Darwin

by Amanda Bridgeman

  An image of Sibbie and Etta seemed to gently settle in his mind, and something about their presence was almost calming, reassuring, nurturing. He gave a saddened chuckle and shook his head. You’re going crazy, Saul … you’re going crazy. He inhaled deeply, trying to shift the lump in his throat. He hardened his face, clenched his teeth and violently shook the two old women from his mind. He had to pull it together. He had to be the person with strength and leadership for his crew. He had to pull the rest of them together so they could move forward and do what they had to do. He stood from the bed and eyed his clean shirt in the mirror, then looked down at his watch. He’d had to clean it just like Doc had had to do with his. He eyed the time and noted that the 20 minutes were almost up. It wasn’t long, but that was all the time he could afford.

  When he arrived at the mess, he saw that half the team had already gathered, with the exception of Carter, Louis, Doc and McKinley. Those that were there displayed a mixture of emotions: concern, anger, and shock, primary among them.

  “We’ll give the others a few minutes to get here,” Harris told them.

  McKinley walked in then and took a seat. He’d used his 20 minutes to clean up and change. Everyone sat in silence for a few more minutes, before Louis and Carter walked in. Louis had a bandage over his neck and shoulder, and Carter still held a bandage of ice to his nose, which was now looking rather fat and purple. Clearly, Doc had run out of time to see to him. Harris gave Carter a subtle nod. He was Smith’s roommate, and he was going to feel it later. If they ever got to sleep, that is.

  Doc came in then. He’d also found time to change. He’d had to. Walking around covered in Smith’s blood, was not what the team needed to see right now.

  “Ok, listen up,” Harris said, trying his hardest to sound strong and firm. “Here’s where we are at. We have four men on the loose. Four dangerous men, who we now want for murder, not to mention several counts of assault.” He swiftly looked in the eyes of each team member. “We have good reason to believe there is a second, hidden floor on the station. We believe this is where Grolsh went into hiding, and where all four of them are hiding now. Although we still don’t really know what happened on this station, it would seem obvious that these four men had something to do with it.

  “Now, we know the station’s ship, the Spector, was missing when we arrived. Last I spoke to Command, they informed me it had shown up on Station Babylon, but they’d been unable to locate the missing crew. The way I see it, this could mean one of two things.” Harris held out his fist, then unfurled his thumb: “One, the rest of the crew took off to escape these four men, and have vanished for their own safety.” He unfurled his index finger: “Or two, the missing crew are here and are being held hostage on the second floor, or they’re dead, and the Spector was sent off so that we would assume they’d left, and the survivors then locked themselves in that cell so we’d believe they were victims in all of this. It’s not crazy to think that these four men killed the other five … because we do not believe that these men are entirely normal.”

  “What do you mean, not entirely normal?” Carter asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

  Harris eyed him and took a deep breath, “Doc and I have come to believe—now we have no proof of this, this is just a theory—but we believe these guys aren’t just UNF scientists. We think they may have been put through full UNF training, like real soldiers … and when I say real soldiers, I don’t mean just any soldiers. We think they’ve been engineered to a certain extent to improve their capabilities.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Louis asked, struggling to control his anger.

  Harris went to answer, but Doc stood and turned to the men.

  “We’re fairly certain they’ve had their senses heightened, for one,” he told them. “It would appear that Sharley and the crew were studying animal hunters, that’s why all those animals were on the manifests. We think he was studying their senses and how particular senses enabled them to be great hunters. We’re almost positive the four men’s hearing is advanced. They all had scars behind their ears and it seemed that they heard people coming long before they saw them. Now, we’re not 100 percent sure, but there’s a good chance their eyesight and sense of smell are also advanced. And clearly, they’re very strong and they can fight.”

  “I knew Logan was watching me,” Louis seethed, eyes as dark as his skin.

  “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?” Carter was clearly trying to restrain his anger.

  “We weren’t sure of anything before,” Harris answered his question. “We’re still not exactly sure—

  “You must’ve known something,” Louis accused, shaking his dreadlocked head. “Why were Brown and McKinley armed earlier?”

  Harris noticed both McKinley and Brown flash each other uncomfortable looks.

  “They were armed because I did not trust those men. I had no proof against them, only theories, so I took my chances and yes, I armed some of my men.” Harris tried hard to control his voice. He wouldn’t normally stand for such attitude from a soldier, but Louis had spent a lot of time working with Smith in the stores and on mess duty, so he was going to cut him some slack.

  Harris looked around at everyone. “These men are cunning. They’ve studied great hunters, animal and human alike. They clearly know how to stalk their prey. Grolsh proved that when he snuck up on McKinley. They also know how to escape unnoticed, hence the reason Grolsh got out of that mess hall in the first place. Now you connect all of that with the possibility of them using Sharley’s mind-fucking techniques from Hell Town and you got yourself one hell of an enemy. We need to be extremely careful with these guys. We cannot take any further chances. Do you understand me?” Harris looked around at them. “Anybody got any questions?”

  Brown piped up. “Yeah. If what you say is true, how the hell are we going to get these guys, seeing as they’ve got these extra senses and shit? They’re going know we’re coming way before we get anywhere near ’em.”

  “Well, that’s something I need to figure out, but before we deal with that we have to figure out where they are exactly and how to get to them,” Harris answered.

  “You think they’re some kind of experiment gone wrong?” Hunter asked.

  “I think the experiment was planned. Whether it has gone wrong, I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out if we find the bodies of the other five men. I think the UNF was trying to create the perfect soldier. Let’s hope, for our sake, they haven’t accomplished that.”

  Harris looked around the room to see if there were more questions.

  “Captain?” Welles spoke up.

  He looked over at her.

  “Permission to carry a gun, sir. Like the others,” she asked.

  “Permission granted, corporal. You too, Colt and Packham. I want everyone armed at all times.” He eyed them all again. “I will not take any more chances, I can assure you. Now, we’ve got some work to do. Colt, Welles, get some coffee and food going. We need to fuel up the team. I want everyone else on the flight deck looking at those plans … except you, Doc. You … go do what you need to do. Alright, let’s get to it.”

  Harris clapped his hands together and the team went into action.

  20

  The Key to the Door

  Carrie and Colt made up pots of coffee and tea and plates of sandwiches, doing so in complete silence. Both their minds utterly consumed with what had just happened. Colt’s face was paler than usual and there seemed to be gray clouds where her sunny eyes had once been. Carrie could not erase the image of Smith’s dying face from her mind. It seemed to be stuck there, as though it were a broken-down slide show. She focused hard on the sandwiches trying desperately to expunge it, but her shaking hands and jittery heart were a constant reminder.

  Colt spoke into the intercom and notified the flight deck that the food was ready. Harris responded, telling them he’d send the crew down, one by one, to fuel up. Carrie’s mind wandered
to thoughts of Doc and how he was doing. She’d watched his face closely during the briefing. He had a haunted look about him as he sat there listening to Harris. When he got up to speak, his face and eyes were hard. The quiet devastation from before was now coupled with anger. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that things would be okay, but she knew they wouldn’t be. Smith was dead. And there was nothing anyone could do to bring him back.

  Her thoughts pressed uncomfortably inside and a need to check on the lieutenant overwhelmed her. She felt as responsible for his pain as she did for Smith’s death. She poured a mug of coffee and grabbed a plate of sandwiches to take to him. As she made her way down the corridor, she met Carter, who now had some tape across his bulging purple nose.

  “Broken?” she asked him.

  “Well and fuckin’ truly,” he seethed, as he continued past her down the corridor. “I’ll break more than Fairmont’s nose when I see that fuck again!”

  When she made Doc’s office, he was coming out of the examination room.

  “Hey,” she said, throwing him a sympathetic smile. “I thought you could do with some fuel.”

  “Thanks,” he said quietly, taking the coffee from her. “I need this.” He had a sip, then took the plate from her and walked over and placed it on his desk.

  Carrie glanced into the hospital and saw Smith’s body still lying there under the sheet. Doc saw her looking at it.

  “I’m going to take care of him now,” he told her, taking another sip of his coffee, then placing it down on the desk as well.

  “Do you want a … a hand?” she asked him.

  He shook his head, “No, I’m fine.” He walked back past her into the hospital.

  “I’m sure Captain Harris won’t have a problem with me helping you in these circumstances.”

  He stopped and looked around at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, perhaps curious as to where the comment about Harris had come from. “I’m sure he wouldn’t either, but you don’t need to see this stuff.” He continued over to Smith’s bed, and looked down to where he lay. “This is my job, Welles. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Doc, we’re soldiers. Unfortunately, people die in our line of work. That’s a given. But it doesn’t mean we have to deal with it on our own.”

  He looked at her for another moment. “Welles, this stuff stays with you. You don’t forget it once you’ve seen it.”

  “It’s too late, Doc. I already did.” She stepped into the room. “Besides, with my, er, specialty, I’ve seen dead bodies before.”

  Doc nodded. “You’ve seen enemies die … from afar. This is different.”

  “So, I won’t look at him. I’ll look somewhere else. I’ll look at you.”

  Doc stared at her again briefly, then looked back down at the sheet covering Smith.

  She walked over and stood on the other side of the bed. “I’m still here because Smith came along when he did. I owe him this much. Now, what do you want me to do?”

  “Jesus, you’re stubborn,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Yes, I am. So what do you want me to do?”

  He sighed. “Alright. Bottom drawer over there,” he pointed, “body bag.”

  For some reason the words “body bag” struck her like an ice pick to the spine. So final, so horrible. Regardless, she kept any expression from her face, nodded, and moved to the drawer. She heard Doc flick on some gloves and start doing something behind her, but didn’t look around in case she saw Smith’s face. When she had one of the body bags in her hand, she made her movements obvious, so Doc would know she was coming back his way.

  He was standing at the foot of the bed. He’d removed the sheet altogether and was now removing Smith’s boots.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay, so how do you want to do this?” she asked.

  “Lay it out on that bed,” he pointed to the bed adjacent, “and I’ll lift him over onto it.”

  She nodded and laid out the bag. Once in place, she unzipped it, then she moved around to the opposite side of the bed facing Doc. She kept her eyes on the empty body bag in front of her, but could see Doc in her peripheral vision removing the heart monitor discs, and dragging the IV and blood bag away from Smith’s bed. He kicked a lever and wheeled the private’s bed alongside hers, keeping it away from the wall slightly. She focused hard on the medic’s face, trying to keep her eyes away from Smith. Unfortunately, she could still easily make out the dark red color that seemed to be all over him.

  Doc looked at her. “Can you kick your lever and move the bed out a bit?”

  She looked down, found the lever and kicked it, the wheels unlocked, and she moved the bed down to line up with his.

  “You ready?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Hold the bag open as wide as you can.” he told her, “and just … look somewhere else.”

  She nodded again, still focusing hard on Doc’s brown eyes, and trying to ignore her peripheral vision.

  “Have you had to do this often?” she asked, trying to keep her mind busy.

  “Yeah, a few times,” he said, “but I never really knew them before their death. It’s never easy, but at least when they’re strangers you have a better chance of letting it go.”

  “Yeah,” she nodded vaguely. “I mean, I’ve killed people, right. I’ve watched people die, but I never knew them, and they were bad people so it was easy not to care. I still think about them from time to time, but the only dead person I’ve seen that I cared about was my mum.”

  Doc paused and looked up at her for a brief moment, but then continued on. He grabbed Smith’s feet and moved them across to her bed, tucking them inside the end of the body bag. Carrie moved her eyes to focus hard on the far wall.

  “We had a viewing of her body before the funeral,” she continued. “I was glad I saw her one last time but … at the same time, I wished I hadn’t seen her like that. Dead. You’re right, you know. It doesn’t leave you.”

  Doc looked up at her again, and their eyes connected.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked her.

  “Yeah,” she nodded and gave a half smile. “I’m just trying to distract myself.”

  His eyes scanned hers skeptically, but he let his gaze go and continued on. He then moved to the head of the bed, slid his arms under Smith’s body, hooked his hands up around his shoulders, and lifted his torso over to the other bed. As he did, she felt Smith’s arm fall against her hand and she recoiled slightly. Doc quickly grabbed it and tucked it alongside the torso, glancing briefly at her again. He moved the other bed away and stood alongside Smith’s body, straightening it in line with the bag, then he reached down and started zipping it up. He paused for a moment as the zip reached Smith’s chin, then zipped it closed.

  He looked up at her. “You okay?”

  She nodded, swallowing. “What next?”

  “I’ve got to move him into the cool room.”

  He walked over to a door in the far corner of the room, which she had assumed was another storeroom. He punched in a code, the door unlocked and he wheeled Smith’s bed inside.

  “Do you need a hand?” she called out.

  “No, I got it,” he said.

  She heard the sound of the body bag ruffling as Doc moved it, then she thought she heard the zip again. Was Doc saying a last goodbye? Maybe this was something he’d wanted to do alone? She looked over at Smith’s empty boots lying on the floor and felt a pang of sadness squeeze her chest.

  After minute or two, Doc came back out of the room, wheeling the empty bed. Somehow the image of the empty bed turned her pang of sadness into a deeper pain, like a tearing of flesh right down to her gut. Doc closed the door, locking it. She looked from the empty bed to the locked door. Again, so final.

  Doc began lining up the bed underneath its pod cover and locked the lever to hold it in place. She walked over to the other one and did the same, then looked down at the bloodi
ed sheets.

  “What do we do with these?” she asked, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.

  Doc grabbed the sheets and pulled them off. She saw the mattress underneath was covered in plastic, and more blood sat pooled on top of it. Doc walked into the examination room to the window in the wall, and sent the sheets through it.

  She stood looking at the bits of blood that had splattered onto the cupboards. “What should I clean this up with?”

  He saw the stains on the cupboard and the mattress cover. “There’s some hospital grade disinfectant over there,” he pointed. “Make sure you put some gloves on first, though.”

  She found the disinfectant, grabbed some gloves and paper towels and headed back to the cupboards. She eyed the pool of blood gathered on top of the mattress and paused. Smith’s body had been removed, but he was still here. She glanced down at his empty boots and pictured him in her mind, standing in the comms room giving her his awkward smile and flashing his slightly crooked teeth. Her eyes began to sting and she felt them begin to well along with the lump in her throat. She quickly pressed her eye with the back of her hand to remove the excess water.

  “Is your eye hurting?” Doc asked, walking over to her. He placed his hand on the side of her face, his thumb lifting her eyelid open slightly, so he could examine it.

  She quickly realized it was her bloodshot eye that she’d pressed. She grabbed hold of his hand and removed it from her face. “No, it’s fine. I’m just … it’s fine, really.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

  He studied her for a moment, his brown eyes searching hers, then he looked down at his hand, which she was still holding. She released it, awkwardly, then turned to the wall and began cleaning it. Doc stood there for a moment looking at her, then cleared his throat and bent down to pick up Smith’s boots.

  She cleaned the cupboards and mattress cover in silence, while Doc packaged up Smith’s shoes and locked them in the cool room with his body. He then began to pack up the IV and blood bag.