by Mike Kraus
Commander Palmer sighs with relief and takes a moment to compose himself before responding. “Excellent. It needs a bit of tuning so I’ll be down here for a while. Make sure all of the vital systems are online; there should be a checklist up in command somewhere for this type of scenario. Run it.” Palmer pauses for a few seconds, thinking about what happened on the ISS-2. “Don’t bring up the communications channels yet, though.”
“Don’t… you don’t want to call home?”
“I’ve got a funny feeling about it. Call it a hunch. Just wait for me before booting any sort of ground comms up, okay?”
Ted and Jackie look at each other skeptically before Ted shrugs, accepting Commander Palmer’s instruction. “Will do. See you on the command deck soon.”
Commander Palmer peers through the thick glass at the small reactor, watching as the lights across its surface blink out status codes. He lifts a hand to his helmet and slowly releases the latch before twisting it and taking it off. The air on the station is stale but breathable, and he can feel a slight breeze of freshly processed air from somewhere off to the side.
The three astronauts from ISS-2 are still alive. It’s more than a minor miracle that they’ve survived, but there is still much to be done. The older station needs maintenance and upkeep to house them long-term, and the options for getting back to Earth must be carefully studied and calculated to ensure success. And, in the background, there’s still the question of what exactly happened. Commander Palmer’s mind begins to race with possibilities before he catches himself and focuses on the task at hand.
“Survival now,” he mutters. “Answers later.”
Chapter 8
Washington, D.C.
“Merde!” Dr. Evans hissed, shaking his head at Rick. “What now?”
As Rick sat behind the counter, hand on his pistol, contemplating whether to try and engage the men in and outside the shop, he took a deep breath and listened as the man in the doorway shouted again.
“I said who’s in there? Put your hands up and come out now, or we’ll consider you a threat and open fire!”
Rick grabbed his pistol and passed it to Dr. Evans before whispering in his ear. “If this goes south, make sure you take two or three of them out, okay?” Rick ignored Dr. Evans’ wide-eyed expression and slowly raised his hands over the counter, shouting as he began rising to his feet.
“Take it easy! I’m coming out!”
“Drop your weapons!”
“They’re dropped, they’re dropped!” Rick shouted back at the man as he stood up, wincing and closing his eyes in anticipation of the bullets he expected to come flying toward him. The bullets did not come, though, and he opened one eye and then the other to see three of the men standing in front of him, rifles aimed at his chest as the one closest spoke again.
“Are you alone? What are you doing in here?”
Rick glanced between the men, studying their expressions in the fraction of a second he knew he had to respond. He sensed no malice in their faces, only nervousness and exhaustion. In that instant, Rick decided to try and trust them, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t backfire.
“We have someone wounded back here; she’s trapped under rubble!” He kept his hands in the air even as he turned and looked down towards Jane. Next to her, Dr. Evans looked back at him, his eyes wide as he shook his head.
“’We?’” The man responded. “How many is ‘we’?”
“Three in total,” Rick said. “Myself, a doctor and our friend. We’re just passing through the city; we heard you coming and didn’t know what your intentions were so we hid in here. We were going to try to get out when we realized you were coming closer but the back wall collapsed partially and trapped her.”
The lead man looked back at his companions, exchanging questioning glances with them before turning back to Rick. He lowered his rifle slightly and stepped forward. “Move back. I want to see behind the counter.”
Rick shuffled to the side, nearly tripping over the rubble, and looked down at the others. “Dr. Evans, put the gun down and keep your hands on your head, okay?” Dr. Evans shook his head again, but Rick nodded and persisted. “Just trust me, okay?”
Rick wasn’t sure why he was putting his trust in the men standing in the shop with their rifles aimed in his direction. It could have been because the men didn’t immediately open fire or call him a liar or do any number of other things that would indicate that they didn’t really care about Rick or his companions, or it could have been because he really didn’t have much of any other choice. Relief flooded him, though as Dr. Evans slowly put the pistol on the ground and put his hands on his head, just as the lead man stepped up and looked over the counter.
“Shit.” The man stepped back and looked over his shoulder. “We’ve got one wounded here. Get a medic and some backup to help shift this crap off of her legs.”
The man standing at the very edge of the shop nodded and headed out into the street, calling out to his companions. The one closest to Rick turned to him and looked him up and down carefully before turning to Dr. Evans. “You, get up and stand next to your friend there, okay? Don’t make any sudden movements.”
Dr. Evans complied with the instruction, glancing longingly at the discarded pistol on the ground as he stood up. He still had one tucked into his back waistband, but there was no possible way he could fish it out and use it without getting all of them killed. Like Rick, he had little choice but to trust that the men in the shop weren’t going to kill them, though that was of little comfort to him.
“You armed?” The man asked Dr. Evans, who glanced at Rick before answering.
“Y—yes.”
“Where at?”
“Behind me, in my belt. A pistol.”
The man nodded, tightening his grip on his rifle while his companion near the door did the same. “Pull it out slowly and put it on the floor.” As Dr. Evans did what the man told him, Rick spoke up.
“We’ve got a rifle and a couple more handguns behind the counter. It’s not much, but you’re welcome to take them in exchange for our lives.”
“In… what?” The man looked confused as he turned to his companion. The other man dressed in a police jacket shook his head and replied.
“They think we’re bandits or something, Lance.”
“Oh for…” The leader shook his head and sighed. “We’re not going to hurt you so long as you don’t make any movements against us.” He extended his hand to Rick while his companion watched warily, his rifle still up. “I’m Captain Lance Recker, Capitol Police.”
“You—you’re really with the Capitol Police?” Dr. Evans blurted out, his hands still on his head even while Rick cautiously shook Lance’s hand.
“Of course we are,” Recker replied. “Who else would we be with the hats and jackets?”
Rick shook his head. “If you’ve seen some of the things we’ve seen, you’d have a whole host of ideas running through your head.” He sighed with relief before turning to Jane as she groaned.
“Hey, you idiots, I’m still trapped under here. And it still hurts like hell.”
“Jane!” Rick started moving toward her before stopping and looking at the captain. “We need to get her out.”
Recker glanced at the other officer standing closer to the doorway before tossing him his rifle. “Here. Keep an eye on them.” The officer near the door looked like he was about to argue, but Recker shut him down with a narrowing of the eyes and a shake of his head. He and Rick hurried to Jane’s side and began shifting rubble while Dr. Evans moved the pile from behind the counter to out front, all while doing his best not to make eye contact with the officer still standing near the door.
After a few minutes, three officers ran up to the shop and looked inside, their hands immediately jumping to their weapons before Recker raised his hand and shook his head. “Stand down. Jackson, get back here and look at her legs. She had a lot of rubble fall on them.”
Rick and Captain Recker moved aside wh
ile an officer carrying a large red bag slipped behind the counter, eying Rick and Dr. Evans warily. “You good here, sir?” He looked at Recker as he asked the question, trying to figure out if his captain was somehow on the wrong end of a hostage situation.
“All good here. Take care of her, okay?”
Satisfied with the answer, Jackson knelt down and turned his attention to Jane, who was lying still on the ground with her eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow and hoarse, and she groaned as Jackson gently probed her dirt and blood-covered legs.
“What’s your name?” Jackson spoke quietly to Jane as he felt for breaks and watched her reactions, trying to gauge how much pain she was feeling.
“Jane.” She whispered the answer through gritted teeth.
“Nice to meet you, Jane. I’m Scott. Can you describe how much pain you’re feeling right now on a scale of one to ten?”
“Nineteen?” Jane whispered again, though this time there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Scott smiled back and shook his head.
“That doesn’t sound good. Can you feel this?” He reached down and pulled off her shoes, then pinched her toes. She nodded in reply. “Okay, great. Can you wiggle them?”
“Yeah. I tried earlier. Hurts like hell, though.”
“Yep, understandable.” Jackson gingerly lifted one of her legs and Jane groaned in pain. “You’ve got some pretty big shards of metal lodged in here. Captain?” He turned and looked for Recker, who leaned over the counter.
“How is she?”
“We need to get her out of here and to somewhere where I can get this stuff out of her leg.”
“You two,” Recker said, motioning at Rick and Dr. Evans, “Let’s get her moved.”
“Gently, please,” cautioned Jackson. “Nothing appears to be broken but there’s some slivers resting way too close to an artery.”
After a minute of shuffling under the watchful eye of the officer near the door—his rifle now pointed down, but still at the ready—Rick, Dr. Evans, Jackson and Recker got Jane lifted up and onto a thick mat that one of the other newly-arrived officers spread out across the top of the counter. As soon as she was set, he waved off the others. “Give me some space here. Mitchell? Get the trauma kit and assist.”
In less than a minute Jane was hooked up to an IV and both Jackson and the officer he had called over to help him were wearing gloves and starting to work on Jane’s legs. Recker led Rick and Dr. Evans away out into the street where Rick had his first chance to look around since they entered the small shop.
The pair of bulldozers were stopped a block down from the shop and a handful of officers were milling around them, watching Recker and the two new strangers with interest. Each of the officers looked battle-worn; their faces were covered with dirt and grime, their eyes had bags and their demeanor spoke of a lot of walking and very little rest. Like with Recker, Jackson and the other officers inside the shop, Rick detected no trace of malice or ill intent in the men and women in uniform. They looked exhausted and near their breaking point, but not like they wanted to steal from or kill Rick and his companions.
“So, tell me, Rick.” Recker stretched his neck back and forth until he felt it crack deep inside and a wave of relaxation flooded it and his upper back. “What are you and your two friends doing here?”
Rick glanced at Dr. Evans, trying to figure out how much to tell the leader of the group he had just met. There were potential positives and negatives to any choice he might make, and it was impossible to tell which was the correct one in the moment.
Chapter 9
Blacksburg, VA
Dianne Waters was a ghost. She crept along the stairs to the next floor down, keeping as close to the wall as possible and taking special care that she didn’t rub her backpack or her body up against anything that might make any noise. Her heart was racing and her breaths came rapidly through her nose, her nostrils flaring as she tried to keep herself calm.
Dark red blood clung to her skin and clothes, feeling sticky as she adjusted her grip on the five-pound sledgehammer in her right hand. In her left, the scalpels still shone in the light coming through the windows as she kept her fingers tightly grasped around them, ready to slice at any targets that might try to surprise her. Strands of hair pulled from her ponytail in the brief fight with the two men hung in her face, though she dared not move them for fear of smearing blood on her forehead.
Gore still clung to the sledgehammer even after she tried to shake it off a few times. Bits of flesh and bone and blood covered the front half of the cylindrical head of the tool and the handle was stained and tacky from the blood covering her right hand. Pausing to think about the violence she had wrought would lead to hesitation, and hesitation would invariably lead to her demise. She had to keep moving forward, slinking through the shadows to become an angel of death so that she might return and ensure that her family would continue to live.
So that is what she became.
The third man to die to her hand was at the bottom of the stairs, his back to Dianne as she crept up on him. Her footsteps were quiet enough that all he heard of her was the faint whooshing of the sledgehammer as she swung it through the air, smashing into his temple and knocking him to the floor. His body was still moving after his fall so she struck him again, then he lay still, motionless as blood pooled from the hole in the side of his head.
Not bothering to stop to catch her breath, Dianne stepped over his body and hurried down the next flight of stairs, heading for the ground floor. She heard voices talking in the hallways nearby, but no one was close enough to see her so she continued forward, her weapons ready to strike at a moment’s notice.
When Dianne turned the corner on the landing to the last set of stairs leading onto the ground floor she stopped and froze for an instant before hastily backing up into a corner near the window where the shadow from the wall could conceal her presence. Three figures stood in the wide open first floor of the facility, each of them carrying a rifle in their hands and bearing grimaces on their faces. While she could only see three figures at first, the one closest to her was talking to a fourth who she couldn't see. However, based on their conversation, that one was searching through the back closets and rooms near the cafeteria and administrative offices. The man closest to her was blocking her exit through a nearby side exit while the other two men were wandering around near the other two visible exits from the building.
Crouched down on one knee in the shadows, Dianne watched the men carefully, trying to figure out if there was a pattern to their movements that she could exploit to get past them. They wandered and turned and talked at random but there was no apparent order to their actions. Glancing at the scalpels in her left hand, she placed them gently on the floor, transferred the sledge from her right hand to her left and then drew her pistol from its holster. She began tensing her legs, preparing to fire on the man in front of her before making a mad dash for the closest door when the frantic shouts of someone a few floors up caught the attention of everyone in the building.
“Holy shit! They’re dead! They’re dead!!” The shouts echoed through the quiet corridors of the facility and Dianne glanced upward, realizing that the two men she had killed in the hallway had just been discovered. She glanced at the man who was near the stairs at the same time he focused on the stairwell and began running toward it. He was so distracted by the shouts from above that he didn’t even notice Dianne at first. Only when he was three steps up did he see her still crouching in the corner, a pistol in one hand and the small sledge in the other.
Dianne stood and swung the hammer at his head, but he brought his rifle up reflexively and blocked the blow. The sledge slipped from Dianne’s hand and crashed to the ground, bouncing off of the carpeted stairs and away from where it could be easily retrieved. With his aim ruined by the force of the blow to the rifle barrel, the man lunged forward at Dianne, grabbing at her throat as he shouted at her.
“I’ve got you now!”
Dianne fe
lt herself toppling over backward under the weight of the man, her left arm held out to try and shield herself from his attack while her right arm came up, still holding the pistol. She pressed the end of the gun into the man’s gut and pulled the trigger five times, each round snapping loudly in the confined space. The man’s eyes grew wide and he screamed in pain after he realized what was going on. His body became dead weight as he fought to get away from Dianne and he rolled off of her, tumbling to the ground as he writhed and shouted, calling both for help and to alert his comrades of Dianne’s presence.
“She’s here! Help!” The man called out with a gurgled voice as Dianne got back to her feet and half ran, half slipped down the remaining stairs. The other two men in the lobby turned at the sound of the gunshots and the man’s cries and started running in her direction. After glancing around to see that the nearest exit from the building was too far to run without fear of being caught, Dianne turned to the closest window and squeezed off three shots. The rounds easily punctured the thick glass, causing spiderwebs to spread across from top to bottom and side to side.
The panes of safety glass were nearly ten feet high and wide and were designed to be nearly unbreakable, though if their structural integrity were to ever be compromised, they were supposed to shatter into small, dull pieces that wouldn’t hurt anyone nearby. As Dianne ran for the glass, gunshots echoing loudly in the lobby of the building and shouts of alarm and pain coming from both the bottom and upper floors, she held both arms up in front of her head and braced for an entirely different impact than that which arrived.
Dianne cried out in pain, not from the impact with the glass, but from the sudden blow to her upper legs. The fourth man who had been prowling through the back offices had come out just in time to see her running for the window. He gave chase and tackled her, sending her tumbling through the window and out onto the rough dirt and soil just outside. Even through the pain and the chaos, Dianne’s priority was still the medication in her backpack, and she resisted rolling onto her back despite how that movement would have alleviated her pain.
