The intruders forced Flint to sit down as they rummaged through his backpack. He growled internally at their encroachment. Going through his bag almost felt more violating than the handsy pat-down they had given him. It was his stuff; at least, he’d stolen most of it fair and square.

  "What's this?" A black-bearded, long-haired man inquired as he tugged on the window screen that Flint had cut out of Jason's cabin. He wore a red flannel shirt with a wood axe looped over his shoulder on a paracord sling.

  "Ain't it like some kinda bug net, Jed?" a freckled man with a gold tooth asked. He wore a buckskin jacket with tassels and a pelt draped over his shoulders.

  "It looks like a small screen for a swingin’ door," the balding pot-bellied man said. Flint assumed this was their leader. Partially because he wore an impressive five critter pelts hanging from the straps of his overalls. The long-haired guy pinning F’faron had called him Beau.

  "Hey, you. Do ya have any windows?" Jed demanded. A glorious waxed mustache curled up on his upper lip.

  "I was going to use it in a stream to catch fish," Flint snapped bitterly. “Make a stream funnel.”

  "Well, there ain't no fish here," Jed lamented mournfully.

  In the distance, a tooth wailed, and the men stopped to listen. “Damn mud monkeys,” Beau swore as he gripped his compound hunting bow. “Always so hungry. They sound far.”

  "Hey, look, Beau. This kid got plenty of crypto cards," Buckskinned Gold-tooth laughed. "I don't think he even got a credit score. I reckon the small one’s handsy."

  "Well, I reckon," Flint spat, “We are of entirely different intellectual caliber, as it is self-evident that I have the utmost care and concern for oral hygiene, while you clearly are completely and totally indifferent on the matter."

  "Huh?" Jed and Gold-Tooth looked at him in a stupor, which indicated they couldn't follow past the word ‘reckon.’

  "Hey, the pipsqueak talks like a politician," Beau sneered.

  "A politician?" Flint gasped. "Oh desh no, you didn't just—"

  "Hey Beau, should I kill the hairy guy now or wait until we are back at camp fixin' for some grub?" the long-haired man with a bandana headband asked.

  Beau shook his head. "Nah, don’t kill it, Billy; we'll keep it fresh. Quinn will know how to cook it up real good."

  "You're going to cook F'faron?" Jason cried, appalled.

  "Ya named it?" Billy scoffed. "What, is he your pet? Tell you what, they make for right good eating."

  "You can't!" Jason cried. "He's smart, like us."

  "Smarter than some of us," Flint implied darkly through a fit of coughs.

  "What are these?" The one rummaging through the bag pulled out Flint's remaining three pens. This one had an impressive bass voice and an impossibly wide jaw. He wore a dirty camo jacket and had a shoulder bag made from presumably a critter pelt at his side.

  "Those are for my allergies," Flint said. "I need those; if I get stung, I could die."

  "I’ve heard about these, Bobby," Jed said. "Better give ‘em to the kid, or he can get real sick."

  "He would," Beau interjected. "If there were bees here. I haven't seen any, have you?"

  They shook their heads in agreement. "And you forget, we're just gonna tie him up outside camp and leave him for the mud monkeys. Who cares if he gets sick?"

  Nodding in agreement, Bobby haphazardly shoved the pens back into the pack and slung the bag over his shoulders.

  “Let’s go,” Beau ordered, but F’faron kicked and squirmed. Billy cursed, so Jed and Gold-Tooth helped him bind the critter with plastic zip ties. He then dropped him into a sack, his head sticking out miserably.

  “The rest of you keep your hands on your heads, or you’ll get the same,” Quinn warned. Flint, Jason, and Nana all complied. Still, Jed kept his shotgun trained on Nana, and Bobby continuously watched him carefully.

  Billy threw F’faron’s sack over his shoulder and moved with considerably more effort, even if he was lean and young.

  They marched away about a mile and a half before showing up at what must have been their camp. A ditch surrounded by sharpened timber palisades interwoven with patches of chain-link fence and siding made for a surprisingly impressive fortification.

  A curious earthwork, roughly shaped like a giant termite's nest, caught Flint’s attention. As he looked closer, his eyes widened. The grotesque form must have been several dozen bodies dumped in a pile and left for Ash to consume.

  The front of the camp had been cleared of trees, denying intruders cover. Several bloody poles mounted in the front of the gate, with chains bolted to the wood, testified of offerings made to appease the teeth.

  Flint noted a hunter's perch nestled in a tree and thought he could see a rifle barrel sticking out of it.

  "You guys don't play around," Flint said.

  "Welcome home, boys!" Beau said.

  They were greeted by the sound of a dog barking.

  "A dog?" Flint remarked. "Did you bring it with you?"

  "Ain't no animals naturally here. Well, nothing but the mud monkeys, n' the critters," Jed explained. “Ol’ Buckshot came here with us.”

  The bloodhound rushed through the gate, barking happily.

  Flint counted at least eight more people, including a few women and children. All of them were dirty, and most were in overalls. Everyone carried at least a hunting knife.

  "How many of you are there?" Flint asked as he combed the camp for vulnerabilities. The interior of the base consisted of tents and makeshift shelters. Fires burned in pits, probably used for cooking, and some furs stretched out, drying in the sun.

  F'faron shrieked in horror as he saw the furs. But a blow to his bag silenced the young critter.

  Flint caught Jason’s hand twitching at his side as he finger-spelled the word, truck. Flint cocked a curious eyebrow, and Jason discreetly pointed.

  A rusted pickup stood, parked between tents.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Billy snapped, following Flint’s gaze. “She’s out of diesel, and there ain't a gas station around.

  “Look,” Jason tried. “Let us go; we’re no threat to you.”

  "Enough," Beau snapped at Jason. "Now you just stop talkin' and stick yer hands out so we can tie ‘em."

  Jason looked over and studied a large cage made of lashed branches built in the middle of the camp. Horizontal bars held the structure in place.

  "What's that?" he asked.

  Flint eyed the square-jawed guy who took his backpack with the auto pens. He was too far away to get to it before they were tied.

  "That's where you’re goin'."

  "Why?" Jason asked.

  "Because we gotta survive," Beau explained. "We keep the strong who can fight and feed the weak to the mud monkeys so they don't come here. It's called the law of selection."

  "No, you're thinking of natural selection. This is called murder," Jason snapped.

  “It’s survival,” Billy countered. “Mud monkeys get hungry, so we feed them.”

  “Mud monkeys?” Nana shook his head. “Do you mean teeth?”

  Billy let out a snort of laughter. “What a stupid name.”

  “You’re the one calling them mud monkeys,” Flint pointed out.

  Beaue shrugged. "Most people come here on their own. Seven of us Hoggins and McCallisters got taken all at once while we were hunting. We’re a family, and together we’re strong. We let the strong join us and use the weak as tribute. Mud monkies don’t try to get into camp if there’s fresh meat outside."

  "So you'll let Nana join you?" Jason asked. "He's strong."

  Beaue shook his head. "American club only. We don't take foreigners."

  "What about me?" Flint asked. "I'm much more dangerous than any of you."

  Beau threw his head back and laughed. "Sorry, Mr. One Shoe, into the cage with you."

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  Acting fast, Flint turned to the Beaue and threw his arms around him. "Please, no!" he cried. "I'm scared of dark spaces!"

  "What?" Beaue stammered as he pushed Flint away. "Ge'off me; it's an open cage; stop whining."

  Flint sniffled as he nodded.

  "Your hands."

  Flint held his hands in front of him, and his captors roughly tied them with a phone charger.

  The three of them were shoved into the lashed cave, and Flint had to duck to avoid hitting his head. Lastly, they tossed F'faron in, who was unable to brace himself because of the sack tied off around his neck.

  "Do us a favor." One of them laughed. "Don't eat him before Quinn gets back."

  Flint blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim cage. The cell was oddly spacious for them, but he realized he wasn't alone.

  Two men and a woman with obsidian skin, even darker than Nana's, sat together. Four young men with Asian features huddled in their own group, and a few fair-skinned prisoners glanced up.

  Body odor and the stench of human feces permeated the cage. The ragged collection of survivors refused to make eye contact and stayed self-segregated in their groups. Nana picked F'faron up and immediately went to work, freeing F’faron from his bag, but he lacked the tools to remove his zip ties. The four of them settled in their own little corner away from the others and cast worried glances at each other.

  "Hey!" someone piped from the corner.

  Flint looked up to see a youthful boy, probably his age, with yellow-blond hair and a dorky smile. He looked bored as if he were waiting to get out of detention, which clashed with his hands being tied in front of him.

  "Do you speak English?" he asked.

  "Yes," Jason said. "What is this place?"

  "This place? It's a cage, I think," he chuckled.

  "That's not what I mean," Jason said, irritated.

  "What're your names?" The boy asked.

  "Jason," Jason said shortly, trying to regain his footing. "This is my brother Flint, that's Nana, and this guy is F'faron. What's yours?"

  "William," he said. "So they caught you too?

  "So it would seem," Flint said as he eyed the newcomer. All the others looked downcast and broken, but William grinned and carried himself with an air of assurance that was at odds with their circumstances. "How long have you been here, William?" Flint asked.

  "Just today," William said. "Do you know what they plan to do with us?"

  "I have heard of places like this," Nana said. "Men with weapons band together to make villages. But when large groups unite, it attracts teeth like a mosquito to warm blood."

  "So they capture people as some kind of sick offering?" Flint realized. The image of the bloody pole and restraints flashed through Flint's mind, making his stomach twist.

  Nana nodded. "When teeth are hunting, they will chain people to the posts outside of camp. The teeth kill the easy meat on the outside, leaving them safe inside."

  A heavy silence fell, and Jason's face twisted in horror.

  "Well, what do we do?" William said, his face pale, his eyes panicked. "And what are teeth?"

  "Teeth are savage animals that kill to feed Ash," Flint said, gratified to find that, for once, they weren't the most ignorant people on the planet. "They're literally the planet's teeth.”

  "Well, we need to get out of here!" William exclaimed as he grabbed and shook the bars of the cage.

  "We sneak out when it's dark," Flint said.

  "How?"

  Flint looked around. "What about them? Do you think that they can help?"

  William shook his head. "I don't think any of them can speak English."

  "Any chance they know ASL?" Jason asked dubiously.

  Flint turned and waved, but anyone looking his way glanced away pointedly. "I doubt it," Flint said. Then, looking at their little group of five, he felt a glimmer of hope. William seemed bright and intelligent. Nana was strong and wise, and he knew he could trust Jason.

  "Do you think F'faron could slip between the branches here?" Flint asked.

  "He's like a ferret; he could slip under a kitchen door," Jason said.

  "Can we trust him not to run away the first chance he gets?" Flint wondered. "And how do we communicate the plan with him?"

  "Let's get him out of these zip ties," Jason said as he took F’faron’s bound hands in his.

  "Will this help?" Flint smiled as he slipped out Beau's small folding knife.

  The other four jaws dropped, and there was even a shift of interest among the other prisoners.

  "Where did you hide that?" Jason asked in disbelief. "They were very thorough in their pat down."

  "I didn't hide it. I lifted it off of Beau as he tied us up. Are you still going to give me crap for borrowing things back home, Jason?"

  "Flint!" Jason stammered. "I've never been so glad someone has been so dishonest."

  "Thank you, Jason. Thank you indeed." Flint puffed his chest in mock pride.

  "So what do we do about the guns?" William asked. "I mean, they have guards."

  "I haven't gotten that far yet," Flint said. "We'll have to wait until dark and need a distraction.

  "Wow," William marveled. "You're good."

  Flint shrugged casually, but a ghost smile traced his lips. He wasn't usually comfortable around people his age, but being respected was nice.

  "Can I see the knife?" William asked with awe in his eyes.

  Flint smirked. "Sure." He found himself extending it before he stopped short. Not respect—this was flattery. "Why?" he asked.

  William snatched the knife from Flint's hand and bolted for the door.

  "Hey!" Flint snapped as he rushed after William.

  "Duke, the door!" William cried, and the square-jawed man in the buckskin jacket man rushed up to open the cage door, allowing the fleeing youth through, slamming it in Flint's face just in time to keep him out.

  "You traitor!" Flint snapped.

  William laughed and gave Duke a high five. "This one stole a knife from Beau, " he said as he handed it to the guard. I'll be real: He's good, and we might want to keep him."

  "I'd rather sit on a cactus," Flint sneered.

  "Well, that's too bad," William said. "I actually didn't totally hate you."

  "Why did you sell us out?" Flint demanded.

  William shrugged. "This is Ash. A man has got to do what he has to do to survive. It's nothing personal."

  "You will pay for this!" Flint shouted.

  "Now, now," William chided. "The cage rules are, if you get on our nerves, we feed you to the teeth first."

  "Uh, you mean Mud Monkeys," Duke corrected. “We’re on an alien planet; we get to name them whatever we want.”

  William rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

  Flint pulled off his other shoe and threw it at William as hard as possible. William's eyes traced the projectile as it sailed horribly off course. "Well, you had better tie me to one of those poles right now," Flint snapped, "because if you don't, I'm going to—"

  Flint felt a hand clap over his mouth, and Jason pulled him back. "Our heads down and not a sound," Jason promised.

  Flint struggled, but his brother dragged him back into the shadow.

  "Flint!" Jason snapped. "What was all that talk about being a survivor?"

  Flint grunted. "I am so tired of lies."

  Jason nodded. "I understand, man, but I need you to keep your head. You promised to take me home, right?"

  Flint looked away.

  "Right?" Jason persisted.

  "That's right," Flint confirmed.

  "Great, and how does getting yourself chained to a pole and being eaten fit into that?"

  "It doesn't," Flint mumbled.

  "That's right. It doesn't, so just breathe, and we'll devise another plan."

  Flint nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry, man."

  "It's okay. But help us think of a new strategy."

  "Untie my hands," Flint said.

  Untying another person’s hands turned out to be tricky if your own hands were also tied. But after some focus and careful maneuvering, all three of them were untied. Flint had missed the second restraint earlier, but F'faron whimpered as his hands and feet were cinched tight by a zip tie.

  "Why do they even bother?" Jason asked in surprise. "Seriously, what's the point?"

  Flint realized that the other prisoners were also untied. Their bindings—cables, twine, shoelaces, and cords—were strewn about the floor. The most secure restraint was F'faron's plastic cuff.

  "What do we do for him?" Jason asked.

  "One sec," Flint said. He pried the metal tab off of the zipper on his trousers. "I need you to relax, F'faron," Flint said in his most soothing tone, and the critter looked at him pleadingly.

  Even through the fur on his wrist, the plastic dug into F'faron's skin. The zipper tab was thicker than ideal. Flint wedged the metal tab into the narrow gap where a tiny lock caught the plastic teeth. Working his tab, he felt it catch, but it resisted. Nearly dropping his zipper tab, he tried again until the lock opened with a faint pop, and he slid the tie off F’faron’s wrists.

  F'faron looked around, wide-eyed, as he rubbed his thin wrists.

  “You learn that at school?” Jason asked dryly, if not a little impressed.

  “Online,” Flint said simply. "F'faron," he said sternly, getting the critter's attention. "I'm going to get this zip tie off your feet, but you can't run just yet."

  F'faron furrowed his brow as though he were earnestly trying to understand what Flint was saying, but desire couldn't make up for ignorance.

  Flint sighed. “Of course, you’ll run off. It’s what you do.”

  Jason crouched down next to them. "Let me try to explain. He likes me more.”

  Flint nodded in agreement.

  ”F’faron, if you run, they will kill you,” Jason said patiently. “I don’t want that.”

  F’faron stared blankly, and Jason let out a breath. “You," he said, jabbing his finger at F'faron. "Do not." He waved his arms in front of him, shaking his head and frowning. "Run." He held one hand flat, simulating the ground as he wiggled his fingers above it, signing running legs.” Jason blushed, but Flint didn’t blame him. He looked ridiculous playing charades with an oversized ferret.

  Flint took over and shimmed the zip tie on F'faron's feet, but rather than running off as expected, F'faron approached Flint and licked his hand.

  "Woah," he tried not to flinch at F'faron's warm, wet tongue. F'faron simply looked back somberly.

  "You're welcome, buddy."

  F'faron curled up in a ball next to Flint and closed his eyes. He looked so … in place? Apart from his baggy trousers, he looked like he could be a family pet. Flint couldn't precisely say what pet, but all he needed was an oversized chair and a fire to complete the picture.

  "Don't worry, buddy," Flint whispered. "I won't let them eat you."

  Arthur perched in the tree, looking into the camp from above. Fires lit it from the inside. Primitive but well-fortified, out-turned spikes encircled the entire camp; it was a virtual porcupine. He could just order his teeth to wipe them out, but with at least twenty men armed with guns, he would lose several of them, and those things cost an inordinate amount of aurora to spawn.

  He squinted as he tried to see where his sons were. He turned to the tooth that hung from the tree with claws sunk deep into the trunk.

  "You're sure they're inside?" Arthur asked.

  The tooth cocked its head and uttered a strenuous croak as though it were trying to form words. It couldn't, of course. It wasn't designed to speak, but oddly, that didn't stop it from trying.

  Arthur sighed and dropped out of the tree. Moments later, the heavy thump behind him indicated that the tooth had done the same.

  He had to be sure. Teeth were only so reliable at reconnaissance. They were killers, not scouts.

  He hated to do this, as it greedily drank his aurora, but he had to be sure before moving against an established camp like this. While he didn't care about the men inside, they constantly fed this section of his district. It was practically a farm of food supply for Ash. But he would destroy it and everyone inside if it was between him and his prey.

  He looked around as the remaining eight teeth entered from all sides. Great, the pack was all here.

  "Ash," he said as he took a knee. "Lend me your eyes." He slammed his palm down into the ground. Arthur grunted in frustration as he felt the aurora slipping from his arm and pouring into the ground before him.

  The earth under him flashed as his mind became one with Ash; the aurora rippled forward as a wave ran from his hand towards the camp, combing out. And he became one with it. He was every rock, every tree, and every crack in the clay. Sentries walked on him; he felt them all and spliced with them. The ripple continued; he was Ash; the men of this camp had forced spiked logs into him, and he was one with the logs, and he continued, more inside, tents, fires, and people. He synched with them.

  Aurora continued to pour back into Ash.

  A wooden cage and people inside had been built in the middle of the camp. Among them were—yes, Flint and Jason were there. Flint was the easiest to see; he wasn't wearing shoes, and the contact of his bare skin on Ash allowed Ash to see him with heightened clarity. Flint gasped and looked down at the ground as if he could see Arthur’s essence beneath the dirt at his feet.

  Arthur severed the connection and returned to his own mind. He now had the actionable intelligence he needed to make his move.

  "Six sentries," he said to himself. "Nineteen in camp, twelve prisoners, fifteen guns."

  This would be fun.

  "Wait for my signal," he commanded his teeth, "then make a lot of noise."

  Inwardly, a blocked portion of Arthur roared in protest, but it lacked a connection to his body or to the modified copy of himself that now called the shots. His boys were here. A suppressed wave of emotion at seeing them shook him. Jason resembled Arthur, while Flint had his mother’s curly hair. They needed to die—artificial impulses drove Arthur now. He had his directive, and his soldiers had theirs.

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