James Axler - Downrigger Drift

“Fireblast…” Ryan breathed as he realized exactly what was lying in front of them. At that exact same moment, the wall of flesh and fur undulated and rippled. From the top he saw a massive paw, longer than he was tall, tipped with curved, short-swordlike talons at the end, descend toward the floor. He stared in mingled revulsion and awe as the leviathan—for there was no better word for it—continued to turn over.

The queen of the mutie pig-rat horde was an appalling vision straight out of a nightmare, brought to breathing, quivering life. Easily twenty feet tall lying down, she had to be at least three times as long from her twitching nose to her huge, naked pink tail, a bloated rodent mountain at the center of her filthy empire. Completing her turn, which Ryan figured she didn’t do very often, brought a double row of her engorged teats into view. As he looked on in horrified fascination, a dozen mewling, blind, four-foot-long infants swarmed over her, seeking out the swollen glands, which oozed a thick, greenish-white liquid from their tips. The next generation eagerly suckled at her chest, climbing over each other in their eagerness to get at the life-giving fluid.

The face of the mother was just as large as the rest of her, with huge, black eyes swimming in a puffy face swollen with layers of fat. Her teeth were the hugest Ryan had ever seen, jutting from a mouth so cavernous that if she yawned, he figured he might be able to walk inside if he stooped a bit. She regarding them with a penetrating stare, however, appearing anything but a mindless rodent. Her gaze seemed particularly drawn to the flaming torch, hanging almost forgotten in Doc’s hand, and she twisted her head away, although her eyes never left the flickering flame.

That seemed important to Ryan, but damned if he knew exactly how at the moment. A straight-up fight was impossible—it would only result in their immediate deaths, even if he managed to get the shotgun off J.B. and firing. The torch itself was good on the smaller animals, but the huge rats would simply devour them before they could be burned to death. He didn’t doubt that a bite from those massive jaws could easily sever a limb.

“Ryan!” The urgent whisper made him glance back at Krysty, whose normally calm face was furrowed in concentration. “Be careful. Do not underestimate her. She knows…things. She—thinks like us….”

Krysty’s words scared Ryan even more, but at the same time, the glimmer of a plan was forming in the back of his consciousness. He just needed another moment to put it together….

One of the guards swung its head over to his leader, as if seeking permission for whatever he was about to do. The queen’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to the group, and the huge pig-rat started forward, saliva dripping from his jaws, his killing intent more than clear.

The silent exchange gave Ryan an idea.

“Wait!” His command shattered the stillness, even checking the guard mutie, who stopped and cocked its head, regarding him in what Ryan could have sworn was puzzlement.

“Doc, you said these things were smart, right?”

“Verily, they exhibit intelligent behavior beyond any rodents I’ve ever seen. The queen structure is most fascinating, almost like a collective hive. It would also explain the simultaneous reaction of the first group we encountered.”

“Good, then they should understand what I’m doing. Give me the torch.” Ryan grabbed the weapon from the old man. “Stand back. If this works, we’re going to have to move fast. If not, everyone take as many of the fuckers down as you can before they get you.”

Moving slowly, Ryan held the welding torch up so all of his rapt audience saw it. He twisted the knob, releasing a spurt of blue-orange flame into the air, which got everyone’s attention. Two of the giant pig-rats hissed angrily at the sight, but a short bark from the queen silenced them.

Next, Ryan brought the pair of tanks forward so they were in plain view to everybody. Slowly pulling his blaster out, he carefully ejected the magazine, keeping them both in his hand as did so. Using his thumb, he flicked a bullet onto the ground, angling it with his toe so that it pointed at the nearest pile of shit.

“Everyone stand back.” Making sure the colony of muties was still watching, Ryan leaned over, keeping his eye on them as he did so, and carefully applied the flame to the casing, making sure the bullet still faced away from the group. Seconds passed, then a minute, then, with an explosive pop the cordite in the shell ignited, sending a burst of flame up as the lead corkscrewed into the dung heap.

Stepping back to the pair of fuel canisters, Ryan began bringing the blazing torch closer to them. The queen’s eyes went from the blackened casing to the four-foot-tall containers, and she suddenly screeched in alarm. The guards tensed to spring, but another howl from her froze them where they stood, poised to leap on the group.

Having reloaded his blaster while the muties were distracted by the bullet, Ryan’s weapon was back up in a flash, pointing at the queen’s head, which felt like threatening a mutie grizzly with a flyswatter. But the torch, coming ever nearer to the valves that regulated the flow of oxygen and fuel, was Ryan’s ace in the hole.

Now he just had to make sure the bluff he was running didn’t turn into a dead man’s hand.

Doc, as if noticing what Ryan was doing for the first time, said mildly, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, my dear man. The explosion would kill us all.”

“That’s what I’m counting on, Doc, and that she realizes it, too.”

Doc’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “My dear Ryan, you are one of the most low-down, conniving, sneakiest men I have ever had the privilege to meet.”

“Just trying to make sure we all don’t get our faces—or any other parts—chewed off. And don’t start slapping my back in congratulations just yet. If you haven’t noticed, we still aren’t out of here.” Ryan grabbed the handle of the tank cart. “All right, we’re going. Don’t make any moves unless they do first—then chill anyone who does.”

Holstering his blaster, Ryan started hauling the cart toward the rear end of the queen, keeping the torch near the fuel tanks and his head as far from her giant behind as possible. The huge pig-rat nearest to him growled low in its throat, its long, pink tail, as thick as Ryan’s thigh, whipping back and forth. For a moment, Ryan thought he’d have to draw and take the big bastard down, but a gigantic, hairy leg swept over and clouted the guard in the head, making him stagger away.

Ryan glanced up at the queen, who regarded him with cold, malice-filled eyes as she nodded slightly. Stepping around the stunned guard, he motioned the rest of the group forward with his head. Up close he saw the pups still gulping down the noxious fluid, which smelled even worse than it looked.

The queen shifted again, rolling back over with an effort. Ryan couldn’t blame her. In her place, he wouldn’t have trusted himself either. The procession was oddly silent, only the irritated squeaks of the young as they scrambled around again for the milk, the thick, sibilant breathing of the rats as they watched the humans leave and the hiss of the lit torch breaking the silence. Ryan felt more than heard the pack of medium pig-rats pacing them, flowing around the queen’s head to follow the group.

A sudden shot caught Ryan off guard, and he stumbled, catching himself before dropping either the torch or the tank. Before the echo died away, he heard something slither down a pile, and looked to his left to see a medium pig rat with a bloody hole where its right eye had been roll to a stop from the nearest pile of dung.