She kept her eyes tightly shut and struggled to retain the beach in her mind. It was a hopeless battle. Soon (much too soon) reality mercilessly banished her sweet fantasy.
The background noises caused by various mechanical and electronic devices grew more noticeable as they continued softly chirping, ticking, clicking, chugging, and quite often beeping. They'd been making their various technological noises all along, but while the air purifiers blew through the network of vents they couldn't be heard, especially when she stood before the main air return.
One sound was more erratic and infrequent when it came to her attention. It was a noise that began many months earlier. She turned toward the securely shut airlock hatch and watched as Commander Pavel Tolstoy whacked his helmeted head against the view-port.
Tolstoy's face appeared almost no different than it had a week after he died. His helmet's interior battery powered LED lighting was dark (just as it had been for months) but the space station's lighting made it easy enough to view the commander's face. His skin appeared tight and his lips were drawn back, exposing his unnaturally large looking gums and teeth. The sealed helmet and his EMU, Extravehicular Mobility Unit, suit had robbed the process of natural decomposition of the air necessary to allow nature to fully take its course. But that's not to suggest he could be mistaken as being alive.
No, he was not a living man and yet neither was Pavel Tolstoy precisely dead. He'd become a gross parody of the living, just as billions of human beings on the planet's surface were. Although, in comparison to those reanimated corpses mindlessly meandering across the ground and despite having been undead for over six months, Commander Tolstoy did indeed appear to be in remarkably good condition.
There were a series of chimes that repeated for several seconds before a computerized voice came through wall mounted speakers.
“Attention. Attention. An incoming communication has been detected. Please respond within sixty seconds. No response will automatically shuttle this message to archive for later review. Caution. Archive is 93% full. Please delete older files. Automatic file deletion will remove data based on priority and date received if necessary. There are now forty five seconds to respond.”
She grunted and launched herself across the cabin. Zero gravity made this easy and quick. She came to a stop by grabbing a support bar mounted above communications console. After lightly tapping the computer's touch screen and entering her code, she spoke into the microphone. “This is Ming Yeow. ISS communications, go ahead.”
There was the customary delay of several seconds, and a bit of static, before a familiar and comforting voice answered. “Howdy, Miss 'Meow'. How's life treating ya'll up there in the final frontier this morning?”
Ming smiled a bit before answering. “Hello, Louis. It's Ming Yeow, not 'Meow', as you well know. As for life up here, it's the same as usual except for my fast approaching departure time. I've packed my bag and checked the parachute rig probably at least fifty times over the last week. According to calculations that I've run through the on-board computer, if everything works correctly, and there are no glitches, I should be making landfall somewhere within fifty miles of Douglas Wyoming around 3AM tomorrow. Everything still peaceful around Cheyenne?”
“Yep, we still get folks moseying in every once in a while. A wagon-train of school buses from Chattanooga Tennessee rolled in a few days back. There were close to three hundred folks, mostly kids, on board. Well, I say kids but in reality mostly they were teens and twenty somethings. They looked fairly beat to shit all things considered. There were a good number that were skinny as rails but still they're a nice addition.”
Ming's dark-green eyes focused on the speaker's plastic grill as she tried not to feel jealous or regretful. It had been entirely her own decision that left her stranded and all alone (except for Commander Tolstoy) for the last seven months. She never told anyone but sometimes spoke to Pavel when the solitary life became too much. In spite on this, it simply wasn't the same as having someone to really talk with and usually made her feel more depressed afterward.
After almost a minute of no one speaking, Louis said, “Listen up, little lady, I know you're probably scared. At least I'd be more nervous than a cat in a retirement home full of drooling geezers in rocking chairs. But we've confirmed your computer simulations down here. I know that we've gone over this before; more times than I can guess, but you need to think positive. Once you ignite the retro-rockets over China, the station will descend as you cross the Pacific. As the ISS computers confirm the trajectory vectors and your location to be over California, you will be low enough to exit the airlock and make your jump.” There were a few moments of static before he continued. “Yeow? You alright? Everyone knows you can do this.”
Ming nodded and asked, “How are my odds running?”
“I thought you didn't approve of gambling,” Louis said with a small chuckle. There was a sound of paper being rattled as he lifted a notepad and a moment later he continued. “Well, odds are even that you make landfall within fifty miles of Douglas. We've already sent some folks out there to pick you up. The town of Douglas has been deserted for months. There's no stinkers, troublemakers, or anyone else around. So no matter where you land in that neck of the woods you'll be fine as frog's hair.”
“Okay, what about the under or overshoot odds?”
“If you jump too soon and wind up... Somewhere out west, the odds go higher but you won't jump the gun. I know you, Meow. You're one cool cat.”
Ming swallowed hard and tried to sound cheerful as she asked, “and if I overshoot?”
There was a very long pause before Louis said, “for each hundred miles past Douglas the odds increase to a maximum of 100 to 1. But that won't happen, Ming. Trust me; you're too smart to do that. Plus, the computer simulations we've run down here give the operation a 73% success probability.”
Ming grunted doubtfully then said, “That's strange, Louis. According to my calculations I've only got a 37% success probability. Maybe those computers you've scrounged up aren't quite as accurate as those aboard this hundred billion dollar international space station. You sure you didn't accidentally transpose the three and seven?”
“Ming, if anyone can pull this harebrained scheme off it's you. But just for argument's sake, I'll play the devil's advocate. The absolute worst case scenario is something gets royally screwed up, the ISS blows up during re-entry, and you're incinerated. Is that really worse than starving to death up there all alone?”
Ming felt her stomach rumbling the moment he mentioned starving. Since the rest of the crew took the escape pod she'd been on a very low calorie diet and dropped almost thirty pounds of weight. Losing thirty pounds might not seem like much but since she'd only weighed a hundred and ten when they left, it was quite literally becoming a matter of life and death. “Louis, you better butcher a couple of hogs and throw one heck of a barbecue when I get there.”
“No problem, Meow. The herds are growing even faster than Cheyenne's population. We've got enough buffalo to film a dozen John Wayne movies, plus a surprisingly good cow and pig population. I'm also happy to report that a passel of folks have been working on your homecoming hoedown... or hootenanny if you prefer that term. The big chief has even scrounged up one of them Mexican Merry-Archie Bands to play at your homecoming bash. The world owes you big time, Ming. Without your discovery that the radiation from that interstellar storm was dropping, as it began leaving the solar system, well, a lot of people were wondering why go on at all. You've given folks something that's been in short supply for a long time; HOPE. I'm not sure if anyone around here knows how to build or carve a statue but if anyone deserves one it's you, little buckaroo.”
“Louis, we're about to be out of communications range. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate... everything. I'm going to give it one hell of a try and think positive. But if... if something goes wrong... I'll-” Ming managed to say before feeling too choked up to speak and then found herself crying.
Ming consulted her watch. There were fourteen hours until it was time to go home, as either a hero or a small amount of ashes. She warmed several remaining packets of food that weren't stowed in her luggage then tried to swallow the largest repast she'd had in months. It wasn't easy to savor what she considered to be most likely her last meal. This wasn't simply because she could soon be dead. Mostly it was due to what types of food remained on-board. Despite both of her parents emigrating from China to the United States of America, and their repeated attempts to share their preferences for seafood with her, she never liked it. Ming, who was born in the United States, grew up with a preference for pizza, steak, hamburgers, and beer. Her choice of diet embarrassed both parents, but it was the only thing they ever complained about.
After spreading pureed anchovies over a few saltine crackers, she added dabs of Tabasco sauce and managed to eat them. She was surprised it didn't taste as bad as she'd feared then moved on to a selection of yet more seafood, all of which had a toothpaste-like consistency. The last container held a special treat that she'd many times been tempted to eat during her solitary months spent in orbit. She peeled back the plastic seal and brought the small container up to her nose. Inhaling deeply the rapturous aroma of cheesecake topped with strawberries, Ming sighed and smiled before ferociously devouring her dessert. It took about eight seconds.
After dinner she floated across the cabin and confirmed that the computer's auto pilot program had finished reorienting the space station.
Technically, there is no up or down in space but most people tend to think there is. Even most of those who worked aboard the International Space Station referred to different sections as being up or down in relation to where they happened to be. This was based on the way the different compartments were added and connected, piece by piece, over many years. The solar panel arrays weren't really connected to the top of the station, since there wasn't actually a top or bottom. However, since it would have been pointlessly problematic having the station's shadow fall across the panels, the ISS was oriented so they were usually in line with the sun... or simply on 'top' of the facility.
The arrangement of thrusters used to orient the station were puny things that required a great deal of time and fuel to achieve even the smallest degree of movement. Ming confirmed that the thruster tanks were nearly empty, which was no surprise considering they'd recently finished rotating the entire ISS 180 degrees along its axis. According to her calculations there was just enough fuel remaining to initiate Operation Homecoming.
The array of solar panels was now closer to and facing earth, which would cause an observer to think the station was on 'top'. Ming checked that the system of batteries were sufficiently charged before starting the roll-over operation. The station's electronics could operate for another forty-eight hours before powering down. This wasn't a concern because in approximately thirteen hours she would begin the operation. Despite Louis having come up with the rather optimistic title Operation Homecoming, Ming secretly called it Operation Falling Star. This wasn't a romantic idea but a more realistic one, to her mind, since she knew the odds were impossibly long that the ISS wouldn't simply disintegrate upon re-entry.
The computer diagnostics and simulations showed her that the heavy-lift rocket engines were now aimed toward space. If the solar panel array could be thought of as the station's 'top' the heavy-lift engines were definitely on the 'bottom'... or had been until recently. The heavy-lift rocket engines were designed and intended to occasionally push the station into higher orbit but now were in position to do the exact opposite.
Ming tapped the touch screen for several minutes and disengaged all the various redundant systems that were designed specifically to keep the space station from being plunged into the atmosphere. “I bet if the guys who dreamed up and built this thing knew what I was doing they'd have a major shit-fit,” Ming muttered with a small mischievous grin. She spent another ninety minutes confirming everything was ready for re-entry then yawned and checked her watch.
“It's time for a nap. It's going to get very busy in twelve hours,” Ming said then started heading for the bunkhouse. The compartment everyone called the bunkhouse (especially Louis) was officially designated the Copernicus Cabin, but no one on board ever called it that. She heard the tapping of Pavel whacking his helmeted head against the airlock hatch and briefly considered visiting him. No, I need to sleep. I don't need to talk to that thing. Whatever made Pavel Tolstoy a man is not in that suit. It's just a corpse, a very active annoying corpse, she thought gruffly, as if trying to convince herself of something she already should have accepted.
The bunkhouse was very nearly silent and completely dark. She'd used black electricians tape to cover those lights that couldn't be shut off, or that she couldn't find a way to turn off. There was a low hiss of air being pumped through ducts, but other than that it was the quietest compartment. Although if an emergency happened while Ming slept the computer would signal an alarm klaxon that should wake her.
She snuggled into her 'body-bag'. It was officially designated a sleeping berth bag by the engineers, but Ming thought the cocoon-like sack appeared more like something corpses were placed inside of. It never bothered her slumber to crawl inside it... although with so much on her mind, she felt restless and unable to fall asleep. She forced her eyes shut and tried to focus on something peaceful. It didn't work. Several times, on the brink of unconsciousness Ming found herself jerking awake.
It felt as if her imagination was galloping like a wild startled filly across a prairie, as Louis might have said. She smiled weakly at the thought of herself being a horse, maybe even Louis', but gradually the fears crept back.
The list of worries on her mind was not small. The biggest fear was the one she'd had since things went wrong over a year earlier. Once it became clear and undeniable that people were NOT simply running mad and killing everyone but that reanimated corpses of people were responsible she'd hoped to wake up from what seemed like the longest nightmare in history. Ming never liked horror movies or scary books. She always tried to have an optimistic outlook for the future and humanity. It was the unquestionable fact that the world had turned into the stuff of nightmares that was the principle reason she'd stayed behind when the rest of the crew abandoned the station. As the others prepared to leave Ming spun a reasonable and logical tale why she wasn't joining them.
“If I stay here I can keep gathering data on the phenomenon. Some of the systems have crashed because of the electromagnetic properties from the radiation but most are still functioning. If I went back with you we'd be blind down there. Up here at least I can continue measuring the effects and hopefully find out if... or rather when the phenomena will move out of range.”
Ultimately, it was her decision to make although the crew did repeatedly point out the most obvious problem. There was only one Russian built Soyuz crew recovery vehicle docked at the station. Ming would be stranded and doomed to eventually die because the possibility of any further space launches was nonexistent. She wasn't swayed by this obvious fact. The only problem with her decision to stay was the stubborn Commander Pavel Tolstoy. He spoke to her privately as the crew prepared to leave.
“I too shall stay,” he said with a confident smile.
“I don't need your help to run things. You have a family, a wife and kids, and they are your responsibility. Plus, if you stay the food won't last as long,” Ming explained, sincerely wishing he'd just leave. He wasn't a bad man. She just wanted to be alone.
“Ming, even if you weren't staying I would not leave my post. I've spent much of my life aboard this station and won't aband
on it now. Besides, my wife and children were in Saint Petersburg. The devastation there was complete. They are dead... or worse.”
Ming knew that but still wished he'd go. She tried to convince him there was a chance they'd left the city before the nuclear blast. He only shook his head and smiled sadly while touching a small silver cross hanging from a thin chain around his neck. It didn't appear like most Christian crosses. It had three cross sections and the bottom one was at an angle. “They have gone on to their reward. I know this to be so. Never doubt this, and have no fear. You will not be alone here.”
After the crew left for earth Ming and Tolstoy worked to continue gathering data for almost two weeks before the accident. For months the particles of cosmic dust that had been on the forefront of the unprecedented interstellar phenomena had fallen to almost nonexistent levels. But without any warning the particulate matter returned, only in much larger micrometeorite sizes. They struck the station with enough force that it sounded as if a dump-truck of gravel were raining down. Before long multiple delicate pieces of equipment mounted outside the station were destroyed or not functioning, and Tolstoy swore in Russian as he donned his Extravehicular Suit. She argued it was suicidal to go outside even while helping him suit up.
“You worry too much,” he said confidently before entering the airlock. He insisted it was critical to secure the delicate scanners outside the station before they were all destroyed but did agree to wait for a lull in the meteoroid storm. After a quarter of an hour passed, Ming reported the striking sounds against the hull had slowed and almost stopped.
Tolstoy began the egress procedure. The pumps started removing the atmosphere inside the airlock when a meteoroid, roughly the size of a typical household refrigerator, struck the exterior hatch. It was not a fast moving object but because of its mass it still hit with enough force to damage the outer hatch. Tolstoy was uninjured, managed to exit the airlock and started to say something about the hatch then said, “Forget it, it's not important,” before continuing with his plan as if such things were a common occurrence.
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 24