Precipice: The Beginning (23 page)

47

A
lvin had been pumped since he’d left the cafeteria, fueled by rage. What he’d seen was not what they had signed on for and he wasn’t going to stand for it. Alvin passed the infirmary and saw Christina laying there, her eyes closed. He wondered if maybe he should stop in for a brief look over. The pain in his head was excruciating, intensifying with every angry step toward the communications room. And then he wondered yet again where the doctor was. Hadn’t seen the slightly competent Dr. D’Ambrosio in over five days. A bit odd he wouldn’t be monitoring the only patient he’d had in months. But so many things had begun to go south lately.

Alvin blocked the pain in his head with the task at hand, putting his angry words into a well-organized presentation before Andrews could redirect. He stood before the communications room and froze, his speech slipping from his tongue to fall forgotten on the floor. There was just something off. Alvin cleared his mind of such pointless playground terror and knocked on the door, his body tense and ready for a confrontation. A moment passed and there was no answer. Alvin knocked again, three hard knocks, but still he received no response.

“Andrews?” Alvin pressed his thumb to the metal plate, a bit taken aback as the door opened to a dark room. “Hello?”

Andrews was sitting in a chair with his back to the door, his head slightly tilted. He gave no indication that he’d heard the door open or the knocks. No movement at all.

“Andrews?” Alvin’s anger gave way to confusion, smothered by the growing fear that Andrews was dead.

Andrews pressed his big toe to the floor and swiveled around in the chair, lifting a hand to his face to shield the dim light from the hallway from his eyes. The darkness under his eyes and the stubble across his face said he’d been there for quite some time, sitting alone in the dark. He lowered his hand and looked at Alvin, taking a brief moment to take notice of who he was.

“Are you all right, sir?” Alvin spoke slowly.

“Right as rain,” Andrews answered with a wide and creepy smile. “What is it?”

“We’ve had an infraction between two miners and two security officers.”

“What type of infraction?” Andrews looked annoyed, spinning slowly back and forth in his chair like a child that had better things to do.

“Well, basically, Gomez and Adams beat two miners to death.” Alvin spit it out plain as day, hoping this type of news might spark a little human emotion, but Andrews only shook his head. “Sir, I said two miners were beaten to death.”

“I’m not deaf.” Andrews crossed his arms.

“I know, but steps need to be taken.”

“Steps?”

“Incident reports need to be filled out and submitted to human resources. Gomez and Adams need to undergo a disciplinary review.”

“Who should we send these incident reports to? The home planet that’s no longer returning our calls?” Andrews gave a single laugh, shaking his head in annoyance. “There is no need to remove two of my best officers because some assholes were fighting. I suspect Gomez and Adams were well within their boundaries.”

“Our job is to maintain production and safety.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me on the prime directive!” Andrews stood from his chair and stuck a finger in Alvin’s face, pressing it to his chin. “I don’t need instructions from a spineless little prick on how to make this place run smoothly. Without me, you’d all be dead in a week, torn apart by those savages.”

“They’re just men, sir.” Alvin pulled back, holding onto the wild dog that had become his angry tongue. “Just men.”

“They are so long as we keep them caged. But how long is that going to keep? The supply ship is still just sitting in the hangar, meaning nothing else is coming and nothing is going. Do you even understand the immense pressure of knowing that every scrap of food that we have at this moment is the most we’re ever going to have? Do you?” Andrews looked past Alvin to the hallway. “All we can do is survive.” Andrews took a seat and turned his back to Alvin, leaning forward to look at a consul that showed nothing but static. “As per the dead bodies, file whatever reports you feel necessary. Go ahead and fill them out, send them to HR, and clean up the mess.” Andrews spoke without turning around.

Alvin just nodded, stepping out of the room and shutting the door. He stood for a moment, looking at the door and wishing he could lock it from the outside. It became clear that he was no longer a security officer. He too was under the control of Andrews, subject to whatever harsh rules or conditions he might inflict. Ultimately, he too was a prisoner. Only in this prison, it looked as if the murderers and crazies were in charge.

48

“W
hat the fuck do you want?” Dasher asked Siren, bouncing her in his arm as he headed down Highway 90 out of Massachusetts. “I’d give you milk, but my tits aren’t exactly lactating.”

Siren didn’t find the joke to be all that clever. She continued to cry, just as she’d been doing the last hour. And the three hours before that, and the entire day before that. Dasher did the little bounces, rocking her in his arms, but nothing worked. Last night he’d managed to secure them a luxurious room for the night in an abandoned motel. The motel had recently been burned nearly to the foundation, but two rooms near the back had suffered only minor damage. Still, black walls and the smell of burnt carpet was better than being cooped up in the backseat of some abandoned car. Siren had agreed upon the room as well. She’d stopped crying for a whole thirty minutes upon being set dead center on the bed. The comforter smelt of mildew and had stains from the water dripping through the holes in the ceiling, but it was still soft. Dasher had stood over her for a moment, afraid any movement might put her back into a crying fit. But the piss wouldn’t hold off. Dasher hurried into the bathroom and threw open the lid, tilting back his head as he pissed into the bowl. He couldn’t help but laugh. With the world turned to shit, would anyone really care if he just took a piss in the center of the room? What’s the worst that would happen, they wouldn’t give him back his deposit? Dashers brief humor was ripped away as he heard Siren screaming her head off.

“Oh come on!” Dasher yelled down at the crying infant on the floor. “Can’t you stay put for two minutes?”

Dasher’s first lesson in parenting: never take your eyes off the child.

Dasher had spent the remainder of the night on the floor with Siren in his arms, rocking her back and forth as he hummed a ballad from some long-haired rocker group from back in the day. She seemed to like the tune, because she fell asleep in his arms. He looked down to her closed eyes and smiled, not just because she’d finally shut up. There was something sweet about her. A peacefulness that calmed him.

The night passed too quickly for him. He woke up to her screaming, flailing her arms about. He knew she needed something to eat, but he had nothing. Dasher searched the hotel and found a busted vending machine with a few candy bars and some chips. He crushed the chips in his hand and fed them to the baby, thankful it had been enough to soothe her, at least for the time being. Now they were miles past the motel and there was nothing on the highway but the occasional abandoned car.

“Wish me luck, little darling,” Dasher said to his passenger as he got behind the wheel of a new Toyota truck. The key was dangling in the ignition like a cruel tease, ready to laugh at him when he turned the key and saw the gaslight instantly come on. For once, fortune was on his side. The engine rolled over and the truck hummed into life. “Thank the maker. Let’s roll!”

Dasher put the truck in drive and pulled off the shoulder. Old habits made him look in the mirror before merging back with the highway, even though he hadn’t seen another vehicle in days. He’d seen people, lots of them, but they were all trapped inside some gargantuan cage. They’d been dragged through an open field by the biggest creature he’d ever seen, deciding to take its massive lobster trap full of people for a walk. Dasher had wanted to help them, but there was nothing he could do. It had been one of Siren’s rare quiet times, and he’d been so thankful for it. That had been two days ago. With the black clouds holding steady overhead and the continual scene of abandoned cars left along the highway, the days were beginning to mesh together.

Siren began crying, lying on the seat beside him. He knew she wasn’t supposed to be just lying there, but he didn’t have a car seat. His stomach growled, rippling through him like thunder. Off the road about a hundred yards to his left, hidden within a thicket of trees, he saw a house. Unlike every other house along the road, this one didn’t look torched. And if you weren’t looking just right, it was easily missed. Dasher turned off the highway and made his own road, bouncing through tall grass until he drove up a slight shoulder and turned down a long, gravel driveway. A cloud of dust had kicked up behind him. He looked in the rearview mirror and felt like an idiot, raising a massive red flag to any creature that may be passing by, but the damage had been done. He pulled the truck up to the front porch and let it idle for a moment. It was a nice Victorian home, painted white and well maintained. There was a porch swing and the front door hadn’t been pulled from the hinges. That was always a good sign. Dasher turned off the engine and opened the door.

“Hello, is anyone home?” Dasher yelled up to the front door. “Hello?”

He thought he saw the curtain pull back ever so slightly on the front window. Dasher stepped onto the porch and pressed his face to the window, cupping his hands about his eyes to block the light. At first there was nothing but darkness filtering through a dirty window, then something black blocked his view. Dasher pulled back and raised his hands, stepping back from the barrel of a shotgun that had been pressed to the glass.

“Okay, all friendly out here.”

“Shut up!” A woman’s voice.

Dasher squinted to see beyond the barrel to the person holding it, but the dried mud and collection of bird shit showed him nothing more than a vague shape.

“My baby and I need a place to sleep tonight.” Dasher made sure to emphasize the baby.

There was a moment of hesitation. “I don’t see a baby.”

“If I step down from the porch, will you promise not to shoot me?” Dasher asked, slowly lowering his hands.

The barrel disappeared from the window. A moment later there was a rattle from behind the door, locks being turned, and a chain lock falling freely. The door opened a crack and the shotgun protruded a few inches, its twin barrel aimed at Dasher’s chest. Dasher nodded and turned back toward the truck, opening the passenger’s side door. He reached down and scooped his hands under Siren’s back. She looked up at him with curiosity as he tucked her into his arm and shut the door with his foot.

“See, a baby girl.” Dasher held Siren up with a smile.

He jumped as a shrill scream filled the air, followed closely by a massive roar. It made a lion sound like a pussycat. Dasher lowered Siren and looked to the door, his heart sinking as it closed. He turned to get back in the truck, startled as the door flew open. A young woman stepped onto the porch, her blonde hair blowing about her face as the wind kicked up.

“Come on, hurry.” She waved her hand toward the house, keeping her eyes on the road. “More are coming.”

Dasher smiled and hurried up the steps. “Thank you,” he said as he passed.

She stayed on the porch a moment, eyeing the road and the disabled Mercedes on the shoulder. A second roar got her moving. She went inside and shut the door, locking the two chain locks and the dead bolt.

“Thanks again.” Dasher was rocking Siren from side to side, thankful the excitement hadn’t caused her to cry.

“Do I need to use this?” The girl gripped the barrel of the shotgun beside the door.

“No ma’am. I mean you no trouble.”

She nodded, wiping her palms on her black sweater before extending it. “I’m Ann Marie.”

“Harold, but everyone calls me Dasher.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s my last name.”

Ann Marie nodded, the hint of a smile surfacing. She hunkered down and tilted her head to the side, instantly moving from hardcore survival nut to baby enthusiast. Her voice rose in pitch and her face became animated. Dasher smiled, unable to help himself. Siren let out a giggle, a sweet sound Dasher had never heard from her. She reached up with her little hand and touched Ann Marie’s face.

“What’s her name?”

“Siren.”

“What?” Ann Marie looked back at him with her eyebrows raised. “What kind of name is that?”

“It just kind of happened.”

“She’s not yours, is she?” Ann Marie took hold of her little hands and massaged them, happy to be holding a little baby once again. “What happened?”

“Her mother was killed, so I took her.”

Ann Marie straightened and released Siren’s hands. She looked Dasher in the eyes for a moment, nodding as if he’d told her something.

“I like you. I’ve decided that.”

“Just now?”

Ann Marie nodded, moving past him into the kitchen.

“Do you have any food here?”

“Already on it. Have a seat and I’ll get Siren some milk. I think I saw some formula in the pantry.” Ann Marie disappeared in the kitchen.

Dasher took a seat on the couch, laying Siren across his chest to poke her belly in a playful manner. He was becoming a real softy, but who cared, he liked the little shit. She looked at him without judgment, something very few people in his life had ever done. She was tangible redemption, a second chance to do right by someone.

“This isn’t your house, is it?” Dasher yelled toward the kitchen.

“No.”

“What happened to the people here?” Dasher eyed the family photos on the wall beside the stairs.

“Why do you ask?”

Dasher squinted in the dim light, seeing the previous occupants were a much older couple, mid sixties by the photo. “Just trying to gain perspective.”

“I have some milk here.” Ann Marie entered the room with a bottle. “Probably had grandchildren or something. Or maybe for feeding baby calves.”

“They have cows?” Dasher took the bottle and positioned Siren in his arm, pressing the rubber nipple to her lips until she took it. “I didn’t see a barn.”

“I think it was washed out. The whole backyard is nothing more than a lake.”

“So what’s your story? I mean, how’d you end up here?”

“My brother and I were driving down the highway here, trying to get as far from the cities as possible. And we ran out of gas right there. That’s our car.”

“It’s a nice car. Where’s your brother now?”

Ann Marie took a seat beside him, poking Siren’s little pink booties with a distant smile. Her shoulders became tense, rising up above her ears as the bad memories seemed to drown her. “We ran out of gas up there about three days ago. Greg and I saw the house, but one of those things was coming down the highway behind us. We ran for the house, but I didn’t know…” Ann Marie closed her eyes and collected herself. “Greg turned back and headed further down the road, waving his arms for the creature to follow him. It did. Last thing I heard was him yelling out to me, telling me to find mom. Then nothing.” Ann Marie whipped her eyes. “I went inside and hunkered down.”

“I’m sorry.” Dasher meant it.

“Me too.” Ann Marie nodded, looking down into her lap as the guilt consumed her. “I should have gone back for him. I should have helped him.”

She broke down, letting go of tears she’d been holding onto for three days, balling uncontrollably. Dasher raised his arm and wrapped it about her, pulling her in close to rest her head on his shoulders. Granted, they didn’t know anything about each other beyond their first names, if they hadn’t lied upon introduction, but even strangers can offer comfort. Another human to lean on when the world around them felt so alien. Siren didn’t seem to mind. She sucked back the milk with her eyes shut, losing herself in its white goodness. Dasher just leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Overcome with the sudden urge to laugh. He felt like a father in some cheesy sitcom. Only this was real and completely unscripted. Still, the humor was there. Dasher suppressed the urge to laugh at himself, feeling it might set the wrong tone with Ann Marie, and he enjoyed her company. She was a rather pretty woman, maybe twenty-five. So he’d let her cry. Lord knows there was plenty to cry about these days.