by Jim Proctor
At the door, Megan hugged him. “Be careful. I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 2
Nolan stood in the basement of his apartment building, staring down through the trapdoor into the dark, cramped utility conduit. This was another thing he had learned from Carl. His heart was pounding, reverberating in his ears, and he was breaking out in a cold sweat. They were down there, he knew, but he had to do this. He took a deep breath and then climbed down into the conduit before he had a chance to change his mind, pulling the hatch closed as he descended. The work lights, operated by motion sensors, came on. Several small, dark shapes scurried around the corner at the junction to his left. His heart skipped a beat. “I have to do this,” he said softly as he set off in that direction. “Two more blocks,” he whispered when he reached the junction.
Lights came on in the next section as he continued. More dark shapes flitted in and out of the shadows. Glancing back, he saw a large rat trotting along the conduit, following him. An unmanly shriek erupted from Nolan, and he broke into a run. As he turned to watch where he was going, his head slammed into a large water pipe. Momentum carried his body forward as his head came to an abrupt and painful stop. As he landed hard on his back, the concrete floor knocked the wind from his lungs. Searing pain spread across his forehead as he fought to remain conscious. The overhead work light appeared to be two lights chasing each other around, moving and pulsing. Gently touching his forehead, he felt something slick and wet.
The intrepid rat that had followed him trotted past, paying him no attention. When it brushed against his elbow, he yelped and rolled away, frantically scrabbling to get to his feet. He flattened himself against the tunnel wall, blood now running into his right eye. He was hyperventilating and shaking uncontrollably. He closed his eyes and struggled to calm himself.
He had no idea how long he had stood there when he finally managed to open his eyes again. It was pitch black, and he wondered if he had gone blind. Reluctantly, he moved away from the wall and the lights turned on. Wiping the blood from his right eye with a sleeve, he took a deep breath and continued slowly along the conduit. He couldn’t remember how far he had gone. It seemed as though he had been down here forever.
At the junctions, each tunnel was labeled with the name of the street it was under and the address block. As he reached the next junction, he read the signs. “Two blocks. I’ve only gone two blocks,” he said in dismay. He continued straight, and the lights in the next section came on. Rats. Dozens of rats, he thought. He counted. Three. Three rats. Come on, Nolan. Pull yourself together. They’re just… they’re just small kittens. That’s what they are. Cute, furry, little kittens… except for the fact that they’re rats. Rats that want to bite, scratch, and climb all over you… and eat your eyes out.
Somehow, he reached the next junction without being eaten by rats, and turned right. Four blocks, and then turn left, he thought. Lights came on up ahead, and he saw more rats scurrying into the shadows. He stopped to wipe blood from his eye again, and as he looked up, a rat was sitting atop an electrical panel watching him. The furry little face twitched as it sniffed him, or so Nolan assumed. He ducked under a pipe and hurried on. His head was throbbing, and he was finding it hard to concentrate. At the fourth junction, he turned left and counted until he reached the third minor side tunnel. Turning in, he went straight to the ladder, desperate to get out of this rat-infested hell.
Some of the trapdoors, like this one, had a combination lock. Nolan quickly punched in a code and the lock clicked. Throwing open the hatch, he rushed upward, collapsed on the floor, and then rolled over and quickly closed it. He rolled to his back and broke out in manic laughter as he took in the fresh air, knowing he had left the rats behind. “I made it, Carl,” he said to the dimly lit space. His heart was racing, and he took several deep breaths as he rested. In the relative safety of this place, his thoughts no longer dominated by the rats, he realized how much his head hurt. Rolling to his stomach, he pushed himself to his knees and then forced himself to stand. The throbbing in his head grew worse.
The gentle glow of the overhead safety lights allowed him to walk to the stairs without running into anything, and up he went. Reaching the first floor, he turned and went straight to the pressure suit lab. Opening his locker, he pulled out his pressure suit. He looked at the Space Salvage Corporation patch on the shoulder for a moment, and then turned and grabbed a hard-shell carrying case from a nearby shelf. He’d packed suits more times than he could remember, and could do it with his eyes closed, but he proceeded to pack this suit with great care. This was his backup suit. His main suit was still aboard the Independence in orbit. If this one were to get damaged, he’d have no way to make the transfer from whatever ship carried him to orbit to the Independence. Satisfied that the suit was properly packed, he placed a protective panel on top of it before retrieving his boots and gloves from his locker. Once they were inside, he closed and latched the case.
Grabbing a helmet case from the shelf, he pulled his helmet from the locker and slid it in before closing and latching it. As he looked around the lab, he wondered if there was anything else he should take. He remembered Carl initiating the atmosphere reclamation cycle just before they left the ship to condense and compress much of the ship’s air back into the holding tanks. He had also shut down the environmental system. It would take the better part of a day to pressurize the ship and heat everything to a livable temperature. He was going to have to stay in his pressure suit a long time. That meant…
Walking to a shelf, he grabbed two pressure suit diapers. He’d never used one before, but he remembered the salvage team members complaining about them on occasions when they had been necessary. Grimacing, he opened the pressure suit case, slipped them in, and closed it again.
The cut on his head was beginning to itch, so he went across the hall to the restroom and waited for the door to close fully before turning on the light. He didn’t want any light shining out through a window to alert anyone he was here. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he moved to the sink and looked in the mirror. There was a five-centimeter gash above his right eye that was caked with dried blood and grime. I should have grabbed a first aid kit, he thought as he considered what to do about the cut. Crossing to the door, he turned off the light and stepped out into the hallway. In the pressure suit lab, he felt his way along the wall, his eyes still recovering from the light of the restroom. Reaching the first aid kit, he unlatched it from its bracket and then returned to the restroom.
Nolan rummaged through the kit, retrieving butterfly bandages, antiseptic cream, and several alcohol wipes. He washed the dried blood and dirt away with soap and water. That hurt, but not nearly as much as the alcohol wipes that he used next. Gripping the edge of the sink tightly with both hands, afraid that he might collapse, he rode out the pain as the alcohol evaporated. Then he carefully closed the gash as, one by one, he placed butterfly bandages across the wound. Squeezing a blob of antiseptic cream onto his finger, he finished by covering the area with the cream. He crossed the room and sat on a toilet as he allowed himself a few moments to recover from the ordeal. The cream included a topical painkiller, and he relaxed as it took effect. He just needed to deal with the headache now.
A few minutes later, he was back rummaging through the first aid kit, looking for something to ease his headache. Most of the common painkillers intended for headaches were also blood thinners. He definitely could not take any of those with a head wound, especially if he was going to space. With his suit pressurized to half an atmosphere, he could experience serious bleeding, and he would have no way to stop it with his helmet on. For this very reason, the kit was stocked with a mild pain reliever that was not a blood thinner. He tossed two capsules into his mouth. Turning on the faucet, he collected some water in his cupped hands and drank down the medicine.
Resting on the toilet again, he ran through a mental checklist of items he might want. He had gone through this procedure many times over the year
s, but this time was different. He was setting out alone. Whatever needed to be done, he would have to do it. He couldn’t rely on anyone else to handle a situation. He needed to be prepared. As he thought of things that might be useful, he remembered that they had been returning from a salvage job. Just like his tools and pressure suit were still aboard the Independence, so were the rest of the crews’ gear. Satisfied that everything he needed was still aboard the ship, he went back to the lab and grabbed the cases containing his suit.
When he reached the basement, he set the cases next to the trapdoor, entered the combination, and grabbed the handle. He hesitated, dreading opening the hatch, knowing what was down there, but it had to be done. Pulling open the hatch, he climbed down a few rungs. He grabbed his suit case and carried it down. Coming back up, he grabbed the helmet case and pulled it down as well. Climbing the ladder for the last time, he pulled the hatch closed and descended again. As he picked up his cases, he said, “Okay, rats, here I come.”
* * * *
The trapdoor to the utility conduit flew open. Melvin Preston leaned on his broom and watched as a case rose from below and came to rest next to the opening. A moment later, a smaller case floated up through the hole and slid to a stop nearby. A man climbed quickly into the basement and closed the trapdoor with apparent urgency. “Hello, Mr. Peters,” Melvin said.
Nolan jumped over the hatch with a gasp and spun around. He leaned forward, hands braced on his knees. “You scared the hell out of me, Mel!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Peters. I didn’t mean to. I’m just doing some cleaning up down here. That’s a nasty cut you have there.”
“I had a little accident,” Nolan replied.
“You been doing some shopping?” Melvin asked.
Nolan looked puzzled momentarily as he looked at his cases. “Yes… some shopping. Only… it looked like rain, so I decided to… you know, run the conduits… like I did when I was a kid.”
Melvin shook his head. “No rain today, Mr. Peters.”
“Well… it looked a bit like rain, so I didn’t want to take any chances. These are expensive cases, and I didn’t want them to get wet,” Nolan said.
Melvin looked at the scratched, dented, and blood-smudged cases. He nodded. “Yes, I can see where you wouldn’t want rain to touch those,” he said with a broad smile.
Nolan looked at the cases as though he were seeing them for the first time. “Yes, well… I need to be going. It’s been nice chatting with you, Mel.” Nolan glanced past the custodian to the elevator—it was on the seventh floor. Unwilling to wait, he grabbed the cases and hurried toward the stairs. “Thank you for the wonderful job you do to keep the building clean,” he said as he reached the first step.
“Just doing my job,” Mel said with a chuckle. He went back to sweeping as Nolan plodded unsteadily up the steps.
Nolan emerged from the stairwell at the first floor and staggered to the elevator. Pressing the call button, he stared at the display, wondering why it was still at the seventh floor. Jennifer, the building manager, came out of her office. “The elevator is broken, Mr. Peters. I’m sorry; you’ll have to take the stairs.” As Nolan turned in her direction, she exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Peters! What happened?” Everyone in the lobby turned to look at him.
Without answering, he lugged the cases across the lobby and stepped back into the stairwell.
It was fifteen minutes later when Jennifer came sprinting up the steps and stopped at the fifth-floor landing. Nolan was sitting down, leaning against the wall, covered in sweat and gasping. “Would you like me to help you?” she asked.
Nolan pushed himself to his feet and picked up the cases. “No, thank you. I can manage.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said as she took the cases from him and then sprang lightly up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Nolan tried to keep up… for about three steps. “I’ll leave them by your door,” he heard her call from the next landing.
“Fine. You… do that,” he said between gasps. He could hear her light footfalls winding up through the building, showing no sign of slowing down.
He stepped out of the stairwell on the eighth floor feeling as though he might pass out. His head was throbbing unmercifully, and he could feel a thin trickle of blood running down to his eyebrow. He looked at his bloody sleeve, and then wiped his forehead, being careful not to pull off any of the butterfly bandages. His perspiration had caused the bandages to lose their grip and, in spite of his care, they slid around as he wiped. The wound opened, and the bleeding increased.
The cases were waiting outside his apartment door when he arrived. He dragged them inside. After shoving them into the foyer closet, he headed for the bathroom. The gash was wide open again, the bandages dislodged and slack. Grabbing a clean washcloth, he applied pressure to the wound before moving to the living room and sitting next to the comm unit. Not wanting to explain what had happened to just anyone, he placed a call to Megan.
“Hey, Nolan, what’s up?” came Megan’s voice when she answered.
“Are you alone?” Nolan asked.
“Yes, why?”
“I need some help. Are you any good at stitching?” he asked.
“What, you need a button sewn on or something?” she said with a laugh.
“No, no, I mean stitches. You know, sewing shut a wound,” he said. He pulled the washcloth away and tilted his head so she could see the cut.
“Oh, that looks terrible, Nolan! Don’t worry; I’m an old pro at that. I should have earned an honorary medical degree for all the times I stitched up John,” she said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Keep pressure on it.”
“Thanks,” he said and ended the call.
* * * *
Nolan awoke with a start. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. The bloody washcloth was on the couch next to him, and blood had run down his face. There was a knock at his door. He got up and opened it.
“Oh, Nolan, I told you to keep pressure on it!” she said as she stepped in and set her medical bag by the couch.
“I fell asleep,” he said.
“With a head injury like that, you need to stay awake,” she said.
“I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Don’t ask. Can you sew me up?”
“I can do better than that,” she said. “Come into the bathroom and let me wash the blood off.”
Several minutes later, Nolan returned to the couch holding a fresh washcloth to his head, and lay down. Megan knelt on the floor next him. Opening her medical bag, she pulled on some gloves and then took out a small bottle. Nolan’s eyes were closed, and he was trying to prepare himself for the needle stabs he was expecting.
“Keep your eyes closed and relax,” she said.
He felt a drop of some cool liquid fall into the gash, and then her fingers gently pushed the wound closed. After a few seconds, there was another drop of liquid.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Medical adhesive,” she said. “It’s a lot more pleasant than stitches.”
He opened his eyes, and they immediately started to burn. “Ow!”
“I told you to keep your eyes closed!” she said. “The fumes irritate your cornea.”
Tears were streaming from the corners of his eyes and running past his ears.
“Almost done,” she said, “and I didn’t glue my fingers to your forehead,” she added with a laugh.
“Can I open my eyes now?”
“Not yet. Let the glue finish curing,” she said. He listened as she put her supplies back into the bag and zipped it closed.
“Thanks, Megan. I couldn’t call anyone else. I would have had to explain what had happened,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I won’t ask how it happened. Now, you just rest for a while. I want to make sure the bleeding has stopped. Otherwise, it may build up behind the glue, in which case it will either rip open the wound again or beco
me a hematoma. I don’t want either to happen, so you’re going to need to take it easy for a few days. No strenuous activities or heavy lifting. Anything that increases your blood pressure is a risk right now.”
“I’m going to space in two days,” he said. “I have things to do to get ready.”
“Then I guess I am going to have to take care of things for you. You let me know what needs to be done, and I’ll do it,” she said.
“I can’t ask you to do it all,” he said.
“Someone has to, and you need to rest. If that doesn’t heal, you won’t be going to space,” she said with a finality that indicated there would be no further discussion. “I’m going home to pack some things, and then I’ll come back to stay with you for a few days. Do you want me to help you into bed before I go, or do you want to rest here until I get back?”
“You don’t need to stay, Megan. I’ll be fine. Besides, people will talk,” he said.
“Let them. You and I are supposedly going away together to visit your uncle in a few days. What will they say then? We might as well play this up a little now so the trip doesn’t seem like such a surprise. The more believable the trip is, the less likely anyone will be to question it.”
His mind raced as he tried to think of some valid reason for Megan not to stay with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy her company. He had always been something of a loner outside of work, and he had never had any serious, lasting relationships with women. Megan seemed so relaxed and comfortable around him that it was beginning to worry him. He was attracted to her, and that felt wrong on so many levels, the very first being the fact that she was John’s wife. Okay, John’s widow, but that just made it worse. He felt as though he was betraying a friend. She was standing there, looking at him expectantly, and he didn’t know what to say. “Um… why don’t I add you to my door scanner? That way, if I’m asleep when you come back, you can let yourself in.” He couldn’t believe the words that just came from his mouth.
