Precipice: The Beginning (12 page)

25

T
ravis was set back into the daily grind, riding the elevator with his helmet securely fastened. Normally the sudden drop of the elevator, accompanied by the unpleasant rise in his stomach, would bother him. Not today. His mind was racked with guilt over what Alvin was probably going through. Alvin was the only ally they had on this red rock. Losing him meant there was no buffer between the minors and the security personnel. Not that Travis was all that afraid of Andrews and his goons. In a straight up fight they wouldn’t stand a chance. But much as it was with the food service industry, don’t fuck with the people that handle your food. The security officers, although mentally lacking and not combat trained, had access to every aspect of their lives; the food they ate, the quarters they slept in, and maybe even the air they breathed—if they had the access. Travis wasn’t entirely sure on that one, but he certainly didn’t want to find out the hard way. Protection aside, he was going to miss Alvin. He’d come to be a pleasant face in an otherwise drab place. Someone you could talk to about sports, new and hilarious trends in fashion. But mostly they talked about family.

Travis gripped the handrail as the elevator came to an abrupt stop, gravity tugging at his knees. Travis straightened as the doors opened, greeted with that always pleasant gush of air.

“You’re late, Daniels,” Mr. Chen grumbled, marking something down on a clipboard. Not that he could read his own writing when wearing his gloves.

“Unavoidable. I was ordered to transport supplies to the third facility. You can talk to Andrews if you need a note from mommy.”

“Get your gear and get moving smart ass. Tunnel seven.” Mr. Chen shook his head and went back to the clipboard.

Travis craned his neck as he walked by, struggling to contain his laughter. The cold and often grumpy Mr. Chen was drawing a torso with massive breast, the nipples overly large and comical. Travis couldn’t hold back any longer. He let out a few short bursts of laughter. You just had to. Especially in such a depressing environment, otherwise you might go mad. But whether or not Mr. Chen agreed was a different story, so luckily he hadn’t seen him sneak a peek at his artwork. Travis opened the equipment locker and took out his laser drill, wondering who had gotten the pleasure of operating the giant hand. Most likely Christina since she had the most training and probably the steadiest hands. As long as it wasn’t him, he hated the thing. Travis set his drill into the small cart and fastened the safety harness. The cart took off like a bat out of hell, zooming down the dark tunnels carved from the Martian soil. Travis wished he could feel the rush of the wind against his face instead of against the glass of his helmet. Sadness washed over him as he realized he might never again feel a breeze across his skin.

“Do you even work here anymore?” TJ asked as the cart pull up along the track.

“Do you?” Travis unlocked his drill and pulled it from the cart. A moment later it was called back to the elevator.

“You know this place would be pure hell if you didn’t have my perfectly timed humor.”

“Wow, TJ. Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Christina laughed at her own insult, glad to be ragging on someone. These men were her family. No one knew her the way they did, watching out for her wellbeing like a bunch of big brothers. Playing around, dissing each other with colorful slang and dirty jokes made them feel normal again. Just another day at the office. “What was the outer facility like?”

“Like the Ritz Carlton compared to this shithole.” Travis thought back to his late night chat with Dr. Zatzkin and wished he could visit with him more often. “They had tea and warm, fresh baked bread.”

“Oh hell no.” Jerome shook his head. “Please tell me you did not sit over there and enjoy some fresh baked, steaming, straight from the oven bread!”

“No, I didn’t.” Travis paused. “It was fresh baked, steaming, straight from the bread maker!” Travis laughed as he powered up his drill. He held the drill firmly and turned toward the designated wall, firing the short laser beam into the thick iron. It chipped away slowly and fell to the ground in heavy chunks.

Christina wore a large glove over her right hand and with every movement, a large robotic hand that was connected to the mining cart would operate to her movements. The hand reached down and gripped the metal ore, lifted it and dumped it into the cart with a clanking thud.

“Keep your eye on the hand, Christina. Jones from tunnel three said some of them have been shorting out,” Morgan warned, always the den mother.

“Yes, daddy.”

The four men went about their work and kept the conversation minimal. Jerome and TJ were working side by side, chipping away the same wall while cracking jokes about who could land the biggest chunk of ore. Morgan stood to Travis’ right while Christina stood behind them all, picking up the rocks they dropped like a mother cleaning up after her kids. Christina reached out to grab a fallen piece of iron when her arm spasmed, twitching beneath the glove. Reacting to the subtle movements, the metal hand lashed out, running along the wall and then finally crashing through the nearest strut.

“Everyone move!” Morgan screamed, dropping his drill as the ceiling above them began to crumble and fall.

Morgan dove into Christina as the shaft began to cave in, large rocks dropping all around them. The shaft filled with dust, making it impossible for them to do anything other than curl up against the wall and hope for the best. The rocks fell for only a few seconds, but time was impossible to tell without sight. It had gone completely black with the overhead lights now smashed and buried.

“Everyone sound off!” Travis yelled.

“I’m okay.” TJ lowered his hands from about his faceplate, unable to see a thing.

“I’m kicking.” Jerome said with a deep breath.

“Morgan? Christina?” Travis was growing nervous. “Answer me.”

“Mr. Chen.” Morgan was yelling into the built-in communicator on the back of his right wrist. “We’ve had a cave in on the seventh track and need emergency extraction. We have a medical emergency.”

“Understood. Cart’s on its way and the medical staff has been alerted,” Mr. Chen said evenly, his normally calm voice now slightly elevated.

“Stay with me, Christina.” Morgan panicked, holding his hands to the crack in her faceplate, careful not to apply too much pressure or he could cause more damage.

Travis fumbled about the top of his helmet and flipped on the small light, seeing nothing but floating dust. He waved his hands frantically before his face, seeing the vague shapes of one person on the ground with someone sitting over them. Travis approached and clearly made out Morgan’s terrified face as he looked down at Christina’s body, twitching beneath his hands. There was a thin crack in her face plate and she was breathing irregularly, her eyes rolling back in her head.

“Morgan. Your arm.” Travis dropped to his knees, gripping the tear in Morgan’s suit. “You’re going to depressurize.”

“Oh God, that hurts.” Morgan closed his eyes and ground his teeth, the pain in his arm was tremendous. “My arm is broken.”

“Hold it together.” Travis turned, never so thankful to hear the grinding wheels of the cart as it approached. “Help me.”

The four men took hold of Christina and lifted her into the cart, securing the harness about her chest. They all piled in and held onto whatever they could as the cart was called back to the elevator. They must have looked so funny as the cart pulled in, all huddled together like a bunch of teenagers riding in a convertible. Mr. Chen was at the elevator, the doors open and waiting.

“The med staff is topside.” Mr. Chen hurried over. “We need to get her into the elevator now, before the Martian soil contaminates her lungs.”

“No shit, bub.” Jerome was angry. This bastard didn’t care about Christina, only that it looked bad to have a casualty during his shift. “But we’re all going too.”

“Think of this as a sick day,” Morgan said as they stepped into the elevator, all of them holding up Christina. Morgan’s arm hurt something fierce, but he still held onto her left leg. Morgan looked Mr. Chen in the eyes as the elevator doors slid shut, giving him a look that told him to try and stop them.

For once the elevator couldn’t have been slower, or at least it felt that way to Travis. None of them had anything to say. They looked down at Christina and prayed for the best. Her eyes remained closed, but she was not peaceful. She bucked and thrashed beneath their grip. Her skin color had gone from her usual olive tone to a pale grey. The elevator came to the standard jerky halt and the doors opened. Travis was a bit surprised to see the medical staff, comprised entirely of the facilities only doctor, waiting for them with a gurney. Not like he had anything else to do other than wait around for “the call.”

“Get her on the gurney and remove her helmet,” Dr. D’Ambrosio told them.

The men lay her flat as Jerome unscrewed her helmet, tossing it aside. They rushed Christina down the hall toward the infirmary, all of them glancing down occasionally to see if her condition had improved, but there was no change. She drew in short, raspy breaths.

“Hold up.” Security officer Gomez stood outside the infirmary, holding up his hands to slow them down.

“Move out of the way,” Dr. D’Ambrosio ordered.

“Move in doc, but the rest of you hold fast.” Security officer Rodriguez stepped into view from an adjacent hallway. “You too Morgan. Have that arm checked out, but the rest of you stay where you are.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t worry.” Morgan gave them a nod and entered the infirmary, holding his arm and wincing from the pain. He hadn’t noticed at the time since he’d been so concerned with Christina’s welfare, but he was feeling a shortness of breath, dizziness, nauseous and an uncomfortable pressure in his throat and chest.

Travis watched two members of his unit disappear behind the doors of the infirmary, sealed off from them and out of his control. This had been from no action of his, but he felt responsible as he always did. Like a father, he wanted to look after them, take care of them and make sure they didn’t suffer.

“What’s this all about? Why are you keeping us out?” TJ was agitated, looking past Gomez to the small window in the infirmary door, catching a glimpse of Morgan as he sat on a gurney.

“You are all to report back to your cells until further notice.”

“What are you talking about?” Jerome was getting pissed. This was not the day to mess with him.

“This facility is on lockdown until further notice,” Gomez said coldly, repeating the order like a good little robot. “Please return to your cells and you’ll receive further instructions.”

“Have we done something wrong? Travis asked.

“Please return to your quarters immediately,” Rodriguez repeated Gomez’s statement, using a firmer tone. The two security officers stood their ground between them and their wounded friends beyond the door. “Move it back, now.”

Travis nodded, turning to Jerome and TJ, placing a hand to their chests to restrain them. They both had a hot temper and didn’t respond well to false authority. Travis pushed them back into the hallway, leaving some space between them and the security personnel. The last thing they needed was a clash of words that led to a brawl, which would inadvertently lead to someone’s death.

“We’re leaving,” Travis spoke to his men, keeping his tone level. “Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do here now.” Travis pushed Jerome and TJ away from the infirmary, giving the security officers an obedient nod, telling them that they were going to be good.

Travis peeked over Gomez’s shoulder and made eye contact with Morgan. As if sensing the tension from out in the hall, Morgan simply nodded, telling Travis to go and be safe. He waved a hand and lay down.

26

I
t had been three days of solid work, staring into a microscope over samples. Dr. Peters was far too old to go so long on such little sleep. Worse than exhaustion was the strong headache behind his eyes, repeatedly pinching like being stabbed with the blade of a knife. Poor Silvia was going out of her mind, cursing the government for being so damn foolish. She laid the usual guilt trip on him, telling him how empty their bed was and how she couldn’t sleep without him there. He’d called her a few hours ago, eager for the break. They’d spoken for a good forty minutes, but he couldn’t let her nag on. Time was growing short. The mysterious canyon was not letting up in its spewing of moisture and smoke. The rivers in the surrounding areas had all flooded and washed out the valley to the south. Thousands of homes now underwater, millions across the globe. The government could issue flood warnings and set up emergency relief stations, but it wasn’t going to help. Nor was this cover-up going to last. After two weeks of continual rainfall, people might begin to wonder if something more was afoot. If the rain didn’t spark the world’s interest than the lack of the sun surely would.

“Do you need me for anything?” Katrina asked, standing from her cot with a deep yawn. She set down her journal and stood beside Wilbur, looking down at the samples they collected from deep within the canyon’s walls. “Anything at all?”

“Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. And what’s worse is that I have no idea what the hell we’re looking for.”

“All we can do is hope for the best.”

“Hope for the best?” Wilbur laughed, but there was no humor there. He turned from his microscope and went to the flaps of the tent, pointing out into the pounding rain. “The general public may not understand what a long rainstorm and some cloud coverage can do, but I do know.”

“All we can do –”

Katrina was cut off by a high-pitched scream.

“What the hell was that?” Katrina ran to the tent flaps and pulled them back, sticking her head into the rain to try and see anything through the darkness. “Hello?” Katrina yelled.

“What is it?”

“Where are the soldiers that were stationed out there?” Katrina stepped back inside, her hair soaked.

Wilbur grabbed the radio and checked the channel. “Hello this is Dr. Peters.” Wilbur waited a moment for someone to respond, receiving only static. “This is Dr. Peters, does anyone copy?”

“Where are they, Wilbur?” Katrina was nervous.

A woman was screaming close by. Her voice so full of fright it made them both break out in goose bumps. Before either of them could ask the same question, Andrea fell into the tent, her face and clothes soaked in blood.

“Oh my God!” Wilbur dropped to his knees and took hold of her hand, falling backward as she scrambled along the floor, flailing her arms madly. Her eyes were wide in terror and she seemed to be lost in thought, looking past them as if someone was there. Wilbur placed a hand to her cheek and felt his heart ache at how bad she was trembling. “Where are you hurt?”

“This is not her blood,” Katrina said, wiping the blood from her cheeks.

“What happened? Some kind of accident with the crane?” Wilbur felt ill with the site of her.

“It came for him.” Andrea shook, the words muffled by her chattering teeth.

“What did? What are you trying to say my dear?” Wilbur wiped the hair from her eyes.

“She’s scared shitless.” Katrina couldn’t take her eyes off her colleague’s face. She’d worked beside her for so many years and always saw her as someone who had her shit together. A strong, vibrant woman. Now she looked like something from a horror film wiggling about on the floor like a fish out of water. “Where are the soldiers?”

“All gone.” Andrea began to sob. “They came up from the trench and took them.”

Wilbur wanted to consul her, tell her everything was alright, but then came an unearthly howl. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the first thing to go erect on his body in some time. His hands had begun to tremble as he heard the harsh and unmistakable sounds of something breathing. Whatever had done this to his dear Andrea was now close enough to be heard over the rain.

“Get on the radio and get some help down here,” Wilbur whispered.

Katrina went to her bag beneath the cot, riffling through the crap she’d collected over the years and didn’t need, aggravated she hadn’t listened to her girlfriend and gotten rid of it. Finally, feeling like she was never going to find it, her fingers gripped her identification card.

“Call Dr. Morrow,” Katrina spoke to the card, waiting anxiously as a holographic head of Dr. Morrow rotated slowly above the card’s center, still no answer.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling for help.”

“Who the hell is Dr. Morrow?” Wilbur whispered, his heart beating in his throat.

“He’s the head of this whole shindig. He’ll be the one to call in the troops from the right people. Otherwise who the fuck do I call? I don’t know the main line to the army.”

“Hello?” Dr. Morrow’s voice drifted up from her card.

“Oh thank the Lord. We’re in big trouble here.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Quiet!” Wilbur shushed, holding a finger to his lips.

Katrina followed his wide-eyed stair to the tent and froze, seeing the shadowed form of something large and oddly shaped being cast on the fabric. It stood over seven feet tall and walked hunched over with terrible posture. Its breathing was harsh and wet. Katrina began to shiver as the beast stopped and lifted its head, sniffing the air. It turned toward the tent and snarled, letting out a clicking from its throat.

“Please tell me you carry a gun?” Wilbur asked Katrina.

“Pepper spray,” Katrina offered, knowing it was useless.

“It’s going to eat us!” Andrea moaned, rolling onto her side, not wanting to look at the silhouette.

Wilbur wanted to offer her some words of comfort, but there were none. Wilbur looked from Andrea to the tent as he heard the fabric tearing. The beast ran its claws down the side of the tent, its long fingers showing. Its hand was like nothing they’d ever seen. Three-inch nails, four knuckles and only three fat reptilian fingers. The creature cut the fabric clear down to the ground. It reached in with its other hand and pulled it apart.