Exodus

by Toasha Jiordano

  //It’s dark in here. I don’t think I’m supposed to be awake.// Panic strangles his cries.

  And that’s when I know.

  Echoes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Death is the ante of life

  - Ancient French parable

  I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s a breach of so many rules. Not to mention Howie’s privacy. But… he’s begging for help. His signal bounces all over the place, flailing and pleading for someone to save him. So I latch on. We sync.

  But, from here, this sterile pod on a doomed ship, all I can do is watch. I owe him that much, at least.

  Howie’s contorted, squeezed into a pod much like mine, but ill-equipped for his long lean body. Every pressure point screams for relief. A thick blanket of rose scented mist hangs in the air, but rose isn’t working. Howie’s awake. He’s been awake for so long.

  His fingers are bloody, yet he continues to bang on the panel. He’s sobbing, begging for the interface to come back. Begging for someone to hear him, for me. No tears fall down his cheeks, though. The I.V. in his arm can’t keep up. He’s empty.

  Howie mutters under his breath, or through his chip, or maybe he’s only thinking it. I’m inside his mind now and it’s impossible to tell. So cold. So cold. So cold. Tired. Cold. It quickly devolves into an incoherent mess of pain and fear.

  //I’m coming, Howie.//

  //Synta is that you?//

  White lights flash on the console before our eyes and I feel Howie’s surge of adrenaline. Help is on the way!

  //I got Brooks on a pod. He’s safe. I got him on a pod for you! Tell Brooks I love him. Synta? Synta can you hear me?//

  I recognize my own fear in his voice, how I felt when I said my farewell to him in the shower stall.

  Vallon was right. He’s hearing my echoes as I lay dying on the shower floor.

  Familiar lines of DOS scroll quickly past, but something’s not right. So much of the code is red. It shouldn’t be red. Red is bad.

  //I’m so tired, Syn.//

  The lines speed up, flying by too fast to read. It turns into a long red stream of nonsense and starts flashing.

  Howie’s male announcer – the same one who’s been talking to me – repeats “Critical failure” as the entire pod flashes red.

  An ice cold burst of wetness seeps into our arm. The skin around our I.V. has come loose and the lifesaving liquid pools around our elbow. It’s pure agony. How long has he been going through this? Alone?

  The interface disappears and vast empty space swirls around us. Speckles of white and yellow light blink in and out. This has the calming effect on us that the rose gas never could.

  Down below, the male voice shows us two planets, locked in a tight orbit with each other. I wonder if the blue one is Gliese. The rust colored one is smaller, wobbling. A parasite.

  Our pod rips through the nothingness, aiming for the invisible dot between the two astral bodies.

  As low and slow as possible, the voice tells us how we’re going to die.

  ###

  All of outer space whirls around us and the voice keeps our focus pinpointed to that imaginary spot between the two dancing planets. Our homing beacon has malfunctioned. We can't lock onto our coordinates. The dot rushes toward us and I swear I can make it out. It's right there. It does exist. My mind creates a physical moment in space to comfort us.

  //I'm scared, Syn. I…//

  Howie doesn't complete the thought, and yet I know. A wave of fear crashes into us, churning against raw anger. It peels grains of regret from our soul.

  Our long life together flashes before our watery green eyes. Years of playing, climbing, chasing… all blow away in a puff of smoke. We're alone in the Stepp’s living room on that last night. I storm upstairs and slam the door. Howie slinks up a mere breath behind. And stands there, hand hovering over the door knob. Then he turns and walks away. Regrets.

  We drag Brooks to a pod, both choking on sick black smoke. Sirens bleat in the distance, Crimson terror flashes across lifeless faces on the floor. Brooks begs us to climb in with him, don't leave him alone. It's so dark. We pry his fingers from ours and lie with a smile. “Everything will be OK, Bit. I'll get the next one.” He doesn't notice we used his baby name. Or he's glad we did. He lays back and allows the lid to slide over him.

  The last pod. It doesn't light up right away like the others, but we climb in anyway. What choice do we have?

  Brooks is in a pod, Syn. He's safe.

  Unauthorized chip. Wrong pin. Abort. Resignation.

  We are spiraling toward our nothing point in space; faster and faster the planets zoom past, then reappear. They grow larger as we grow nearer.

  Terror.

  Serenity.

  Howie speaks to me, “Did you know? You had to. It had to be written all over my face. Every time I saw yours. Everyone expected so much from me. Why? My stupid eye color? You, Syn. You were the one. People should have come out to write articles about the brave girl who put everyone else first. You kept me going after…” Our voice cracks. The rest is more stream of consciousness than actual words, but I understand all of it.

  There are so many things I want to tell you. So much I thought I'd have time for.

  The planets fly by again.

  Time. I wasted so much time away from you. When you needed me.

  My scar replaces the scene of spiraling planets. The longer we stare at it the hotter it burns. The planets return, closer, faster.

  I should have been there. I should have saved you. I should have told you. I love you. I love you. I miss you. I don't want this to be the end. I need you.

  Our battered fists pummel the console. We thrash and kick and pound every inch of our coffin.

  The red lights blink off. White lines of code scroll by. Our male voice scratches and static noise buzzes over him. The panoramic view of stars in twin dancing planets goes black. Blinding pain rips us apart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  We mourn not for them

  But for ourselves,

  For friend and kin

  Rejoice beyond the veil

  - Sacerdot

  (Excerpt from poem read at the eulogy of Evelyn Stone

  Searing pain tears through my head. I bolt upright and bang it against the pod’s lid for good measure. Vallon’s bloody fist print smears across the glass and I recoil from it. There’s another, larger print splayed over it. A real hand.

  //Howie.// I reach out to him, try to reconnect.

  I can’t feel him.

  My pod flashes red and I suck in a deep breath, welcoming the calming lavender or rose. All I get is stale recycled air. The interface blinks and goes dark. The male voice has abandoned me.

  //Howie, I’m here. Where are you?//

  There’s a loud thump at the base of my pod. Startled, I jerk up again, but this time cover my head with my hand for protection. And feel… hair? What the hell?

  Both hands rush to my head. There’s hair, lots of it. Tight curls long enough to wrap around my finger. What in Stone’s name is happening?

  A new thump freezes me. I whisper a plea to Howie. //Help.// But I know he can’t.

  That’s when it hits me. We melded. I was there with Howie in his last moments, the same way Mom melded with Dad when he… died. She was there to comfort him in his final moments and I, I don’t even know if Howie knew I was there. But I was. I have to find solace in that.

  I have to get out of this pod.

  The red interior lights make it easy to find my I.V. and rip out the needle. A tiny drop of blood forms in its place and I rub it on my shirt. In doing so, I also scrape my wrist across the shirt and wince. Except, there’s no pain.

  The bandage comes right off and my skin is… perfect. There’s barely a scar. I tear at my other wrist, only to find the same clean thin line.

  I don’t have time to properly freak out because the seal breaks on my coffin and a whoosh of cold air rushes in. Cold nasty air that reeks of death and, even wor
se, male.

  My hands fish around the bottom of my pod and come up empty. Nothing to protect myself with.

  Peering over the edge, I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt collar. A pitiful moan comes from below, right where I need to put my feet.

  A large crumpled body is sprawled out around my pod, hugging the base of it. Convulsing.

  ###

  The frame is massive, but the body itself is frail. From where I’m staring, I can make out multiple layers of clothing laying loosely over someone’s spine. I can even count every lump, like the world’s most emaciated dragon is at my feet.

  Pulling my legs up toward my chest, I climb out of the head section of my pod and land as softly as possible on the freezing floor below. Then crumple to the ground beside the man as my legs give out.

  This rouses him and his head rises. The convulsions stop.

  Again I grab wildly at the air around me, praying to Stone that my fingers find something to protect me. Where’s my ZapStick?

  //Synta?//

  A gasp escapes my lips, bouncing around the empty room. It can’t be.

  //Synta? Can you hear me?//

  My eyes travel up the man’s body as he pushes himself onto all fours. My hands catch on something hard and cold, round. I yank it from its place and hold it like a bat. The man is moving so slowly, he still faces away from me. Rasping noises coming from his throat remind me of a man crawling across the desert in search of water.

  I tighten my grip on the weapon, which feels like a metal pipe. But I won’t dare turn my head to look. The man groans and inches around toward me, counterclockwise, dragging most of his body behind him.

  //Syn?//

  //Howie? Is that you? Please tell me that’s you.//

  One hand releases the pipe and latches onto my pod. I try to pull myself up, get to my feet, but my legs are useless. I slump back to the ground and drag myself closer to him, as he’s crawling toward me.

  “How?” I ask. “How is this possible?” I’m scooting as fast as I can toward him. The pipe scrapes across the floor in my hand, making an awful screeching noise. I toss it aside.

  “How?” Marshall asks me the same thing.

  ###

  We fall into each other. There’s nothing left of him. My arms wrap all the way around. I push back and examine him. His face is hollow. The shirt draped over him says ‘Landers’ on the tag. I remember Landers. She’s my size. Looking around at the dead bodies piled up at the base of each pod, I realize Landers was my size, not his. As evidenced by the fact that Marshall’s wearing her fatigues.

  “What happened to you?”

  Marshall swallows and attempts to speak, but only coughs. A dry, hacking, death’s door kind of rattle that hurts my own throat.

  //Is this easier?//

  A faint smile lights up Marshall’s gray face. //Missed this.// He reaches out a hand to pet me. //I missed so much.//

  //What happened to you?// I repeat through our chips.

  //Stay awake. Protect my men.//

  //You’ve been up this whole time?// I try to stand again, to help us both get off the floor. My legs cooperate with some trouble. Marshall weighs nothing compared to what I expect and I nearly toss him into the air. After a momentary wobble, we’re both upright.

  //Trust. Nobody.// As soon as the words enter my mind, he squeezes my hand. I didn’t take offense.

  //What about the food?// Marshall’s legs are no bigger than my arms. The towering hulk of a man I remember is, an empty shell.

  //Rot.// He retches at the thought. //Now?// He looks at me with red-ringed twitchy eyes. No tears fall down his skeletal face toward the fuzz of brittle gray hair on his chin. Staring at it sends my hands back to my own thick mass atop my head. One trails down my cheek, lightly grazing the rough scar that’s gone soft. Where there were thick raised lumps, I now feel deep smooth rivets. I imagine water carving a path through jagged rock and transforming it into slick stone.

  //You should have woken me.//

  We gingerly move through the long hallway that moments before, at least for me, was the scene of such destruction and chaos. Now it seems… too quiet… dark and empty like a shrine to those we lost. Those who were discarded like trash.

  Marshall flinches at the thoughts I’m broadcasting for everyone to see, everyone who is only him. Or maybe it’s the vice-like grip I have on his frail arm. //Sorry,// I transmit.

  //S’OK//

  His stilted speech, even in transmission form, fills me with unease. How long has he been alone?

  We both shiver at the deep cold as we pass through the center of the ship, to where I recall the cafeteria to be. It’s the only place I think I’ll feel safe, away from the bodies that litter every surface. Part of me expects to still see flashing orange lights and hear the sirens blaring through the halls. I’m so glad I don’t. I don’t think my nerves could handle it.

  Airlock seven hijacks my thoughts and sends a different kind of shiver across my spine. It feels like just this morning that I watched that crazy old lady throwing people out to their deaths. But… I know in my gut it’s been much longer.

  //How long was I asleep?//

  //Too long.// Is all he chips as we fall into the nearest booth. The cafeteria is strewn with box after box of soured slop. The smell has my stomach flip flopping before I can bring my shirt to cover my mouth.

  //You ate that shit?// I transmit without thinking, then bristle at the coarse language. Our current state has me forgetting that Marshall is my ranking officer.

  //Every couple days.// The wave of nausea that hits me after his words is all I need to know.

  How long has he been starving himself, only to gorge on rotted slop on the edge of death? I repeat my plea, softer but more urgent, //How long have I been asleep?//

  //Syn?// The distraught voice I hear isn’t Marshall’s.

  ###

  //Howie?//

  I’m so confused. I thought it was him earlier, but then… I look to Marshall. He doesn’t notice that my attention has shifted.

  //It’s so hot. I can’t breathe.// Panic unravels the edges of his sobs.

  //Howie? Are you really there? Right now?// Please Stone, don’t let this be another cruel echo.

  Marshall’s head drops to the table before us. He’s muttering something incoherent under his raspy breath. It sounds like he’s listing off his men, the one he swore to protect. The many he couldn’t. It’s a madman’s mantra.

  “Where’s water?” I ask him and he flings a non committal arm behind him. I push myself up from the booth and head toward the back kitchen, holding every steadying surface on my way.

  //Everything hurts, Syn. How long was I out?//

  I stop.

  The same questions I’m asking Marshall. I don’t think either one of us will get a clear answer.

  //Howie, if you can hear me right now, what was my cat’s name?// I don’t dare move or breathe for the long seconds it takes for his response.

  //Why... ? Tangie. What’s going on?//

  All the air and worry and weight fly out of me. Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed just how much I’d been holding in. //Oh, Howie. I don’t know what’s going on but… we’ve been… out of sync. I was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear. Then… I’d hear you, but… Oh, you’re here. You’re really here.//

  //I don’t know where ‘here’ is, Syn? It’s so dark. My pod… There’s smoke.//

  Marshall coughs behind me and I realize I’ve been standing in one spot. The rest of the path to cold storage is wide open and I have to move with care to keep from falling. But I make it, just as Howie asks, //Were you... here with me?//

  The meld.

  //I think so. It felt like it. I saw… everything. Felt it. I think we—//

  Both of us transmit //melded// together, with equal amounts of shock in our thoughts.

  Melds were only for someone’s final moments. One last comfort in death between — I try to stop the word ‘soulmates’ from le
aking out.

  My hand trembles on the water pouch as I squeeze it dry, filling less than half of a dingy glass for Marshall. Thoughts of my parents’ meld dig their way through my mind again and I shake my head to get rid of them. I’m teetering on the edge already; the last thing I need is for those images to come flooding back.

  Too late. The act of banishing them gives them strength. Dad’s bloody corpse in Mom’s lap. Her tears falling onto what’s left of his head. Mom’s beautiful brown eyes gone, turned so far back in her head they’re nothing but cloudy white orbs.

  //But I didn’t die.// Howie snaps me out of it, transmitting his comfort through Stone knows how many light years. Even now he’s thinking of me instead of himself. I don’t deserve him.

  I’m finding my legs more trustworthy on the trip back toward Marshall, who hasn’t bothered to lift his head in the time I’ve been gone. “Here, drink up.” I nudge his arm with the glass.

  //Who you talking to?// Howie chips, and I realize for the first time how just how far apart we are.

  //You’re not gonna believe this. The two ugly guards who caught me? One of ‘em’s kinda my friend now. And you’ll never guess what his name is!// Laughter spills from my lips at the irony, and Marshall responds to that more than the offered water.

  “Howie’s alive, Marshall.” I tap my chip as I slide into the seat across from him.

  //What’s his name?//

  //Marshall. What are the odds?//

  //Wow.//

  //Right? He was just telling me what happened while I was asleep.// Again I reach for my longer hair. //Something… happened… when we melded. I don’t think I was supposed to wake up yet.//

  My words hang in the air as my eyes scan the empty food boxes and I breathe in another putrid breath of rot. Howie must be letting that sink in because he doesn’t respond.

  “What have you been doing this whole time?” I ask Marshall when he’s finished chugging the gray water.

  He wipes a sleeve across his mouth, beard scratching the stiff fabric. With some of his strength restored, he attempts to speak.