July 6
We hiked up to the top of the northern ridge this morning to spot for the resupply plane, which was inbound from the RAAF base a couple hundred clicks to the north-west at Wagga Wagga. It was Simon who spotted it first, flying in at medium altitude, just a tiny speck of grey amid the puffy cumulus clouds.
“C-130 Hercules,” Sergeant Blake said, pressing his binoculars to his eyes. “Air Force workhorse.”
The plane banked as it approached the valley. Then, far above us, the loading ramp dropped open and a bunch of supply packages tumbled out, their parachutes blossoming almost immediately, the cockpit of the Hercules glinting in the morning sun as it banked again and headed back to the north-west.
They’d been aiming for the Endeavour’s valley, but apparently it’s not a precise science and the wind was breezier than they’d accounted for. The five crates – each of them nearly two metres by two metres – were scattered across the next valley over to the north, so it took a couple of hours of elbow grease to drag them all back through the snow.
It was worth it, though. We’d taken a bit of extra food from Trish’s lodge but even that was just the old staples of tinned beans and tomatoes. Inside the crates was enough diversity of food to almost make me weep: rice, pasta, tuna, dried fruits, jerky, biscuits, spreads, chocolate bars… it wasn’t even so much the food, but the flavours: the spreads, the pastes, even the little sachets of salt and pepper and sugar. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sugar.
“I would have turned my nose up at all of this last year,” Matt mumbled, half a generic Army-branded chocolate bar shoved down his gullet, “and now I almost want to cry.”
“There was a guy in Russia I read about,” Simon said, “who took his family out to Siberia to live in the wilderness to escape Stalin, or whatever, back in the ‘30s. And they just lived out there for forty years or something, growing their own food, until people found them again in the ‘70s. And when they asked this guy what he’d missed most about civilisation he just said, salt.”
I’d expected Tobias to tell us to keep our greedy fingers out of it, that we had to ration it, but he actually told us to eat up, and to stir sugar into whatever we ate for the next little while. “You all need to build up some body fat again, you’re underweight,” he said. Which is true – I’ve always been skinny, but I don’t remember my ribs showing this clearly before. It’s been a lean year.
As well as the food, there’s a bunch of other stuff in there as well. Army issue tents – we all sleep inside the Endeavour, but we’re expecting reinforcements soon – which Tobias set us to work setting up in the sheltered lee of the spaceship. Ammunition, a few extra Steyr Augs and Browning pistols, plus gun maintenance kits. More warm weather clothing, thermal underwear, heat packs, sleeping pads and sleeping bags. Medical supplies – Tobias ordered all of us onto a course of antibiotics immediately, since a lot of us are still carrying around cuts from the chopper crash and we’re not exactly bathing frequently. Plus a jillion other things: firestarters, cooking gear, shovels, hand axes, flashlights, batteries, toilet paper, toothpaste, soap, water purification tablets…
All in all, things feel a lot more comfortable now. We’ve set up the three big Army tents, which frankly feel freezing cold, although I guess the inbound troops will be rugged up and ready. We all pitched in to start digging a latrine trench on the far side of the valley – so far we’ve mostly just been going wherever and kicking snow over it, although the way our diet’s been lately it hasn’t exactly been high traffic. In the late afternoon we put the axes to work and starting cutting firewood from the snow gum forest. By sundown we had a raging bonfire going, and Simon and Sergeant Blake cooked up our first Army dinner. It’s still all freeze-dried MRE shit – like Matt said, I would have spat it out last year – but compared to what we’ve been eating it’s like a Michelin-starred feast.
July 7
Rahvi’s on the mend. Captain Tobias said he was conscious for a while last night, though when we looked in on him this morning, he’d slipped back into sleep, on some pretty heavy painkillers that came in the airdrop. “I’ve never seen an infection go down this fast,” Tobias said, changing Rahvi’s bandages as he slept. “I guess you were right.”
It is not a panacea, the Endeavour cautioned. Had you brought him here any later he may have died.
“And you claim this is him. That you’re not doing anything? It’s all his immune system?”
Obviously I am playing some part. But yes – I am enhancing and concentrating his own immune system.
“I don’t understand it.”
Neither do I, entirely. Any more than Rahvi understands his own body’s mechanisms.
They discussed that for quite a while, Professor Llewellyn chipping in and taking notes. It led on to a broader conversation about the mental abilities of the Endeavour, and Telepaths more broadly. I asked the Endeavour, for the first time, exactly what they looked like.
It flashed me a mental picture. Not something clearly-defined; more like something you might remember from a dream. Something mammalian, something winged and furry, but with too many limbs, too many eyes…
I could see why the ship hadn’t given me a clearer picture. I didn’t really want to know. “And we came from that?” I said uneasily.
Your soul. Your spirit. Whatever you might like to call it. But your body, your brain, your biology, your base instincts are all human – which is why you instinctively recoil from the unknown.
We were speaking privately, now – the others had finished their conversation, and moved outside for breakfast. I’d stayed in the medical bay, watching Rahvi sleeping peacefully, no more of the fever that had wracked him over the past few days. As Tobias had said, it was an amazing recovery. All thanks to alien technology. If technology was the right word.
“That whole spirit thing,” I said. “You think we could learn it? Talking with our heads?” And maybe some of that other stuff you do, I thought.
I think it would be well worth attempting to learn, the ship said.
I went and spent the morning trying to convince Matt, while we chopped more firewood in the snow gum forest. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but begrudgingly agreed, and in the afternoon we went back to the ship and made ourselves comfortable in one of the cabins while the Endeavour began to instruct us. Fortunately, by definition, it took place inside our heads; I had a sneaking suspicion the others would laugh at us if they could hear what the Endeavour was saying.
Focus your mind. Clear yourself of any external thoughts. Breathe in and out. Ignore outside sounds, ignore outside sensations. Think only of the moment.
It was all very Yoga Mindfulness Adult Colouring-In Book, but I gave it my best shot.
Think about your brother. Think of his face, think of his voice, think of what he means to you. Focusing on memories is fine. Just keep him at the forefront of your mind.
I thought of Matt hiking through the snow, cheeks red, breath misty. I thought of Matt back in the glass-walled lighthouse on Reeve Island, scowling at me, knocking down any notion of travelling east. I thought of Matt in the desert dust of Kalgoorlie, grappling and scrambling with one of our captors, choking him to death with our chains.
“This is dumb,” I heard Matt say.
“Shut up,” I said.
Yes, the Endeavour said. Shut up. Don’t speak. Just focus your mind…
We did that for a while, before the Endeavour asked me to try sending a simple thought to Matt. I could sense that he was there – I had a vague notion of his presence, anyway, mentally speaking, unlike the Endeavour itself, which is anything but vague. It’s more like a presence so big and so constant that it’s part of the landscape; like you’re a rowing boat sitting next to an aircraft carrier. But I couldn’t hear any thoughts Matt was directing at me, and he couldn’t hear mine either, even though we tried for hours.
Do not be discouraged, the Endeavour said. It will take some time. The fact that enough of your Telep
ath heritage remained for you to find me, as subconscious as it was, is promising. I am confident we can restore your abilities.
“If you say so,” Matt said. “I don’t really see the big deal. I can hear this dickhead yap away in person whenever I want.”
July 8
I went for a hike with Matt this afternoon, after another fruitless morning of trying to project our thoughts onto each other. It had been snowing heavily all morning but cleared around noon, and I had itchy feet. “Take an M4 if you’re going further than the ridge,” Sergeant Blake said. I didn’t think that was necessary – I always have my Glock strapped to my thigh – but Matt will take any opportunity to grab a rifle.
We hiked up the eastern slope, looking at the Endeavour down below. Sergeant Blake was sitting by the fire, Captain Tobias was on the satellite phone on the opposite ridge, Jonas and Andy were cutting firewood from the snow gum forest. “Going to look pretty different in a couple of days,” Matt said. The reinforcements are due soon.
“Yeah,” I said. “Not sure how to feel about that.”
“You kidding?” Matt said. “I’ll be happy to see a few fresh faces. If I have to listen to another one of Jonas’ fucking truck driving anecdotes…”
“I dunno. Last soldiers we met weren’t too friendly.”
“Puckapunyal? That was different. They’d gone crazy there. I would have too, if I was surrounded by zombies like that. So would you.”
“They tried to kill us!”
“Well, join the queue,” he said. “Come on. You saw what it was like there. And they got their asses kicked, so no harm done.”
Asses kicked. I thought about the screaming, the men with their guts and their blood spilling out onto the concrete, glimpses of horror at the edge of the rain-swept spotlights.
“I guess,” I said. “But we don’t even know where these guys are coming from.”
“Wherever they’re coming from, they’re probably pretty happy to get out of there.”
We crossed the ridge into the next valley over, where a gurgling creek splashes down through a crease in the snow. In the dark shadows and clefts between the gum trees some of the morning snow had piled quite high, and in places we were knee deep. I stopped by the creek and watched the water gurgling past for a while, as Matt ranged a little further downstream. Andy says there are platypuses in these parts, but you’ll never see one unless you’re quiet and patient. I’ve not seen one yet.
Maybe I was too lost in thought – maybe it was the sound of the creek – whatever the reason, I didn’t hear it coming until it was almost too late. I heard the crunch of movement through fresh snow, and turned to see a figure not a few metres away, lurching through the snow towards me, black snow pants and grey Canada Goose parka, snow visor dangling around his neck and cold, dead face framed by lank black hair. He wasn’t moaning or crying at all, not like they usually do, just stumbling towards me quietly with a vacant look on his face and his arms outstretched.
I shouted for Matt, as I tried to do two things at once: jump backwards and draw my Glock. I slipped on the rocks, went ass backwards in the stream, the cold like an electric shock. I’d put my left hand out to break my fall and hadn’t had time to chamber a round and now the zombie was on me, right on top of me, dropping down above me and pushing me down into the water – of course he didn’t care about cold, he didn’t give a fuck. I put both arms out to shield my face and now I’d lost the Glock somehow – I wasn’t even breathing, the cold had been such a shock – and he’d locked his teeth around my right forearm, that was okay, I was wearing a thick parka and I’d grabbed his hair with the other hand to try to tear him off, but I was in the water and I was blind and freezing and I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe…
We broke the surface. He’d been silent on approach but he was screaming now, that horrible undead hunting shriek, as I pulled his head back by the hair and tore his teeth away from the puffy lining of my parka’s arm. He was thrashing on top of me, water splashing everywhere, and as he lunged at me again – just before he pushed me back down below the surface – I caught a glimpse of Matt behind him, kneeling on the riverbank, sunnies pushed up to hold his hair back and the sights of the M4 lined up against his eye. “Don’t!” I screamed – or thought, rather, since now I was underwater again. For fuck’s sake, don’t shoot!
Frigid water was creeping up my nose and down into my lungs. The zombie wasn’t latched onto my arm now, but rather right in front of my face – I couldn’t see him but I could feel him, gnashing and thrashing in the dark water in front of me – I had one forearm braced against his neck and one gloved hand gripping his long hair – but I was cold and blind and I couldn’t breath and I was fading fast…
Matt pulled it off me, yanking it backwards, and I sat up gasping and struggling for air. I was out of the water in time to glimpse Matt hold his Browning against the zombie’s skull, even as it thrashed and snapped and turned back towards him. He squeezed the trigger and an explosion of dead gore and ichor burst out into the water, some of it splattering against my cheek. I was choking and coughing and struggling to stand on my own feet, my veins burning with adrenaline but my skin already numb and frozen, water still rushing past my knees. I was soaked through from head to toe.
Matt had holstered his gun and dragged the corpse out of the water and was sloshing back into the creek to pull me out, while I was still trying to unbend my rigid limbs. Even from sloshing into knee-deep water Matt was shivering and trembling; I wondered how my own face looked. “Keep moving!” he said. “Keep the adrenaline up! We need to get you back to camp.”
He snatched his M4 up from the riverbank where he’d dropped it. The zombie corpse was lying face down in the snow. Together we started running up the valley.
It was all right at first because I couldn’t feel anything; in fact I actually felt almost warm, which I knew was a bad sign. But as the adrenaline wore off the cold and the wet crept back in, and by the time we mounted the ridge and were fully exposed to the northerly wind, I felt just about ready to scream. Matt hustled me on, shoving me forward, shouting encouragement. I couldn’t even talk – my face had gone numb.
When we came back within range of the Endeavour, Matt explained the situation to it; by the time we were cresting the ridge of the home valley, Tobias and Jonas were halfway up the slope to meet us, while Andy and Sergeant Blake were packing more logs and kindling onto the campfire, stoking it into a bonfire. Tobias had brought heat packs with him and cracked them open as we moved, telling us to shove them down our pants and hold them against our inner thighs, close to the femoral artery. My skin was so numb it felt like they were burning me.
Anyway. It was a miserable experience from beginning to end, but we didn’t die, though even after we’d stripped off by the fire and changed into dry clothes I still felt like I might. I shovelled some warmed up chicken soup down my gullet and the Endeavour advised that I be shifted into the medical bay. “What were you bloody thinking?” Tobias ranted. “Wandering off like that?”
“We didn’t wander off!” Matt said. “You said we could go!”
“Yeah, well, that’s the end of that,” Tobias muttered.
In the medical bay, Corporal Rahvi seemed happy to see us, a dreamy look on his face, halfway through a game of checkers with Simon. “Hey, I hear you went swimming,” he said. “You might want to wait for summer for that, hey!” He cracked up laughing.
“He’s on some pretty strong painkillers,” Simon said, and gestured at the checkers board. “It’s been his move for about half an hour.”
“Stay here, warm up,” Tobias said. “I’m going to go check that body of yours.”
“Glock,” I said through still-numb lips.
“What?”
“Glock,” I said. “I dropped it in the creek. If you find it…”
“For God’s sake, Aaron,” Tobias said. “It’s bad enough you go gallivanting off, I don’t need to be tracking down your personal possessions too.” He stomped ou
t of the medical bay.
Don’t read too much into it, the Endeavour said. He feels alarmed at letting you come into danger.
“I see that psychology degree pays for itself,” I murmured. Jonas had brought my mat and sleeping bag from my cabin, and tucked up inside it, I felt nothing more than exhausted. The old adrenaline crash. It had been a while since I had one of those.
I fell asleep for a while. When I woke up it was dark, the sun gone down, a Tilley lamp hissing in the corner. Rahvi was eating out of a tin bowl propped in his lap, a paperback novel folded in his other hand. He glanced over at me. “You feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking about for a pair of spare boots – mine were probably still drying by the fire. “You’re over the morphine, then?”
He snorted. “That wasn’t morphine. Mate, I wish they’d give me morphine. That was oxy on an empty stomach.”
“How’s your leg?” I asked.
“Limped up and down the corridor today,” he said, looking back at his book. “End of the month, I’ll race you back to the dam.”
I borrowed Rahvi’s boots and headed out into the corridor. I’d taken to keeping a flashlight in my parka pocket to navigate the interior at night, but of course that parka was drying by the fire now, so the Endeavour itself had to guide me. Left, it said. Feel along the wall. Five paces… keeping going. Right. Left…
“Doesn’t this make you feel weird?” I asked. “People walking around inside you?”
It would make you feel weird. I am a spacecraft. This is my purpose.
“It still feels weird.”
Of course it does. You are unused to it. Telepath society has awoken the spirits of structures for millennia. Spacecraft are a new technology, but there is no reason for them to be any different from a family home, or a bridge, or warehouse.
“Why would you want – I mean, really, I don’t want to offend you, but why would it be necessary for your house to be sentient?”
Why wouldn’t it be?
Butting up against that divide yet again. Maybe it’s not something we can properly understand. Even that phrase, “house” – the Endeavour interpreted it as “dwelling,” or “home ground.” Because Telepaths had never had cute little houses with four windows and a door and a curl of smoke coming out the chimney. Telepaths were outdoor creatures. They interpreted “home” to mean a certain patch of forest, or a particular mountain eyrie, or a cave system.
End Times (Book 4): Destroyer of Worlds Page 6