Nomad

by Jamie Nash

  Prince’s crooning leaks inside. It’s a weird vibe. All this induced coma weirdness mixed with pop tunes. “Is this music supposed to mean something?” I ask.

  “It’s something we do. Instead of a timer, we use music.” Taylor eases forward.

  Hmm. Something we do. We. She’s all but confirming that there’s some relationship between her and the guy who is trying to kill us. I’d press her further, but we’re kicking into “The Beautiful Ones” now. We have about forty minutes of Prince left.

  “What are we doing here?” Shaft asks.

  Taylor marches to the far end of the chamber and plops herself down on a swivel chair at the foot of a nest of Commodore 64s. Her fingers peck at the keys. She must be opening the pods, waking everyone up. It works for me. I’m still all for the strength in numbers. Assuming she won’t let those monsters loose, it might work this time.

  I slide in behind her. She’s firing off too many commands to even notice me. I read the last line she typed.

  TERMINATE ALL

  I grab her wrist before she hits the Enter key. “Hey!”

  She jumps to her feet, kicking over the chair. Before I can raise my fists, she’s in my face. Crazy close. She’s either going to kiss me or head butt my teeth out. “This is the only way to get him to stop.”

  “By killing everyone?” I turn to the defenseless floating bodies. “And then what? Are you going to murder us, too?”

  “I am trying to salvage you.” Salvage. A chill goes up my spine. It’s like she can’t even fake being on our side. For all I know, she’s just interested in cutting me down for parts to store in the grotesque collection I found upstairs in the fridge. Time will tell. But we can’t let our guard down. She studies me. Probably realizing her slip of the tongue. Or maybe sizing up my organs for a set of Ziploc bags. “I can hide you both in a place where he does not have cameras. I’ll show him the terminated cargo. He will turn the ship around. Buy us time.”

  “What about them?”

  She trembles. Again, tears in her eyes. This time she doesn’t bother to hide them. “This is the only option.”

  “Bullshit, lady.” In real life, I might be a thief or a killer, the type of girl only out for me. But here, I’m something different. I’m their only chance.

  Her fist slams into my jaw. An explosion of light flashes in my eyes. I hit the floor before I think to put my hands out. The room spins like I’m riding the Himalaya at the county fair. Everything’s a big noisy blur. Taylor’s foot stomps on my neck. I retch and gag. Her heel crushes down. I grab her ankle and dig my nails into her flesh, trying to pry her off me. But I can’t.

  She leans in, pressing all her weight on my throat, using the computer table as leverage. Her face is a mask of unblinking intensity—all business—not a hint of anger or empathy. She wants me dead, and I’m helpless to stop it.

  Murderous bitch.

  My lungs quiver. My arms numb. My eyelids slacken.

  Shaft rises behind her. He raises the keyboard over his head and smashes it down on top of Taylor’s skull. The board explodes in a confetti of keys and plastic. Taylor hits the ground next to me hard, unconscious, and unable to brace herself. Shaft gazes in horror at what he’s done. Blood pools around Taylor’s head.

  She’s still. Dead still.

  “Oh God,” Shaft cries. “I’ve killed her. It was just a keyboard. I didn’t think …” His voice trails off.

  I inch toward her prone body. It’s done. All of it. We can’t turn this spaceship around. She knew things. Spaceship things. We barely know how to change a light bulb in this tin can let alone turn it around.

  “She was trying to kill you,” Shaft says.

  I try to jostle her awake. “Come on! You’re okay!” This isn’t happening. If she’s dead, we’re dead. “Come on!” Suddenly, she whimpers but her eyes don’t open. “She’s just knocked out. She’ll live.” I’m just as much trying to convince myself. Her blood warms my hands. It’s still flowing out of her head. He must have caught her with the corner of the board. It had a metal base. There’s a deep cut in there.

  “Should I do first aid or something?”

  I scoff, and my cheekbones pay the price. They’re still sore from the ass-whipping Taylor gave me. I massage my face muscles. “It’s up to us now.” I grab what remains of the keyboard and its trailing cord, confiscating it, making sure Taylor can’t go terminating anyone when she wakes up. “Let’s do this,” I say.

  “Yeah.” Shaft hesitates. “What are we doing exactly?”

  Damn him with the questions. “I don’t know. We’ll go have a chat with the creep who wants us dead. He’s the only one who can save our butts now. We need to talk him into turning the ship around, and we’ve got about half an album to do it.”

  “How are we gonna manage that?” His face is grim. He’s starting to think I actually know what I’m doing. Man is he wrong.

  “I don’t know,” I say. All this talk is wearing me down. “We’ll act fucking charming.”

  I start walking, but Shaft doesn’t follow. He’s still staring at Taylor, wondering if there’s something else he can do. “Will she be okay?”

  “Sure.” I’m not convinced, and I’m a bad liar. “Maybe. I’m more worried about us.”

  He nods. I nod. It’s game time.

  We venture out. Outside the bulkhead, I tap the code on the door keypad. The large metal wall slams shut. I don’t want Taylor sneaking up behind us. I close the pad’s cabinet and put the lock back into place with a resounding click. I don’t want Phantom getting in either.

  “When Doves Cry” greets us. My favorite song of all time. Or it was until now. We’re on the album’s B-side. Four songs until we’re dead. What I wouldn’t give for some long-ass songs like “Stairway to Heaven” or some Grateful Dead nonsense. The music isn’t coming from a wall speaker. Instead, it emanates from further ahead, down the dark hallway, luring us.

  As I walk, I slide the red key off the ring and tuck it just inside the elastic part of my sleeve. Phantom seems to know all about Taylor. I can use her as a bargaining chip. Our lives for the key. I roll up my sleeve a bit, giving the key a nice, secure pocket to sit in. I toss the rest away and dump the smashed to shit keyboard.

  We pass more art on the walls. Surreal stuff. Salvador Dali, I think. I like it. It’s dark and sick. My kind of shit. The music grows louder as we approach its source. The corridor ends at an open bulkhead. Bright light spills out of it. I’ve logged three security cameras on our way. There’s probably a bunch I’ve missed. We’re not ambushing anybody. We’re walking into a trap.

  Shaft stops right at the entrance. The chaotic light reflects off his face. “So how big is this guy?”

  “Bigger than you.” My eyes narrow on the doorway. “Aim for the scar on his skull.”

  We slip inside. Our feet are greeted by more shag carpeting. Wouldn’t have been Captain Kirk’s choice—or any self-respecting space captain. A window the size of a movie screen provides us with a horrifying celestial light show. The purple planet fills the window. We can no longer see its curvature or the stars around it.

  We’re close to the end.

  On a built-in table beneath the view, the backside of the Purple Rain album blares from a large black Casio boom box. It’s the upscale kind with two tape decks and detachable speakers. Its volume is currently set to ear piercing. The only way it can be heard over the screaming sirens that seem to be going off all over the room. The box shares space with a kaleidoscope of winking lights, gauges, and altimeters only a NASA nut could understand. I presume it’s what goes for a steering wheel in this poor man’s Millennium Falcon.

  And someone’s at the controls. His dark figure fills an unreclined La-Z-Boy. His head is angled toward the apocalyptic window. I recognize the tattered duster and the hood that cloaks his head.

  It’s the Phantom.

  He doesn’t acknowledge us. The hood hides his face but also blocks us from his peripheral vision. Maybe the pop so
ngs and the soft shag have rendered us soundless. Or maybe he’s just fucking with us. Shaft just stands there, frozen in fear. I’m not sure if it’s because of the oncoming planet that’s about to obliterate us or the visage of this weird space wizard lounging before us.

  I make the first move, inching closer. He’s so damn still. His arms ride the chair’s rests. They’re empty. In fact, I don’t see any of the weapons Taylor warned us about. There’s no ion cannon by his feet or phaser tucked into his pockets.

  Perhaps he’s hiding a laser sword beneath that mangy coat of his.

  I step closer. I have no plan. If I stick the knife to his throat and demand he turns the ship around, he’ll probably laugh and dare me to cut away. I might as well skip to the chase. I raise the knife. Grab his cloak. Go for the kill.

  He slumps over, falling like a stuffed doll, and drops straight to the floor.

  Dead.

  I’m half-terrified, half-relieved. Shaft looks like he might piss himself. “He’s dead. How?”

  I lean down and pull back the hood. Bandages. Soaked in blood.

  It’s Crazytown.

  Well, what’s left of him. The skin peeking through the mummy wrap is swollen and purple. The side of his skull is pushed in like a dent on a car. Death has already worked its magic on his skin and smell. My stomach knots. Vomit burns the back of my throat.

  Suddenly, Shaft shrieks out behind me.

  I spin.

  It’s the Phantom.

  He’s emerging from the shadows, wearing just his blood-stained tank top and sweatpants that look like they were hand washed by Freddy Krueger. He’s got the samurai sword strapped to his back and a long silver rifle aimed at Shaft. He squeezes the trigger. Three large projectiles blast out, stab into Shaft’s back.

  “No!” I scream.

  The projectiles resemble lawn darts with winged backs and custom meat hook tips. Their chrome stems are wrapped with steel coils that shine in the celestial light that pours through the window. Shaft falls to his knees, less from the impact and more from shock. It doesn’t seem to be a fatal blow. The arrows—or whatever—aren’t in too deep.

  Shaft cranes his neck and shoots Phantom a confused look. It’s almost like he’s saying, “Is this all you got?”

  But Phantom has more. Much, much more. He flicks his thumb. The darts surge with a shockwave of hot, blue energy. Shaft wails, falls face first to the floor. His eyes bulge. His limbs stiffen. He jolts. Quivers. Foams at the mouth. He’s being electrocuted.

  “Stop!” I shout.

  Phantom, again, flicks his thumb. The power cuts. Shaft curls into a ball. A whimpering mess. Smoke rises from his flesh. My nasal passages fill with the smell of burnt hair. Prince drones on in the background. I wish I could tell him to shut the hell up.

  “My little fighter.” Phantom swings the rifle to me. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  I backpedal almost subconsciously. I want no part of whatever the hell I just witnessed.

  “Our host devised this little toy.” Phantom waves the weapon at me. “She knows us well. Inside and out. Better than we could ever know ourselves. It controls the amount of pain juice it pours into you.” He taps its thumb dial. “It was designed to keep her cargo in line without killing them. Her precious cargo.” He appraises me like a carnivore checking out a pit beef sandwich. “She brought us here, you know.” He nods to the large window, the looming planet. “We’ve been here for months. Hovering. Waiting. She sent a beacon down to the planet. She didn’t want me to know. I think she’s done with us.” He circles me. He’s feeling chatty. I guess a life in space makes one long for conversation.

  I glance at Shaft. He’s getting his bearings—still nowhere close to fight ready, but it looks like he can fathom the situation at least. I just need to buy him some time. “Who?” I ask and let it hang in the air a bit for dramatic tension. “Who is done with us? Taylor?”

  His head cocks at the mention of her name. “You don’t know?” He grins. “She does have a way of protecting her secrets.” Phantom glances toward the hall. “Where is she? Lying in wait? Readying for an ambush? She must have some clever plan. She always does.”

  “She’s not with us,” I say. “She tried to kill us.”

  “Don’t lie. I’ve seen you with her. On the ladder. All coming to save the day.”

  “We saw the picture with the engineers. The Martian. The Nomad. She told us everything.”

  Phantom’s eyes narrow to mere slits. He’s trying to tell if I’m a con man or a rube. “That’s not it, stupid girl. That’s just what it was wearing. Its coat. Its wardrobe.”

  “Fine. Whatever. We’re on the same side. It’s us against her.”

  “I’m not against her, puppet,” he says with venom in his voice. “Not even close.”

  Shaft tries to stand, but he’s so ravaged by the weapon he grunts as he does. He’s about as stealthy as an elephant in a suit of armor. Without looking, Phantom hits the switch, shooting a surge of horrific energy through Shaft. I’ve never heard screams like this. I never want to again.

  “Stop!” I yell.

  Phantom flips it off. Shaft wheezes for breath. His mouth foams. “No more, no more.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I say to the Phantom. “Stop this.”

  “Oh, little girl, you’re not in control here.” The Phantom takes a threatening step toward me, the sword bouncing on his back. “I’ve been on the other side of this toy. After you get a taste, you’ll do anything to make it stop. It’s too much for our fragile bodies. It’s even too much for her big puppets. Her monsters.”

  I stare into the three barrels of the rifle—deep within are three more darts. Darts intended for me. I need to keep talking. Stay on my feet. It’s the only chance we have. “We’re gonna crash,” I say. “Die!”

  “I’d rather die than just be this.” He waves a hand over his chest.

  “We can work together,” I say, not believing it for a second. I literally bit him in the brains. I’ll say anything at this point. “I’m ready to work with you.”

  “You will be.” He squeezes the trigger. A wet pop jolts me. The three darts are already deep within my skin. I didn’t even feel them hit. One is embedded in my shoulder, two others in my gut. When I move, their anchors tug against the muscles just beneath my skin. That was easy. But what comes next? I brace for it. Our eyes meet. Phantom’s smiling.

  And I’m fucked.

  He flips the switch.

  A bright flash of white explodes in my eyes. I’ve been struck by lightning. Agony pours through me. Jagged glass shatters in my brain. My teeth are yanked slowly from the roots. My fingertips slam in doors. My appendix ruptures. Fire eats my skin. A thousand heavy metal concerts scream in my eardrums. Razors slice my eyes. Bees sting my tongue and throat.

  There’s no escape. No remedy. I am unable to hold but a single thought:

  Make.

  It.

  Stop.

  Then it does.

  Phantom has flicked the off switch. I can’t tell if it was a minute or a lifetime. I’m crying, shivering, and clenched in a ball. Every inch of me throbs and cramps. There’s vomit on my tongue and a warm wetness on my legs. My eyes are clenched shut. But I hear the music. A new song dedicated to my misery. “I Would Die 4 U.” Purple Rain is in the home stretch now … and so are we.

  Good. Bring on death. It’s a thousand times better than enduring another second of that.

  The Phantom kicks my back. I don’t react. I’m still reeling. I don’t have the juice to rejoin reality. A kick to the back is child’s play at this point. His breath chills my sweat glistened face. He’s leaning over me. His lips at my cheek. A filthy thumb wipes tears from my eyes. “Sweet girl. That was just level one. We have nine more levels to go.”

  My teeth chatter. “Please …” I whimper. “No more.”

  He grunts or laughs, same difference. “Tell me where my Nomad is.”

  Nomad.

  He’s talking a
bout Taylor. But not. Every inch of me trembles, and he’s still talking in riddles. He traces a hand over my cheek. My skin crawls from his touch. Good. My body’s returning. I crank up my whimpering. My tears are far from an act. They exorcise the lingering pain and horror. But they also serve a purpose—I know once I give him what he wants I’m dead. Crying is stalling. I’m stalling for life.

  He straightens. Through the blurry slits of my watery eyes, I spy his right hand back on the rifle. His thumb dials up the pain switch. “By level four, you’ll do anything just to end it. I’m trying to spare you that, sweet pea.” He pauses, waits, giving me a chance to call it quits.

  I’m tempted, damn I’m tempted. I can’t think of anything worse than experiencing an encore. And if it’s worse? It can’t be worse. It can’t.

  “I know she came up the tower with you. She wouldn’t let you come in here alone. She knows what I’d do to you. What did you do with her? Knock her out? Tie her up?” He runs his gross fingers through my hair. “End this. Don’t make me turn up the dial.”

  I snarl. “Give it your best shot, chief.”

  And he does.

  A supernova of pain flows into me. Oh God, it’s worse. A cosmic level of agony. Every millimeter of my flesh demands surrender. I give up! I give up! Uncle! Uncle! But I can’t voice it because my lungs breathe glass, and my tongue is being shredded with a barbed-wire brush. An orchestra of air horns blares in my ears. My insides are a cacophony of ruptured intestines.

  But there’s something else. A sharp siren. No. A voice. Loud. Piercing.

  It’s my own scream.

  The inferno of torment shuts off. Tears pour from my eyes. My lips quiver. My lungs heave. Why can’t I just pass out? Why can’t I die?

  “There, there girl.” The Phantom sits beside me, crisscross-applesauce. The goofy samurai sword sticks out from behind him over his left ear. “How long must we play this stupid game?”

  Not much longer, I assure you of that. I’m tough, but no one is this tough. I open my mouth, but nothing comes. My throat burns. My breath is spent. Damn it all, I’m too wrecked to even surrender.