by Sean Clark
Cecil peers up at her, her face sitting uncomfortably close. “Yes. Well, rather, they were made dormant. By that time my body had had time to vaccinate itself.”
“And that’s why you’re down here with us, because you’re immune.” Galen questions him. “Isn’t it?”
Cecil nods. Galen looks down at him, pursing his lips. Tulia gets back on her feet, offering Cecil a hand to get up. “We can find a use for you that isn’t jabbing people with needles.” She says calmly. Cecil took her hand and used it to move to his feet. Feeling calmer, he follows her in.
Cecil takes a deep breath, looking out at the room of patients once again. Readjusting the protective gear, he shakes his head, clearing his mind.
“Cecil.” Tulia calls out. Turning around, he spots her with a bucket of foamy water and a washcloth. “Go wipe down the patients. It’s okay.” Cecil composes himself, grabbed the bucket out of her hand. “Start with bed number eight. He’s kind of loopy, so just ignore what he says.”
The bucket sloshes as Cecil carefully carries it down the row of cots, attempting to ignore the gazes and groans as he passes. Each had been labeled with a number, drawn hastily on a sheet of paper and stuck to the wall. Eight.
Cecil moves to the side of the bed, gently prodding the figure underneath the covers. The man stirs, and turned over to face Cecil. “Whoeryou? ” He slurred, blankets falling down past his shoulders.
“I’m here to wipe you down.” Cecil says humbly. The man tries to sit up, Cecil pulling at his bony shoulders to help. As he shifts to the side, back facing Cecil, he could make out the emaciated looking body. Carefully wringing out the warm water from the cloth, Cecil starts wiping him down.
“What’s your name?” The man asks quietly.
“It’s Cecil.”
The man gazes over his shoulder to look at him. “I know that name. There used to be a young man who worked here before with that name. He is no longer with us.”
“You don’t know that.” Cecil replies softly.
“No, he died.” The man shakes his head slowly. “He passed away, we was hurt bad. Bad, bad.”
“What do you mean?” Cecil questions him, still trying to keep his voice down.
“I heard Cecil died down here in these caves… he went crazy and fell into the pool, got burned alive.” The man continues to mutter. Cecil stops the wiping movements. Biting his lip, Cecil can feel the frustration slowly building.
“No, no… that’s me. I’m okay.” Cecil explains, voice trembling.
The man once again gives him a sideways glance. “Dead man walking…coming back to haunt us...” He mumbles. Cecil drops the towel into the bucket, and backing away. Cecil pulls off the gloves, dropping them on the ground indignantly. Quickly retreating, he turns tail and moved out of the room, pushing his way through the curtains and sliding doors. Without looking back at Galen to Tulia, he is gone.
The hallway is the same as before. Cecil takes a deep breath of the damp air, and closes his eyes. His feet guide him down the pathway, as the temperature dropped. He lets out his held breath, and opens his eyes. The dome shaped room stands in front of him.
Approaching the railing, he looks down at the gaping pit once again. The room is quiet. Legs shaking, Cecil takes his seat on the ground… the cold grate. Between his deep breaths, he can feel his heart racing, slowly dropping to a normal pace.
The cool air is calming. Cecil’s body trembles in anticipation, for what he is unsure. Closing his eyes, he instinctively opens his mouth. “Mother.”
The room remains silent. Cecil blocks out any other thoughts, concentrating on the sound of his pounding heartbeat and the rhythm of his breathing. In, out. In, out. Cecil breaths, his brow furrowing in frustration. Waiting, he tries to remember the voice. When was the last time he heard it? What did it sound like? Who did it belong to?
Air whistles over the opening to the pit causing Cecil’s heart to jump. The silence returns and a chill radiates from his body. He trembles as goose bumps form on his skin. “Mother!” He cries out in frustration.
Tears start to form in his eyes. He wipes them away with the rough sleeve of his coveralls, but more come. Cecil hunches over, trying to control the shaking of his body. It won’t stop. “Auughhh!” Cecil screams, the sound echoing through the cavern.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Galen yells from the hallway. Cecil doesn’t move to respond. Stomping up to him, Galen grabs him by the shoulders violently. “What is wrong with you? What could he have said to shake you up like this?”
“Nothing!” Cecil sobs.
“Then there’s something wrong with you. Get over it!” Galen shakes him.
“Leave me alone.”
“Ugh, I can’t deal with this right now.” Galen groans, turning back down the hallway.
Chapter 34
Cecil had curled himself into a ball, clinging to his knees and refusing to move. The grate presses up against his skin, digging into his cheek. Galen had stomped away before Cecil could respond. He wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Mother… I don’t know if I can do this.” He sighs, his chest shuttering through the last of his tears. Through the grate, dust particles dance in the air from the greyish red rock below. Taking deep breaths through his nose, Cecil slowly empties his mind.
The lift begins to rumble, filling the room with noise. Sitting up, Cecil rubs his eyes. The pair of glasses had shifted awkwardly on his face, and he moves to adjust them. Settling down at the bottom, the lift door rolls open, producing the pallet jack carrying the crate of supplies. Agrippa holds the handles, pushing it along.
Cecil quickly stands, straightening his clothing. Agrippa locks eyes for a split second before moving back to his hands on the cart. Pulling closer, the old man leans over the handle and grumbles at Cecil, eyes still pointed ahead. “I got a call that I was needed down here… You know, I know fully well that these guys down here can handle things just fine. There’s only one thing out of place, right now.” Looking down at the ground, he waves for Cecil to follow him, before continuing to push the crate along. “Follow me.”
“Who called you out here?” Cecil urges him.
“You should be helping Tulia and the doctor who came with you, not messing around out here.” Agrippa admonishes him, avoiding the question. “Haven’t you had your fill of this place?”
“It’s not like that.” Cecil shakes his head, following after Agrippa’s slow, deliberate pace.
“I not disappointed… I’m beyond that, Cecil. Even though I knew as soon as I stepped foot down here, I would see you sitting in the same place as usual. Yesterday you assured me you were fine. This place still haunts you though, doesn’t it? Even after so long, too.” Agrippa pauses, waiting for a reply. “No… I shouldn’t blame you entirely. Even I still can’t get over the memories of this place.” He grumbles before Cecil can say anything. “It’s just strange. Still don’t like it.”
“Because of everything that’s happened down here… I think you… we, want to believe it’s the place that’s bad.” Cecil explains, following Agrippa’s precise footsteps. “It’s just a form of confirmation bias when something bad does happen here.”
“Stop it with that bullshit talk of logic.” Agrippa plants his feet, seething. “We had a perfect record for non-life-threatening injuries before we stepped foot down here. You realize that, right?” Agrippa utters solemnly, finally turning to look Cecil down.
“I’m sorry I had to go and ruin that.” Cecil retorts facetiously.
“I’m not blaming you.” The old man snaps, followed by a deep breath. “But bad things happen. Here. On your ship- Linus. This sickness. It’s everywhere. Maybe humanity wasn’t ready to come to Mars.”
“I don’t think it ever would have been. Do you want me to quote ‘The Dangers of Space?’ for you?” Cecil teases. “I can.”
“I remember the gist.” Agrippa plays along. “How are you sleeping?
“I’m not.” Cecil says plainly. Agrippa le
ts go of the jack’s handles and turns turn his head back towards him. “I haven’t slept in over a week, since we woke up from cryo. It was like that on Earth too… not as bad as this but… Well, we’ve learned the deep freeze has its effects.”
“Cecil, you need to sleep.” Agrippa insists, brow furrowing.
“It isn’t an issue of whether I want to or not.” Cecil raises his voice. “I physically can’t… even though I’m exhausted. I lie there in bed, looking up at the ceiling. Sometimes I can close my eyes and drift off, but I end up jolting myself awake soon thereafter. It’s like my brain won’t shut off to allow me to fall asleep. My mind is full of… noise, I guess you would say. Like tinnitus, but inside my head. If there’s no other sort of stimulation to overpower it, then it will keep me up like this.”
“You shouldn’t have come here if you knew you were going to have to deal with this.” Agrippa berates him.
“We’ve been through this before… it’s already too late for me.” Cecil paces around, eventually leaning against the crate sitting on the jack.
“Don’t say it like that. I’m going to stay here tonight. There won’t be any more transport vehicles this way today anyways.” Agrippa reassures him. “I can assume why you aren’t there helping out Tulia. We can try to help those people in there the best we can, though.”
Cecil picks himself up to allow Agrippa to push the jack. They continue to the door, parking the crate outside. Agrippa carefully pushes past the plastic drape, and Cecil moves for the tool strapped to the side of the crate. Starting to pry at the sides, Cecil pops the top off easily. Inside, it is tightly packed with smaller crates with red crosses decaled on. From the opposite side of the drape, he can hear Tulia speak up.
“Ah, Agrippa. It’s about time.” Tulia appears in the entranceway, looking out at the crate. “How is he?” She whispers audibly to the old man. Cecil returns an unpleasant look her way.
“We’re going to deal with things in our own way.” Agrippa says softly, looking back at Cecil. “I’ll leave you to these then?”
◆◆◆
“What ended up happening to your mother?” Agrippa asks, sitting against the uneven wall. Cecil sits beside him, head rolled back to look up at the ceiling.
“She was already buried by the time I got out of the hospital. She has a place in the veteran’s cemetery outside of Houston. I made sure to visit when I could.”
“I’m glad you got some closure.”
“It’s more than that. Mars and Earth felt like two completely different planes of existence. When I’m in one place, it feels like my experiences in the other place were little more than a dream. When she passed… the two worlds came colliding back together. Now that that tie is broken, I can feel at peace not having to worry about the Earth.”
“So, do you ever intend to go back?” Agrippa says, turning his head over at Cecil.
“Maybe not. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m unable, or if I simply don’t want to.”
“We can handle ourselves here… you don’t have to force yourself to stick around.” Agrippa pauses before turning his head back down. “Though… you’re not well enough to make another trip, are you?” Agrippa asks.
“It… wouldn’t be good for me. Cryo sleep takes its toll on your body, your mind. I’ve already gone through more than most people should. After all I’ve been through… it feels as if my mind is on the point of breaking. It feels like a jumble right now… like I don’t know if something I remember is from yesterday, or if it’s from the day before, or even a week ago.”
“Your brain needs sleep to put everything in order as it should. You… your brain is just running you on autopilot. You know, it was like that for me when my partner passed. I was just so encompassed by grief that I had barely enough energy to think about my own well-being. By the time I snapped out of it, my health… my life… my home… were all just messes. It takes a good bit of willpower to get out of it so that you can think of your own self again.”
“I went through that on Earth, feeling like I was useless. Maybe I had convinced myself that coming back here would give me purpose again. In the end, I just ended up erasing a big chunk of progress I had made in getting my health back. You know what though…” Cecil sighs, rolling his head back and forth over the rock wall. “Out of all the places on this planet, this place makes me feel the most at home. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be, and that everything will eventually be alright.”
“Maybe you’ve become attuned to the energies of the planet. We’d be very close to the source, here.”
“I thought you were a scientist, Agrippa.” Cecil says lightheartedly. “You refused to believe me when I talked about the voice down here. Now, you want to talk of this spiritual nonsense.”
“Spiritual, no. At least not entirely. This place is alive, you know. Maybe not in the way you think you’ve experienced, but underneath us, around us… the planet is living and moving. Mars’s version of mother nature if you will. It’s providing us with energy to power to allow us to live here.”
“That’s an interesting way to think of it. Maybe that was the voice I was hearing all along.” Cecil says, looking back at Agrippa, who attempts to stifle a yawn. “What about you? You tired?”
“I’m always tired. There’s too much shit to do here.” Agrippa mumbles, drifting off.
“Agreed.” Cecil returns softly, turning his head to look out at the dim light of the hallway. Agrippa breathes softly beside him. Cecil waits for the silence to engulf him. Between his soft heartbeats and the sound of his breath, the faint hum of the atmosphere in the stone hallway surrounds him.
The sounds of electricity buzzing in the conduits bolted along the ceiling, the churning of turbines and pumps somewhere deeper in the cave, the air being pushed through ventilation shafts dotted around the compound, all mix together. Cecil can feel his eyes starting to feel heavy.
Cecil.
Cecil. I feel you. You are close… I feel you. I know it. Cecil, I need you. You are the only one I can communicate with… without you I am alone. Cecil. Please answer me.
Cecil, please.
Cecil jumps, eyes shooting open. The hallway is dark, causing his eyes to adjust to the poor light. He can feel his back, shoulders, and neck moist with sweat. Wiping his hand down his collar, he looks over at Agrippa, still asleep with his arms crossed and head tilted to the side.
Pushing himself up carefully, Cecil moves to his feet, making sure not to wake the old man. Carefully tiptoeing along the grate, Cecil wanders out to the big circular room. The lift had remained in place where Agrippa had left it, the gate still rolled up. Getting in, Cecil carefully brings down the gate, mashing the button to raise the device up. Groaning and squeaking, it begins to ascend.
Reaching the top, Cecil looks out at the airlock before lifting the door. The pale brown light was returning to the sky. Cecil makes his way out and over to the rack where the suits are hung neatly on their racks, each looking slightly worn. He slips off the coveralls and unfolds a jumpsuit from the shelf beside it. Stepping into it, the comforting feeling of the tight fabric encompasses him.
The space suit slips over the fabric smoothly, and he works his way into the arm holes, pulling them up to his shoulders. Double checking all of the connections on the suit, he picks up a helmet, getting a quick glance of his reflection as he slips the polycarbonate dome over his head. The seals lock into place with a satisfying whoosh.
The first airlock door slides open silently. Cecil pats the air tank on his back, making sure it had been secured. The alarm sounds noisily as he triggers the system to depressurize the airlock compartment. The light flashing, Cecil looks back at the entrance to the lift, still stationary. The outside door slides open, and Cecil steps out into the dull void of red and brown.
◆◆◆
Each step through the Martian landscape sends bits of dust flying up into the atmosphere around him. Cecil trudges through the dunes, muscles aching more with
every step. Looking behind him, the white spire of Secundus had begun to disappear beyond the orange crags at the edge of the crater.
Cecil shivers, his feet sinking into the cold sand, and thin atmosphere around him surrendering heat from his body. The faint curved edge of the crater stretches along beside him. The pinnacle of the formation seems close.
After more climbing, Cecil stumbles to a flat area and collapses. Examining his instruments, the oxygen meter reads an exasperating fifty-three percent. Cecil takes a deep breath before heaving himself back up. Fifty-two percent. Cecil pushes the imagine out of his mind.
The ground starts moving downhill, but the sand acts borderline fluid, unforgiving. Forced to shuffle and slide down, Cecil had become a slave to the gravity, as little as there was. Peeking behind him, the spire had long since disappeared from view.
The sun starts to glare behind the murky cloak of the Martian sky. Cecil can feel the sweat under his suit starting to build. Going back to the instruments panel on his arm, he fiddles with the heat exchanger. The oxygen meter catches his eye once again. Twenty-one percent.
Taking a final tumble down the hill, Cecil can barely move his legs. The soft sand had turned his legs to jelly, and the feeling in his feet had disappeared with numbness. Laying in place, Cecil starts to catch his breath and rest. The sunrays glare in his eyes. Closing them did little to block them out.
Beep.
The alarm warning of low oxygen starts to play. Ten percent.
“Why did I do this?” Cecil despairs, shaking his head back and forth. A gleam in the distance catches his eye. Exasperated, Cecil attempts to roll over on his back and get up. After a third try, he is able to plant his feet into the sand once again. Locking his knees, he struggles to maintain balance.
