by Lee Stephen
“Yes sir.”
“Everyone else, do what you would normally do. If you see him, treat him like you always did. Let’s try to get him back to normal. Maybe that will calm him down. Who knows?”
“I think we should tell the captain,” Galina said. “I think he should know what we know.”
Oleg’s eyes widened. “Galya, please.”
“I think she’s right,” said David. “Clarke’s not going to say anything. He’s someone who needs to know. Trust us, he’s okay to tell.”
“He is a good man,” Galina affirmed. “And everyone in the unit will come to know anyway. Scott asked Esther to find out. It is expected for the truth to be discovered.”
“We don’t even have to mention your name to Clarke, Oleg. We’ll tell him we found out from Esther. You’ll be clean.”
Oleg sighed and said nothing.
“All right, everyone,” David said as he rose from his chair. “Go about your business as you normally would. Esther, disappear until the memorial. We’ll let you know what time it’ll be held at. I’m going to go talk to Clarke.”
“I will go with you,” said Galina. “It would be good for us both to be there.”
“Good idea.”
“Wha’ a draggin’ heavy week,” Becan said, heading toward the lounge door.
“No kidding,” said Travis, who trailed behind him.
David, Galina, and Esther followed them out of the lounge and within moments, they were all dispersed down the halls. Room 14 was left empty.
Except for one person.
As soon as the others had disappeared from earshot, Oleg Strakhov pushed back in his chair. Groaning with mouth closed, he stretched his neck and ran a hand over his head. Giving his head a quick shake, he blew out a breath and stood up.
He stepped to the counter, where he began to brew a fresh pot of tea—whistling the whole while he did.
* * *
“That’s wonderful, empress,” Clarke said, smiling as he listened to the little girl on the other end of the phone line. “Let me talk to your mum, now.” He eased his mouth away from the receiver and sighed. A moment later, when his wife’s voice emerged on the other side, he spoke again. “Hello again, love.” His fingers traced along the edge of his nightstand. He chuckled. “Yes, she’s told me all about it. She deserved to win.” As he listened, his smile softened, and he leaned back on his bed. Aside from the indentation of his body, the bed was spotlessly made. Everything in the room was immaculate. “I miss you as well.” He lowered his eyes and exhaled. “I know.”
There was a sudden knock at the door. Clarke stood at attention, still holding the phone.
“Yes, it was,” he said into the receiver. “Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to. Business as usual, I suppose.” As he moved from the bed, his gentle smile once again returned. “I love you as well. So very much.” His fingers lingered on the nightstand. “Goodbye.”
He placed the phone down and straightened out his uniform. After a glance into the mirror, he cleared his throat and paced for the door. He paused as soon as he opened it. “Galya, David…good morning, again.”
David smiled weakly. “Sir.”
“Is there something I can do for the two of you?”
“Yes sir, actually there is. Could we…?” David angled his head toward the room.
Clarke watched him, then stepped back and smiled. “Yes, please. Come in.”
David and Galina stepped inside, and Clarke eased the door shut. He clicked the lock into place.
The captain’s room was well lit by fluorescent bulbs. Its walls were beige, and ornate decorations were strategically placed on the room’s various shelf spaces. It was spacious—a contrast to the tightness of Room 14.
“Nice room,” David said as he glanced about. His eyes scanned the shelf and its ornaments.
Clarke smiled as he motioned to a table in the corner. “Thank you, very much. I do try to maintain a certain amount of decorative dignity. Please, have a seat.”
The room was larger than Scott’s, but that wasn’t unusual. Clarke’s higher rank afforded him a top-of-the-line personal dwelling. It was like a den with a bed.
“What seems to be the concern?” Clarke asked as David and Galina sat beside one another. Clarke lowered himself across from them.
David and Galina swapped a glance, then Galina leaned forward. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke. “Scott wishes to inform you that he is returning to active duty.”
Clarke raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yes, captain. He is…” she bit her lip, “passionate about it.”
“Fancy that.”
“He also requests a memorial for his fiancee. He wants it tonight, before she goes home.”
He offered her a nod. “We’ll accommodate him. It’s not protocol, but it can be done.”
Galina sat solemnly.
The room fell completely silent—almost deafeningly so. Clarke’s gaze flicked back and forth between David and Galina expectantly, but when neither of them spoke again, he gave them a curious stare. “I have the distinct feeling we’re about to have an awkward conversation.”
David sighed and assumed a knowing look. As Galina lowered her head, David spoke up. “There’s something else about Scott that we need to talk about. I guess I should start by saying he’s very angry.”
“Completely understandable,” Clarke said.
“He’s very angry. I’ll spare the unnecessary details about what he told Galina, but I can sum it up with this. He wants to know what the Silent Fever is.”
“I’d imagine he does. I’d also love to know.”
“He ordered Esther to find out.”
Clarke smiled sarcastically. “Best of British to her.”
“She found out.”
At those words, Clarke’s expression changed. The mirthful grin of impossibility drooped away. It was replaced by a stare of disbelief. “What?”
“She found out. She found out what it is.”
For a moment, Clarke turned to Galina. When she didn’t meet his eyes with her own, he returned them to David. “How?”
“She came across someone privy to the information. Someone with the right sources, who told her what it was.” The room fell into awkwardness. “Do you want to know what it is?”
“Abso-bloody-lutely.”
“It’s the Nightmen.”
“The Nightmen?”
“Yes sir. It’s how they fulfill their Murder Rule. We’re not sure how, but we’re sure it’s by them.”
Clarke was completely dumbstruck. It took several moments for him to reply. “By God…is Esther sure?”
“Yes sir. Her source was close to the Nightmen. He asked that his identity remain secret. For his own sake.”
“Galina?”
“Yes, captain,” she answered, looking at him for the first time. “The explanation makes total sense. It makes sense that we have not found a cure, or even a cause for the virus. This explains very much.”
“There’s always been speculation that the Nightmen were behind it, but I don’t think anyone actually believed it. I’m astonished.”
“Captain,” said David, “Scott implored Esther to find out what it was. He’s going to want to know.” David watched as Clarke’s face fell. “I don’t know what he’s going to do when he finds out.”
“Do you think it’s wise to tell him?”
“I don’t think we have a choice. We didn’t uncover this on our own. We uncovered it because he told us to. At some point he’s going to ask us—or more specifically, he’s going to ask Esther.”
Galina sighed. “That is the problem,” she said, looking at Clarke. “He will ask Esther. If she says she does not know, he will be angry. He will feel that he is not being listened to. He expects her to find out, so he wants to get his answer.” She frowned. “I have never seen Scott so angry as he is now. It is for reason we all understand. But nonetheless—he will have to know.”
Clarke pondered bot
h of them for several moments, saying nothing. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, his tone was subdued. “When were you planning on telling him?”
“When he asks,” David answered. “Trust me, I don’t like it. This is strange for me, because I usually know what side I’m taking. But even I’m on the fence with this one. Part of me doesn’t want to tell him at all. Or wants to make something up, something that’s not going to make him go crazy. But then there’s that part of me that looks at Scott like a son. I want him to know the truth, even though I don’t want him to. If that makes sense to you at all.”
“It does,” said Clarke. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“So we’ll wait until he asks. When he asks, we’ll tell him. The rest is up to him.”
“There is one thing,” said Galina. “We do not know who the Nightman was who killed her. So even if he does find out, he will not know who to go after.”
“I suppose that answers my next question,” said Clarke. “You do think Remington will go after him.”
“Why else would he want to know?”
Clarke sighed. He ran his hand over the top of his head, then he leaned back further in his chair. “Blast. The last thing we need is a renegade lieutenant.”
David frowned at Clarke’s response.
“Very well,” the captain said. “He’ll have his memorial tonight, as he’s requested, and I’ll allow him to return to active duty. And if he asks you what you’ve learnt…” his words trailed off for a moment. “I’ll leave that decision to you, Jurgen. You’re his friend. I’m just his bloody commanding officer.” The words were laced with irony. “Speaking of officers, let’s do our best to keep Remington and Dostoevsky separated. Scott may not know who’s done this, but a Nightman is a Nightman. It’s in Scott’s best interest not to pick a fight with the commander. I think we can all agree to that.”
David and Galina both nodded.
“Well,” said Clarke, “I suppose I should start making phone calls. If there’s going to be a memorial tonight, Novosibirsk Command will need to know about it.” He pushed up from his chair. “Thank you both for bringing this to my attention. Let’s try to manage this situation as best we can.”
“I will tell the lieutenant he may return to duty,” said Galina. “So he knows he has your permission.”
“And I’ll spread the word about tonight,” David said.
“Very good,” Clarke said, as David and Galina moved to the door. “I’ll see you both tonight, then. I’ll give you a time as soon as I clear one.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you. Both of you.”
With no more words said, David and Galina stepped into the hall. The door was eased shut behind them.
As soon as the captain’s room was out of earshot, Galina turned to David. “What do you think?”
David shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t either.”
“There’s still a part of me that feels like telling Scott the truth is the right thing to do. But there’s a big part of me that thinks nothing good will come out of it.”
After several seconds of silence, Galina forced a smile. “Maybe both parts are right.”
“Yeah,” David said. “Maybe so.”
For the next several hours, the odd task of spreading the news was attended to. Galina told Scott that he was allowed to return to duty, to which Scott made no reply. David told the others about the memorial, learning from Clarke during the task that it would be held at 2000 hours in the hangar.
Nothing about the rest of the day felt normal or pleasant in any way. Conversations were hushed, and appetites were curbed. A dark cloud pervaded the unit, only personified by the literal clouds that brewed over the base. By the time 2000 hours came, rain was once again crashing down everywhere. But no one complained about the weather.
No one said a word.
12
Sunday, August 7, 0011 NE
2010 hours
That night
Thunder boomed beyond the doors of the hangar, as nature rained down its watery fury. The stink of the monsoon was all encompassing. For Scott, the weather fit well. It matched his emotions to the core.
The casket was right there in front of him, perched at the bottom of an airbus ramp.
She was ready for her final flight.
The casket wasn’t even open. It wasn’t allowed to be. Victims of the Silent Fever weren’t supposed to be exposed to the living, or so he had learned from the technician in charge of putting her on board. Thus, Scott’s last look at her was not a look at all. It was a look at a black cylinder. He could only take their word that she was inside.
The day passed with a mix of despair and darkness. His tears ceased only when his scowl prevented them. His scowl ceased when his tears became too heavy. It was a constant ebb and flow.
The entire crew of the Fourteenth was behind him—even Dostoevsky. The commander’s disappearing act had finally come to a close. But frankly, Scott couldn’t care less.
He hadn’t talked to God since that morning. He didn’t have the desire to. God had led him to Novosibirsk, and God had taken her away. What more was there to discuss? Had his Scripture been in his hands, he would have thrown it into the storm, for nothing more than the satisfaction of doing so.
Minutes passed with nothing but silence. Scott hadn’t planned on saying anything, nor had he asked someone else to. It was far too ordinary to request final words. Final words were for the sickly. For the old in age. For the ones expected to die. Final words were meant to help others move on.
He wasn’t ready for that.
She’d been ripped away too soon. Her life was like a sentence without a period. Unfinished. Destined to leave those around her wondering what was supposed to happen next, but never coming forth to reveal it. There was no ‘next.’ There was only the cutoff. Her story had been stopped in mid-chapter.
Why? Why had it happened? How could it have happened? There were too many uncertainties in his mind to write her death off as chance. He knew better.
He turned to seek his comrades; every stare lingered on him. They were waiting for him. To do something. To say something. What was he supposed to say? What was appropriate? There was nothing he could think of. Nothing he wanted to think of. His eyes returned to her casket.
Life became worthless the moment she was gone. Everything he’d looked forward to was gone. Everything he’d hoped to do with her, stolen. Killed. Taken away.
He was alone.
The first hand on his shoulder was Becan’s. He recognized the Irishman’s wiry fingers. The other was softer. Feminine. Varvara. He could feel the presence of the rest of the crew behind him.
“We’re here for yeh, Remmy,” Becan whispered. “Please know tha’.” The Irishman’s voice trembled as he spoke. “We’re goin’ to look after yeh.”
Varvara squeezed his shoulder. Several hands touched his back.
“Don’t be sad, Remmy,” Becan said. “Please don’t…”
He wasn’t sad. He was lost. He was abandoned. She’d been the rest of his life, and she was gone. He could hear their voices behind him. We’re here, man. David said it. Travis said it. Max said it. It was a chorus of compassion, and none of it helped.
One minute became five. Five minutes became ten. With every word he heard, with every hand he felt, he felt his own body growing tired. Beyond tired. Exhausted beyond the will to exist.
That all changed the moment the technician appeared to take the casket away.
Scott grew frantic as the curly-haired technician placed his hand on the casket. “I am sorry,” the technician said. “I have to take her.”
Scott’s heart jumped. “Wait.” His hand slammed against the casket’s top. “Not yet, please.” She couldn’t go yet. She couldn’t. “I have to see her, please.”
The technician’s mouth hung open.
“Please,” Scott pleaded. “Just for a second, please.”
“But…
she is Silent Fever…”
Scott shook his head with fervency. “I know, I know she is, but please…please, you have to.”
“Open the casket,” ordered Clarke.
The technician gaped. “But sir, she is Silent—”
“I said open the bloody casket, now.”
The technician stared at Clarke for several seconds, before offering a hesitant nod.
Scott watched as the man got behind the casket, unstrapped it, and released its latches. In the very next instant, it was opened. Opened faster than he could comprehend. Opened so fast that it shocked him.
She was there. She was there, lying still like the last time he’d seen her. Her face was colorless. Like the shell of an egg. Her eyes were shut, but not how they’d always been. She didn’t look like an angel. She looked like a corpse.
Nicole… His eyes glistened. His knees buckled. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t go with you. She had died alone. On the floor of his room. Without him. Tears broke down his face as he reached out a trembling hand. He flinched as he touched her skin. It was like she wasn’t even real.
The technician lowered his head. “I am so sorry…we have to go…”
Clarke shot the technician a glare.
Scott opened his eyes, trailing his fingers through her hair. He had longed to feel it again.
David eased his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Scott…”
Lowering his forehead against the casket, Scott reached out his hand to touch hers. I love you. His fingers curled. I will always love you.
Becan’s hand touched his back.
Always.
The technician watched in silence while Scott slid his fingers from Nicole’s. Scott felt himself slowly rising.
The technician placed his hands on the lid of the casket, then hesitated as he looked at Scott.
“It’s okay,” Scott whispered. “I know.”
The man nodded silently, and the casket was once again shut.
Scott wanted it opened again the moment it closed. He wanted to see her face. Touch her hair. Take her in his arms and hold her against his chest, just as he’d done so many times before.
