Chapter 28: If Looks Could Kill

“Congratulations! You’ve just traced the migratory pattern of the indigenous, flesh-eating sandworm!” Peppy sarcasm delivered in passing by Michael the Recruiter. Interest in the quick recap on the beast’s characteristics shriveled and died over the flickering fire and their starving stomachs: skin kept slicked through exorbitant moisture absorption; sensitivity to sunlight leaves its giant body writhing beneath the sand’s surface; responsible for collapsing numerous concrete complexes. 

Sweltering sun. Dry air. Grainy smells. Jongdae barred his teeth, committing to memory the factors leading up to Shuck’s demise.

Two seasons accompanied the mild temperature changes in the Haven: Spring and Winter. Two Seasonal Hunts marked the start of each accordingly. “The Haven” takes an article to emphasis singular dependence rather than denote a singular entity. Popular nonsense in the Tower is multiple Havens exist past the dome’s heavenly protection. Blessed beings strive beyond the wasteland.

Naive optimism garnering condemnation with each intestinal twist, vessels up the meager sustenance recycled spit provides. 

A successful hunt for the human race cannot very well be achieved without solving their seemingly collective hunger; along with Shuck, the sandworm feasted upon vacuum-packed rations lost in the scramble to escape. Set back three days, running on a dinner divided piecemeal, the charismatic duo lost their flare for convincing the masses.

“Stupidity is contagious,” other Black Coats mumbled when they drew near — jests and criticism overlapped with equal volume. Whatever was to fill the pages of his notebook next, Jongdae stuck close to Minseok as the night grew thicker. Suffocating. All encompassing. Black.

The average ant can carry up to 100 times their body weight. A barren landscape lacking predators, coupled with camaraderie fostered through evolutionary blindness, made for surprisingly docile worker anthropods. As the briefing described, ten miles north of the golden gates landmark — red in color, Jongdae couldn’t help but point out — the ground came to an abrupt end. Earthquakes during the 2500s caused numerous landmasses to split wide open.

Even illuminated by the sun this cliff seemed to drop into forever. Hours ago, its departed lover waved from where sky met dirt. Now, horizon indistinguishable, Jongdae had his doubts. Echoing ticks tick ticking signaled bridge duty for an ant hoard. Shadows shifted. Moonbeams darted across rounded heads. Cracking rocks became background noise to inhuman voices screeching. 

Then quiet.

A Queen appeared without a sound. Two stories high and four cars long. Antenna swiped the ground. Whipping up a storm as the lone female wiggled her hindquarters. “Now,” gets the group moving from the alcove close by. Huddling beneath the beast like sons seeking shelter under a mother’s protection. Thus the walk across the ant-made path began.  

One, step. Two, step. Three, step. Hesitation meant sinking. Slipping between insect abdomens. Suddenly, the Queen gave her royal cry. Metaphorical hands in the cookie jar froze. No one spoke. Yet, as she continue on seconds later, no one died either. Anxiety-induced stress devoured Jongdae’s empty vessel — perhaps taking years off his life.

At the end of the hour, nineteen Black Coats reached the cocoon.

Heating pads; tin foil; decomposing insect carcasses: the best grilled meat Jongdae’s ever had. Second place after a certain creamy porridge; the dish had a watery consistency that makes his mouth go dry at its recollection. He settles against a wall, protruding fibers sticking to his clothes like candy. Glances up at the florescent globes shining neon blue through tiny pockets in the arched ceiling: unnamed constellations. Continues drawing under nature’s light.

Sensitive to bright light, blind to all else, the Queen sleeps during the day. Burrows aboveground when mating season — twice a year — comes around. Crosses the bridge to a castle built her gallant knights' regurgitation. Births millions of stars.

Prospering parasites, Minseok warns, “Don’t eat her eggs.” Jongdae wonders if “Don’t” is too tempting a rule to break the next day. Do. Not. Perhaps a life of being told what to do made Black Coats unable to parse the contraction. 

Presently Jongdae sketched without worry or wonder. Shadows danced across the blue. Minseok approached him, detaching from the jabbering seventeen. Happy stomachs caused happier, future rule-breakers.

“Looks off.” He points, dirty finger to pristine page. “Its underbelly.”

Lifting his pen, Jongdae studies the Queen’s pattern. Red splotches contrast furry black. Minseok has his notebook before he can ask why. On the next page, the gardener plants a rose garden. Messy. Marred by multiple stray marks.

“Now I see why you weren’t on the short list for the Seasonal Hunt," Jongdae jests.

His brother takes offense, “See anyone else hunching over a sketchbook?” Some Black Coats jotted the occasional note here and there, but — for the most part — he was right. The word “always” comes to mind. “Artistic skill isn’t a prerequisite for this job.”

“So the sudden career change,” Jongdae assumed; as always. “Your choice?”

“Let go.” Minseok appeared to brush off the past with a shrug. “I kept coming back alone.”

The Tower couldn’t lose another dutiful angel to bad luck. Superstition stationed Michael in the Haven where he rose in prestige. Then rose a nose to the Society and high-tailed it for the Underground. Minseok didn’t go into detail regarding his guilt-driven escape. “I abandoned my post,” were his exact words. 

Cusp’s End. Tao. Deo. Shoe. There was more to the story.

Minseok ended it prematurely. Commented on Jongdae’s corrections to the Queen’s plump belly. Filled with precious children that hung right above their heads not long ago. 

“Looks nice.”

Do. Not. Minseok didn’t stutter. Cadejo didn’t listen. 

Jongdae’s interactions with said male ended with distant staring. Nonsensical points. Baffling arguments.

He once asserted on a mild Friday, “Catfish are deathly afraid of water,” with neither context nor reason. As though the revelation hit him with an otherwordly force, he violently declared, “Catfish are deathly afraid of water!” until White Coats seized him from the weight room.  

Coaxing his skeptical partner into doing, Cadejo ate a live egg. Succulent. Juicy. Fresh. Delighted adjectives flew high in the black sky. Nineteen pairs of feet sprinted across a bridge built by confused worker ants teetering to and fro. 

One, step. Two, step. Three, step. Four. Jongdae lost count as the Queen bellowed. Whipped antenna at their heels. Though set to depart her palace this very night, she appeared to order a full stop on construction — the insect bridge thinning with each inch closer to safety.

Sooner rather than later, they reached the end of this winding road. Meters away was salvation: another lover waving hello. The motherland called her sons back home. Ready to forgive their transgressions. Envelope their black coats in her sweltering sun. Dry air. Grainy smells. 

Minseok was always faster, leaping onto the extending cliff face first; a hard smack. His green thumbs began to grasp rock. Climb upwards. Others followed quickly, pushing through those that hesitated. 

Delayed in receiving their orders, ants systematically fell off the edge Jongdae balanced on, lengthening the distance between life and death — by a mother scorned. He jumped at long last. Landed further down than most. The relief was short-lived. 

Cadejo landed on Jongdae's back. Grubby hands grasped at black clothing. Threatened to tug him into the abyss. Jongdae cursed, punctuating his displeasure with multiple Fs. 

The enigmatic daydreamer used him as a ladder. “Do. Not,” Jongdae remembers saying. Cadejo didn’t listen. Kneed his shoulders. Kicked his head. Crushed his fingers. Cracked the rock jutting out to keep Jongdae clinging to “home.”

Jongdae fell fast, spine squealing upon impact. Reeling at the pain of a 100 meter drop. Minutes passed before he realized he couldn’t move. 

A Queen screeched, quivering underbelly like a thriving rose bush. Moonbeams darted across the whites of peering eyes. Eighteen Black Coats left Cerberus behind.

A/N: Long chapter is long. If you read “The Seeress of Exo,” it appears Minseok has a running character trait. Next chapter will be here faster than Jongdae can climb a cliff face. (Make sure to follow me on Tumblr for story news & hum-worthy tunes!)