lean his head against his mate’s burgeoning belly, nuzzling it and listening to the movement inside. He was clearly excited at the prospect of a child, and proved so by putting both spindly hands against the curving bulge, the tip of his tongue causing little goose pimples on the coarse surface. Still smiling, he pressed lightly with his fingertips.

Junior kicked in response. Hard.

“Knock it OFF!!” Lizard gave his fellow hunter a hard shove and Three Finger instinctively rolled away, seemingly unaffected. Seeing the look of discomfort on his partner’s cloven face, the thin man crawled back over on his hands and knees, fingers hooking onto Lizard’s elbow. He murmured in concern and Lizard responded with a deep sigh, his own hands rubbing the spot where he was kicked.

“I hate you, y’know that?” he addressed the hunter sitting beside him. Three Finger only nibbled on his companion’s sunburned shoulder. Shaking his head, Lizard resumed his attempts at sleep, only to be kicked again. His flinch this time was more obvious. Ceasing his nibbling, Three Finger nudged the other man’s jaw with his own hawkish face. Lizard leant into the face, his brow wrinkled with discontent. Taking the signature malformed hand in his own, he moved it against the area which twitched every few seconds.

“Right there,” he grumbled. “Make the little asshole stop.”

Voice clicking a rusty “uh huh,” Three Finger obeyed and his hand began to rub soothingly. A few minutes passed and the pup finally stilled. Lizard nudged his mate back, who rested his head against a sun scraped chest, continuing to stroke.

“Careful,” Lizard quietly reprimanded, his body slightly jerking away from the pressure against his chest. His compatriot minded the tender areas of flesh, slightly swollen compared to their usual muscular form. True, the hunter with child hated to admit it, but a week ago he had awoken to discover puffy protruding teats. At least they still looked like his and not some woman’s udders. However, they explained perfectly why his chest ached like hell lately.

The forest native beside him adjusted accordingly and resumed a silent calm, feeling drowsy himself. He would have joined his mate on the sofa, but Lizard took up too much room presently, so he remained on the floor, hand on the gravid stomach and head against a bullet scarred shoulder. The only sound cutting the air was the music on the phonograph. “Oh Sister” became “Lay Lady, Lay”.

When the two hunters awoke an hour later, Bob Dylan’s voice had long been silent. Three Finger stretched out his arms and spine before he resumed his position, hearing joints pop. His right hand touched the scar he could feel on his cheek earlier, tracing the ripples and lines with his fingers. One bullet wound on the shoulder, to add to the collection of battle marks. Two others came from the day he took the first: one in a jagged line on the neck, and a third in the waist. Lizard did not take joy in discussing the scars, only revealing that he garnered them the same day that his clan left him, so Three Finger left the subject alone. He shared the feeling of loss when it came to family.

Feeling the man beneath his touch move, he waited in anticipation for him to wake up. Heavy lids twitched, opened, and turned their gaze toward their fully awoken viewer. Lizard’s feet, swollen and bare, were most likely still asleep, but he said nothing, only offering a hand, fingers tense and requesting of assistance. Gripping the hand firmly, a well practiced arm behind his mate’s back, Three Finger helped Lizard lift his heavy body from the sofa. The furniture groaned again in protest, but did nothing else; its springs once again free to protrude from the upholstery.

“I’m good,” the red skinned hunter mumbled as he moved away from the supportive arms. “I needed to stand, is all…” he demonstrated his independence by placing his palms on the small of his back, stretching his own spine and rubbing the ache in his raw muscles. Leaning back, he nearly lost balance and saw the briefest jump to help him in the corner of his eye should he fall, but he gained composure at the last second. Three Finger wondered if he imagined the sight of his mate’s jagged red visage going a deeper scarlet. Readjusting the waist band of the increasingly snug trousers on his round form, Lizard waddled out of the living room, through the hallway, and out the front door. His companion of course followed silently to the porch.

Quaking legs finally bent enough to allow Lizard to take a seat in a chair. His eyelids half closed over ice blue spheres, gazing at the desolate town as his fellow disfigured hunter took a chair next to him. The winds had died down for the time being and all was calm under the afternoon sun. Soon enough Three Finger’s knees began bobbing as his heels jumped like they were motorized against the porch. He was trying desperately to behave, as he had nothing else to do but watch over his mate, but he despised being so still. Lizard imagined this sort of activity was torture to him.

“Alright, go make some dinner,” he said, smirking at how excited the man became in response. Three jumped from his chair so forcefully that he knocked it against the wall. The sound of a crash escaped the front door as he ran through the house, clearly tripping over something in the process of preparing food.

Ah, alone at last.

The town was not much to look at but it beat the last three weeks passing the time inside an old cramped house. Lizard swore if he had remained inside any longer without a change of scenery he would have gone mad. At least out here he had something else to look at, shitty houses or not. His wandering gaze finally rested on a dusky yellow residence across the lane, three buildings down from his own. This was Big Mama’s home. When she found Lizard wounded on the jagged rocks with Ruby, she risked her life trying to get to them. Those rocks made it a risk she would not live to regret.

The night he awoke from that fall, he knew Ruby had been dead for hours. Her frail little body was stiff beneath him, frozen in a position no living person could duplicate. He had not meant for her to die, but there she was, staring at the lavender sky as ants scaled the both of their bodies. About ten minutes later, Lizard discovered Big Mama at the bottom of the cliff, the moon shining a white glow against her hairless dead flesh.

A set of binoculars at her side set Lizard on a staggering quest to find Goggle, who was barely capable of speech, let alone explanation of all which had befallen the clan. The lamb-faced boy pointed to a smoldering wreck half a mile away and merely choked, “Jupe’s dead.” Dark blood sputtered from his lips and the deep fang marks in his neck as he said it.

Lizard loved his brother. Pickaxe in hand, he did the only thing he could.

Receiving no answer on the walkie-talkie from Big Brain was alarming enough. Discovering parts of him ranging all the way out to his front door inspired him to set the place on fire. He didn’t feel like cleaning up the mess anyway. At least Pluto seemed to have it quick, judging from his cloven skull. Venus and Mercury of course came running to him minutes later for answers he pretended not to possess.

“Go back and play,” he told them, “Mama will be home soon.”

The minute they followed his orders, he locked the door. Their frightened cries carried on for a few hours, but soon died down. Sometimes Lizard could still hear the children’s wailing pleas for help in his dreams. Sitting on the porch now, he wondered if their bodies had completely rotted away yet.

Maybe a change of scenery had been a bad idea after all.