In the Red

by Christopher Swiedler

  “Michael,” Lilith said. She still had a dazed expression. “What happened?”

  Didn’t she remember asking him that just a few minutes before? “We crashed. You hit your head. I’ve got some medicine.”

  The first-aid kit had an injector and a case with a dozen plastic ampoules. His eyes fell on the three tubes with lethal doses of pseudomorphine. He shoved them into his pocket and found the perithental. He slid the plastic tube into the injector and held Lilith’s arm palm upward.

  “This might hurt for a second.” He pressed the injector against a small circular port in the suit fabric on her wrist and pulled the trigger. Lilith gasped and pulled her arm away.

  “All done,” he said. Lilith nodded and closed her eyes. Gently he examined her suit to make sure there were no tears in the fabric, and then he pressed his helmet against hers and inspected the cut on her head. It looked ugly, and it had bled a lot, but it wasn’t too deep. He was much more worried about her concussion. Seek medical attention, her display still read. How was he supposed to do that?

  His first priority was getting himself and Lilith out of the ship. He swung himself down and over to the exterior hatch. He jabbed the open button, but nothing happened. Even the ship’s backup power was out. Next to the button was a recessed handle about as long as his arm. Michael slid the handle out until it clicked into place. He rotated it a half turn, and the outer door cracked open. After about a dozen turns, something started to scrape inside the hull and the handle stopped moving. Michael pulled on the handle as hard as he could, but it wouldn’t budge. He eyed the opening, which was about half a meter wide. It would have to do. He tossed the bag with their supplies out onto the dusty surface.

  Michael slung the rope over his shoulder and started to climb back up to the cockpit. He stopped. It was going to be a lot harder to get Lilith out of the ship if she saw Randall’s body. Michael found a thin blanket and covered Randall with it.

  He scrambled up to Lilith. She frowned at him. “Michael,” she said. “What happened?”

  She still didn’t remember what had happened, but at least she seemed a little more alert. Maybe the medicine was helping. “We crashed. We need to get out of the ship.”

  She grimaced. “My head is killing me.”

  Michael tied the rope around the pilot’s seat and tossed the remaining length down into the main cabin. “Grab onto this,” he said.

  He unfastened her harness and Lilith climbed out of her seat. She held on to the rope with both hands and walked herself down the angled deck and into the main cabin.

  “Wow,” she said, looking at the damage to the hull. “You weren’t kidding.”

  Michael helped her into the hatchway. She stuck her head through the opening and looked outside. “Where’s Randall?”

  Michael put his hand on her back and nudged her forward. “I’ll explain when we get outside.”

  Lilith pulled herself back inside and turned toward him. “What do you mean? Where is he?”

  “Let’s just get outside and—”

  But Lilith had already pushed past him and was looking around the mangled cabin. Her headlamp fell on the blanket. “Oh my god.”

  Michael didn’t answer. He reached out for her, but she shook him away.

  “Tell me what happened!”

  “He didn’t make it,” Michael said quietly.

  Lilith stood frozen for a few moments. “I have to see.”

  “Lil, I don’t think—”

  “I have to see him,” she said, climbing across the wrecked interior of the ship. She pulled away the blanket. Michael’s stomach lurched. From this close, he could see how the fragment of metal had pierced straight through Randall’s rib cage. It had been quick, Michael tried to tell himself. He must have died before he even knew what had happened.

  “We have to find some way to bury him,” Lilith said.

  Michael was sure that if Randall were alive, he would have told them in no uncertain terms that they needed to worry about saving themselves first. But he could see that Lilith was determined. He nodded. “Quickly.”

  They unfastened Randall’s harness and wrapped him back up in the blanket. Carefully, they dragged him over to the half-open hatchway. Michael climbed outside, and they pulled Randall inch by inch through the opening until he was lying next to the ship.

  Lilith knelt down next to Randall and unwrapped the blanket. The chunk of hull metal that had killed him still protruded from his chest. She rolled him onto his side and worked the fragment back and forth until she’d pulled it free. Michael unclasped Randall’s helmet and set it on the ground next to him. Randall’s skin was already taut and frozen from the bitterly cold atmosphere. Lilith wiped some of the blood from his mouth and cheeks and closed his eyelids.

  He almost looks peaceful, Michael thought. He didn’t know what he believed about souls or an afterlife. But he found himself praying that, if there was any such place, Randall would go there speedily.

  Lilith stood up and looked at the fragment of metal in her hand. It was about half a meter long, like a jagged sword without a hilt. She jabbed it into the ground next to Randall’s body and started to dig. When Michael realized what she was doing, he climbed into the ship and came out with a shovel.

  They dug side by side in the sandy ground until they had a shallow grave, and then they lifted Randall’s body and laid him gently inside. Lilith folded his arms across his chest, and they began layering rocks on top of his body. When the last of the rocks had covered his face, they set his helmet on top.

  Lilith wrapped her arms around her chest and looked down at the small cairn. “He said he didn’t want to dig any more graves. Remember?” Her voice caught in her throat. “He said he’d dug enough already.”

  Tears were running down her face. Michael realized that he’d never seen her cry before—not even last year when she’d fallen off the top of her house and broken her arm. Crying was such an un-Lilith thing to do.

  “I don’t ever want to dig another,” she said hoarsely.

  Michael put his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Which was a very un-Michael thing to do, but right now seemed like the time to make exceptions.

  17

  ONE EMERGENCY MEDICAL KIT.

  One sleeping bag.

  Ten meters of nylon rope.

  Three pouches of energy gel and six pouches of water.

  One lantern.

  One shovel.

  Michael laid all of the supplies out on the ground next to the ship. It wasn’t much. They had some medical supplies and enough food and water to last for a few days. The only good news was that the hull of the ship would protect them from the flare as long as they were careful to stay in the shade. He looked at his wrist screen. About seven hours until sunrise.

  How long would it take for them to be rescued? It was possible someone had seen them crash and was on their way right now. But it was also possible that nobody on the entire planet had any idea where they were. They couldn’t just wait here until their supplies ran out. Tomorrow night or the night after, they would have to try to make it to Milankovic on their own. It couldn’t be more than twenty kilometers away. They should be able to walk there—if everything went well.

  “How much longer?” Lilith asked abruptly. She was leaning against the ship with her arms folded, staring off at the horizon with a blank expression.

  “Longer?”

  “Y’ know what I mean,” Lilith said. Her voice was a little slurred, as if she’d just woken up from a deep sleep. “Home. How much longer b’fore we go home?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Lilith gave an exasperated sigh. “Where’s Randall? He’ll take me home.”

  Michael stared at her. “Randall?”

  “Yes, Randall. Remember him?”

  An uneasy feeling settled over Michael. What was Lilith talking about? “Randall is dead,” he said carefully.

  “Stop lying to me!” she screamed. “He was just here a minute a
go.”

  Michael’s mouth went dry. She didn’t remember anything about the crash? Something was wrong—something more than just a concussion. He needed to check her suit’s medical display.

  “Can I look at your wrist screen?” he asked, trying to sound calm.

  “No. I need to call my mom.” She tapped at her screen and scrolled through various diagnostic displays.

  Michael reached out toward her. “Can I just see—”

  “No!” she shouted, pulling her arm away. “You always think you’re so smart, don’t you? You think you’ve got the answers to everything. Except all you ever really do is mess things up worse.”

  Michael recoiled. Lilith’s face was so twisted with anger that he hardly recognized her.

  “Please, Lilith,” he said. “Just calm down. We just have to wait here for someone to find us and everything will be okay.”

  “I’m done waiting. I’m walking home, with or without you.”

  “Maybe my dad saw us—maybe he’ll be here—”

  “Oh, will you please stop with that already?” She scrunched up her face and stuck out her chin and raised her voice to a mocking falsetto. “All I want to do is drive all night so I can say ‘Hi, Dad.’ When will you get it through your thick skull that your dad is gone? He doesn’t care about you. He’s moved on.”

  “That’s not true,” Michael said hoarsely.

  “Go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel any better,” she said. “But one of these days you’re going to wake up and realize you’re on your own.”

  Her fingers fumbled with the latch mechanism on her collar. “Stupid helmet,” she muttered. “I should never have agreed to any of this.”

  “Lilith, stop!” He tried to grab her, but she pushed him aside. He stumbled and collapsed on the ground. The pain in his ribs, which had faded to a dull throb, flared into agony. He climbed to his hands and knees, heaving for air.

  “Why won’t it come off?” Lilith growled, pulling at the release clips for her helmet. The collar mechanism, recognizing that the pressure outside the suit was far too low, beeped three times. But it wasn’t hard to override the safety features—all she had to do was hold the release latch for ten seconds, and the helmet would unseal from the collar.

  “Lilith,” he gasped. “Please stop. It’s dangerous—the atmosphere—”

  “My head is killing me,” she said, ignoring him. “If I can just get this stupid thing . . .”

  She trailed off. Her hands dropped to her sides, and a confused expression came over her face. “Stupid thing,” she said again.

  Michael stood up, using the ship to brace himself. “Lilith, something is wrong. Please let me help you.”

  She looked at him as if she’d just noticed that he was there, and then her mouth fell open and she slumped down to the ground. A thin, clear fluid ran out of her nose and pooled on the inside of her helmet.

  “Lilith!”

  Michael knelt down beside her and grabbed her wrist screen. It was flashing a warning: Probable epidural hematoma. Seek immediate medical attention.

  Michael’s head reeled. Seek immediate medical attention . . . or what? Or she could die? He had no idea what an epidural hematoma was. How long did she have? Days? Hours? Minutes?

  He rested her head on his lap. Open your eyes, he thought. Please, Lilith, open your eyes. Shout at me, scream at me all you want, but please, open your eyes.

  But Lilith didn’t move. Her breathing was so slow and shallow that it almost wasn’t there. Sometimes she would pause after exhaling, and Michael would squeeze her hand tightly until she took another breath.

  What was he going to do? He couldn’t just stay here until someone rescued them. He might survive, but she wouldn’t. If he didn’t get her to a medical center soon, she would die. He was alone—completely and utterly alone. Cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He opened and closed his fists, trying to stave off the panic that he knew was coming.

  He couldn’t give in. He couldn’t. If he didn’t keep his anxiety under control, they would both die out here. But no matter how hard he pushed it away, the black tide in the back of his mind rose higher and higher. He was too exhausted to fight it. The collar of his helmet tightened around his neck like a noose.

  “I can’t do it,” he whispered to Lilith. “You’re right. I’ve messed everything up since the moment we left.”

  So what? Lilith’s voice said inside his head.

  The thought surprised him so much that for a moment his rapid breathing stopped. So what? This was all his fault, wasn’t it? He was the one who’d gotten Randall killed. He was the one who’d gotten them stranded out here, in the middle of nowhere. He’d made so many mistakes that he could hardly count them all, and the biggest of all had been convincing himself that he was anything other than a failure.

  So what?

  “I’m the wrong person for this.” She needed his father, or his brother, or Randall. She needed someone who knew what they were doing, someone who wasn’t going to get her lost or hurt or killed. She needed someone who wasn’t going to collapse in a panic attack at the wrong moment. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t going to be that person.

  So what?

  He looked down at Lilith’s pale face and felt ashamed. Lilith didn’t have anyone else. All she had was him. She’d come on this trip just because she’d wanted to help him. Now she needed him, and he was worrying about whether he was the right person? He was the only person.

  He had to do this. Nothing else mattered. He could fail at everything he did for the rest of his life as long as he got this one thing right.

  Gradually the black panic faded away until it was just a dull cloud in the back of his mind. His muscles unclenched and his breathing slowed. Anxiety was his brain’s way of keeping him safe, wasn’t that what his doctor had said? Well, right now there was something more important than keeping himself safe. He wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for his best friend to take her last breath. He was going to find a way to get her home.

  He laid her head down gently and stood up. His first problem was figuring out exactly where they were. He sighted half a dozen stars and began plotting their position. It was the same process he’d followed during the suit test, except that this time, their lives depended on him getting it right. He worked carefully, and in about ten minutes he had six overlapping arcs. The good news was that the area in the middle was small enough that he had a pretty accurate idea of where they were. The bad news was that it showed Milankovic was almost twenty kilometers away.

  His heart sank. Twenty kilometers. Could he make it that far before the sun came up? He might be able to lug her on his shoulders for few hundred meters, but there was no way he’d be able to carry her all the way to Milankovic by himself. He needed a stretcher or a litter—something that would slide over the ground smoothly and help him conserve his strength.

  Michael poked through the wreckage of the ship until he found a large, curved piece of the engine cowling that had snapped off. He leaned it against a rock and lifted Lilith onto it. It held her in a half-reclined position like a big bucket seat. He took the length of rope and tied her to the makeshift stretcher and looped the ends over his shoulders. He leaned forward and pulled. His ribs yelped in pain. It took more effort than he expected, but it would work.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get moving.”

  18

  TWENTY KILOMETERS. TWO minutes in a jumpship; a half hour in a rover; five hours on foot.

  Michael searched for the spot between the constellations Cygnus and Cepheus that indicated due north. On Earth, we had it easy, he remembered his dad saying. Nice, bright Polaris. Mars likes to make things hard.

  He wrapped the ends of the rope under his arms and started forward.

  By the time he’d gone a few hundred meters, his back and shoulders were already knotted and sore. It was hard enough dragging the stretcher over sand and dirt, where it left a wide furrow like an old-fashioned
plow, but whenever it hit even the smallest rock, Michael was jerked to a stop. He wound his way left and right, trying to stay on a clear path, which made him feel like he was walking two kilometers for every one he moved in a straight line.

  You have no idea where you are, a voice said in his head. Following the stars? How well has that worked out for you before?

  He clenched his jaw and bent forward, trying to block the voice from his head.

  Nobody is looking for you. Nobody cares.

  “Stop,” he whispered.

  Why are you even doing this? the voice asked. She’s as good as dead. Now you’re going to die too, out here in the middle of nowhere, all alone.

  “Stop!” The sound of his voice startled him. He looked back at Lilith, slumped over with her head on her chest. He could see the slow rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. He tightened the rope around his torso and started walking again.

  After two hours, he took a short break to work out the kinks in his shoulders and legs and take a drink of water. When he picked up the ropes again and looked at the stars, he had trouble finding the right constellations. Everything looked different. Many stars weren’t visible at all, and even the brilliant blue-white of Sirius was pale and muted. What was going on?

  The wind gusted and dust swirled around him. His mouth dropped open as he realized what was happening. The dust storm was spreading off the ice cap and across the northern plain, and it had finally caught up to him here. And as it grew denser, it was blocking out the stars.

  Blocking out the only chance he had of finding his way back home.

  He started to walk quickly. How long did he have before the sky was completely black? The thought terrified him, and not only because he wouldn’t have any means of navigation. The vast spread of stars didn’t illuminate very much, but it was a reassuring, familiar glow. To lose all of that, to be out on the surface alone underneath a pitch-black sky . . .