Wayfarer: AV494

by Matthew S. Cox

  She backed away from the window, tears streaming from her eyes.

  “Hey, asshole,” said Marco. “Watch your damn step.”

  Kerys whirled.

  Marco, still propped up on a cane, glared at Private Foster. Sweat beaded on the young soldier’s forehead. His eyes looked sunken and dark with the far-away quality of a serial killer. Marco vibrated in a constant twitch like a human version of a Chihuahua hopped up on caffeine. The men stood an arm’s length apart in the entrance of the cafeteria, exchanging glares.

  “You’re done.” Foster pulled a knife.

  Marco snarled, not a trace of fear in his eyes. As the younger man lunged in, he smashed his cane across Foster’s wrist, knocking the knife from his grip, but losing his balance in the process. He let off an agonized growl of pain as his broken leg gave out, dumping him on the floor. Foster kicked him in the gut, sending him sliding a few feet into the cafeteria. Marco rolled onto all fours, crawling toward a cart of steel folding chairs. Whistling like a janitor at work, Foster recovered his knife and stalked up behind him.

  Kerys yelled, “Look out!”

  Private Foster glared at her and pivoted on his heel, heading straight at her. His lips curled into an anticipatory grin, chilling the blood in her veins. She grabbed the dumbbell in her pocket, but before she could pull it out, Marco rose up behind Foster and walloped him across the shoulders with a chair.

  Foster stumbled forward with an “Oof,” and collapsed on his chest.

  Marco, balanced on one leg, raised the chair, manic rage in his eyes.

  “Marco, don’t!”

  Corporal Guillen flew in from the side, tackling Marco. Two unfamiliar men and a woman in camouflage jumpsuits pounced on Private Foster, who went red-faced from his losing effort to throw them off. It took all three soldiers to hold Foster down, and they seemed to be barely managing it.

  Others in the cafeteria continued eating as if nothing happened.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” muttered Marco. He let Corporal Guillen take the chair without protest, and curled up cradling his leg. “Son of a bitch pulled a knife on me.”

  “He did,” said Kerys.

  Guillen retrieved the cane and handed it to Marco. “That looks pretty bad. You should head to the infirmary.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” Marco hobbled over to the counter, cursed at the empty automats, and sifted among the available Hydra trays. “Doc’s being a bitch today.”

  The trio of soldiers dragged Private Foster out. He continued struggling, kicking and ranting about the “Goddamn eggheads are gonna kill us.”

  Kerys couldn’t look away from the struggle until Corporal Guillen stepped up in front of her. She shifted her gaze to him. That perfect face of his looked weary and in need of a shower, but he radiated genuine concern. No trace of any bizarre anger lingered in his eyes, as if he, too, had been spared from the mysterious… curse. Wow, am I really thinking we set off a Pharaoh’s curse? “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. We got a complaint from Lab 1, but I can’t read whatever language that is so I have no idea.”

  “Piece of shit!” roared Marco, raising his cane at the Hydra. “What do you mean ‘seat tray fully’? It’s fucking seated as fully as it can seat.”

  “Maybe it’s backwards?” asked a tired-sounding woman nearby.

  “It’s a damn octagon. It can’t be backwards.” Marco fumed, removed the tray, put it back in, and punched the button.

  Corporal Guillen gave him the side eye. “So, what happened?”

  Kerys recounted the men bumping shoulders, Marco calling him an asshole, and Foster pulling a knife. She pointed at the window. “Two men outside were fighting by the hill. One had a pole or something… I think he killed someone.” She chided herself for sounding like a frightened girl, even if she did have a front row seat to murder.

  “What? Where? Who?” Guillen looked over her shoulder at the window. “I don’t see anything out there now. What are people doing outside? There’s a lockdown.”

  “How should I know? They had e-suits on. I’m not even really sure they were both men, and they fell down the hill. Why is everyone so touchy?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Tempers are getting short all around. I heard Chen sent another screamer off to Earth last night. Something happened, and command isn’t sharing it. Two people outside, fighting?”

  She nodded, pointing. “Yeah. I was sitting at that table and they were maybe fifty yards away before they rolled down the hill.”

  “All right. I’ll check on it.” He squeezed a mic near his shoulder. “Hey, Sarge. Got a report of unauthorized EVO, two individuals on the east side. Possible assault.”

  “Copy.” Gensch’s voice crackled from a little black dot on Guillen’s collar. “I’ll have Cortez meet you at the southeast airlock.”

  “On the way.” Corporal Guillen grasped Kerys’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.” She sank into the seat by her tray. The aroma of Salisbury gravy struck her as revolting. She clasped a hand over her mouth, suppressing the urge to throw up. “You should hurry―maybe that guy isn’t dead.”

  He muttered, “On the way,” into his shoulder mic, and strode out.

  Marco limped over to one of the long tables near the center of the room with his steaming Hydra tray and sat, still grumbling about the machine. Kerys pulled her legs up, hooking her heels on the edge of the chair, her arms wrapped around her knees. More than ever, she felt trapped in a place she wanted no part of anymore.

  Minutes later, two people in e-suits bearing assault rifles walked into view outside. One glanced toward the window, faced away, and pointed at the ground where the downhill grade began.

  Kerys shivered at the sight of the swirling grey dust devouring Corporal Guillen and his squad mate. In seconds, both men vanished amid the cloud. She extended her legs to the floor and pulled herself to her feet.

  I’d better check on Anna.

  14

  Omnis Moriar

  Kerys rounded the stairwell onto the dome’s second floor, driven by worry for whatever had rattled Annapurna to such a degree she’d lost her ability to speak English. She gripped and released the dumbbell in her pocket, wary of every moving shadow.

  An eruption of shouting ahead stalled her in place. Multiple men and women screamed at each other about being incompetent. A shrill female voice accused someone named Jun of sabotaging her work.

  Kerys gulped. Maybe I should go to my room? No, I have to check on her. She took three steps deeper into the corridor.

  Bang!

  At the sound of a gunshot, Kerys screamed and hurled herself against the wall to her left. A man cried out in pain; a woman screamed in rage. Two more shots went off in rapid succession followed by a heavy crash of metal. The floor shuddered underfoot seconds later with the unmistakable rumble of a distant explosion.

  Chris Mardling backed out of a side corridor a short distance ahead of her, a handgun aimed at something out of sight. “What was that about British food, mate?” He fired twice, orange muzzle flare bursting like camera flashes. A manic laugh escaped his throat. “There’s your fish and bloody chips!” His eyes shifted left. Two seconds later, his head rotated toward her, revealing a spray of blood across his face.

  Kerys clutched the dumbbell and screamed.

  “Oh, if it isn’t you.” Chris swung his arm around toward her, the gun hanging from a limp grip. “No worries, lass. I’ve got plenty of ammo left. Sharing is caring.”

  He fired, the bullet leaving a gouge in the floor a few feet in front of her.

  Kerys snapped out of her terrified daze. She pushed off the wall and sprinted, screaming incoherently as she raced for the stairs. Another gunshot slammed the air in her ears, but nothing hit her.

  She risked a peek back.

  Chris walked after her, smiling. “Lucky ducky you. Bye bye.”

  “Help!” sho
uted Kerys as she dove to the ground.

  A spark burst from the wall inches to the left of her face. She clambered on all fours into the stairwell, sliding down to the first switchback before somersaulting against the wall at the bottom. Chris appeared at the top as she rolled to her feet, but didn’t get a chance to fire before she jumped down the second set of steps to the ground floor. Blind panic drove her to a run. Clattering and slamming in the cafeteria accompanied screams of fury. Food came skittering out on the floor along with trays and loose chairs.

  She skidded to a halt, twisting around to stare at two corridors, a hamster tube, and three doors.

  “Is it my breath?” Chris emerged from the stairway. “I almost get the idea you don’t want me to shoot you.”

  “I don’t!” she yelled, backing up. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be random violence if I shot you for doing something specific, now would it? Go on, I’ll give a few seconds to run.”

  “Why!” shouted Kerys. “Please don’t.”

  “Because.” He grinned like a silly drunk. “I find it highly amusing.”

  Marco popped up from behind an orange sofa and hurled his metal cane at Chris. It hit the man in the side of the head, causing him to flinch and fire another bullet off in a harmless direction. Marco speed-limped closer, flailing his arms. Chris tried to bring the gun to bear on him, but Marco got too close too fast, and sacked him to the ground.

  “Security!” Kerys screamed. “We need help!”

  The gun went off again, striking a panel near the cafeteria entrance and setting off a shower of sparks. A bank of LED bulbs in the ceiling went dark. Marco grabbed for the gun, bashing Chris’s arm into the floor.

  She started to run over to help, but pivoted at a howling scream from behind. A gaunt, pale man with short blond hair, a yellow jumpsuit, and blood all over him, came charging out of a doorway at her. She got her arms up in time to catch his chest as he leapt on her. His weight knocked her back a few steps, but she held her balance.

  Nose to nose, she stared into blood red eyes. Not a trace of white remained around his pupils.

  He growled like a dog, biting at her face.

  Kerys leaned back, trying to drive her knee into his groin while pushing him away. Behind her, Marco and Chris continued grunting. The Brit laughed with glee while Marco wailed in pain.

  “Oh, that bum leg’s a toss, innit? Does it hurt if I do this?”

  Marco screamed again, his bright-red face awash with swollen veins.

  “Get off me!” yelled Kerys.

  The man moaned. When he let go with one hand to punch her, she shoved him hard, remembering to trap his leg with her heel. Her takedown worked, slamming the scrawny man flat on his back hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He stared up at the ceiling, gasping for air, disoriented.

  A dull thunk came from behind.

  “Argh, bastard!” roared the Brit.

  Kerys whirled. Blood on Mardling’s nose and mouth matched a splat on Marco’s forehead. He brought his good knee up into Chris’s gut, knocking him aside. Before Kerys could summon any words, Marco twisted the handgun out of the man’s grip. It went off again, muted by body and fabric.

  A spray of blood burst like a geyser from Chris’s back, smearing across the floor. He gurgled and fell limp.

  Kerys edged away from the dazed man who’d grabbed her, but didn’t fully trust Marco either. “What’s going on?”

  “Everyone’s gone to loopy town.” Marco grunted and pushed himself up on one knee. “Like that moron.” He shot the dazed man she’d thrown to the floor in the head.

  Kerys screamed.

  Marco tilted his head at her. “What?”

  “You just killed two people!” She clutched the dumbbell, shaking.

  “No I didn’t.” Marco casually shot Chris in the head. “Now I killed two people.” He gestured with the gun toward Kerys, making her squeal and duck. “That bastard was trying to bite you on the face like a damn zombie. What did you want me to―”

  Boom.

  The right side of Marco’s head exploded in a shower of bloody bits in time with the crack of a rifle from deeper in the corridor. His twitching body collapsed forward onto his chest. Kerys stared at him for a hair more than a second. At the motion of a shadow in the hallway, she sprinted for the hamster tube that led to the residence pods, vomit trailing off her lower lip. The sounds of gunfire, screaming, and metal banging on metal surrounded her. Four steps later, she stopped.

  There’s tons of people in there… I’ll never make it.

  Rubberized boots squeaked on the metal floor of the hall leading to the main stairwell, drawing closer. Whoever shot Marco came for her. Kerys ducked into the door from which the feral man appeared, running past a handful of small offices, two of which contained brawls. Her legs almost gave out when she reached the corner thirty feet later and found a dead end.

  Hope came in the form of a ventilation intake near the floor. She rushed over, tore the vent cover off, and crawled in before pulling the flimsy aluminum grating back in place behind her. The shaft led only to the left, toward the center of the dome. She shimmied a few feet deeper, far enough that no one looking in could see her, and curled up on her side.

  Hidden in the dark of the ventilation duct, she trembled, listening to the sounds of utter chaos. Every time a distant gunshot went off or someone screamed in pain, she jumped. Putting her hands on her ears didn’t help. She caught herself sobbing, wishing Will would show up to protect her. Salisbury steak crept into the back of her throat at the idea.

  Oh, he’d adore that. He always thought I was helpless. Condescending bastard. Anyone with tits is an eternal child incapable of fending for themselves. She shivered at the images her brain conjured in response to the noises. The vent echoed with screamed obscenities, clatters of metal, ripples of gunfire, and wet gurgling that could only mean death.

  I’ve got nowhere to go.

  She stifled a gasp as someone ran by the vent. A fleeting shadow leapt across the aluminum shaft. The illusion of safety afforded by concealment let her resume breathing. She curled tighter, trying to control her shaking, lest someone hear the duct rattling. Every time she closed her eyes, Marco’s face exploded again.

  This isn’t happening… This isn’t happening.

  Stuck in a metal box containing the only breathable atmosphere within thousands of light years and surrounded by insanity at every turn, Will didn’t seem like such a nightmare after all. She stared glassy-eyed at the wall, afraid to blink, afraid to make a sound as the storm raged outside.

  15

  Last Bullet

  The sudden realization of silence startled Kerys. Somehow, she had fallen asleep against her will. She lay on her side in the ventilation shaft, the whisper of her breaths echoing. Wayfarer Outpost had gone still, save for a repeating electric chirp. For a while, she kept motionless, convinced the slightest movement would make noise enough to attract danger.

  She counted to a hundred before risking a shift of weight. Her watch read 1:18 a.m. A momentary pall of disorientation came on, making the world blurry for a few seconds. She swallowed dryness and massaged the front of her throat.

  At 1:30, she decided to crawl to the vent cover and peer out. The chirping seemed to be emanating from an office across the hall, from something under the desk. Kerys eased the slatted panel aside and peeked out. Seeing no one, she crawled out, turned, and replaced the vent cover before standing and creeping back the way she’d come.

  Marco remained where he’d fallen, as did the man he’d shot. Six more unfamiliar corpses had joined them, heaped about like giant discarded dolls. Broken LED light tubes dangled on wires from the ceiling, masked behind a few inches of hovering smoke. She averted her eyes and clenched her teeth, biting back the urge to scream. Even the crunch of broken plastic bits under her sneakers made her cringe.

  She crossed the room to the habitation tube entrance. B
lood had spattered all over the walls, but fortunately, no bodies lay between her and her quarters. Trusting the silence, she hurried down to the door of Residence Pod 2 and peered in the narrow window. Broken furniture, a few mattresses, and clothing littered a corridor smeared with blood, but again, no corpses lay anywhere in sight.

  At the pneumatic hiss of the door opening, she cringed. As quiet as could be, she advanced into the pod toward the ladder. A scrape to the left drew a gasp from her lungs and made her spin to put her back to the wall. Strips of plastic dangled from the ceiling, flapping in the breeze from a vent. She stood in place, shaking, unable to look away from the ripped-up room.

  Once she collected her nerve, she navigated the debris to the ladder shaft and climbed until she could peek over the floor. A man’s arm protruded from a room six doors away from the ladder toward the south, but her room waited to the right. Nothing made a sound, save for her breathing and a faint rattle coming from the ladder as she shivered. Once she felt alone enough, she climbed a few more rungs and eased herself out into the hallway.

  Sorry. It didn’t seem right to see a dead person and not express some degree of consolation, even if she spoke only in her head.

  Kerys jogged to the north, trying to make as little noise as possible and refusing to look into any open doors. She kept her eyes down until she reached her quarters. A man’s bloody handprint on the wall by the access panel stunned her rigid, but the sight of the lock still engaged allowed her to relax. She swiped her ID and ducked inside, locking the door again as fast as it closed.

  Safe in her room, she crawled into bed fully dressed, pulled the emergency hatch closed, and curled up under her blanket. The cubby held the strong fragrance of lavender and peach, but she didn’t care anymore. Will liked the smell. He wanted her to like it too.

  “Damn flower…”

  Huddled in her bed, she stared past the transparent barrier at the door, dreading at any moment the red ‘locked’ message would turn green.