Remembering a series of detective novels he'd read in his youth, his thoughts arrived at the one question every good detective knew to ask in trying to solve a crime:
Who benefits?
Who-or maybe, what gainsfrom removing all ofEar h'speople and animals?
He tossed around several theories, ranging from contact with an alien life form to humans from the future traveling back in time to alter history, but he never managed to arrive at an explanation he found satisfying.
Soon, he heard the telltale sounds of feet clomping up the fire escape landing outside, and he quickly lurched back to his feet before Terry ran in, still sopping wet and panting for air.
One look at Terry's face was all he required to know the answer. Terry shook his head to confirm it.
No helicopters. No anything.
Chris closed his eyes his shoulders fell. He let out a despairing mouthful of air.
"Now what?" Terry asked between breaths.
"You didn't see anything that might be useful? Anything at all?"
Terry shook his head again. "Just more Hercs."
Come on ... Please, just a little help. Please.
"There's got to be some place around here that has a helicopter," Chris sighed.
"But where?" Terry replied. "Where else but an airfield would you find parked helicopters?"
Where, indeed.
"Wait, wait, wait a minute," Chris said, his head popping back up with renewed vigor. "Isn't Keesler home to a large military hospital?"
Terry nodded. "Sure, I saw it on Beech's map. But what-oh, a medivac, of course!"
Chris' eyes grew wider by the second. "They'd have a helipad on the roof. How far away do you think it is?"
Terry looked momentarily dejected. "It's on the other side of the base. At least half a mile north of where we came in."
Chris' mind spun. "Then we swim back to where we were thrown off the jet ski and see if we can find it again. Come on, let's go. Too had we won't know until we get there if there's a chopper waiting for us or if the pad is empty."
"Come on, man ..." Terry began, stopping in his tracks and blocking Chris' path. `Are we really going to have this conversation a third time? You know I have to do this without you. I'll try to get the jet ski, find a chopper, and come back for you-"
"Not a chance," Chris replied, trying to mask his wincing in pain with an authoritative scowl.
"Chris!" Terry shouted. "Seriously! You're in no shape to swim all the way back to where we crashed. I know you're trying to hide it, but you're barely standing upright, and you're going to do irreparable damage to your shoulder if you keep this up! You know I'm right; you're just too stubborn to admit it."
"I make the calls, Terry. That's what being in command means. Now move out of my way or-"
Terry whipped the pistol out from the back of his pants, pointed it at Chris, and thumbed the hammer back. "Or what?"
Chris looked at the gun, then back at Terry. "What are you doing?"
"What you're forcing me to do," Terry replied. "The whole world is counting on us. I'm expendable. You're not. That's just how it is. If you make me, I'll pop you in the leg."
Chris' eyes bore into Terry's. He wouldn't really shoot him, would he?
Then again, this was Terry.
"This is mutiny," said Chris.
"That's right. And you can write me up all you want once we're out of this mess."
Chris knew Terry was just impulsive enough to actually pull the trigger if he believed he was right, and this time even Chris knew that he was.
"Fine, go," Chris said at last. "But be careful, and don't do anything dumb . . . -er," he added.
Terry pocketed the gun again. "I'll see you soon," he said.
With that, he turned and ran for the door. He stumbled over his own feet at the metal threshold, but turned quickly back to the open doorway and shouted inside, "I'm good, totally meant to do that!"
Chris didn't laugh. He thought instead of the many obstacles and unknowns standing in Terry's way. If just one thing went wrong, if Terry were to get hurt as well, or worse ...
Then it was over.
Please ... Just a little help.
Watch out for him. Please.
Keep him safe.
The bright light of the Biloxi Lighthouse illuminated the flooded Gulf Coast.
The rain continued to fall, the wind continued to roar, but they opted to sit out on the balcony and get soaked through once again. Between the two generators, Owen managed to jury-rig one that worked, and if rescue arrived, they wouldn't see it coming from inside.
Trisha was watching the horizon to the northeast, hoping to see a moving light in the air that signaled their rescue. Mae, against all odds, was actually asleep in the rain, her back propped against the white outer wall. Owen had to assume that given her lifestyle, she was used to falling asleep in strange conditions. Meanwhile, he was gazing upward at the sky from behind his prescription glasses, wishing he could see beyond the storm clouds.
"I wonder if they're still the same as I remember," Owen mused aloud.
"Who?" Trisha replied, barely paying attention.
"The stars. Constellations. We haven't been able to get a good look at them since we got back. It's been too cloudy."
"You think somebody else is out there? Another race? Another culture?"
"Honestly," said Owen, "until this week, I had never given it any serious thought."
Trisha was visibly stunned. "You're an astronaut. How could you have never wondered about the existence of life beyond our planet?"
He glanced at her. "I wasn't always an astronaut."
Trisha hinphed. "Then why are you so interested in constellations?"
"I just can't help wondering if they are as we left them."
"Why wouldn't they be?"
He cocked his head. "Why would the entire population of a planet vanish in an instant?"
It was clear from Trisha's expression that she didn't understand where he was going with this, so he forced his brain to backtrack, slow down, and attempt to put it into words she could follow.
"Do you remember that movie-it was out years ago-about nature developing an airborne toxin that wiped out all of humanity? Can't remember what it was called. But the story went that nature grew tired of people destroying and polluting the environment, so it created a natural defense to fight back against the species that was doing all that damage-us."
"You're not thinking that that's what happened here?" Trisha asked, dubious.
"No, of course I'm not," replied Owen. "But I am thinking about how much there is still to be learned by the human race. No matter how much we discover, no matter how far the hand of mankind reaches away from this planet, or down to the subatomic, the universe still has an infinite number of surprises in store for us. And maybe it always will."
Trisha knitted her brow. "You think what happened is some kind of ... natural occurrence? Some sort of strange, random effect or.."
"How could I? I have no idea what happened," Owen replied. "I'm saying that there are more variables in the cosmos than we may ever comprehend. The possibilities are nearly infinite. Just like what may or may not have happened to our friends; we can't know every variable they've faced in trying to find transportation and get back here."
He watched Trisha take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He knew that particular tic; her mind had been forced down a path she didn't like and she needed to process it a bit before she could comment on it.
"Stars is still there," Mae said, causing both Owen and Trisha to look at her, suddenly remembering she was with them. Her eyes remained closed, but she was talking nonetheless. "See 'em all the time."
`And are they the same?" Owen asked.
Mae shrugged. "Look the same to me."
Owen glanced at his watch. It was two AM. The more time that passed, the greater the chances that Chris and Terry would not be returning. It was a logistical probability. And they'd been gone an awfully long
time.
He could put off discussing it no longer. He was about to suggest to Trisha that they begin exploring their own options for escape and survival when the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades met his ears. He turned to Trisha just as she turned to him, and they jumped to their feet.
"There!" she shouted, pointing north.
Running lights and what looked like a search beam hanging from the front of a helicopter were beating as direct a path toward them as it could despite the ever-present wind.
It was at the lighthouse in less than a minute. The chopper bucked and swayed dangerously in the storm, but the pilot did his best to hold it steady and within another minute it was on them.
A side door slid open and a rope ladder fell out. Owen sent Mae up the ladder first, and it took some time, but she managed to finally climb inside. They couldn't risk more than one person on the ladder at a time, so he asked Trisha to go next. But as second in command, she told him to go, and he respected her too much to argue the point.
When he was finally onboard the jittery aircraft, he discovered that it was not Terry who'd thrown down the ladder, but Chris, who was strapped tight in the window seat with a sling immobilizing his left arm. Owen seated himself across from Burke, who was clearly exhausted and much worse for whatever experiences they'd had. Yet he insisted on helping the three of them get onboard, and didn't let himself rest again until he'd given Trisha a very careful hand up into the cabin.
When Trisha collapsed herself wearily in the copilot's seat next to Terry, Terry turned around and shouted into the microphone built into his helmet, `Any particular destination? I don't think she has enough juice to get us very far."
`Just head west," Chris replied into his own helmet's mike. `And look for something dry."
EIGHT
JULY 8, 2033 DAY FOUR
"I need to confess something that's eating at me," Chris began. "I need to tell someone, and you're the one I trust the most."
"Okay ... Trisha replied, taking the visitor's seat next to him. She was tired. So, so tired. She didn't feel like keeping up the facade anymore. She hadn't had anything healthy to eat in days, her exercise routine was off, and she was feeling it. She cared about whatever was bothering him, but it was hard to think about anything but her own desire to collapse and rest.
It was early afternoon, the day after the escape from the flood, and Chris lay in bed resting his shoulder. Trisha had stopped in to check on him. His arm was still in the immobilizer, and he sat up with his back against several pillows. They were alone in a patient's room at Methodist Hospital in New Orleans. Chris had initially been skeptical when Terry suggested the famously lower-than-sea-level city as their stopping point, but they had little choice. The helicopter wouldn't carry them any farther, and his fears were unfoundedremarkably, the city was just a little damp from the rain. New Orleans was almost one hundred miles southwest of Biloxi, and well outside the range of the flood surge they'd encountered. What parts of the flooded riverways that did make it that far west had been buffered by the enormous Lake Pontchartrain that was situated directly between New Orleans and the mainland of Louisiana.
Methodist Hospital was one of the city's smaller medical venues, housing just over two hundred beds. But it was more than sufficient for their needs.
Terry had spotted the hospital on the east end of town and set down the chopper on the building's rooftop helipad. A hospital seemed a logical choice; between the five of them, they were sore, exhausted, hungry, and suffering from injuries of all sorts-Chris' shoulder being the worst. After the drenching and blowing rain and flood, none of them felt like they'd ever be dry again. A hospital could provide everything they needed to recuperate quickly and get back on the road. And Chris was already insisting on just that, having dictated upon their arrival that they would shelter here for no more than twenty-four hours.
The storm in Biloxi had come so close to defeating them, and a sense of gloom hung over the hospital like the same storm clouds they'd been trapped under last night. Their worst loss of all was the two four-by-four vehicles they'd acquired at Kennedy and all the supplies carried onboard-not to mention every one of Mae's earthly possessions. Not that she seemed distraught by this; like with everything else, she barely seemed to notice. Only whatever she'd managed to hide away in her gigantic coat, and Owen's laptop survived.
"Right, okay," Chris began, and Trisha was troubled by the expression on his face. She saw doubt there, and that was something one just didn't see coming from Christopher Burke. "I, uh ... I almost made a bad call last night. I wanted to go off and find the chopper by myself."
Trisha shook her head. "Everybody has those days, Chris, it was a high-stress situation. Don't kick yourself."
"No, that's not ... it's not about blame...." He grappled for what he wanted to say. She chastised herself, deciding not to interrupt him again. "I feel like a rope that's been stretched tight, and its fibers are starting to unravel. I should have seen that crash coming on the jet ski. I could have and should have avoided it. I flew state-of-the-art fighter jets in a war, for crying out loud.
`And then there're the dreams-my waking memories of what happened on Mars. There's been more of them. Like last night, when I fell from the lighthouse."
"I wondered if that's what that was," Trisha confessed.
As I'm learning more and more about what happened, the events I'm seeing in my dreams have started becoming more ... obscure. Surreal. I'm not even sure if they're real memories anymore, or if something from my subconscious mind is seeping into the dreams. I still have no idea how I survived what happened on Mars."
"What in your dream was so surreal?" she asked, unable to stop herself.
"I don't think you'd believe me," he replied.
"Never stopped you before now."
So he told her. He told her about descending deeper into the lava tube, and nearly running out of oxygen. And he told her about what he'd next seen materialize out of thin air.
"You're right, I don't believe it," she whispered in reply. "I mean, I believe you. Of course I believe you. But what you described ... Your mind has to be playing tricks on you. Or played tricks. Maybe you were hallucinating."
"I don't know... " Chris said, closing his eyes. A pained expression covered his face as he tried to reach back into his mind and recall it again. She didn't like seeing him this way. It was a far cry from the confident leader she'd lived and worked with side by side for so long.
When she said nothing, he spoke again. "There's something else."
'All right."
"Maybe I really am going insane, because I've been seeing-well, this thins. When I'm awake, not asleep. I don't know what it is, but it's the same every time. A spatial anomaly, or some kind of atmospheric distortion. I first saw it in space, just before the crash, but I've seen it again several times since we hit the ground."
Trisha was uncertain how to respond to this. Was he serious? "Are you sure it wasn't just a retinal flash?"
A curious phenomenon of long-term space travel was rapidly traveling cosmic rays, which moved through space-and through human brains-manifesting in flashes of light behind the eyelids. The ionic radiation caused by these cosmic rays could be harmful to human cells, though NASA had long ago manufactured ways of counteracting these effects. But the flashes of light behind the eyelids remained; there was no way to eliminate them.
"What I'm seeing is dark, not light," replied Chris. "There's no light in it at all. And it's not just a flash; this thing stays put for a minute or more each time. It's like staring into a miniature black hole. One that's stalking me."
Trisha breathed in and out, long and thoughtful. "You think this whatever-it-is is related to D-Day?"
Chris frowned, dismal. "I feel like it has to be. But there's no answers. What I'm really worried about though is ... what if ... whatever happened to me in that cave on Mars-what if I came back wrong, somehow? Different? Changed. With the crash, and then everything that's happened since
we got back ... I'm worried my judgment has been compromised. There's too much at stake, and the others need me to be the leader. But what if I can't lead anymore?"
Trisha was speechless. This was not the Christopher Burke she knew. He never questioned his own decisions, he never blubbered on about his fears, and he never, ever doubted himself or his faculties.
Something was happening to him, that much was certain, but she had no idea how to respond to it or what to say to him about it. What if he really was losing his mind?
"I'm sorry for dumping on you," Chris said. "I just ... don't know what I'm thinking or feeling anymore. It's a jumbled mess up here." He pointed to his head.
She rose from her seat. "I'll put some thought into this. It stays between us-you're right not to worry the others. For now, you should really try to get some rest. And call me if you need anything."
"Hey," he said as she was about to leave.
"Yeah?"
"Keep an eye on Terry," Chris said. "He mutinied last night. Pulled a gun and said he'd shoot me in the leg if I didn't stay put while he got the chopper."
Trisha considered this. "Under the circumstances, I can't really say he was wrong."
"I know," Chris conceded. "I was being irrational. It just makes me worry what else he's capable of You know the effects that longterm solitude can have on a person."
"Okay," she said, tired and wanting to leave, "I'll watch him."
He offered a weak smile as thanks, as she quietly glided out of his room and shut the door. She had taken a room right across the hall. The others were spread out elsewhere; many of the hospital rooms had been occupied on D-Day, and so they were still in various stages of upheaval, with unmade beds, belongings stashed all over, IV lines and heart monitors disconnected from anything. They had decided upon first arriving that the easiest thing to do would be to find rooms to bed down in that had not been in use on D-Day.
Trisha rested her back against the closed door to Chris' room for a moment. It was so frustrating, seeing him like this. And selfishly, it was another burden for her to bear in silence. Wasn't her load heavy enough already? She didn't resent him for opening up to her; she resented the world for trying to keep her beaten down.
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