CONTAGION Read online

  CONTAGION

  By Amanda Milo

  Copyright © 2019 Amanda Milo ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To everyone who parts with their hard-earned money in order to buy this book, and for everyone who lawfully rents a copy of this story through Kindle Unlimited: Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support. ♥

  DEDICATION:

  “Let’s go fishing!” he said. “It’ll be relaxing,” he said…

  To R—who isn’t bothered in the least by leeches, and who still finds my (howling) reaction entertaining when I’m attacked by killer water-slugs.

  And to You, my reader. You are fabulous.

  In Memory of Yasai, our little outerspace vegetable.

  And sincerest, most heartfelt thanks to M-20 Animal Hospital in Midland. Dr. Tessa, you and your team are so compassionate. You made our girl’s last moments as comfortable as possible. We’ll be forever grateful.

  DEDICATION:

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  You Survived CONTAGION! =D

  BITS AND BOBS BEHIND THE BOOK

  Cures for Book Hangovers

  Books & Audiobooks by Amanda…

  About the Author

  CHAPTER 1

  “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” comes the man’s surprising words, just before his fist crashes into my nose.

  By my people’s standards, I am a rather handsome male. However, I would not have thought this would be an observation shared by aliens. Especially such startlingly dissimilar aliens.

  I’m quite certain that having these aliens find me attractive cannot be a positive development. I struggle harder against my bindings.

  “We’re going to need a saw to get through his exoskeleton.”

  At these words, my blood may as well be ice. Geh, aliens are cruel!

  Thus far, I’ve only ever met four aliens, one of which was a female who called herself a human. I can only assume these males are of her same species, because she was nothing, nothing like these three males who have me held captive, strapped down to some sort of crude examination table.

  My people are a peaceful race, completely unprepared for alien invasion. I was captured on my way to the laboratory where I work. I had been distracted by thoughts of the lunch I’d just prepared for myself, ğurk. The ingredients are incredibly expensive, but it tastes extraordinary. And it’s wasted now, because I dropped my lunch carrier when one of these three brutes shot me!

  I’m unsure if I was too shocked to move or if I was seriously injured. Upon waking, my system had either healed any injuries, or no serious harm had been rendered—but at the time, I remember thinking their weapon must operate with some sort of exceptional stunning mechanism, because I was completely incapacitated. I woke up feeling unprecedentedly thirsty, hungry, and uncharacteristically groggy. I also awoke in a dark, dank building with disturbingly unfamiliar architecture.

  Upsetting.

  Self-examination provides me with the reason I’m staring up at a dirty exposed-structure ceiling. I’m trussed up and strapped dorsals-down on a filthy surface that does not deserve the designation of a medical exam table. To learn that these miscreants have it in their puny minds to perform amateur vivisection is more than cause for panic.

  “Stop moving,” the aggressive one snarls in my face. “You break one more rope, and I’m going to strangle you with it.”

  “Did you disinfect your hands?” I ask him, still horrified because a few moments before, I saw him walk to the wall, extrude himself without wearing gloves, and urinate on it! And they wonder why I started to struggle!

  “Good call on fitting the freaking alien with a translator so he can obey commands, Hal. That unit was too damn expensive, and we wasted it! This asshole doesn’t obey commands.”

  It’s almost amusing how they refer to me as if I am the alien among us.

  Preposterous.

  My frame is taller than theirs by three, nearly four measures. Their bodies are encased in bags of soft tissues, whereas chitin plates protect my innards.

  They don’t appear to have fangs. I have them, and the first time I attempted to force a smile at one of them, they shouted loudly to the others, warning them that I had bared my fangs.

  They have short hairs on their heads and no antennae. I have no hairs anywhere and I’m crowned with a pair of very long, fine antennae.

  They have no tail. Mine is nearly as long as they are tall. My tail is laterally compressed halfway down its length, and the triangular plates that adorn it emerge all the way up my spine. Thankfully, these plates press flat, which is particularly helpful when I’m strapped down on my back. My dorsal tubes though, those sit below and climb just above my shoulders, and those deflate but do not feel as comfortable to rest on for as long as I’ve been here. These aliens have no regard for my comfort. And, as I said, they think me the alien here.

  But they’re referring to me also as an… ass… hole? I’m so confused.

  Staring at me, the third male folds back foil paper from yet another flat stick. He’s overly fond of gnawing on them. At least they make his breath pleasant.

  The aggressive male, Hal, abruptly brings a hammer against my side.

  I hiss at him, and all three humans step back, although this Hal’s eyes narrow as if in warning. Perhaps he has struck me as some sort of punishment, or perhaps only to vent his frustration—but thankfully, my carapace is made as sternly as any Genneӝt’s, so I’m physically uninjured.

  However. If they plan to saw into my chitin?

  I start struggling harder.

  The panicking human cries, “He’s going to get loose and kill us all—”

  Hal, seemingly the dominant human of the group, strikes the panicked one, knocking him to the floor. He stabs his finger to indicate the large metal cylinder that stands next to the table they have me strapped to. “Hit him with more of that knockout gas.”

  “It’s barely working on him!”

  “Then give him more,” Hal stresses in a low bellow.

  I can’t help but think his response seems lacking in medical or even scientific knowledge to an alarming degree. If a thing isn’t working, then increasing your effort generally only succeeds if you first alter your strategy. Since it’s my person they’re planning to perform this treatment on, I find I can’t stop myself from attempting to interject my strong opinion on this matter. “I would rather you not,” I tell them, striving to make my tone polite.

  Being as I’ve never been polite in my life, it chafes that I have to force it now in the face of such uncivilized individuals
.

  “Shut up!” the frightened one spits. He’s been loath to handle me—for which I’ve been grateful—but my speaking aloud seems to break something in him, because without warning, he brings his hand smartly across my snout.

  There’s a loud crack.

  “AHHHHHHH!” he screams. “He broke my hand!”

  Reflexively, I try to bring my hand up to rub my snout, but it’s tied down too tightly. “Fool, you tried to slap me on the nose. You’re a creature with soft outer flesh. What did you expect would happen?”

  His eyes go wild. “Soft outer flesh?” He’s clearly panicked as he cradles his appendage. “He’s going to get loose and eat us!”

  I curl my lip in disgust. “Not if I were starving.”

  Against my wishes, that’s when the trio cranks up the specialized gas.

  However, when the gas has no effect on me, the panicked one’s hands begin shaking fiercely. Very suddenly, he announces he requires something called ‘a smoke.’

  Aggressive Hal is tightening the straps that fit over my arms, barely taking notice of his nervous companion’s wish to have smoke. He should have paid attention. The nervous male fishes a metallic-looking wedge out of one of his pockets, and a long, thin white-and-orange tube out of a package that appears to hold many of these tubes.

  Hal doesn’t seem to notice his companion at all—not until he hears the metal chink as the nervous one flicks open his metallic rectangular item, and his thumb rolls over a small inner wheel, producing a rasping noise.

  Hal has time only to turn sharply and shout, “NO! The gas—”

  The explosion lights up the entire room. A pink mist fills the air—and I’m too stunned to extrapolate what it is until I realize the humans have disappeared.

  ...The mist is exploded human.

  HOW UNSANITARY!

  Immediately, I want to scrub myself clean down to my first layer of chitin. To be covered in human particles? Revolting.

  I throw myself against my restraints in horror—only to realize I’m no longer restrained. Everything not-metal has burned away.

  This means I end up throwing myself right to the floor.

  “Oh my Creator,” I moan in despair. “And I thought the table was unhygienic.” Scrambling to my feet, I cringe, trying not to imagine the germs now littering my body’s surface. Steeling myself, I glance down.

  I’ve taken some damage; my outer shell has turned almost shiny—not only from a mist of human-particles, but as if my chitin itself started melting.

  Feeling burnt, I grimace unhappily. Then I cough.

  I stiffen. There are a number of bacterial diseases which are characterized by coughs. “What if I’ve been infected?” I wail, and attempt to fill myself with courage in case I begin to experience convulsive coughing, or any other troubling symptoms of impending doom.

  CHAPTER 2

  Was I the only one captured? I didn’t get to ask the ruffians if they knew Skynan. At first, I was afraid to mention the human’s name and make the males of her kind aware of her existence if they didn’t have her in their clutches already.

  Now I need to search for her here in case they’ve been keeping her and Erreck, her mate and my friend, as prisoners too.

  I make for the reinforced metal door, blackened now from the blast, as are the metal walls. Haltingly, I reach for the large handle… and stop.

  What I wouldn’t give right now for disinfectant.

  I pace and pace until it occurs to me that it’s unlikely anyone will open the door for me. Thus, it’s up to me to touch it and make my escape.

  That’s all I must do: touch it. Surely there are worse things. Having your carapace sawed into by non-medical novices, for example.

  This thought galvanizes me to approach the exit once more. Spots dance over my vision and I find that holding my breath as a preventative from inhaling the human-particle polluted air may cause me to pass out. Which would be devastating. I can’t land on this floor twice; the idea of the filth on it coating more of me will kill me.

  Gritting my teeth, I wrap my fingers around the handle and pull.

  Nothing happens. I tug again, with more force, and when that doesn’t budge it, I growl in determination and wrench the thing from its hinges with a stunning screech.

  My eyes are greeted by the sight of corrugated sheet metals of various stages of rusted decay, squaring off a large, cavernous space. It’s like they’ve kept me hidden in some sort of abandoned, hellish warehouse. Or perhaps it’s an airship hanger. I try to imagine where on my planet they found this place, and I can’t. Who wouldn’t flatten and bomb this hovel with the strongest bactericide available?

  My captors, apparently, that’s who.

  Stumbling out of the ‘medical’ room, my foot immediately makes contact with something that smushes against the bottoms of my elongated toes. With a hissing gasp of horror, I lift my foot to see the telltale pale-green of the chawing source the third human was overly fond of. Stick by stick, his jaw worked his freshsprig-scented flat lengths into round, saliva-mixed balls of tackiness. And now—now my foot is sticking to the floor care of one of his mouth’s leavings.

  “MALISONS!” I wail, before I duck and look sharply around.

  No one else is here.

  Sniffing unhappily, I bemoan that not even three consecutive antiseptic mizzling stall visits will be enough to get myself clean from this wretched ordeal. I’ll need a minimum of five, or maybe nine or ten—with chitin-scalding soap. I wonder what compounds we have in the lab. I need something that will scour off the infectious touch of an unwashed human and their mouth-leavings.

  “He urinated right in the open, right on the wall!” I hiss. “He didn’t so much as use hand sanitizer after. Erreck will never believe what’s happened to me,” I groan to myself, thinking of my former coworker, my office rival, and as I said, my friend. If there’s honor in bestowing the claim of brother to a fellow Genneӝt, then I would consider bestowing it on Erreck—that is, if I found siblings tolerable.

  Erreck could be an irksome pain, especially once he discovered he loved the human he was hiding. It was all quite sickening. His chasing after Skynan was only rivaled by her hunger for him.

  But, if I must be honest, it was sickening in that way where you can still feel happy for two friends, even if they do defile your workspace with their freakish cavorting.

  Erreck left the planet, secreting away with his human mate before she could be discovered by our sheltered, highly-secluded people.

  At least, to Creator and all that is in heaven, I hope they managed to leave the planet. What if they too were taken by this group?

  I’m desperately searching for a door that leads outside. At this point, I’ll take an escape hatch with a questionable-looking grease mark along the opening—anything to get out of this creepish, echoing building, please—when a sob makes me freeze in my tracks.

  It sounds like a human female. “Skynan?” I half-shout.

  The sound bounces back on my ear depressions, making my dorsal tubes quiver in nervousness. I squint at the corner I’ve been avoiding thus far because the dim light doesn’t reach it. I’ve been quite hopeful the exit door I’ve been searching for isn’t placed there because I don’t want to move in that direction. Not without a fleet of demolition equipment and a fireship-sized carrier hefting an industrial compound that will prevent the growth of disease-causing microorganisms.

  As I think this, my eyes adjust to the lack of light here, and peering at me through a box-shaped, metal-barred prison, there is a human.

  “Oh no!” I cry, stumbling towards her. “They caged you?”

  For the purpose of full disclosure, I admit that Erreck and I caged his human before we knew that she was not a dangerous alien animal. I’ve since learned that humans do not appreciate being caged, nor are their systems particularly adapted to it.

  For one thing, they have no instinct for using litter trays, choosing to sleep on the litter instead of eliminate on it—extremely
disgusting—but once we learned that Skynan possessed the higher thinking necessary to use a facility’s elimination bowl just as any civilized person would, she was pleasant enough to be around.

  “Skynan!” I gasp—and I feel a pang of guilt because as much as I would wish this whole experience on no one, I also… well, a small part of me is relieved that I am not in this metal pit of hell all alone.

  Then I’m skidding to a stop, eyes wide. I don’t even notice the sticky substance on my foot. Because the being staring back at me isn’t Skynan.

  She is a human all right, but she’s not the one I know.

  And, as I gaze in horror at her cage, I see this poor human was not given an elimination station, not even so much as a litter tray. The cretins who attempted to torture me clearly put no thought into the captivity of even their fellow human, the ignorant fools.

  I rush forward.

  The stranger scuttles back awkwardly, unable to stand at full height in the too-small, feculent enclosure. “This is inhumane,” I point out, galled. When I reach for the miserable cage, the human lifts her hands, squeezes her eyes shut, and turns her head sharply to the side.

  I study her. This doesn’t quite look like a defensive posture. From cohabiting a lab office space with Skynan as long as I did, I don’t believe humans emit anything dangerous—believe me, I would have panicked if I had suspected they have the capability—so I can’t imagine this female is warning me off with some sort of odd, dangerous alien threat display.

  Plus, I’ve done nothing to earn such a warning. I braved this dark corner to rescue her, after all.

  She’s clad in a one-piece garment that fits across her rounded, bi-globed upper-thorax, and extends down her body to float around her scuffed, oddly dark-marked knees. A dress, if my memory of human-garments serves me correctly. She doesn’t attempt to rise. She doesn’t hiss or bite or emit anything that I can spy.

  Tentatively, I attempt not to touch the bars of her cage as I reach through and—gamely, bravely, if I may say so myself—take her alien hands. That I initiated such contact shocks me. I can’t think of the last time I desired physical comfort.