by RS McCoy
“Where are you going?” Osip asked.
“To get a shirt,” he replied. His next comm would be vastly different than the last, and he couldn’t waste any more time. “Go get yourselves cleaned up and get to work on this chart. I want to know every person on our matrix.”
With that, Silas escaped to the safety of his personal quarters. Alone with the full weight of what he’d just done, Silas found his fist smashed through his closet door before he’d even realized what had happened.
He couldn’t lie to her. She was the key to everything, she had to know. She had to understand—to give them the last pieces to finding the bugs.
Aida Perkins was too smart. A Kaufman trait, he imagined.
She’d sniffed Vince out a full eight seconds after Filmore mentioned it.
Silas hadn’t even known she was there.
In the bathroom, Silas rinsed the blood from the lacerations on his hand. From one of his knuckles, he pulled a shard of plastic, at least two inches long. He washed his face and brushed the coffee flavor from his mouth.
With a fresh shirt and pants, Silas slicked back his hair and returned to his office.
On his tablet, he sent the one word ecomm: EINSTEIN.
Masry commed back not two minutes later.
“I’m kind of busy, Arrenstein. What do you want?” Masry’s hair was less organized than usual, her features dull with fatigue.
“There’s been a large casualty event on the LRF. Filmore said in the neighborhood of forty,” Silas began.
“Cressida, add forty to the count,” she said to someone off-screen. Then to Silas, “I’m doing what I can, but there’s at least six hundred in North America alone. I’m still working on getting the international count.”
Silas wasn’t surprised to hear there had been other deaths—that this event wasn’t localized to Filmore’s facility. “I need the full work up. Names. Ages. Positions. Locales. Everything. I have a team correlating the data now, but I need everything you have.”
Masry froze. “Silas Arrenstein, if I found out you had something to do with this—”
“I’m afraid so.” He shrugged and offered her his winning smile, trying to make her laugh, to ease what would no doubt be a difficult day for her.
It didn’t work. She only grimaced.
“I’ll have Cressida keep you updated. I need to go.”
“Wait, Maz,” he shouted too loud, afraid she’d disconnected the comm.
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she waited to hear him out.
“I need to know how to override a colony termination order without the access code of the Scholar who wrote the order.”
Just before she ended the comm, Maz said, “You don’t.”
ABRAHAM
LUNA COLONY
SEPTEMBER 14, 2232
Abraham escaped to the kitchen and slumped into a chair. Alone in the cool dark, he pressed his face into his hands and concentrated on his breathing. He had to keep it together.
They were depending on him.
He’d already failed. Three tiny bodies lay wrapped in sheets in the greenhouse.
Renner.
Posey.
Noa.
All so little, so light as he carried them away. He didn’t want the others to see.
He cried the whole time. Their faces were limp and lifeless. They looked so strange compared to their usual vibrance. No more silly questions from Posey. No more excited announcements from Renner. Sweet Noa would never stroke his cheek again.
Abraham had failed them.
And there was no end in sight. The little ones had taken sick first. Then the older ones.
Then Charlene.
Only Abraham and Siya remained unaffected. And Kellan, too, showed no signs, though it was only a matter of time. Each and every child had fallen sick, one by one.
None of them had managed to live through it.
But Abraham wouldn’t let himself think about that. He couldn’t. He refused to think of what it would be like to wrap more little bodies in their bedsheets and stack them in the greenhouse.
He moved to the tablet and sent another desperate message. Surely someone would help them. Someone would offer them a cure or a treatment. Someone would tell him what to do with the bodies.
Abraham wouldn’t let them be composted. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him, despite the protocols.
“Your lady looking for you.”
Abraham bolted up and saw Siya coming down the corridor. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think she just sick. Wants to help them little ones.”
The helplessness was the worst feeling. No amount of work or care or diligence could change who lived or died. They could only wait. At least Abraham didn’t have to be ill while he waited.
He would have swapped with her in a heartbeat. He would trade with any of them if it would keep them from this misery.
“You okay?” Siya rubbed his hands together.
Abraham realized he was dazed. “Yeah, I’m going. Can you check on the girls again?” The four of them. Only four left.
Siya headed toward the girl’s room while Abraham walked down to see Charlene.
As he passed the Activity Room, he heard a sound. A soft plopping noise. When he went in, he saw Kellan bouncing a red ball against the wall.
“Hey, Kels.”
Kellan twirled and looked up at him. A bright smile filled his face. “Aba-ham! Play ball?”
“I can’t right now. I’ll come back in a few minutes.” Abraham meant it, but then he saw the boy’s sullen look.
For three days, he’d been the only child out of bed. He had no one to play with him or talk to him. Abraham and Siya were busy caring for so many sick kids.
Kellan hadn’t been a priority.
Abraham walked over to the ball and clutched it in his hand. As softly as he could, he bounced it toward Kellan. They boy grinned and attempted to catch it. His arms swung across his chest as the ball flew over his head. He didn’t care. He turned and jogged after it. His curls bounced with the motion.
A dozen times Abraham bounced the ball to him. Kellan only caught it once, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He trotted after the rubber ball with the same bright smile.
Abraham would have to do better with him. Even if it was only a few minutes, he would find some time to spend with Kellan. In a few days, he would be sick, too. There was no reason to think he wouldn’t. Every one of the kids had gotten sick.
He might have only a few days left with him.
“Renner come play?” Kellan beamed up at him.
The air caught in Abraham’s lungs. How could he explain it? How could Kellen possibly understand? “Not today, bud.”
“Torrow?”
Abraham fought back the tears. He wouldn’t cry in front of the boy. He wouldn’t let him know just how bad things were.
“Not tomorrow.” It took several deep breaths to keep going. “Renner can’t play anymore.”
“Torrow?” Kellan insisted.
Abraham picked him up and pulled him against his chest. “No, I’m sorry, bud. Renner can’t play anymore.” There was no telling how much Kellan understood, but he pressed his cheek to Abraham’s shoulder for a while.
It was the worst experience imaginable. Waiting for Kellan to get sick—powerless to keep it from happening. It was only a matter of time. Abraham squeezed him tight.
“Want me to make you some lunch?”
Kellan bolted upright and nodded. Abraham brought him back to the kitchen and sat him in his chair. Not that it mattered. There were so many open seats. Where once the table had been full, now it was just Kellan.
Abraham had done the bare minimum of his duties. He watered the plants, fed the animals, but the rest of his time was better spent taking care of the children. The plants and animals would survive a few days without his constant care. The children wouldn’t.
And he didn’t want to see the bodies.
There was enough i
n cold storage to last them a while. At least until they could get back on their feet. Kellan kicked his legs in his chair as Abraham made him a plate of cheese and fruit.
The boy smiled and snatched a grape from the plate Abraham placed before him. He plopped it in his mouth and smacked his lips until juice ran down his chin.
Abraham watched him with interest. No loss of appetite. No lethargy or fever.
He let himself hope that Kellan would live.
Satisfied the boy was occupied, Abraham tousled his curls and headed to see Charlene. She’d already be pissed he’d taken so long.
His boots crunched against the floor all the way to her door. He knocked quietly and pushed in. She’d asked to see him, after all.
Lying in bed, Charlene looked awful. Her skin was pale and red-blotched. Her eyes were puffy, and her lips were cracked. The room smelled of sour bile.
Abraham pretended not to notice. “How are you feeling?”
She coughed and smiled. “I’ve been better. How are the kids?”
“The same.” He rubbed his hands together.
“Kellan?”
“Eating lunch.” Abraham didn’t voice his regret at letting him spend so much time alone these last few days.
Her forehead creased. “They’re all—”
“Alive.” He nodded. Those three deaths, those three failures, those three little bodies would haunt them forever.
Charlene breathed easier knowing the other nine were alive, at least for now. “Today’s my last day. If Siya’s right, I’ll get up and feel fine tomorrow.”
Abraham hoped for that more than he hoped for anything. To see her live through the illness would prove Siya’s diagnosis was correct. It would prove this virus was survivable. It would mean he would get to spend the rest of his life with her like he planned.
But Abraham wouldn’t let himself get carried away. None had lived to the fifth day.
He wouldn’t tell her that. In her eyes, he would have nothing but confidence. “You’ll wish you were still sick in bed. There’s so much work to do. You’ll be angry when you see how far behind I’ve gotten.” Abraham forced a playful smile.
“I would gladly shovel goat shit if it means I can stand to eat again. I’m so sick of being sick.” Her voice was raspy, but it was far less weak than it had been only a day before.
“I wish I could take your place.” Abraham wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and hold her until she felt well again. But he couldn’t risk it. So far, he hadn’t contracted the virus, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get sick. They needed him to support them, to clean the facility, and feed them.
Abraham fought to keep his position by the door.
“I’m glad you’re not sick.” Charlene pushed a hand through her tangled mess of hair. “I’m sure the kids are glad to have you taking care of them.”
Abraham laughed. “I think they prefer Siya actually.”
“Well, they’re young. They’ll figure it out someday.” Even as sick as she was, Charlene shot him a wink.
He didn’t mention that they might not get the chance to grow up. It tore him up inside to think of their kids—of Alana and Ellicot, Lorde and Sander—all the children already at the end of their lives.
It wasn’t fair.
Abraham had wasted too much time. For those who survived this, for Charlene, he wouldn’t hold back. He would give her all of him, whatever she wanted. He wouldn’t insist on taking their time or going slow.
Why had he been so adamant?
With their deaths staring him in the face, he couldn’t remember why he had been so quiet, taken so long to get to know them. He would savor every last minute he could get with them.
“You okay?”
Abraham blinked. “Me? I feel fine.” It was true, unfair as it was.
“I mean, are you okay?” She gazed at him through glassy eyes.
He could only shake his head. He was far from okay. He might not ever be okay again.
“Come here.”
“No, I can’t.”
“You haven’t gotten sick yet. Come here.” She held out her hand.
What determination he’d had left fled from him at that moment. Abraham took two large steps to cross the room and wrapped her hand with his.
“Look at me. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault. You’re doing a great job taking care of us.”
Abraham took a deep breath. “It doesn’t feel that way.” His hands could still feel the meager weight of his deceased kids. He could see their faces through the sheets.
“But it is that way. Even if I don’t wake up tomorrow, it isn’t your fault.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “You and Siya—”
She never got the chance to finish. A wall of flames shot down the corridor in a thousandth of a second. The contents of the colony exploded in a quarter-mile radius across the surface of Mars in pieces no larger than a dinner plate. The bodies—three dead and twelve living—were scattered in every direction, shredded and burned until the remnants were no longer recognizable.
The colony called Luna was nothing more than a debris-filled crater.
MABLE
LRF-PQ-241
SEPTEMBER 15, 2232
Mable woke in a dark room she’d seen before, but she couldn’t remember where.
“Hey,” came a warm voice. It was Theo. She looked around and found him sitting at his desk, searching for something on his tablet.
Their apartment in the LRF.
The room was dark, the only light coming from his tablet. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Uh, 2009. How do you feel?”
“Pretty good. What happened?”
“I think you fainted.” He sat twisted in the metal chair, his eyes full of apology, though she didn’t know why.
Then, she remembered. Her stomach sank, and her hands started to shake. “What happened?” she repeated, more desperate this time, afraid to hear his answer.
“Mable—”
She bolted up from the bed and felt the blood rush. A loud throb pounded in her head.
“Hey, just lay down until you’re—”
“Tell me what happened,” she insisted, one hand on her temple. When he didn’t answer, Mable stood, intent on getting his tablet and finding out for herself.
Mable wobbled a step. She nearly caught herself on the bed before Theo grabbed her arm.
“Let me go,” she said as she fought against him.
With a tight grip on her wrist, Theo put in minimal effort to keep her in place. “Mable, stop. I’ll tell you, just—sit down.”
Mable refused. She wouldn’t bow down now. She looked up at him and waited, ignoring the pressure on her wrist.
“Filmore approved the termination of the colony. The only person who could have recalled it was Aida’s husband, but—” Theo looked down for a moment.
“He’s dead,” Mable realized.
Theo looked at her and nodded. “I’m sorry. They did everything they could. They asked everyone who might know his access code. The system was set up and he died and no one could override—”
Mable felt the tears on her cheeks before she realized she was crying. It was so unfair, so cruel.
“I’m sorry. It was a confirmed strike. No survivors.” Theo stood tall and strong as he delivered the news, but she could barely see him through her tears.
“No,” she cried. “Please no.” Mable tried to sink to the bed but missed. Instead, her knees struck the hard floor, but the pain paled in comparison. Tears of anger streamed down her cheeks, but she ignored them.
Mable let her open hand fly out to smack the plastic box that held the bed. Over and over again she struck, harder and harder, hoping for enough physical pain to quiet the rest.
She’d lost them both. In a single stroke.
They were gone.
Her brother.
Her son.
She’d never even seen a picture of him.
Before she could help it, her
hand balled into a fist. In the next strike, her knuckles smashed through the plastic box. A sickening crunch sounded in her hand.
Broken. She knew, even before she pulled back and saw the shape of her hand, unnaturally twisted to the side.
It was then Theo dropped to his knees. All he said was, “Mable.” A name no one called her anymore. He reached out for her hand and held it in his, fingers gentle on her skin. That little movement lit her arm with sharp pain.
An easy type of pain, just the physical. Just a hand. It would heal.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about your brother, and—” Theo lost the words almost as soon as he’d started.
That was fine with her. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t have the words or the voice or the strength.
Mable only collapsed forward, her head landing somewhere on his chest. Theo set her hand against her leg as he stroked his fingertips up and down her back. His touch warmed her despite the body suit. His breath was even where hers was ragged. His heart beat steadily where hers raced.
When the grief rose up and renewed her sobs, Mable squeezed her hand closed. The pain made her wince and cry, but in a different way. In a manageable way.
Then, Theo titled back and pulled her along with her. He lay flat on the floor and let her lay on top of him. With her ear against his chest, his heartbeat pounding in constant rhythm, Mable let her sobs quiet. The pain in her hand subsided as the nerves gave in to shock and swelling. After a while, they lay on the floor with nothing but the sound of their breaths.
Mable felt Theo’s hand skim along the length of her arm until it found her hand and gently wrapped around it. “Is it broken?”
She nodded against his chest. It was the least broken piece of her.
Theo pulled at her wrist, sliding her arm up and over her head until she heard the puckering sound of a kiss. Without sensation in her hand, Mable couldn’t feel the kiss.
“Want me to wrap it up for you? There’s no medical here.”
Mable shook her head. She didn’t want to move, to think, to face the reality of it.
But she couldn’t escape it, not really.
At little more than a whisper, she told him, “My son was on that colony.”
Theo sighed and replied, “I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
