Re: All the little lost boys and girls (Update: 23/12/10)
Posted: 2011-01-20 05:05pm
Day six and you're trapped in the Styx: the infection takes hold.
Coming up: Shannon and Abigail vs the hive and the other survivors come face to... er... face with trouble of their own.
Also, there's a little homage to Agatha Christie's sublime murder mystery And Then There Were None in this chapter. If you haven't read it (and why not?), it's definitely something I'd recommend. Ten people on an island and one by one they start to die...
Chapter 46:
Day Six:
It started with a cough.
A cough you couldn’t quite shake, sinuses burning and lungs filled with phlegm. Retries clasped a hand to his chest as another series of wracking coughs made him nearly double over, a Hadley-Wright nurse handing him a tissue. As he wiped his lips, he saw that it came away bloody.
“What,” Davis said quietly, to one in particular. “are you doing to me?”
~
“How many cases?” Colonel Hsing Paclan didn’t turn his eyes away from the monitor bank as a doctor whose name he didn’t know tried just as hard not to look at the displays.
“Nine so far,” the corper said. There were dark circles under the man’s eyes and his breath smelled like caffeine. Another ‘dreamkiller’, one of those who avoided sleep at all costs. There’d been more of them on the ship since they’d entered the Mists, even more since they’d found the DROP. Paclan frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard that odd term. It had only been on this expedition, hadn’t it? Surely he’d never heard it before...
...had he?
As he tried to place the phrase, Hsing realized the doctor was still talking. With an effort, he managed to pull his attention back to the corper. “...security team’s displaying symptoms of course, but two cases are from personnel who were in sections of the ship closest to the main environmental plant...”
Paclan’s hands curled into fists and the doctor’s words seemed to melt away. Veers. What he’d done already was bad enough, but he’d shut down the active filtration systems and ramped up the airflow throughout the frigate. Not for long, really – the petty officer’s changes had been overridden almost as soon as they’d been noticed. But long enough to spread his poison beyond the few small areas of the ship that the security teams had chased him through.
There’d been nothing Veers could do about the passive, physical filters set up in the environmental plant and ducts; mesh, carbon and other assorted filters used to clean detritus and contaminants from the air. There were even nanoscale filters intended to capture microbes; they weren’t 100% effective, but they did help. Just not as much when gaping holes had been ripped and chewed through them, allowing whatever obscene offspring Veers had birthed to scuttle throughout the ship.
Paclan had kill teams and hunter drones scouring Primal’s duct system – turning the entire frigate inside out – looking for those things, but they hadn’t turned up yet. Until they did, the ship was quarantined and the people outside would just have to stay outside.
Hsing rubbed his temples, trying to think. His thoughts seemed... muddier over the last few days and he was finding it harder to place names and people. Had it been only the past few days, though? No... it was just recently that it had gotten worse. Ever since they’d entered the Mists. He gave himself a mental shake. Just stress, that was all. Stress and fatigue. He had people on his crew holding up and damned if he was going to give in to cabin fever. The commander needed to be an example, that was what his uncle had always told him. It had been his uncle, he was sure of it...
“See to your patients, doctor,” he said, dismissing the corper and idly wondering just what the man’s name was.
~
This was bad.
In fact, ‘bad’ was an extraordinary understatement of the situation. The woman was still having trouble trying to understand just how things had gone so wrong so quickly. All thanks to her companion’s idiotic over-enthusiasm. The urge to simply kill him was there, but she suppressed it. That wouldn’t fix things and right now, she needed another meat shield between her and DROP 47’s various horrors. At least until rescue arrived. That was something of a forlorn hope, but it was all she had at the moment. That, and somehow getting to a comm system powerful enough to reach Silence and she wasn’t sure which plan was more difficult.
She walked along the battlements the mercenaries had set up in the bay – they’d been slowly expanding their barricades, building up deeper defences and cobbling together IEDs and other improvised traps, preparing for the next assault. It hadn’t come yet, but the R-types were never far away – only a few hours ago, that same female R-type had managed to ambush one of the soldiers and, like her earlier victim, carry him off before anyone could respond. Much more than one of the mindless drones, this polymorph was fast, lethal and obviously intelligent. The records of the last few failed expeditions had alluded to something like that infection form, but nothing concrete.
She supposed that the news of just how much the R-series could change its hosts would be greeted with both excitement and frustration by the Planning Board, but her concerns were just a bit more immediate than that.
The woman dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to retain her composure as she nodded to several of the mercenaries on the defence line, her gaze passing over her associate. At least he had the decency not to look her in the eyes, pretending to be suddenly ensconced in cleaning his gun.
Anger was something that she couldn’t afford. That’s what she told herself. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit some culpability of her own. The plan for the mission had to been to pair one asset with each agent. In order to compartmentalize information, the agent was only supposed to contact the asset when the ship arrived at DROP 47, thereby preventing any chance for ‘loose talk’ beforehand... and, presumably, to make sure that the asset was irrevocably committed to the mission before being briefed fully.
She hadn’t agreed with that policy and had activated her asset early, believing that the more he knew, the more effective he’d be. Unfortunately, her optimism appeared misplaced. In the end, it seemed that the Planning Board’s caution had been justified – if her fellow hadn’t been so damned eager to ‘help’, none of this would have happened.
At least, that’s what she told herself. Looking at the suppurating boils on one soldier’s mauled arm and their cold, sweaty skin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that all her companion had done was change the when of the situation.
She nodded to another of the mercenaries. Like all the others, he was faceless behind his helmet and were it not for the marks on his armour, just as indistinguishable from the others. His name was Charles ‘Chuck’ Daniels. She hadn’t slept with him, but she knew he was interested. She’d been cultivating him – something that she knew irked her asset – but, well, fuck him. She had combat training of course, but it wasn’t her specialty and the more people with guns between her and the rest of the station, the better her chances of survival.
Daniels nodded to her, standing and putting a hand on her shoulder. He nodded, his voice clicking through his mask, telling her that things would be all right.
She envied that ignorance.
~
Everything seemed so much clearer now. Brighter, more intense. Odours were sharper, more distinct. Sounds were clearer and even the garden’s night-cycle seemed like dusk rather than the pitch black Gemma remembered. She could feel the shift in the air caused by the movement of other bodies, could pick out the subtleties of scent in the air, the unheard conversations between the brood and the overwhelming aroma of growth. And, of course, the blood.
It was everywhere. There were traces of it in the air, on the plants, on the others’ lips and claws and bodies. And it was in front of her.
She couldn’t tell by looking at his face – what was left of it – but the nametag on his tunic read JUNG, C.
Chin-Hae Jung. He’d always flirted with her, but as the trip into the Mist had worn on, his overtures had gotten more desperate, becoming needier and angrier until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought he was cute in the first place. Now, with bloody strips of skin hanging from his ruined face, she never would.
“Too far from the rest,” her sister – no no no! – had said as she’d dropped the still-warm carcass in front of her. “This is for you. You need to eat.”
“No,” she’d said, defiant and sick with horror. She’d pulled away, cowering into a corner, feeling the growth covering the bulkhead press against her bare skin, feeling the oddness of her own flesh – nothing she could put into words, nothing that she wanted to put into words. She wanted to wake up, to escape from this horror. She’d do anything, even claw her way out of her own skin if it would save her, if it would stop the pain.
Every part of her seemed to be on fire, burning from the inside out. Joints ached endlessly, her guts seemed as if they were twisting inside her and her muscles felt as if they were pulling themselves apart. And the hunger. Worse than the pain – that was merely excruciating, this was crippling agony – it made her all but double over, rocking back and forth on her knees, each movement causing stinging, burning waves to ripple through her changing body, briefly washing out the obscene need at her core.
She could smell it, wordless whispers in her head telling her that it wasn’t just blood she was smelling, it was prey’s blood, it meant food, it meant enemy. Her tongue – had it always been that long? – ran over her teeth, their sharp edges cutting it and she tasted her own blood, running down her throat, over her lips and down her chin.
More.
No! This was wrong! “No,” she repeated again, trying to blot it all out. The pain, the noises, the smells. Everything but that one word. “No. No,” she said it over and over again, like a child trying to deny an uncomfortable truth, as if she believed that saying it enough would end the nightmare. “No.”
“You need to eat,” that voice said, soft and patient. Her sister – no, I never had a sister – was crouched a few yards away, next to Jung’s corpse. She didn’t try to move closer, simply sitting and waiting for Gemma to come to her. A moment passed and then, again: “You need to eat.” It was all she said now, occasionally breaking Mackenzie’s mantra every few minutes for... how long had it been? A hour? Two? She couldn’t tell.
“No,” Gemma whispered, shaking her head. She was dying. Whatever was happening to her, it was burning her out as her ravaged body cried out for energy to sustain itself. “I won’t, you can’t make me...” I won’t I won’t eat fish it’s nasty and gross!
It’s good for you, sweetie. It’ll help you grow.
No! No no no! You can’t make me!
Then you’ll just sit here until you do.
She moaned, low and long, nearly doubling over from the pain. “No,” she said again, clutching to that single word. “No, I won’t. I won’t eat...” she couldn’t even make herself say it. “I won’t.”
“I know,” the girl replied. Her voice was gentle. “I know.” A moment of silence, then: “I said the same thing.”
~
More people were falling ill. All over the ship as whatever came out of Veers scurried in and out of the vents, spreading their contamination throughout the frigate’s breadth. Strange sounds in the mess hall, muddy footprints in hydroponics, a sighting of something in engineering.
One of the hunter-killers claimed the first one, catching it as it scurried across an empty hallway, the war drone’s single shot all but blasting the small creature in half. Even that wasn’t enough to kill it, until the hunter-killer’s heavy splayed feet crushed the life from the twitching thing.
It could have been human. There was enough similarity in its form to make it a grotesque mockery of a developing chordate embryo. A backbone. A long paddle-like tail. Stunted, grasping forelimbs. And a face. A face that had no business existing on any living thing. Far too human to make it a simple over-sized vertebrate embryo, there was a dreadful resemblance in its too-human features. The curve of the lips, the colour of the eyes. Small things, really. But they added up and Colonel Hsing Paclan realized that he was staring at a twisted reimagining of Petty Officer Jason Veers.
“Find the other one,” he told another medical officer whose name he couldn’t remember. “Find it and kill it.”
~
It wasn’t instant, of course. It couldn’t be. Everything took time and this was no exception; it had been less than a day and so far, there was only the coughing. Painful, wet phlegmy and occasionally bloody coughing, but just coughing nonetheless. As time passed, additional symptoms would manifest, eventually leading to what Kerrigan’s survivors witnessed in the landing bay: the dead would walk. In a manner of speaking, anyways. They wouldn’t really be dead. Like the doomed, deceased petty officer, they would be alive – after a fashion. That hadn’t happened yet, though. No one knew it would, just as no one knew that this sickness would tip the scales the already overstressed, overtired crew’s mental health weighed upon. There were incidents of violence – increasing in both frequency and savagegy, yes – but no one knew what they would escalate into, that they would die by one another’s hands, killed by the people sent to save them or by Acheron’s other predators.
All they knew was that Jason Veers had brought a contagion aboard the ship and that it started with a cough.
Thoughts, like an echo of the people quarantined within the frigate’s hull, ran back and forth like frightened rats in a maze trying to find a way out.
Everything’s gone wrong... we shouldn’t even be here. How many others came here and died here? It’s all wrong. It’s all gone wrong. We’ve got to get out. We have to.
They’re laughing at me, I know it. They stop talking whenever I walk into a room, they were talking about me. I know. I know, you can’t fool me. I’m watching you. I’m watching you all. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here... Yes, I know. I do.
So many dead... it won’t happen to me. Not to me. Not to me, I won’t be one of those... those things. I won’t let it happen... Not to me. They’re all going mad, but not me. No sir, not me. It won’t happen to me.
Everyone’s acting so strangely... no one’s sleeping, stims and coffee... you can smell it on their breath. I can’t sleep either. Too many noises... too many dreams. Am I the last sane one... or... or do I just think I am?
It’s her. It has to be. The way she looks at me, the way she’s talks... I’ll watch her. Yes, that’s it. I’ll watch the girl.
Have to watch the core. If it slips into the red, it’ll melt down and kill us all. Have to watch the core, just keep watching the core and everything will be fine. That’s all. The others can worry about the rest of the ship. I’ll just watch the core. I’ll make sure it’s working. That’s my job. Everything will be fine if I just do my job...
They’re everywhere... in the ship. Even before Veers, I heard them. I know I did... scratching at the walls. I heard them outside my door. I know I did. This ship isn’t safe. I have to get out. I have to get out. I have to get out.
~
They found the other one. It was already dead, withered and gaunt as if it had starved to death, little more than paper-thin skin over fragile bones. Its tiny clawed hands were scarred and shredded, its lips were torn and its teeth were broken from its efforts to rip and chew its way through the ship’s ventilation system. Its emaciated face still bore traces of its ‘father’s’ features.
As the remaining scientists and medical staff examined the creature and struggled to comprehend its impossible physiology, none of them said what they were all thinking, what had been on their minds ever since the corpse had been discovered. It showed no signs of trying to feed; in fact, its rudimentary digestive system was atrophied and virtually nonfunctional; even if it had eaten anything, it certainly couldn’t have digested it. The creature had never been intended to survive for long.
Only until its job was done.
Not one mentioned that, each of the scientists holding back their fears under a layer of false civility, professional banter and a desperation to pretend things were normal, even as their eyes darted around the room. Looking at one another, wondering what the person next to them was thinking, each of them afraid that the other’s thoughts would be the same as their own, each of them hoping for the way out of the maze.
~
Gemma cradled her shoulders, feeling something warm and wet roll down her cheeks. “Mommy...” she whispered to the darkness. “Daddy... I’m scared, daddy. It hurts.”
“It’s okay,” a voice said and arms wrapped around her. They were slight, but powerful. Claws that could pierce metal rested gently against her skin, a comforting scent touched her nose and she buried her face in her sister’s breasts.
“I’m scared,” Gemma whispered, shaking with pain and terror. “I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go, I want to stay here. Please don’t make me go.”
“Ssssh,” her sister whispered, holding Gemma tightly. “It’s all right. ”
She felt her sister shift, heard something wet and heavy being dragged over the floor, liquid tearing and cracking sounds. The scent of blood thickened in the air and something was pressed to her lips, salty and... and... and...
Gemma tried to pull away, but there was a hand on the back of her head. Not pushing her forward, but keeping her from moving back. “You need to eat,” that same voice told her. Gently, but firmly.
She shook her head, moaning desperately. “No. No...”
It smelled so good.
No! No no no no! This is sick! This is wrong! Someone help me, please God, let me wake up, let it stop. Please...
She was so hungry.
I won’t I won’t you can’t make me, I’ll sit here all night, I will!
Gemma reached out with one hand, to push the offered meal away. She froze as she caught sight of her hands. The skin of her fingers had split, bone and cuticle fusing together into stunted talons. Softer and shorter than those of her sister, they were still vicious, deadly claws in their own right. And they would grow and harden...
She gagged on her own revulsion, sagging further down. “Let me die,” she begged. “Just... just please. Don’t. Don’t make me. Please, daddy. I want to stay. Mommy? Mommy, where are you? I don’t want to go...”
Against her will, her fingers tightened on Jung’s severed limb.
“Sssh,” her sister whispered. “I know. I know.”
Gemma shivered, starting to tug on the scrap of meat in her hands. The other girl let go and she pulled it to her mouth, her own saliva splattering onto the shredded skin. “His name was Chin,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut, still trying to fight against the nightmare, feeling herself slip away. “His name was Chin. His name was Chin.” The tears curled down her cheeks, mingling with the drool and blood covering Jung’s arm. “He-he liked skiing and old movies and... and.. and... his name was Chin.”
Hungry it hurts it hurts so much make it stop please make it stop...
I don’t want to.
His name was Chin.
Please...
And she fed.
...more.
Coming up: Shannon and Abigail vs the hive and the other survivors come face to... er... face with trouble of their own.
Also, there's a little homage to Agatha Christie's sublime murder mystery And Then There Were None in this chapter. If you haven't read it (and why not?), it's definitely something I'd recommend. Ten people on an island and one by one they start to die...
Chapter 46:
Day Six:
It started with a cough.
A cough you couldn’t quite shake, sinuses burning and lungs filled with phlegm. Retries clasped a hand to his chest as another series of wracking coughs made him nearly double over, a Hadley-Wright nurse handing him a tissue. As he wiped his lips, he saw that it came away bloody.
“What,” Davis said quietly, to one in particular. “are you doing to me?”
~
“How many cases?” Colonel Hsing Paclan didn’t turn his eyes away from the monitor bank as a doctor whose name he didn’t know tried just as hard not to look at the displays.
“Nine so far,” the corper said. There were dark circles under the man’s eyes and his breath smelled like caffeine. Another ‘dreamkiller’, one of those who avoided sleep at all costs. There’d been more of them on the ship since they’d entered the Mists, even more since they’d found the DROP. Paclan frowned, trying to remember where he’d heard that odd term. It had only been on this expedition, hadn’t it? Surely he’d never heard it before...
...had he?
As he tried to place the phrase, Hsing realized the doctor was still talking. With an effort, he managed to pull his attention back to the corper. “...security team’s displaying symptoms of course, but two cases are from personnel who were in sections of the ship closest to the main environmental plant...”
Paclan’s hands curled into fists and the doctor’s words seemed to melt away. Veers. What he’d done already was bad enough, but he’d shut down the active filtration systems and ramped up the airflow throughout the frigate. Not for long, really – the petty officer’s changes had been overridden almost as soon as they’d been noticed. But long enough to spread his poison beyond the few small areas of the ship that the security teams had chased him through.
There’d been nothing Veers could do about the passive, physical filters set up in the environmental plant and ducts; mesh, carbon and other assorted filters used to clean detritus and contaminants from the air. There were even nanoscale filters intended to capture microbes; they weren’t 100% effective, but they did help. Just not as much when gaping holes had been ripped and chewed through them, allowing whatever obscene offspring Veers had birthed to scuttle throughout the ship.
Paclan had kill teams and hunter drones scouring Primal’s duct system – turning the entire frigate inside out – looking for those things, but they hadn’t turned up yet. Until they did, the ship was quarantined and the people outside would just have to stay outside.
Hsing rubbed his temples, trying to think. His thoughts seemed... muddier over the last few days and he was finding it harder to place names and people. Had it been only the past few days, though? No... it was just recently that it had gotten worse. Ever since they’d entered the Mists. He gave himself a mental shake. Just stress, that was all. Stress and fatigue. He had people on his crew holding up and damned if he was going to give in to cabin fever. The commander needed to be an example, that was what his uncle had always told him. It had been his uncle, he was sure of it...
“See to your patients, doctor,” he said, dismissing the corper and idly wondering just what the man’s name was.
~
This was bad.
In fact, ‘bad’ was an extraordinary understatement of the situation. The woman was still having trouble trying to understand just how things had gone so wrong so quickly. All thanks to her companion’s idiotic over-enthusiasm. The urge to simply kill him was there, but she suppressed it. That wouldn’t fix things and right now, she needed another meat shield between her and DROP 47’s various horrors. At least until rescue arrived. That was something of a forlorn hope, but it was all she had at the moment. That, and somehow getting to a comm system powerful enough to reach Silence and she wasn’t sure which plan was more difficult.
She walked along the battlements the mercenaries had set up in the bay – they’d been slowly expanding their barricades, building up deeper defences and cobbling together IEDs and other improvised traps, preparing for the next assault. It hadn’t come yet, but the R-types were never far away – only a few hours ago, that same female R-type had managed to ambush one of the soldiers and, like her earlier victim, carry him off before anyone could respond. Much more than one of the mindless drones, this polymorph was fast, lethal and obviously intelligent. The records of the last few failed expeditions had alluded to something like that infection form, but nothing concrete.
She supposed that the news of just how much the R-series could change its hosts would be greeted with both excitement and frustration by the Planning Board, but her concerns were just a bit more immediate than that.
The woman dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to retain her composure as she nodded to several of the mercenaries on the defence line, her gaze passing over her associate. At least he had the decency not to look her in the eyes, pretending to be suddenly ensconced in cleaning his gun.
Anger was something that she couldn’t afford. That’s what she told herself. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit some culpability of her own. The plan for the mission had to been to pair one asset with each agent. In order to compartmentalize information, the agent was only supposed to contact the asset when the ship arrived at DROP 47, thereby preventing any chance for ‘loose talk’ beforehand... and, presumably, to make sure that the asset was irrevocably committed to the mission before being briefed fully.
She hadn’t agreed with that policy and had activated her asset early, believing that the more he knew, the more effective he’d be. Unfortunately, her optimism appeared misplaced. In the end, it seemed that the Planning Board’s caution had been justified – if her fellow hadn’t been so damned eager to ‘help’, none of this would have happened.
At least, that’s what she told herself. Looking at the suppurating boils on one soldier’s mauled arm and their cold, sweaty skin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that all her companion had done was change the when of the situation.
She nodded to another of the mercenaries. Like all the others, he was faceless behind his helmet and were it not for the marks on his armour, just as indistinguishable from the others. His name was Charles ‘Chuck’ Daniels. She hadn’t slept with him, but she knew he was interested. She’d been cultivating him – something that she knew irked her asset – but, well, fuck him. She had combat training of course, but it wasn’t her specialty and the more people with guns between her and the rest of the station, the better her chances of survival.
Daniels nodded to her, standing and putting a hand on her shoulder. He nodded, his voice clicking through his mask, telling her that things would be all right.
She envied that ignorance.
~
Everything seemed so much clearer now. Brighter, more intense. Odours were sharper, more distinct. Sounds were clearer and even the garden’s night-cycle seemed like dusk rather than the pitch black Gemma remembered. She could feel the shift in the air caused by the movement of other bodies, could pick out the subtleties of scent in the air, the unheard conversations between the brood and the overwhelming aroma of growth. And, of course, the blood.
It was everywhere. There were traces of it in the air, on the plants, on the others’ lips and claws and bodies. And it was in front of her.
She couldn’t tell by looking at his face – what was left of it – but the nametag on his tunic read JUNG, C.
Chin-Hae Jung. He’d always flirted with her, but as the trip into the Mist had worn on, his overtures had gotten more desperate, becoming needier and angrier until she couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought he was cute in the first place. Now, with bloody strips of skin hanging from his ruined face, she never would.
“Too far from the rest,” her sister – no no no! – had said as she’d dropped the still-warm carcass in front of her. “This is for you. You need to eat.”
“No,” she’d said, defiant and sick with horror. She’d pulled away, cowering into a corner, feeling the growth covering the bulkhead press against her bare skin, feeling the oddness of her own flesh – nothing she could put into words, nothing that she wanted to put into words. She wanted to wake up, to escape from this horror. She’d do anything, even claw her way out of her own skin if it would save her, if it would stop the pain.
Every part of her seemed to be on fire, burning from the inside out. Joints ached endlessly, her guts seemed as if they were twisting inside her and her muscles felt as if they were pulling themselves apart. And the hunger. Worse than the pain – that was merely excruciating, this was crippling agony – it made her all but double over, rocking back and forth on her knees, each movement causing stinging, burning waves to ripple through her changing body, briefly washing out the obscene need at her core.
She could smell it, wordless whispers in her head telling her that it wasn’t just blood she was smelling, it was prey’s blood, it meant food, it meant enemy. Her tongue – had it always been that long? – ran over her teeth, their sharp edges cutting it and she tasted her own blood, running down her throat, over her lips and down her chin.
More.
No! This was wrong! “No,” she repeated again, trying to blot it all out. The pain, the noises, the smells. Everything but that one word. “No. No,” she said it over and over again, like a child trying to deny an uncomfortable truth, as if she believed that saying it enough would end the nightmare. “No.”
“You need to eat,” that voice said, soft and patient. Her sister – no, I never had a sister – was crouched a few yards away, next to Jung’s corpse. She didn’t try to move closer, simply sitting and waiting for Gemma to come to her. A moment passed and then, again: “You need to eat.” It was all she said now, occasionally breaking Mackenzie’s mantra every few minutes for... how long had it been? A hour? Two? She couldn’t tell.
“No,” Gemma whispered, shaking her head. She was dying. Whatever was happening to her, it was burning her out as her ravaged body cried out for energy to sustain itself. “I won’t, you can’t make me...” I won’t I won’t eat fish it’s nasty and gross!
It’s good for you, sweetie. It’ll help you grow.
No! No no no! You can’t make me!
Then you’ll just sit here until you do.
She moaned, low and long, nearly doubling over from the pain. “No,” she said again, clutching to that single word. “No, I won’t. I won’t eat...” she couldn’t even make herself say it. “I won’t.”
“I know,” the girl replied. Her voice was gentle. “I know.” A moment of silence, then: “I said the same thing.”
~
More people were falling ill. All over the ship as whatever came out of Veers scurried in and out of the vents, spreading their contamination throughout the frigate’s breadth. Strange sounds in the mess hall, muddy footprints in hydroponics, a sighting of something in engineering.
One of the hunter-killers claimed the first one, catching it as it scurried across an empty hallway, the war drone’s single shot all but blasting the small creature in half. Even that wasn’t enough to kill it, until the hunter-killer’s heavy splayed feet crushed the life from the twitching thing.
It could have been human. There was enough similarity in its form to make it a grotesque mockery of a developing chordate embryo. A backbone. A long paddle-like tail. Stunted, grasping forelimbs. And a face. A face that had no business existing on any living thing. Far too human to make it a simple over-sized vertebrate embryo, there was a dreadful resemblance in its too-human features. The curve of the lips, the colour of the eyes. Small things, really. But they added up and Colonel Hsing Paclan realized that he was staring at a twisted reimagining of Petty Officer Jason Veers.
“Find the other one,” he told another medical officer whose name he couldn’t remember. “Find it and kill it.”
~
It wasn’t instant, of course. It couldn’t be. Everything took time and this was no exception; it had been less than a day and so far, there was only the coughing. Painful, wet phlegmy and occasionally bloody coughing, but just coughing nonetheless. As time passed, additional symptoms would manifest, eventually leading to what Kerrigan’s survivors witnessed in the landing bay: the dead would walk. In a manner of speaking, anyways. They wouldn’t really be dead. Like the doomed, deceased petty officer, they would be alive – after a fashion. That hadn’t happened yet, though. No one knew it would, just as no one knew that this sickness would tip the scales the already overstressed, overtired crew’s mental health weighed upon. There were incidents of violence – increasing in both frequency and savagegy, yes – but no one knew what they would escalate into, that they would die by one another’s hands, killed by the people sent to save them or by Acheron’s other predators.
All they knew was that Jason Veers had brought a contagion aboard the ship and that it started with a cough.
Thoughts, like an echo of the people quarantined within the frigate’s hull, ran back and forth like frightened rats in a maze trying to find a way out.
Everything’s gone wrong... we shouldn’t even be here. How many others came here and died here? It’s all wrong. It’s all gone wrong. We’ve got to get out. We have to.
They’re laughing at me, I know it. They stop talking whenever I walk into a room, they were talking about me. I know. I know, you can’t fool me. I’m watching you. I’m watching you all. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here... Yes, I know. I do.
So many dead... it won’t happen to me. Not to me. Not to me, I won’t be one of those... those things. I won’t let it happen... Not to me. They’re all going mad, but not me. No sir, not me. It won’t happen to me.
Everyone’s acting so strangely... no one’s sleeping, stims and coffee... you can smell it on their breath. I can’t sleep either. Too many noises... too many dreams. Am I the last sane one... or... or do I just think I am?
It’s her. It has to be. The way she looks at me, the way she’s talks... I’ll watch her. Yes, that’s it. I’ll watch the girl.
Have to watch the core. If it slips into the red, it’ll melt down and kill us all. Have to watch the core, just keep watching the core and everything will be fine. That’s all. The others can worry about the rest of the ship. I’ll just watch the core. I’ll make sure it’s working. That’s my job. Everything will be fine if I just do my job...
They’re everywhere... in the ship. Even before Veers, I heard them. I know I did... scratching at the walls. I heard them outside my door. I know I did. This ship isn’t safe. I have to get out. I have to get out. I have to get out.
~
They found the other one. It was already dead, withered and gaunt as if it had starved to death, little more than paper-thin skin over fragile bones. Its tiny clawed hands were scarred and shredded, its lips were torn and its teeth were broken from its efforts to rip and chew its way through the ship’s ventilation system. Its emaciated face still bore traces of its ‘father’s’ features.
As the remaining scientists and medical staff examined the creature and struggled to comprehend its impossible physiology, none of them said what they were all thinking, what had been on their minds ever since the corpse had been discovered. It showed no signs of trying to feed; in fact, its rudimentary digestive system was atrophied and virtually nonfunctional; even if it had eaten anything, it certainly couldn’t have digested it. The creature had never been intended to survive for long.
Only until its job was done.
Not one mentioned that, each of the scientists holding back their fears under a layer of false civility, professional banter and a desperation to pretend things were normal, even as their eyes darted around the room. Looking at one another, wondering what the person next to them was thinking, each of them afraid that the other’s thoughts would be the same as their own, each of them hoping for the way out of the maze.
~
Gemma cradled her shoulders, feeling something warm and wet roll down her cheeks. “Mommy...” she whispered to the darkness. “Daddy... I’m scared, daddy. It hurts.”
“It’s okay,” a voice said and arms wrapped around her. They were slight, but powerful. Claws that could pierce metal rested gently against her skin, a comforting scent touched her nose and she buried her face in her sister’s breasts.
“I’m scared,” Gemma whispered, shaking with pain and terror. “I don’t want to go. Don’t make me go, I want to stay here. Please don’t make me go.”
“Ssssh,” her sister whispered, holding Gemma tightly. “It’s all right. ”
She felt her sister shift, heard something wet and heavy being dragged over the floor, liquid tearing and cracking sounds. The scent of blood thickened in the air and something was pressed to her lips, salty and... and... and...
Gemma tried to pull away, but there was a hand on the back of her head. Not pushing her forward, but keeping her from moving back. “You need to eat,” that same voice told her. Gently, but firmly.
She shook her head, moaning desperately. “No. No...”
It smelled so good.
No! No no no no! This is sick! This is wrong! Someone help me, please God, let me wake up, let it stop. Please...
She was so hungry.
I won’t I won’t you can’t make me, I’ll sit here all night, I will!
Gemma reached out with one hand, to push the offered meal away. She froze as she caught sight of her hands. The skin of her fingers had split, bone and cuticle fusing together into stunted talons. Softer and shorter than those of her sister, they were still vicious, deadly claws in their own right. And they would grow and harden...
She gagged on her own revulsion, sagging further down. “Let me die,” she begged. “Just... just please. Don’t. Don’t make me. Please, daddy. I want to stay. Mommy? Mommy, where are you? I don’t want to go...”
Against her will, her fingers tightened on Jung’s severed limb.
“Sssh,” her sister whispered. “I know. I know.”
Gemma shivered, starting to tug on the scrap of meat in her hands. The other girl let go and she pulled it to her mouth, her own saliva splattering onto the shredded skin. “His name was Chin,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut, still trying to fight against the nightmare, feeling herself slip away. “His name was Chin. His name was Chin.” The tears curled down her cheeks, mingling with the drool and blood covering Jung’s arm. “He-he liked skiing and old movies and... and.. and... his name was Chin.”
Hungry it hurts it hurts so much make it stop please make it stop...
I don’t want to.
His name was Chin.
Please...
And she fed.
...more.