Chapter 4 #2
Well. Turns out being picked last for softball and kickball and all sports in school did, in fact, come back to bite me in the ass.
I just didn’t expect the bite to be taken by an alien chicken.
My eyes dart around desperately as I look for another rock, a branch, anything that will let me help get Zan out of reach of the rooster. Because as much as that alien drives me crazy, he is my alien. He is my partner, and I might be a bitch, but that doesn’t mean I want to see him get hurt.
I don’t want anyone to get hurt.
My stomach growls again. I’m freaking famished.
I don’t think I truly understood that word until this moment.
The amount of meat on a bird that size would be more than enough for both Zan and me, and I lick my lips at the thought of it.
It’s a good thing Ken No Privates hasn’t figured out one-to-one confessionals for his psychotic reality TV show, because I’m not sure that’s something I’d like to admit out loud on camera.
The rooster raises its head, starting to crow again. “Coc—”
Without warning, the rooster keels over completely, the dust its fellow chicken has uncovered flying up in a cloud that makes me cough and cover my eyes.
Zan stands up gingerly, not even taking a second to look at his tail and assess the damage before advancing on the prone form of the megafauna rooster.
“You killed it.” He glances over one shoulder at me, reevaluating me.
“No, I didn’t.” I stand up, too shaky, feeling still barely in my foot, spikes of pain from the asleep limb shooting up all the way to my hip as I limp forward to where Zan is inspecting the rooster.
“It’s dead,” he assures me. “You’ve done well, little warrior human.”
“I’m not a warrior. And how did I kill it? That shouldn’t have done that.” Truly, one more surreal, awful moment in a sea of surreal and awful moments.
I shudder. “Thanks for the new nightmare fuel, Ken.”
Zan pokes it, then bends over, placing an ear on the animal’s still chest. “I think you gave it a heart attack.”
“Huh.” I wrinkle my nose.
“You fought bravely.” He smiles. “Now about that cock you wanted…” He starts to tug down the waistband of his pants with a wicked smile. And despite the fact our lives were just in peril, it’s easy to see that hasn’t affected his very apparent need for me.
“Absolutely not. Put it away,” I say. Then I point at the bird.
“That’s a rooster. A cock. Same thing.” I shake my head.
"I wasn’t talking about you.” Placing my hands on my hips, I sigh deeply.
“I want to eat it for dinner,” I tell him, enunciating each word carefully, stabbing a finger like a dagger at the prone bird.
The hen ignores us, bawking quietly as she continues to dust bathe serenely. It feels slightly wrong to be talking about eating her poor friend in front of her, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“Alas,” Zan says sadly, shaking his head. “I knew your request was too good to be true.”
I stamp my foot in pure exasperation. “I’m so hungry,” I tell him, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you think we can cook the rooster?”
I don’t know if Ken gives out bonus points for not picking fights with your fucking partner, but if he did, I’d be simply awash in them right now for my complete and utter control of myself in this situation. I have no idea how Ken is running any of this.
I’m not sure Ken knows, either.
For a game show, we sure as shit haven’t been given any rules on how to win.
Or any rules at the fuck all.
I am very maturely choosing not to fight with Zan, and frankly I should win the entire Mated and Afraid game just for not arguing with him in this very moment.
“Are you sure it had a heart attack?” I ask, still side-eyeing the rooster.
“I am disappointed that it is not my cock you are after, but this beast here, and while I am completely confused about why your human language denotes this animal and my manhood with the same word, I will proudly serve you either, both.”
I give him a long look, once again patting myself on the back for not taking the bait.
“What will you give me for serving you this food?” he says, a petulant tone in his voice and a sly look in his eye.
“I won’t bite yours off,” I tell him.
Zan blinks and tilts his head, clearly confused.
The hen makes a strange cooing noise behind us, still bathing in the patch of sunlight and the now-deep dirt hole she’s dug for herself, obviously undeterred by the demise of the giant rooster.
“Why isn’t she attacking us?” I say, not really asking Zan or anyone else.
And then I clutch my chest and nearly die of my own heart attack as good old Ken appears in front of us in full holographic form.
He’s chosen, strangely, to wear what appears to be a black and white fur coat over a pink and red zebra-striped onesie, topping off the look with white cat-eye sunglasses.
“Congratulations,” Ken booms. You have defeated today’s challenge, and thus won your reward.” He gestures to both birds.
The ground rumbles, and Zan is suddenly at my side, an arm around my hip, steadying me against the tremors.
A mechanical grinding noise sounds, and a table—stainless steel, but otherwise exactly like a picnic table that used to dot the natural parks all along Earth—appears out of nowhere.
A hot pink and white checkered tablecloth slides across it, and out of the hole in the ground comes large wicker baskets and an enormous grill, bigger than any I’ve ever seen.
“Are you not entertained?” Ken roars, and if he’s doing an impression of Russell Crowe, it’s not a very good one.
Zan and I simply stare at the hologram AI.
“The Romans didn’t wear faux fur coats and hot pink zebra print,” I tell him slowly.
“Were you there?” Zan asks. “With these Romans of yours? Maybe you can tell me more about what’s to come if these are Roman-styled tasks.”
It takes a lot of effort not to sigh again, but I manage it. If there’s one thing working for that dickhead of a personal injury lawyer taught me, it’s how to deal with freaking idiots.