Project Columbus: Omnibus

by J. C. Rainier

  Cal set the lantern down on their dresser, a waist-high affair cobbled together with remnants from the lumber mill. Three species of wood used in its construction gave it an odd mosaic-like appearance. It had no drawers; instead, there were sectioned off shelves where wicker baskets could easily be slid out from the front. Their only other piece of furniture was a mattress, which rested on the floor against the wall next to the dresser. It wasn’t until Cal was in a world without heating and air conditioning that he finally understood the purpose of bedframes and box springs.

  Alexis was curled up in a tight ball underneath the covers. A thick blanket of brown fur covered the bed completely. It was tucked under the mattress at its foot, and each side draped onto the floor and wadded up from its sheer size. This was the warmest blanket they owned, cut and sewn from the hide of a reaper bear, the deadliest predator on the planet. On the floor next to Alexis rested another pot, the handle of a wooden spoon jutting out from inside. Cal tugged at the thinner blanket that draped over him, loosening it at the knees so he could kneel comfortably next to his wife.

  He stroked her sweaty forehead. She startled awake, her sunken green eyes darting around in confusion, her gaunt cheeks puffing out like balloons as she coughed. Cal knew that the heavy bear pelt disguised even more of her illness’s disturbing effects. She had lost a lot of weight. Without a scale he couldn’t say how much, but Alexis no longer had her beautiful, captivating curves. When she undressed he could see her ribs and hips protruding sickly under her skin. Her skin, though pale before, was now ashen.

  Damn it, Doc. How much longer before she gets better?

  “Dinner time,” he smiled, suppressing any signs of worry.

  Alexis moaned weakly and closed her eyes. “Too tired. Too early. Let me sleep.”

  “No, hon. You’ve been sleeping all day. You need to eat something.”

  “Or else what?” Though soft, her voice carried a sharply irritated tone.

  “Or you don’t get better,” he snapped back.

  “A little sleep isn’t going to kill me.”

  “It might. God damn it, Lexi, you need to listen to me.”

  “I need to sleep,” she mumbled, curling deeper into the blanket

  Cal set the soup pan on the floor, then leaned over to hug and caress her. “You need to get better.”

  She neither responded nor opened her eyes. By the way her chest rose and fell as she breathed she must have fallen asleep again.

  C’mon, Lexi. I need you to pull through. You can’t leave me here alone.

  * * *

  Jacob Granger

  18 Jan, 2 yal, 14:56

  Any minute now, he thought. Any minute he’ll come downstairs and make dinner.

  His fingers trembled terribly. If anyone had asked, Jake would have told them it was just the cold. But he knew better. His nerves had his fingers twitching and his stomach tied in a tight knot. It was just below freezing outside, yet his palms sweated. The cold steel tucked into his waistband felt even icier than the wind cutting through the dark night. Not because it was physically cold. He knew better. He knew it represented desperation and death.

  Jake cupped his hands to his bearded face, blowing into them and rubbing them together to stave off the cold, though the warmth of his exhaust could do nothing to alleviate the tremors of guilt. He glanced up at the second story window of the small shop along the river. Soft yellow light filtered through the shutter’s slats. He saw what he thought was movement. His breathing stopped. Seconds passed. Daggers of pain shot through the exposed tips of his fingers, but he didn’t break his focus.

  After a few more moments the light from the shutters dimmed and faded. Jake exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. To the forefront of his mind came images of his wife and children. Cora’s bright smile and curly locks cut through the darkness as she snuggled their three month old son. Gregarious little Alex bounded up, throwing his arms around his mother and then kissing his brother’s forehead.

  Jake opened his eyes. The soft light now pulsed and throbbed from the lower level window at the front of the shop. He exhaled again and put one foot in front of the other, crunching through the thin layer of ice atop the six inches of snow. Ice turned to slush in his boots, drenching his socks and chilling his nearly numb toes, but he continued on. His heart beat furiously inside his chest with every step he took. Nearly every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn back, that it wasn’t too late.

  But in his mind and his heart, it was too late. Cora was slowly wasting away. While still healthy, she worried about baby Earl. Alex constantly complained of the pain gnawing at his stomach. Jake felt it too; the constant emptiness of hunger. But for a four-year-old boy fueled by growth spurts, it was unimaginable. Nor did Jake want to imagine it, let alone have his son suffer from it.

  Jake reached the front door of the shop. He rapped on the roughly planked door with his left hand. His right reached to his waistband and switched off the Beretta’s safety. Jake drew in a deep breath and waited.

  Nothing happened. He wasn’t sure why, but he started counting under his breath. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. He knocked again, unsure if he was heard the first time. Ten seconds. Fifteen.

  Just before he reached thirty, he heard the knob on the door turn. The door cracked open. He hesitated for a second, his conscience bargaining with him at the last second.

  “Jake?” Cal asked.

  Jake snapped back to reality. He slammed his right boot into the door jamb and drew the pistol, aiming it from his hip. Cal’s eyes widened and he tried to slam the door on Jake’s frozen boot. The heavy door sent stabbing pains through Jake’s foot. He bit his lip to stifle a yelp of pain, but pushed into the door as hard as he could with his left shoulder. He was much larger than Cal, and the younger man stumbled and fell backward. A patchwork fur blanked that he had been wearing crumpled to the floor haphazardly. Jake retrained the weapon on his neighbor.

  “Where is it?” he asked, his voice hoarse from laryngitis.

  “J-Jake, don’t do this,” Cal pleaded, backpedaling desperately on his rear.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, man. Just… just give it to me. That’s all I want.”

  Cal scrambled his way to the sales counter, where he was able to regain his feet. On top sat a lantern and a portable electric burner. Atop the burner was a metal pot, and as Jake predicted, something was cooking. He was hit by the smells of spiced broth and vegetables. He instantly recognized the soup made from native root vegetables. It was something he had the pleasure of smelling nearly every day for much of the summer and fall. Cora was assigned to the team of colonists responsible for canning and preserving the harvest, and the soup was her specialty. So much of her time and effort had gone into creating these rations for the colony, and now Cal was cooking a serving of it. A serving he hadn’t earned.

  “Jake, stop it. Please. Just… just go away and I won’t tell Darius about it.”

  “Darius?” he spat. “I know you’ve been getting more rations than the rest of us. I’ve seen Doc and Hunter bringing them to you. You’ve got only two mouths to feed. Darius probably wants to know that you’ve been stealing food.”

  Cal’s eyes widened. “Stealing? You think I’ve been…”

  “Yes, stealing.” The sweat on Jake’s palms was making his grip on the pistol somewhat tenuous, so he readjusted as subtly as he could. Though Calvin was stealing from the colony, what Jake was doing was no better. Only necessary.

  “I’m not stealing. I swear.”

  Jake took two steps forward. He changed his aim from Cal’s stomach to his head. “Show me where it is,” he commanded sternly.

  Cal’s hands trembled as he raised them into the air. He looked as if he was about to wet himself, but somehow he managed to stay composed enough to speak.

  “This way. In my stock room.”

  Cal walked slowly ahead of Jake, who grabbed the lantern off the counter with his free hand. As they passed the stairwell a weak female voice call
ed down to them.

  “Cal? Is everything okay?”

  Without prompting, he replied, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Jack was taken aback. He expected Cal to shout out a warning about Jake, and yell to her to jump out the window and find help. Instead, the-twenty-year old man continued on, slowly reaching for the stock room door and opening it. Jake slipped by, keeping his weapon trained nervously on his neighbor. Cal just looked at the floor and folded his arms across his chest.

  Jake quickly took stock of what he could see on the sparsely stocked shelves. Most of what remained was soap from Cal’s business. A mostly empty barrel of pickled fish sat near the door. A couple dozen jars of soup, a couple bags of jerky, three bags of crackers, and two bags of black eyed peas were all that was left. Jake’s heart sank. The treasure trove of food that he had imagined didn’t actually exist.

  “You ate it all,” he sighed.

  “Only the extras that Doctor Taylor prescribed.”

  “Prescribed?” Jake almost choked on the word.

  “Check the wooden box to your right. Third shelf down.”

  Jake scanned the shelf and found a small box that he had originally dismissed. He pointed to it, and Cal nodded solemnly. Jake opened the top to reveal three pill bottles. He picked one up and read the label. He didn’t know exactly what the medicine was, but knew enough to recognize that it was a prescription from Dr. Taylor.

  “Which one of you is sick?” he asked. Every word seemed a bitterer pill than the one before.

  “Both of us. The meds are for Lexi.”

  Jake swallowed. The lump in his throat tightened even more. “With what?”

  Cal shrugged and motioned back to the front of the shop, then turned away. Jake took a moment’s pause, biting his lip and bowing his head, before catching up. “Nasty cold at first,” Cal said. “Lexi’s got pneumonia now. That’s why Doc’s been getting us extra rations. She might die otherwise.”

  Jake watched his neighbor swirl the pan to stir the soup. The tantalizing smell was driving him to salivate, and his hunger returned with a vengeance. The urge to kill his neighbor and feast on the meager meal was gaining momentum. Then Jake remembered his own family, huddled somewhere in the dark and cold recesses of an apartment just a few hundred feet away.

  Just get what you came for, he thought.

  Cal had wrapped the blanket around himself again, and was holding the soup pan in his left hand, blanket as a barrier from the heat. He looked expectantly, if not pleadingly, at Jake. The plan was unraveling. He couldn’t make up his mind between murder and surrender.

  “Please. Lexi needs to eat.”

  “So do we,” he blurted.

  Cal nodded solemnly. “I know. I really know what you’re going through. Please, just put the gun away and come upstairs with me.”

  Jake lowered the barrel just an inch or two, hesitating as he processed Cal’s request.

  “I’m not going to try anything,” Cal continued. “Please, just don’t freak Lexi out.”

  Jake sighed and lowered the weapon, turning on the safety before tucking it away. Cal nodded and walked up the stairs, beckoning for Jake to follow. He did so, and when they reached the top, he nearly dropped to his knees in horror.

  The McLaughlins were very prominent in Concordia. Cal’s reputation, earned during Unification, had put him in high regard with many. He had his own business making soap and biodiesel for the colony. Cal was also known as a prolific barterer, trading his own service shrewdly for that of others. Many in the colony, Jake included, believed that they had almost instantly become a wealthy and prosperous family. It was why Jake targeted them as soon as he found out they were stealing food. Or so it had seemed.

  Reality set in quickly for Jake. The McLaughlins were, at best, living on par with everyone else in the colony. They had next to nothing in their apartment. A single dresser. A bed. A couple nice blankets. A pantry that wouldn’t last the winter. And an extremely ill spouse.

  Cal knelt next to his wife, who was staring at Jake through sullen eyes. “Hey, Lex. Jake came to see us. He wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  Jake put on a fake smile, prompted by Cal’s outright lie. “Hi Alexis. Sorry to hear you’re under the weather,” he said as he timidly took a few steps forward. He kept his hands firmly in his pocket, crossing his front. He didn’t want to chance her seeing the gun.

  She smiled weakly. “Hey, Jake. How’s Cora? I miss her so much.”

  Her sweet, innocent words drove a lance through his heart. There was no way that this woman, who was all skin and bones, bedridden and coughing, could have been stealing maliciously from the community. She just needed food and medicine. And through it all, she still thought of Cora.

  “She’s fine,” he choked back his emotion, barely able to maintain his façade. “She’s in love with another guy though. I’m pretty sure Earl’s stolen her heart. But what can you do, right? Little stinker’s got such pinchable cheeks.”

  “Aww, that’s cute,” she fawned. “Give them my love.”

  Cal took his wife’s hands in his. “I’ve got to go talk to Jake for a minute. You eat up, okay? I’ll be up in a minute for bed.”

  Jake went back downstairs, unable to watch the display of affection any longer. He was wrong about the McLaughlins, and it was tearing him up inside. At the same time, his own family needed food. Even though what was left in Cal’s store room wasn’t enough for the McLaughlins to survive the winter, the Granger family had even less. And more mouths to feed. He stumbled into the front of the shop and collapsed, his back to the counter, his head buried in his hands. He couldn’t win. If he robbed his neighbor, his family would eat for a little longer, but Alexis might die. If he went home, it would be empty handed, to three more starving mouths. Jake broke down and cried, unable to handle the pressure any longer.

  Minutes passed. It could have been nearly an hour, for all Jake knew. He struggled endlessly with the moral quandary. But his neighbor ended it for him. Jake felt something nudge his foot. He looked down through bleary eyes to see a wooden crate. Inside were a bag of crackers, a bag of jerky, a bag of beans, and two jars of soup.

  “W-what?” he gasped, looking up at the tall, lanky young man.

  “Go. Take this.”

  Jake clamored to his feet. He wiped his eyes and snorted, clearing his nose. “N-no. I… I can’t.”

  “It’s what you came here for.”

  “No, Alexis needs this.”

  Cal shook his head and nudged the crate with his foot. “This isn’t hers. This is mine.”

  Jake’s heart dropped. He understood the sacrifice that Cal was offering. “No. You’ll starve to death.”

  “Better me than your boys.”

  Jake rose to his feet and met Cal’s eyes. He shook his head vehemently. “No. No, I can’t.”

  “You will. Or I’ll tell Darius what happened.” Cal’s eyes were stern and his gaze was grim. “Take this and leave. That’s your only option.”

  Jake had little doubt that he’d be true to his word. He bent down and collected the hefty crate. Jake nodded at his neighbor, and without a word exited through the front door, which was held open for him.

  Four hundred feet away, in front of the door to his apartment, Jake’s knees gave out as adrenaline wore off and guilt overcame him.

  * * *

  Calvin McLaughlin

  23 Jan, 2 yal, 07:22

  Cal, wake up.

  Alexis. Her voice was so far away. It echoed as if coming from beyond a faraway hill, yet it was closer than that. He licked his lips and turned over.

  Cal, God damn it, wake up!

  In a minute, he responded.

  It was so very hot. Balmy, actually. Bravo’s sun beat down on his brow from high above, filtered by thousands of tiny mesquite leaves.

  “There’s no mesquite, idiot,” his own voice lectured.

  “Huh?”

  “Demeter. There’s no mesquite on Demete
r, stupid.”

  Cal was truly beginning to despise his alternate self. He was trying to remember how long it had been since he came back. Four days? Five? Keeping track had become a chore, and not one that Cal particularly relished.

  “Sure there are. Over at the… uhm…”

  “Texas,” the doppelganger replied dryly.

  “Yeah, over at the Texas.”

  Cal? C’mon, Cal.

  “Wow. You really are brain dead, aren’t you?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  “Sure. Just give me a chance to talk to Doc,” Cal grinned.

  I’m here, Calvin. What do you want to talk about? Distinctly Dr. Taylor, yet distinctly far away.

  “Oh, you’re talking to her alright.”

  Cal sat up, shielding his eyes from the bright sun to get a better look at his spectral tormentor. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  His double cupped his hands over his mouth and raised his voice to a shout. “You’re dying, stupid.”

  Cal lay back down in the grass. “No tunnel, no angels, no lights.”

  “OK, so what’s that big ball of fusion up there?”

  “The sun.”

  “Think that might be a light?”

  Cal ignored his double.

  “Do I have to sing for you? I mean, I’m not a fat lady, but I’m pretty sure it’s about the same in the end.”

  “Oh, I’m sure your voice is so lovel.. AARGH!”

  Cal’s though was cut short by an intense stabbing pain that ran through his arm. He bolted upright, clawing at the site of the pain. There was a tiny but bright red spot on his skin that wasn’t there a moment before.

  “Got your attention yet?”

  “What the fuck was that?”

  I’m sorry, Calvin. Dr. Taylor again.