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Patreon Exclusive Fiction: Devil's Tooth by Jonathan Gensler
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 13:53:48 +0000 UTCHey, you. Come over here and have a look at something. Here in the shadows, behind the tents. That’s right...
Devil’s Tooth
By Jonathan Gensler
Hey, you. Come over here and have a look at something. Here in the shadows, behind the tents. That’s right…sshhhhh. The other vendors don’t know I’m here; not exactly.
I know you’ve been watching the news threads about the Lakebed, the ruptures in the salt flats, and yeah, that’s been happening everywhere. And what I’m gonna show you is related to all that. Not because of the arsenic clouds, exactly, or the cyanotoxins, but it’s something that can help. It’s this red pill. Once a day. I’ve been taking them for a week, started a sun cycle or two after the Teeth appeared. You might even say I discovered it—the bleeding teeth, that is—and then these little babies. It’s like the earth wants us to have them—the land itself desires our survival, at least for a little while longer, despite everything we’ve done.
No, not you and me, specifically, but the whole of us, you know? Humans. Humanity.
You’re not interested? You don’t hear me coughing, do you? Not like these other wheezing bags of meat. And as for you—that a bit of a tickle in the back of your throat?
I’m telling you, this tiny blood baby here can and will help. I got it from the Blood, the first one, down in the lakebed, when the Devil’s Tooth first ripped up through the crust. Think of it like a superfood. Long before the Riots I used to work down at the Lake for the state. Microbiologist and mycologist, that’s why I know this might be something special. We’d been tracking some strange growths for years when the hybrid mutations started appearing.
The water was only down about fifty percent back then.
Anyway, you interested in avoiding the cough? Have a pill.
Try it once and see if you don’t feel better after an hour or two. I’m due for another—watch me; you’ll see it’s safe. I don’t have much water—does anyone? Just take a swallow to wash it down. You come back tomorrow, and we’ll see how much better you feel.
Might want to stay out of the sunlight for a while, though.
See you tomorrow.
* * *
Hey, you. Whoa whoa! Shhh; don’t freak out.
It’s good to see you again. Keep quiet, though—the others might think you’ve lost it. I knew you’d come back. You can see me better today, can’t you? Unless you’ve taken the pill, you can’t see me very well, especially if you aren’t already looking at me, but I ain’t sharing this with just anyone.
Only with the folks the Blood shows me.
But never mind about that for now. Do you feel better? Your eyes are starting to turn a bit. Don’t worry about that; it’s the pill. That’s what protects you from the toxic dust. It’s kind of like a filter. Or a symbiotic relationship. One pill a day to start the colony, and after a week or so you don’t need to take them anymore, but you might still feel the need to introduce fresh specimens. That’s fine, too.
Trust me.
Feeling better already, aren’t you? I can tell. The sunlight can burn a bit at first, I know; that’s why I stay in the shadows. So, do you want another? I know how freeing it is to breathe deeply again, no hacking or worrying about the heavy metals from the dried lakebed.
So here, have another. Come back tomorrow, I’ll be here.
One thing to know, about tomorrow, is you might start seeing things. Other people. Well, they will look like people, but you might begin seeing this thing around them, like, a reddish aura? That is how I knew to talk to you yesterday. Some people have them, some don’t. The Blood likes some people and others, not so much. I believe it has something to do with their personal biome, their micro-chemistry, whatever components comprise a good host.
It’s the colony inside your eyes, building its network of mycelia. As it spreads the filter, it can show you others like us. We’re the ones who will survive.
Everyone else? Who’s to say?
The dust clouds aren’t going away, the winds have pretty much stopped now that the temps over the desert are steady, even from night to day. Down here in the valley, sitting pretty in our own little inversion dome, the lake smog might never go away again, and that’s why these little red miracles are so important.
You want to live, don’t you?
Hear that hacking over next to us? The poor bastard has been trying to sell that underground corn for three days. But look at it. Brown. Mealy. Rotting in the husk, and that’s about as good as it gets for the rest of them. But I haven’t felt the need to eat for three days; the Blood takes care of me now. It will do the same for you, too.
Come back tomorrow, will ya? And yes, stay out of the sun; your skin will burn a bit easier than usual. But nothing’s perfect.
* * *
Hey, you. You see ‘em now, don’t you? And you see me fully too, by the look in your wide, scared eyes. Don’t speak. The others wouldn’t understand. Don’t worry, by tomorrow, I don’t think they’ll even notice you, like they don’t notice me. It’ll be easier to stay still and just watch. Watch for the others to feed. Maybe tonight you come with me to the greenhouse. That’s what I call it anyway, the old shack where I assemble the pills. They’re the easiest thing to make. The mycelia and caps dry out quickly, and I found a massive supply of empty gelcaps at the old pharmacy. I started out down by the Blood itself when I first noticed it. The alkaline dust was so awful I used to have to wear my pro-mask to work in the lower reaches of the old lake. When I go back to commune now, I can walk freely. It’s still better to do it at night. The Blood is more active, more accessible then, without the sun.
It only whispers at night.
I told you to stay out of the sun, and that’s exactly why. The sun, well, it does something to the Blood. Want to see what happens if you don’t stay covered? Look at the blackened flesh of my hand. Not pretty, I know. But better this than the rotting and poisoned lungs you’d get from breathing in the toxins from two hundred years of human waste and mineral extraction—the slag from what they call “civilization.” Better to lose a hand as a warning to the others. The others like you. The blackened flesh is fine. It withers, like the failed society we are leaving behind. It shrinks and dries, desiccated, a sign of my sacrifice for the Blood, for you, and for the colony to come.
Sorry. I think about the bright red future waiting for us, and I get distracted.
Look, just meet me tonight at the greenhouse. It’s the old boathouse down the way towards the Lakebed. About halfway to the Blood from here. You’ll be fine, trust me. No one will be there, because only those of us who have eaten of the flesh of the Blood can survive. Only we have the gift.
Just be sure to come after sunset, okay? We can talk more when you get there.
* * *
Hey you, did anyone see you on the way here? Any of the dead ones? I didn’t think so. We seem to move at a different speed now. I don’t know exactly how it works. They all move so quickly, a blur of activity, while we of the Blood find our own pace. The sun cycles flow by now, and the burn is a good one. Fortifying. My blackened hands have gone and become one with the Blood, my new tendrils worming their way through the sand and soil, this body the fruit of the same me, but also, a new me, right? A better one. I am not in total control of these movements, so I’ll need you to listen and follow my directions.
Explicitly.
And yes, I can tell by the surprised look in your light sockets that you don’t understand how I am speaking without a mouth, without a face. I am indeed there/here, in your head. We are there/here together. Your journey is just beginning. Look at your hands/feet/teeth. The beautiful nodules pushing through the drying leather of your old skin, opening up for the weeping red of your new teeth. It is the only way through this new era.
To the work.
First, preheat the drying rack against the back wall—200 degrees. Anything more will hurt the Blood. It won’t take long, and while it warms, find the old sink across the boat dock, grab one of the flat sheet pans and set it out in front of you/us. Then take the knife, the silver knife there hanging on the wall, and slice a straight line down the inside of your opposite forearm. Yes, I know this is not what you were expecting, but you are the host now, you are the Blood, and it is showing us the way here and now.
Don’t hesitate.
Breathe. Soon you won’t need to breathe. Soon you won’t need the mask or the filters. Soon you will be the filter.
Hear and follow.
Take the knife. Place the point into the inner crook of your elbow, the sharpened edge of the blade toward your wrist.
Now, press the tip in just past the point of your decaying fat. The Blood will protect you from the pain; don’t worry. At least, from some of it.
Slice, neat and straight. Steady; count to five from elbow to wrist. The Bloodling will flow onto the sheet pan. A low drying bake will kill the other life-seeds and leave the Blood in perfect, budding health.
That’s right; squeeze the flesh, again, before it knits itself closed, elbow to wrist, like milking an udder on one of those ancient, stinking field beasts.
Aaaaaah, I can feel it flowing from you/me/us; don’t worry now, you/we are taken care of. See how the flesh re-knits itself once you/we are empty of the seed? See how it heals? The miniscule mycelia, the tendrils seeking and finding one another, bridging the wound, and closing your flesh. It’s beautiful. Scream through the pain if you must.
It will fade quickly.
With your knife hand, take the tray and insert it into the drying rack. The Bloodling will dry. The tray next to us is filled with tiny holes, and we need to place the empty smaller halves of the gelcaps in the holes. With the dried Blood, we can easily fill the caps, and then the silicone mold with the tops slips right over the edges. It will drop into place when they are aligned, and a gentle tap will lock the caps on tight.
And now we are truly we, aren’t we? You can sense me inside your mind—stronger, clearer. Do you feel the Blood out there? Do you hear the master/creator/destroyer? We are saved, you/I. The end is coming, the dust will blot out the sun and night will reign supreme, but you and I, and whoever else we can save with the pills, will live forever in the Blood.
Tomorrow and overmorrow and aftermorrow we will seek and find the others. The market again, where we’ll seek the shadows until the shadows are no more. The glow. Find the glowing ones, for they are ready, they will join us. A handful of caplets to survive. I/we are fading now, into the Blood.
Our bloody teeth will bloom at night and every night and ever/after/always together you/I/we will eat the world.
Everyone else is feed.
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Jonny Gensler
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