Each one paused momentarily, a fault that would lead to each of their ends. One-by-one, he took them down and disabled them like pieces of machinery. He didn't think about it; he just did it. At some point, he felt like he was just watching his body react and hands work.
He remembered what battle felt like, the fluidity, the complete lack of thought. It wasn't a time for thinking. Instinct prevailed.
Before the symphony of his killing spree resolved, three of the dead remained, and they did not hesitate. Stellan knew if he'd been facing humans, noticing their dwindling numbers, they would pause to re-evaluate the situation. There was no such moment with the dead. They lunged for him all the same.
He stood his ground. They drew into a tighter formation, and as they neared him, their speed grew, more eager and hungry for their meal.
Stellan turned to see where Daelen and Wendy were, and they had come around the corner, their eyes agape with fear and surprise.
"Stay close!" Stellan said. Daelen stepped forward, holding Wendy's hand.
"Look out!"
Stellan turned back to the dead in front of him just as they were crashing down like a wave. Instinct instructed him to drop the pipe, go with it, and take them to the ground, and he took the closest one by the neck and twisted it over him as they fell. He felt the familiar snap of bone between his fingers as he drove it head first into the deck.
The others missed, battling each other for the first bite. One of them got ahold of Stellan's boot and pulled. Stellan could feel its fingers clutch and climb his leg like a ladder.
With his boot heel, he found its throat, and pushed it away. It rolled and then staggered, trying to stand on shaky limbs.
The other one was on him again, and with his fingers digging into its throat, Stellan held it at bay, using the time to look for Daelen and Wendy.
So focused on him, they didn't hear the group from behind finally close in. Their arms reached out and swallowed Wendy, lifting her away in a red veil to the sound of her shrill screams.
"No!" Stellan cried, watching her slash frantically with Rick's switchblade and bury it into a skull. She fought, but they took her all the same.
Daelen recoiled, and a couple of the dead from the group turned their attention to her. They approached like intrigued, shy birds. Their heads bobbed and weaved stupidly, and their eyes stared like empty buckets that filled with murderous intent as they drew nearer.
Stellan realized he'd been mistaken. There was one more thing for the dead to take from him, one more debt for them to collect.
Daelen backed away, but for every step she took, they closed two steps. Stellan watched total failure near.
The one on him snapped its jaws, trying to bite his hands, and something boiled inside of him, something so primal he'd not yet been able to tap into it, something that screamed from his chest that this was it. This was the end of everything.
He rolled with the one that pinned him and kicked it away. He shot up to his feet and dashed for Daelen, grabbing her in his arms and pulling her away just as one of the dead lunged for her, snapping its jaws at the air she used to occupy, crashing to the floor in a crumbling tower of flesh and bone. He kicked the other back into the horde from which it had come.
They ran for the lift. He sent Daelen toward it as he tackled one of the dead that had regained its footing.
Daelen called the lift and put her back to the door. Stellan joined her.
The dead approached. This was it.
Cornered and embattled, Stellan cradled Daelen's face and gazed deeply into her eyes.
"Look at me, not them," he said.
She stared back, fear, panic, despair, every emotion that plagued humanity emanating from her face, measuring her helplessness.
Just when they believed it was over, that no one would survive the madness of the Atlas, the lift announced salvation with the system's signature chirp, and the doors parted. They spilled into it.
Fearing the grasping fingers of the dead would cut off the doors from closing, they knew they'd put their lives into the hands of the Atlas, a dying, mechanical deity. They hoped and prayed the doors would close before the dead could stop them.
Powerless as they'd become, the Atlas granted them the one last chance they sought, sealing the doors inches before the fingers of the dead could pry their way in.
Eight
The moment the doors closed, the voices of the dead faded. Even as their limbs crashed into the metal frame, it seemed to Stellan and Daelen they had entered another world. In an instant, they'd been whisked away just before their lives had been taken from them. They were in a safe place, but death still felt incredibly near. The echoes remained, calling their names.
In some ways, Stellan and Daelen were between worlds. They didn't know quite what to expect when they got to the command deck, but they knew it wouldn't be the same. Of course, they still had obstacles to overcome, though they were of an entirely different nature now. Getting through one offered them a few moments of respite, and what they each did with that time differed greatly.
Daelen looked to the past. She marveled at how far the Atlas had fallen. Everything had changed in the last few hours, and everyone they knew and cared about was gone. Even their closest friend, Captain Gordon Pierce, was, in a way, gone, disappearing into the black along with everyone and everything else.
Daelen's and Stellan's minds met on the thought of Pierce. Stellan looked to their future. The next few minutes would determine their fate, and if they couldn't outmatch Pierce, their changed world would burn. For Stellan, however, it had become much simpler than saving the Atlas. If he couldn't stop Pierce, he wouldn't be able to save Daelen, and all his sacrifices, all the crew's sacrifices, would have been in vain. Daelen had become the embodiment of all his success and failure, the last remaining survivor of the Atlas. In many ways, she was his last hope just as he was hers.
They gazed at each other from opposite walls of the lift, breathing, living, wondering what the other was thinking. In their silence, the lift's humming and creaking spoke for them. It said they needed to enjoy their time together because every moment they'd had and would have was a gift.
"I love you," Stellan said.
"I know. I love you, too."
Always, their eyes held onto each other, and it was all the embrace they needed before the lift halted and opened its doors onto the command deck. A blinding light screamed through the opening. In all the gloom and death below, they'd forgotten the brilliance of the command deck, which appeared untouched by the madness. They were thankful for that.
They stepped carefully out of the lift, and it felt like stepping back in time to a safer world, a simpler world where the Atlas was just a carrier. Their eyes blinked with wonder, struggling to adjust.
It had never felt so empty. Vacant workstations had fallen dim, no longer filling with requests for department heads to process. The staccato tapping of those same workers' fingers on the glass keyboards was silent. No banter flew between Arlo and Navigator Evans. For all the stillness, the bridge at the end of the command deck loomed, its brilliant white light shining like static, and resolute Pierce stood on his platform as always, arms crossed behind his back like nothing had changed, watching Apophis 259 draw nearer.
Though the dead no longer clutched at their heels, their well of time was running dry. They had to move forward, aware Pierce had to know they were there. Still, they crept slowly and carefully. Their minds and bodies had already adapted to that new world below, which now belonged to the mad and the dead. On the command deck, only the damned remained.
"You can't stop this, Stellan," Pierce said. "But you and I both know you're going to try."
Stellan paused, suspicious of Pierce's intent. Pierce playing possum had been an advantage, a tactic Stellan thought he was using to draw them out. Why would he simply discard it like that?
"There's still hope," Stellan said. "We can still save lives."
Pierce bowed and shook his hea
d. Stellan continued to creep down the corridor toward the bridge. Daelen followed, terror trembling on her lips, which she tried to still with her fingertips.
"Even now you can't see it. What's important."
"I think you and I just differ on that," Stellan said.
"This is bigger than us," Pierce said. "It has to stop here. It would destroy Earth if it ever got there. Nothing is more important."
"What's the point if everything that makes us great—hope, freedom, love—is already gone?" Stellan asked. "This madness, whatever it is, can't kill that. Only we can."
"What do you mean?"
"You shot me. After everything we've been through, you aimed a gun at me and pulled the trigger. You gave up. What happened to you? The Gordon Pierce I knew would never give in like that."
Pierce turned slowly, and even though his hands had been empty only a moment ago, when they could see his face, blank and solid as a monolith, he held his sidearm. It surprised Stellan, and he drew his own in reflex.
Across the threshold of the bridge, they aimed their weapons at each other.
"I'll do it again if need be. Only this time, I'll put it where it counts."
Pierce's weapon lingered on Stellan for a moment, and then he fixed it on Daelen. She stepped back in terror.
"Drop your weapon," Pierce said. "You and I both know you have nothing left."
"You dropped quite a few of them yourself on your way here," Stellan said. "How do I know you're not empty?"
"Because I plan ahead."
It was a game, and they had no choice but to play it. As long as Pierce stalled them, he won. If he shot Daelen, he won.
Stellan turned his palms up and slowly knelt, placing his weapon on the deck and kicking it to the side.
Looking down to the workstations before the platform, Stellan saw the body of Navigator Cooper Evans on the floor. He had two bullet wounds, one in his thigh and one in his forehead.
"He wouldn't follow orders," Pierce said. "I warned him, and he still wouldn't. Penalty for mutiny is death."
"Have you lost your mind!?"
"On the contrary," Pierce said with genuine sorrow. "I'm the only sane man left on this ship. In a few minutes, it's not going to matter anyway whether he went by gunshot or fire or decompression. Nothing matters anymore except ending it here and now."
An asteroid shook the Atlas, and Pierce didn't even flinch.
"You know," Pierce said, "to your credit, I should have listened to you. I accept responsibility. You were right. This run was fucked from the beginning."
"Indeed," a voice said from the shadows. They all looked, their attention drawn, surprised to find a woman emerge from a blind corner. Her bare feet rolled quietly on the metal deck, and she limped into the light, holding in one hand the black brick of alien material and, in the other, her sidearm, aimed at Pierce. His expression of surprise and recognition widened beautifully. She clutched at her abdomen, any remaining color in her skin seeping from her wound and soaking through bandages that wrapped around her waist.
"While you idiots shot up the place," Council Agent Adelynn Skinner said, "including yours truly, I rationed my ammunition. Who'd like to bet I don't have enough in here for all of you?" She winced at a fresh bolt of pain, and as it passed, her ghost eye exploded with life, as if she'd somehow become more human. Purely out of reflex, Daelen moved to assist, but Adelynn flashed her a look that said they weren't that friendly. In spite of her outward frailty, Stellan recognized the fire, a relentless will to pull the trigger, and he didn't question whether she could because he saw in her face that she absolutely would.
"Now let's play nice," Skinner said. "Whaddya say? One big happy fucking family?"
"You won't," Pierce said.
"Why not? You did me. Code of Hammurabi. An eye for an eye." She smirked. "Call it cosmic fucking justice." Her hand trembled. Daelen knew she wouldn't last much longer.
Skinner held out the brick to Stellan. "Take it."
"No!" Pierce said. Skinner pressed the barrel of her sidearm into Pierce's skull, and he winced, not entirely from the pain, also from the fear.
"You should really get that shoulder looked at," Skinner told Stellan. "Your pretty wife did a nice job on the bandages, but it's going to need more than that. If you don't take this, she'll never be able to cure you."
He looked at it with wonder, and he wanted to take it. He knew Pierce was right, but some part of him hoped for a second chance. That part of him screamed that he wanted to live, that he deserved to take this risk, and he reached out to take it.
"No! Stellan, if you take it, I will kill her! Do you understand me!?"
Stellan's fingertips touched the brick, and a gunshot clapped in the bridge.
He pulled away and looked to Daelen in a panic, finding the barrel of his own sidearm staring in his direction, her hands still shaking, reverberating from the recoil.
Pierce lay on the ground, blood pooling in his lap from a gaping hole in his chest, and Stellan rushed to him, kneeling, paying no heed to the blood because it didn't matter anymore. Everywhere he looked, everything had become red.
"Don't," Pierce said weakly. "You can't."
Skinner tapped Stellan on the shoulder. "Take it. There's still time. Take the lift up to the services main concourse. You can launch a life boat from there." He was frozen. "Stellan, this is my failsafe. You."
"If you come with us, I may be able to stabilize you," Daelen said. "Give you a chance."
"No," Adelynn shook her head. "You and I both know I wouldn't survive the trip. Anyway, that's not important. I wasn't lying when I said my mission was to ensure the delivery of that material. Because of you, I won't fail."
She smiled at Pierce, who wore a look of spite even as his life force drained from his abdomen. "Besides, we've had this coming for a while."
"Stellan, you can't," Pierce whispered. "If you leave, you risk everything!"
Stellan looked at Daelen affectionately. "Maybe. But it's a risk I have to take."
He took the brick from Skinner, and it felt like taking a bribe from the Devil. Daelen and Stellan turned their backs on Pierce and Skinner, and as they walked toward the lift at the rear of the command deck, their hands found each other. Stellan clutched the black brick to his chest as if its mere presence already worked to cure him.
"Stellan!"
Pierce's voice echoed behind them until they entered the lift and the doors closed on the whole mad world.
Nine
When the lift reached the services deck, Stellan and Daelen found it easy to let go and feel the excitement. Forgetting felt good. For the first time in a while, they looked forward.
When the doors parted on the lonely, desolate concourse, a wide and long corridor that resembled a cavern, any good cheer they felt evaporated. They were tired of the fear, tired of the anticipation, tired of the unknown. The emptiness of the once-bustling halls reminded them that, like the Atlas, they had nothing left.
"On the bright side," Stellan said, "it's empty."
Daelen nodded with unmistakable regret.
The lifeboats weren't far from the lift, but they still felt exposed when they stepped into the corridor. At that point, the exhaustion felt like a hole in their chests. It reached up and pulled on their eyelids. Every bone in their bodies ached.
The desire to simply lie down was so strong that Stellan wasn't sure he'd be able to defend them if something had been there. The only thing that pushed them forward was the uneasiness of that hallway and the occasional asteroid impact that shook the ship and reminded them their time was running out.
Even without knowing how much time they had left, visualizing a closing door before them, they could only stagger at a walking pace.
They came to doors that lined the corridor on either side. They'd often passed doors like these all over the Atlas. The holopanels had always glowed red, and they'd never seen behind them. Now, the panels were green, and even through everything, they felt a twinge of exci
tement, as if they were venturing into undiscovered country.
Stellan waved his link over the panel, and the door opened, sliding smoothly into the wall frame, revealing darkness beyond. A cold draft swept out of the space. They stood silent and still at the threshold, waiting, as the lights warmed and showed the path beyond.
The doorway contained a narrow hallway that led up a ramp. The red emergency lighting helped them see obstructions, and at their feet, spotlighting shone through metal grills, revealing the path and any tripping hazards.
Even though they couldn't be certain what lay ahead, they felt compelled to move into that alien space because there was nothing left for them on that ship.
Stellan helped Daelen up the ramp, which seemed to go on for miles, turning on landings between floors and zigzagging to the top of the Atlas. On each landing, they found more doors, which they assumed led to other decks. On their side, the access panels were red, signaling they had to keep moving up the ramps.
A heavy asteroid rocked the Atlas, setting them off balance. They felt the ship drift as if losing traction and slipping. Non-emergency lighting flickered. Internal systems sputtered. The ship veered.
The Atlas was dying. It hadn't yet slammed into the Apophis planet, but that it soon would was now unavoidable.
The thought made them hasten up the ramps with renewed vigor, and after a few more flights, they found another row of doors in the narrow passageway. This time, the doors were only on one side and spread farther apart.
Stellan waved his link over the first access panel they came to, and again, the ancient door that had never been opened did as it was commanded without hesitation.
It opened into a circular room. The walls were lined with stasis chambers that reminded Stellan of the hyperbaric chamber Edward had inhabited to heal after his exposure.
Daelen crossed the threshold into the room. Stellan remained in place. She turned with a frightened look.
"I can't," Stellan said.
"Yes, you can." Daelen reached for Stellan's hand, and he did not recoil. "I need you to."
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