Living Hell

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘Petrochemicals!’ Merrit shuddered. We all knew about petrochemicals. They were a major cause of our having to leave Earth in the first place.

  ‘Yes, but what’s it going to smash against?’ I fretted, turning the proposal over in my mind. ‘There aren’t any really hard surfaces around here any more. And how are we going to light it? With what? An electrical current?’

  Dygall stopped jiggling.

  ‘An exposed electrical current is going to be hard to engineer,’ I continued. ‘We’d have to rip apart that suction cleaner. Or maybe wire up that photovoltaic battery -’

  ‘What we need is a match,’ said Dygall, scowling. I couldn’t believe my ears.

  ‘A match?’ I echoed. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘A match.’ Dygall sounded defensive. ‘You know. One of those bits of wood with the combustible caps -’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Bits of wood? Combustible caps? ‘Where do you think we are, the Wild West?’

  ‘I was just saying -’ .

  ‘Next you’ll be asking for one of those – what were they called? – those cigarette lighters!’

  Merrit began to giggle hysterically. Dygall rounded on her.

  ‘Shut up!’ he snarled.

  ‘Listen, Dygall . . .’ I tried to suppress my irritation. ‘You know an exposed flame is the biggest risk this ship ever had to face. You know the whole place was drenched in retardant – triple-insulated, friction-proofed, you name it. There were inbuilt moisture beads everywhere -’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Dygall waved my protests aside. ‘But we’re not cavemen, Cheney! We’re civilised people! We should be able to make fire!’

  ‘Not on this ship,’ I said. ‘Even the rags are fireproof – if you can find any rags. All our rags are supposed to be recycled.’

  ‘Then how in the hell are we going to survive?’ Dygall shouted. ‘Will you tell me that? Huh?’

  Survive. It was a terrible word. In the silence that followed, I struggled with some sort of answer, while the full horror of our predicament threatened to overwhelm me. I was confounded.

  But Inaret wasn’t.

  ‘You could use hair,’ she suddenly piped up.

  We all gawked at her in amazement. It was so long since I’d heard her talk, I’d almost forgotten that she could.

  ‘You can set fire to hair,’ she added awkwardly. ‘Hair isn’t fireproof. I set fire to my hair with a multispectral scanner, once.’ She nodded at the scanner on the shelf. ‘It was on a laser setting.’

  Dygall, Merrit and I exchanged astonished glances. I noticed the way Merrit’s hand rose hesitantly to her own long, black plait, which was wound around the back of her head.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Dygall. ‘Merrit, where are those scissors? We could use your hair. It would make a great wick. The bit at the top – it’ll fit perfectly into the neck of this bottle.’

  Merrit caught her breath. She can’t have liked what she was hearing. Before I could offer any words of encouragement, however, I became conscious of a tremor in the duct lining. It was the first movement I’d felt for a good while. Though faint, it suggested that Haemon might be on his way back, and I squinted down the shadowy passage, while below me Dygall scurried about, constructing his Molotov cocktail.

  He was hacking through poor Merrit’s hair when I announced that Haemon was, indeed, returning. That much was obvious from the way the air duct wobbled about.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, carefully climbing down the step-ladder. With a sword in one hand and a grenade in the other, I couldn’t afford to lose my balance. ‘Here we go. We’ll know in a second.’ Glancing at Dygall, who was stuffing Merrit’s plait into the bottle, I demanded, ‘Is anyone watching the door?’

  ‘I am,’ said Merrit quietly. Her face was expressionless. Her hair, clipped off level with her earlobes, had fanned out into a kind of crooked pageboy cut. She picked up Dygall’s Dewar flask, which had been left on the floor. ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye out.’

  ‘Here he comes.’ With one boot pressed against the lowest step, I held the ladder steady on that choppy, flexible surface. Then, seeing Haemon’s feet emerge from the access hole, I slipped the tiny grenade into my front pocket, to free up my left hand. ‘You okay, Haemon?’

  ‘Yeah . . .’ Slowly, centimetre by centimetre, he backed into view. He was an awful mess – gluey, creased and ruffled – but he seemed unharmed. ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did?’

  He nodded. I helped him down the ladder, grabbing him whenever he threatened to slip. ‘How many are in there?’ I asked.

  ‘Just one.’

  ‘Alive?’

  Haemon hesitated. Reaching my level, he turned to face me, his brow furrowed. ‘I – I couldn’t get the panel open,’ he faltered. ‘It was hard to see through . . . all cloudy and spotty . . .’

  ‘But you did see someone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he on the floor?’ Merrit inquired. It was a good question.

  Haemon shook his head.

  ‘He was sitting at the Interface Array,’ came the answer. ‘I called, but he didn’t hear me.’ After a moment’s consideration, Haemon added, ‘I don’t really know if it was a he or not. I couldn’t tell. I could only see his back, and the top of his head.’

  ‘So he was sitting up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he moving?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I couldn’t see his hands.’

  ‘If he was sitting up,’ said Merrit, in a small, tired voice, ‘he has to be alive. Everyone else I’ve seen . . .’ She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. Acid attacks and liquefaction didn’t allow you to remain upright. Neither did an On-board Transport Vehicle.

  I swallowed twice before speaking.

  ‘Okay,’ I muttered. ‘Well, that’s it, then. Someone’s on the Bridge. We can leave him there, or we can try to save him.’ I looked steadily from face to face, registering the smudges, the cracked lips, the bloodshot eyes. Dygall was holding the scanner in one hand and his Molotov cocktail in the other. Merrit was clutching our pressure flask. I had a sword and, as a last resort, a grenade.

  Even Inaret had a pair of scissors.

  ‘I saw two shuttles and an OTV,’ I continued. ‘That’s pretty much one on one. But we have to move fast, before more of them come. Before they find us.’ I flexed my shoulders. ‘What do you think?’

  Haemon sighed. Merrit said, softly, ‘I guess . . . you know, if I was in there . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence, just smiled a hopeless, tremulous smile.

  Dygall stuck out his jaw.

  ‘The more we kill,’ he spat, ‘the better it’ll be.’ And he raised his homemade incendiary device. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s get those bastards.’

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  Before we could move, however, a noise from outside the door made us jump.

  It was Bam. Yapping.

  ‘Oh shit,’ hissed Dygall, all colour disappearing from his freckled features. ‘You don’t think -?’

  ‘Shh!’ I was listening. The yapping had stopped. ‘Bam?’ I said loudly.

  Another yip.

  ‘That sounds different,’ I murmured. ‘It doesn’t . . . it’s not the same as it was before.’ I shot a quick look at the ceiling, then at Haemon. ‘Haemon, can you hop back up and check the street? See if there’s anything – you know – outside? If there isn’t, we’ll head for the Bridge.’

  Haemon nodded wearily. He climbed into the air duct as Dygall, Merrit and I ranged ourselves in front of the door.

  I couldn’t see any discolouration, or smell any evil smells. But my heart was still knocking against my ribs like a frantic animal in a cage.

  ‘Inaret?’ I said. ‘Baby, you get up there too.’

  ‘Huh?’ She goggled at me.

  ‘Into the air duct, okay?’

  ‘But -’
/>
  ‘Do as you’re told, Ret!’ Merrit said, sharply. ‘It’ll be safe up there.’

  ‘But I don’t wanna leave you!’ the little girl whined.

  ‘You’ll be with Haemon,’ I told her, trying to be patient.

  ‘You won’t be alone. Come on, be good.’

  ‘But I’ve got my scissors!’ she protested, at which point Dygall whirled around and snarled at her like a hungry beast.

  ‘Get up there!’ he yelped. ‘Now!

  ’ It worked. Poor Inaret shrank away from Dygall before scuttling over to the step-ladder, and climbing into the air duct. I couldn’t spare her much sympathy. I was far too scared.

  ‘This might take a while to catch alight,’ Dygall remarked, waggling his bottle at me. ‘And we don’t want to be too close when it does.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning Merrit should chuck the oxygen first. If anything is out there.’

  I shook my head. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘The first assault will be on the door. Acid. When the shuttle burns a hole, I’ll stick my sword through it. Nothing easier.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Dygall’s savage pleasure was ugly to behold. There was something almost unhinged about it. ‘See how it likes that.’

  Merrit certainly didn’t. To my surprise, she frowned.

  ‘What if the acid eats away the sword blade?’ she asked, and I shrugged.

  ‘There’s always the scissors,’ I said.

  ‘What about that . . . that thing? You know. In your pocket.’ Dygall skirted around any mention of the man who had ruptured in front of me. ‘The thing you were given . . .’

  ‘Oh. That.’

  ‘What is it, anyway?’ Dygall wanted to know. ‘Some kind of weapon?’

  ‘It’s an explosive device,’ I rejoined, and Dygall caught his breath.

  ‘An explosive device?’

  ‘From GeoLab. For mining . . . bringing down rocks . . .’

  ‘That’s great!’

  ‘Listen, Dygall.’ I didn’t look at him; I was too busy watching the door. But I spoke very clearly and forcefully, so he would get the message. ‘I was given that charge for a specific reason. It’s extremely dangerous, and we should only use it as a last resort. A last resort. Understand?’

  ‘What’s it for, then?’ Merrit inquired. ‘What’s the specific reason?’

  ‘Oh . . .’ I didn’t want to tell them. It was too daunting. Why spread the news that the Depot was now behaving like a human spleen, churning out more and more Remote Access Units? It wouldn’t have helped matters. ‘Let’s not worry about that yet.’

  ‘Cheney?’

  I recognised Haemon’s voice. Spinning around, I saw his face hanging out of the air duct.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  ‘There’s nothing.’ He was slightly out of breath. ‘Just Bam.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ This new information meant that I had to rearrange my thoughts. It took me longer than usual, because I was so tired. ‘Okay . . . um . . . Haemon. I want you to stay up there with Inaret,’ I ordered.

  He blinked, and opened his mouth.

  ‘Don’t argue.’ I couldn’t take any more arguments. ‘Just do it. I’m going to close up this access panel, and you can both crawl over to watch us from above the street, if you want to. When we’re done, we’ll get you down. We’ll probably use the panel on the Bridge for that.’

  Glowering up at him, I waited for his challenge. It didn’t come. Haemon remained speechless.

  ‘And you can take those scissors away from Inaret,’ I finished. ‘I’m going to trust you with them, but you have to be very, very careful. Don’t hold them while you’re crawling along – we don’t want you hurting yourself. Or Inaret. Or the ship, in fact. Just stick them in your belt, or something. Can you do that?’

  Another nod from Haemon.

  ‘Good.’ I abandoned my post at the door to climb the step-ladder. When I reached the top, I found Inaret’s small, pudgy fingers clamped around what had once been the snap-lock seal. ‘Baby,’ I said, ‘you’re going to have to move your hands. I can’t close the panel, otherwise.’

  ‘Cheney.’ Her voice quavered. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I have to. Just for a few minutes.’

  ‘But what if you don’t come back?’ she mewled.

  ‘Of course I’ll come back.’

  ‘But what if you don’t? Cheney, please don’t go!’

  She wasn’t stupid. She knew what the risks were, and she knew that I couldn’t make any promises. Nevertheless, when I squeezed her grubby little hand and moved it out of the way, I found a strange kind of strength in the act of reassuring her.

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ I said gently. ‘You do your part, and we’ll do ours, and you’ll see – it’ll be fine.’

  Then I closed up the air duct.

  Merrit and Dygall were already struggling with the door, one to each panel. As these panels slowly split apart, Bam became visible just beyond them. He retreated skittishly, his tail lashing from side to side.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let me go first, and you’ll both have to jump through quickly afterwards, the way we did before, Merrit.’

  ‘Got it,’ she gasped.

  ‘Dygall, give me that cocktail thing. If you drop it, you’re going to lose your plug, and the fuel will spill everywhere.’

  ‘O-okay.’

  He handed over his bottle. It was awkward enough, getting through the hole they’d forced open, because I had to bend double; my sword and Dygall’s weapon made it even harder. At last, however, I staggered into the street, where I kept watch during Merrit’s countdown. ‘One . . . two . . . three,’ she said, and suddenly landed at my feet. The impact of her fall made the floor heave and shudder. Dygall followed a split second afterwards, but leapt to his own feet almost immediately. He snatched the primitive incendiary device from my hand.

  ‘What next?’ he panted. ‘Cheney?’

  I jerked my head. There seemed to be an awful lot of samplers around, and I couldn’t tell why. Was it a random crossing of paths, or something more sinister? Leading the way to the starboard junction, I was extra cautious on reaching our first turn. I had a nasty feeling that something big might be heading towards us, along the tube platform.

  But I was wrong. The tube was still empty, as far as the eye could see. (Empty, that is, save for a great explosion of samplers and scent pellets that caused me to scan the ceiling warily for Remote Access Laundry Units.) By this time, I was in a very peculiar state. I suppose you could say that I was beyond frightened. Yes, I was shaking. Yes, my throat was dry. Yes, every nerve was as taut as the strings on Ottilie’s cello. But my mind was crystal clear, picking up every detail and processing it with a kind of fatalistic calm.

  I guess I was almost too scared to be scared. The intensity of my feelings had wrung me out. Depleted me.

  With a finger to my lips, I edged towards the next corner, wishing that Bam would go away. He was making far too much noise, with all his snuffling and clicking. Glancing at my friends, I saw that they were of the same opinion. Dygall was scowling at Bam with bared teeth, and Merrit’s expression was one of utter despair.

  I was racking my brain for a solution when the dog abruptly provided it for me. Having caught sight – or scent – of the creatures outside the Bridge, he dashed off down the street towards them, barking angrily. It was a distraction of sorts. My hope was that he might divert attention from my own approach. So after waiting for about twenty seconds, I took another quick look at our target.

  The shuttle glued to the Bridge door hadn’t yet broken through. The other shuttle was slithering up walls and around obstacles, its flat, oval shape rippling like the body of a manta ray. Beyond it loomed the great, dark, throbbing OTV, handgrips writhing, hatch opening and shutting rhythmically.

  Bam was practically nipping at its heels (or should I say its rim?), but the dog might have been invisible for all the notice he attracted. The OTV’s tentacles continued to wave about, languidly. I realised,
with a quick intake of breath, that this might be the very same OTV that had attacked us in MedLab.

  I didn’t, however, allow myself to pursue such a grisly train of thought. If Sloan had been consumed – digested – I wasn’t about to open my mind to the possibility. Not even the smallest chink.

  Pulling back, I turned to Dygall.

  ‘There’s an OTV,’ I began, but my mouth was too dry – I was barely coherent. I had to swallow a couple of times. ‘There’s an OTV,’ I repeated, in a hushed voice. ‘When your plug’s lit, we’ll jump out, and you should try to throw that cocktail thing into its mouth. Okay? While I keep it busy.’

  ‘What about me?’ Merrit whispered.

  ‘You come with us.’ I could barely force the words out through my constricted throat. ‘There are two shuttles. One’s busy with the door – maybe I can deal with it myself. The other one’s down to you.’ Seeing her uncap the Dewar flask, and unscrew its inner lid with trembling fingers, I added, ‘Try not to waste any.’

  Silence fell between us. I could hear a volley of barks from around the corner. Tensely, I clasped my sword-hilt in both hands, lifting the silvery blade. I could actually see the pulse beating in Merrit’s lips and in Dygall’s blue-veined forehead. He switched on his scanner, whereupon it hummed to life, emitting a needle-fine stream of bright particles. This beam made quick work of the shiny black rope at which it was directed. Within two or three seconds, Merrit’s chopped-off plait began to curl and smoulder.

  ‘Okay.’ I looked up. Our eyes met. I realised that Merrit and Dygall were going to do whatever I asked, without a single question or protest. They had entrusted me with their lives. And the guilt I felt – the guilt and fear and sorrow – were so terrible, so sickening, that I almost welcomed the chance to act. To move. To stop feeling and start doing.

  ‘Now,’ I said.

  I hurled myself into the open. Ran at the OTV. Swung my sword. Dygall was beside me; Bam went into a frenzy; the thing ahead was a huge, shadowy blur. When my blade struck it, the impact was harder than I’d ever imagined. I’d expected something soft and yielding, like jelly. Instead, I hit a dense hide that, while flexible, was as tough as reinforced rubber.