Dark Future

by KC Klein

  “You’re doing fine,” Quinn said as she wiped my working field clean.

  I nodded, unable to speak. I was so tired. I’d crossed the line of sd t xml:lang hopelessness into the prolific state of despair hours ago. But there was one saving grace; whatever had cut him had been sharp, so the severing was clean. Except, grace wouldn’t be enough. I needed a butt load of antibiotics and a couple hundred liters of blood.

  I glanced up at my patient, his eyes were closed and he seemed to be resting comfortably. Quinn earlier had stocked the infirmary with supplies that she received from the morning shipment from Earth. Sterile drape cloths and an anesthetic were among the stockpile, of which I was grateful for, possibly the only thing. After she’d cleaned him up a bit, I recognized him as the soldier who had searched out Quinn earlier. I remembered his coffee eyes, but with them closed I could tell the rest of him wasn’t too bad either. He still had too much softness in his chin and cheeks to make him age appropriate for me, but he was definitely in the “handsomer as he gets older” category.

  “Do you know him?” I was drawing on my reserves. I needed to make him more than flesh and blood. I needed to make him human.

  Quinn’s ocean-blue eyes popped up and regarded me over a particular stubborn rib bone. I broke eye contact first as I maneuvered the bone back in place, praying I didn’t puncture vital organs in the process.

  “We’re not allowed to have contact outside of work. Relationships between men and goddesses are strictly forbidden.”

  I wasn’t born yesterday. It was obvious there was more going on with these two than Quinn was telling me.

  “So you’re a goddess then?” I had my suspicions, especially after the creepy, swirling eye thing.

  Her shoulder lifted. “A goddess-in-training. I wasn’t a very good pupil. The Elders wanted to send me to the work camps, but the Sisters at the school convinced them to port me to the front lines instead. It was their hope that the experience would jar latent powers.”

  “So it’s worked.”

  “To a degree, but . . . ah . . . you’re the only one who knows.” Her fingers tried to smooth down a pucker in my stitch. Damn, that one’s gonna scar.

  I nodded. I knew acknowledging herself as a goddess would sentence her to sensory isolation and no teenager, no matter what century, would look forward to that. I tried again. “What’s his name?”

  “I think his ID number is 215-67 . . .”

  “I didn’t ask about your relationship or his ID number. I want his bloody name!” The stress had gotten to me. I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. “What do his friends call him?”

  Silence. She wasn’t going to answer.

  “Look, I know you know it . . . just tell me.” Maybe it wasn’t fair to push her, she had a lot to lose, but I was desperate. I realized there was a chance I might not find my way home before the Elders came. I needed a purpose and this man’s life was it. So he better as hell be worth my efforts and have more than just a number to speak for him.

  “Zimmion.”

  I nodded with relief. He had a name; somewhere, somebody loved him.

  I threaded the now blunted needle through the connective tissue and pulled too hard, tearing the flesh. I dropped the needle in frustration and massaged my cramping hand. I checked over my stitches—some held and some didn’t, springing leaks along the jagged suture lines.

  A choking sensation bubbled in my throat. The quiet of the room was deafening. With it I could hear the voice in my head repeating—just give up, you weren’t good enough to save her, and you’re not good enough to save him. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. “Quinn, I need you to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “God, I don’t know . . . anything. Tell me about the older men, the Elders that ConRad was concerned about.”

  Quinn heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “I guess you’ll find out sometime. See, we are all followers of The Way. It has become our life—what saved us. After the Global War, humans were scattered throughout the planet. Most found their way to the same place due to the limited amount of dry land. But there was no civilization, no laws or order, just chaos. Women especially became threatened because of being so few, the aliens were particularly fond of females. Fights broke out; wives and daughters were kidnapped. That was when the older men came together and created a new doctrine. Order was established and the weak given protection. The Elders’ punishments were harsh and their justice swift, but the religion worked. More and more people came to follow The Way.”

  I reached up and checked Zimmion’s pulse; weak, but steady. My recent sutures were holding. My technique wasn’t pretty, but it was working. “Go on. But if you tell me that one of these older men are descendants of David Koresh from Waco, Texas, I’m out of here.”

  “Who?” her brow furrowed.

  “Nothing.” My sense of humor was lost on these people. Pity.

  “There are rules that affect almost all areas of our lives. Laws about procreation, marriage, birth order, and workstations, but the main beliefs govern the anti-tech laws. The Elders believe the alien invasion was a direct result from God’s displeasure about the advancement in science and technology. So though we have the knowledge for greater technologies, we choose to live a more simple life outlined for us by The Way.”

  I nodded. That explained the advanced microbiotics and also such primitive surroundings. “Are they bad men?”

  Quinn’s expression darkened. “No, at least not in the beginning. But power corrupts men, and the Elders are powerful.”

  A sense of foreboding swept through me. These were the men who could determine Zimmion’s fate and mine? I tied the last knot and almost wept with relief. “Thanks Quinn . . . for everything.”

  She smiled. The lines of fatigue accented her eyes. “Do you think he’ll make it?”

  I hated that question. “He needs a huge dose of antibiotics just to give him a prayer of a chance.”

  We both looked at each other; volumes spoken between us, but I still asked. “You don’t happen to have the key to the microbiotics?”

  Quinn shook her head. “Remember, you promised.”

  Ha, I’d done no such thing, but the line had been drawn when I made my stand with ConRad. The question now was how far across was I willing to go? Dread washed over me in waves. I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to do less than fight over the stupid key to the metal box. Without a doubt there’d be a fight, but did I really have a choice? If Zimmion didn’t get the microbiotics, there was no way he’d survive.

  I’d kick my own behind if I could’ve reached it. I knew the rules, knew microbiotics were strictly for the godde sfortify">

  ConRad was probably up in his command center laughing his head off, knowing that there was no way I could save his life. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t fair. I knew he wouldn’t think this was any joking matter, but still he’d never give the microbiotics to me.

  “You should check on the goddess,” Quinn said. I looked up, surprised to see she was slowly stroking the hair off of Zimmion’s forehead.

  “Yes . . . yes . . . I should do that.” Watching Quinn I realized this was the first tender affection I’d seen anywhere in this compound. The gesture seemed strange, out of place in such a harsh society. After washing my hands, I walked over to the goddess and checked her vitals. Everything seemed stable and she was resting peacefully. I still believed my first instinct was correct, possible head trauma. If she sustained a blow to the head, hopefully it would be nothing more than a concussion. But if there was hemorrhaging in the brain, then there was nothing I could do. I was definitely no brain surgeon and absolutely not under these primitive conditions.

  “I think she needs the microbiotics,” Quinn said, not bothering to remove her tender gaze from Zimmion’s face.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think antibiotics would help. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of infection. Th
ere could be a possible concussion, but only time will tell.”

  “I still think we should get them for her though.” This time Quinn did look up and gazed intently at me.

  “What are you trying to say?” My chest tightened. I knew she wasn’t contradicting my medical advice, but something else all together.

  “All I am saying is that you need to go and get them.”

  “For the . . . goddess?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes lowered to Zimmion, then back at me. “For the goddess.”

  “No, no.” I shook my head, throwing up my arms in defeat. “I’m done. I did what I could to save him. I’ve already pushed ConRad as far as I can. I’m not willing to put myself any more on the line. I’m sorry, Quinn. I know how you feel, but I just can’t. I need to concentrate on finding my way home, before the st>

  “You can do this,” Quinn stated. “ConRad’s just a man like anyone else.”

  I was aghast. “Have you seen him? The man’s a killer! I think he rips heads off of small children for pleasure.”

  “There is a reason we don’t have small children running around the compound.”

  I threw a deadpan gaze at Quinn. “Was that a joke?”

  “I don’t know. Was it funny?” A spark of light flashed in her eyes.

  “No, not really.” If she wouldn’t laugh at my jokes, then I wouldn’t laugh at hers. “Besides, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly his favorite person.”

  “I’ll help you,” she said, her face blank, all signs of teasing gone.

  “How?” I didn’t have to ask to what she was referring to. I knew. I focused in on the possibility of a way home like a surgeon’s precise incision. If I was going to commit to this, I wanted more than just a point toward the door and a pat for good luck.

  “I can get you out of the compound and limited protection through the dark, if that’s what you really want.” Her voice was barely a whisper, as if we were plotting sin in secret. I didn’t know, maybe we were.

  I nodded. This was what I wanted. The thought of racing the open, dark land with aliens on the attack sent my heart pumping. But I could feel this world sucking me in, drawing me down. There was a sense of losing myself, relinquishing my control if I stayed. I needed to get away soon; if I didn’t, I may never leave. Or else leave zipped up tight in a black body bag.

  Great, I knew what I’d have to do, and I knew I wasn’t good at it. Like every kid, as a teenager I did a bit of lying to my dad . . . teacher, boss, therapist. (By the way, lying to your therapist is beyond stupid. I mean what’s the point?) Okay, I lied quite a bit, but it doesn’t mean I had an easy time with it. I’d always get a little sick to my stomach, my heart would race, and my mouth would go dry. This didn’t mean I’d never pulled it off, but then again the people in my world are not nearly as intimidating as ConRad.

  I wouldn’t consider myself a master liar, bu ssteem"t I had picked up a few tricks along the way. What seemed to work was to catch people when they were busy, off guard. If they were too distracted to stop and look me straight in my eyes, then I was golden. That was my plan with ConRad, to avoid his assessing look. Otherwise, I would squirm like bait on a hook or . . . pant like a dog in heat. I swallowed and shook the thought from my head. Professional, I am calm and professional.

  Having made my decision, I wanted to get the conversation over with, but tracking ConRad down became an irritating lesson in persistence. Asking the men in the compound got me one of two responses, blushing and stammering, or outright rudeness and blatant dismissal. Finally, after many inquiries and dead ends, I found a soldier who was courageous enough to talk with me. Though his stutter was thick, I was able to discern that the Commander’s shift was at night and he slept days. So, more than likely, I’d find him in his quarters. When asked where that was, the solider turned the shade of smashed beets and explained that my room and his were one and the same.

  How’s that? The man tricked me into sharing his bed without me even knowing it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Conniving, manipulating, controlling . . . jerk!

  “What?” I screamed at the red-faced solider, whose name I didn’t bother to remember. My voice echoed off the steel beams and bounced down the tunnels.

  He scampered away, not bothering to answer my question. Fine with me. His head wasn’t the one I wanted to see roll. I was angry and embarrassed. No wonder I felt like people were talking about me behind my back, because they were. I bristled at all the ceased conversations as I walked by and the awkwardness previously in the cafeteria. It wasn’t hard to imagine why. It was my second night here, and I was already sleeping with the boss.

  I had a hard and fast rule about coworker affairs. I may have had a reputation as a party girl, but I kept sex out of the workplace. When I was a young and just beginning my internship, I broke that rule . . . once. I fell hard for the head cardiac surgeon. It wasn’t really my fault. He was tall, handsome and he could talk the pants off of any woman, me included. Of course, not every woman found herself being screwed up against the supply closet wall with a smelly mop bumping against her head. If that wasn’t enough, I fancied myself in love. A love that was split wide open when his wife and two kids showed up at the hospital. I was brokenhearted and humiliated. My reputation was ruined. As a female intern working in a male-dominated field, I couldn’ vheighssed. Nt be as good as the men; I needed to be better. Instead, I was labeled “easy,” the girl who wanted to make her way to the top . . . on her back.

  In my eyes, ConRad had done the very same thing. Double standards for men and woman, no matter what century, were unfair but real. In this world of men I had to have a stellar reputation, and being perceived as someone who sleeps around was a weakness I couldn’t afford to have.

  I stood seething at the door to my . . . his room. Should I knock or just burst in? Crashing in on him in a dead sleep would be rude and childish. My lips turned up at one corner. Right up my alley. I pushed the door wide, slamming it into the opposite wall, hoping to catch him off guard.

  Instead, it was me who sucked in my breath at the sight of his broad back as he stood half naked, muscular shoulders gleaming with only a barely-there towel wrapped around his waist for decency. He stood in front of the sink, and in the reflection of the mirror I could see the bottom half of his face was covered with shaving cream. The top half contained a chilly stare that pierced me through the mirror.

  By the expression on his face, I could tell not too many people burst through his door uninvited and lived to tell about it. I would’ve made an excuse, but I got sidetracked. I was mesmerized by a drop of water, fallen from his damp hair and slowly caressing the ripples of his spine. I held my breath as the drop eased lower, over the dip in his lower back, and melted away beneath the towel. Damn, to be jealous of water.

  “Do you need something?” He didn’t turn around when he spoke, and I realized that I had been standing there staring for only God knows how long.

  “Yes,” I said. It was a simple word; I just answered his question really, but it came out all breathless and needy, like I had infused a mountain of meaning in that one tiny syllable.

  He heard it too. He lowered his razor and slowly turned to face me. His eyes widened and grew all liquid blue on me. His face softened, and I could see his mouth part slightly . . . invitingly.

  I pinched my leg hard, stopping myself before I drifted over there, wiped off the shaving cream and feasted on his lips like a woman starving. “Yes . . . I . . . I need to talk to you. What did you think I meant?”

  There might have been a flash of disappointment in his eyes, but I didn’t dwell on the thought. Instead, I muscled up my indignation.

  “I can’t believe you put me in here, in your room, in your . . . bed. Whatever gave you the idea that this . . . this room was okay?” I said gesturing to the walk-in closet of a space.

  To ConRad’s credit he didn’t seem taken aback, since it probably wasn’t every day he had a woman screaming at him while he
stood half naked in his own quarters. “What’s the problem? I provided you with a room and a bed. What else do you want?”

  What else? Only like a hundred other things popped into my mind. Like a shower for starters, but I wasn’t going to be sidetracked.

  “The problem is . . . that it looks like . . . to everyone else . . . that we are, that we’re in here sleeping . . . together.” I couldn’t help but whisper the last word as if the secret wasn’t already out.

  “So . . . you are worried about what everyone else is thinking?” He shook his head as if the mere idea was foreign to him. “Well, don’t worry. I . . . am . . . the . . . Commander . . . here.” He said this real slow like I was simple or something. “This means no one should bother you. You will always be treated with respect. If not, report the soldiers to me immediately, and they’ll be taken care of.”

  As if signaling the discussion was over, he turned and went back to scraping the blade along his cheek.

  Wow, I took a step back, just so I could admire the most perfect incarnation of male arrogance.

  “Uhhh no . . .” I said, drawing my words out like he was the one who was simple. “That’s the problem. I don’t want special treatment just because everyone thinks we’re sleeping together.”

  “Sleeping together? Oh no, trust me, everyone thinks we are doing way more than just sleeping.” Catching his expression in the mirror, I watched as his eyebrows went up in a you-know-what gesture. ConRad had scraped his face clean and began splashing water from the sink to rinse. He seemed so calm, while I could feel the burn creep across my cheeks.

  “That’s just it,” I cried in frustration. “I don’t want them to think we are sleeping together, because we aren’t.”

  “Ahh, but we could be.” He pivoted back toward me and flashed a predatory smile. Privy to the full frontal assault with his wicked smile was akin to being dropped from a twelve-story bui {lveleeping tolding . . . with no parachute. My breath caught. And I had thought his back was arresting.