Project Columbus: Omnibus

by J. C. Rainier

  She’s not handling this well, Karen thought, chewing on her lip. She hasn’t talked back. Not once.

  Karen realized that she was staring, and that Denise glared back at her with a furrowed brow.

  “What?” Denise snapped.

  “It’s Jack, isn’t it?”

  Denise shook her head and rolled her eyes, then turned away. She drew her oar from the hull with a deliberate motion and sunk it deep into the crystal water. Karen silently paddled on the same side until the canoe was pointed at the shore, then alternated to keep the course steady. Another distant gunshot echoed through the silence.

  It’s Jack, she confirmed silently.

  Though the canoe was barely fifteen feet long and full of fish, the distance between Karen and Denise felt more like a growing chasm. Denise still held her partially to blame for her first husband’s death. Karen couldn’t blame her either, even though it was all circumstantial. Lieutenant Cormack had to move the survivors from their landing site because there was no drinkable water. And there was no way to know about the jungle disease, or if staying put was any less of a death sentence. Denise nearly died when the band had finally reached Lake Raphael. Her husband wasn’t so lucky.

  Now her second husband, Jack, was on death’s door. The plague ravaged him for the second time, and his body was reduced to a withered husk. Jack’s hopes of survival were slim at best; the village’s entire medical staff was now out of commission, and the few volunteers who dared to approach the sick were ill trained to handle such an outbreak. Karen feared that she might lose her most trusted lieutenant, and the thought sickened her. But whatever thoughts were eating at Denise must have been unfathomably dark.

  They paddled ashore in silence. Karen dragged the craft as far out of the water as far as she could, then followed Denise’s lead in unloading the morning’s catch. Two more shots rang out in rapid succession. Karen set down her baskets and looked at the nearly bald hill where the village square sat.

  “Must be a lot of jaguars today,” she said in hopes to spark a conversation. Denise didn’t react to the attempt at small talk.

  What finally garnered a reaction from the brooding woman was something that caught Karen’s attention as well. Three more gunshots rang out from the hill, followed a few seconds later by an eruption of weapons fire. Two distinct varieties of shots could be heard; the deeper, louder reports of rifle rounds overwhelmed the sound from the smaller pistols. She dropped her basket and sprinted toward the rear of pod eleven’s wreck, where she had left her belt and holster. As Karen retrieved the belt and strapped it hurriedly around her waist, Denise bolted past, shrieking Jack’s name over and over hysterically.

  There’s no way that’s wildlife.

  Karen broke into a sprint, chasing Denise up the hill. A large plume of white-gray smoke began to rise from the town’s center. As they approached the base she could hear screaming. Panicked villagers rushed headlong down the hill, even as the sound of gunfire died out. Karen slowed just enough to draw her weapon and disengage the safety before picking up speed again. A woman and two children cried out in alarm as soon as they saw Karen, diving from the side of the path into a thick, thorny bush.

  What the hell?

  As Karen charged up the path, everyone she encountered had a similar reaction. An eerie feeling wrapped around her, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She was nearly to the village when another barrage was unleashed. Karen could hear rounds hit the dirt and the trees just above her head, and she instinctively dropped to the ground and rolled toward cover. Her heart raced as Denise disappeared into the village. Another shot hit a tree close to her, and the spent slug slammed into the ground about an inch from her arm.

  Fuck, she thought as she drew her arm in as tightly as she could. Karen knew that Denise was running right in to trouble, but fear rooted Karen to the ground. Any chance she had to run the other woman down and find cover for both of them passed with the hesitation.

  Moments later, Denise’s shrill voice pierced the air, shouting obscenities. Someone else shouted a command in return. A male, though it was hard for her to tell who over the chaos. Then two shots rang out. More screams and chaos. Karen could see Mina hunkered down behind the wall of one of the huts on the town’s edge. She peeked out from behind her cover to look into the village square ever so briefly before pulling back. That’s when she caught Mina’s eyes. Even the distance could not conceal Mina’s fear; her eyes were like full moons, and the barrel of the pistol she clutched trembled under her death grip.

  The jungle canopy rustled loudly, heralding a change in the wind. Smoke poured out from between the buildings. Karen lost sight of Mina for a few seconds, but picked her up again a few minutes, running through the smoke. Five loud reports from a rifle, and Mina’s chest and legs twisted and jerked. She tumbled forward, losing her grip on her weapon as soon as she hit the dirt.

  “NO!” Karen screamed.

  Mina skidded to a stop in a jumbled, bloodied heap just a few feet from Karen. With only a second’s hesitation Karen lunged for her lieutenant, grabbed her by the arms, and dragged her to cover. She was still alive, though Karen knew she didn’t have much time to get help. Mina had been shot in the right hip twice and once each in the left arm and chest, just under her right breast. The blood that oozed from the chest wound bubbled as air escaped the punctured lung. Karen dropped her pistol at her side, freeing her hands to put pressure on the wound. It did absolutely nothing to stop the bleeding.

  “Shit,” she cursed under her breath. Karen looked around desperately for anyone else, but the trail was now completely abandoned. “Medic,” she bellowed. “I need a medic!”

  “No,” Mina gurgled.

  “Shh,” Karen hissed. “Don’t talk.”

  “Rr..rr… run.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “No, I’m not leaving you. Someone will get us help.” Karen raised her voice again. “Medic!”

  Mina brought her hand up and weakly pushed Karen’s shoulder. “Rr..un.” What was left of her voice was fading fast, and blood sprayed Karen’s face when she coughed.

  Something inside Karen told her to obey Mina. She could hear angry shouts getting closer, but the swirling smoke obscured her view of the village. She could only make out the outline of the closest hut. Mina hissed something else, but there wasn’t clarity to understand. Karen retrieved her weapon and stood to flee. As soon as she did so, she heard Seth’s booming voice from nearby.

  “Drop it!” he bellowed.

  The command came from a dark silhouette, partially hidden by the wall of the hut. There was also the familiar, unmistakable outline of a carbine, just barely visible through the smoke. She did as he demanded. Her weapon fell to the dirt with a thud.

  “N..no,” Mina croaked, which triggered another coughing fit.

  Karen raised her hands in surrender. She glanced down just long enough to watch Mina expire. Whether she drowned in her own blood or suffocated thanks to the hole in her chest didn’t matter. Either was horrific. When Karen dared to look up again, Seth was just a few feet away, his M4 pointed directly in her face. Someone else had taken his position behind the hut, covering Seth in case she tried anything stupid.

  Seth prodded Mina’s lifeless body with his toe, then stepped over it to move behind Karen. “Go,” he commanded sternly.

  He didn’t say where to go, but then again he didn’t need to. The village was the only logical place, even though something terrible had happened. She had no idea just how terrible until she was walking through it.

  The first body she encountered was Denise’s. She was sprawled face down in the dirt, a pool of blood radiating from her chest. Her dead gaze was fixed somewhere in the expanse of the jungle. From there on was a steadily increasing field of bodies that lead to the heart of the village. Men, women and children rested where they were cut down. Some in each others’ arms, others alone. It didn’t matter where they came from, either. Karen recognized friends from Lake Raphael lying ne
xt to original Camp Eight settlers. Some were armed, and died fighting where they stood, while others were shot in the back as they fled. Smoke and flames billowed from two huts near the center of the settlement.

  It was too much for Karen to comprehend. Her feet grew heavier with every corpse she passed. There were dozens, perhaps even a hundred. She quickly stopped counting for fear that putting a number to it all would make her lose control, and that she’d try to fight Seth. He shadowed silently behind her. For an ephemeral moment the idea made sense, and she tried to calculate the odds of at least taking him down before his companion could finish her. But there would be no point, except to make two more bodies to bury.

  She was ushered into a hut with thirteen others. Neither Seth nor his escort ventured inside; it was apparent that this was to be her prison for now. Karen slumped against a wall to give her brain a chance to catch up with the carnage from outside. But again that process was put on hold as she quickly realized that everyone around her was from Lake Raphael. These were all her people, and every one of them was wounded.

  The Morgan brothers had both been shot. Trevor’s skin was ghostly pale, and he weakly clutched where the bullet had torn through his abdomen. She could see the pain in Kevin’s eyes as he ignored his own flesh wound to tend to his little brother. Erin’s blood-slicked hands trembled as she clutched her jet black hair and wept uncontrollably. A long stream of blood trickled down her cheek from a gash on her forehead. Her young boy was nowhere to be seen. A chill ran down Karen’s spine as she had a morbid thought. Had she passed by the boy’s body and not even noticed?

  The storm curtain parted abruptly, flooding the room with light. Another prisoner was callously shoved through the portal, skidding to a halt in the dirt as the curtain closed again. Jacob. He coughed and twisted his body in agony. Karen quickly moved to his side. She turned him over and cradled him as she inspected his wounds. Four gashes on his arm were caked with a mixture of blood and dirt. One eye was swollen shut, and he clutched at his ribs. If she had to guess, he had been beaten by their captors. None of this made sense. Had he fought back when they arrested him?

  No, he wouldn’t have. He’s not like that.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Jack,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Jack? What about him? Where is he?”

  “He’s dead.” Jacob laughed. Soft, but maniacal laughter. “I killed him. And the others. I saved us all, Karen. I saved us all.”

  * * *

  Gabrielle Serrano

  2 May, 2 yal, midday

  The pungent smells of wet earth mixed with the tang of the salt air. Gabi had forgotten her jacket at home, though she didn’t really mind. She would be soaked from head to toe in just a few minutes, but the driving rain would be a blessing soon anyway. She looked up into the gray sky for a second, letting the cool drops beat down on her brow and cheeks. This was different than when she washed her face in the river. Somehow the rain always felt cleaner, and just a little warmer.

  When the rains passed was her least favorite time. She could never breathe right for a few days after. The adults said it was the humidity in the air. All she knew for sure was that it felt like breathing through a moist towel that was tied too tightly around her mouth. One of the most important things she had learned from two years in Camp Eight was that the good was always followed by the bad, and the bad in turn by the good.

  A terrible wrong had passed. It was time for the good. The evil invaders from Lake Raphael had been defeated, and the ones that Seth caught had been forced to bury everyone who died. And now it was their turn to be punished. She flattened herself against the earth and peeked through the tiny gap in the thornwood bush. Pepperine vines wove a tangled web through their chosen host plant, ensuring thick cover. It was one of a hundred similar places Gabi could hide within a mile of the village. Gabi wasn’t supposed to be here. Will and Chief James would be upset by the thought of eight-year-old Gabi defying their orders to witness a punishment. Still, she knew that if she stayed still and quiet, none of the adults would know she was there.

  After about five minutes James arrived with the prisoners. They approached from behind her, so all their backs were turned as they came to a halt twenty feet away. The prisoners were then turned to face the chief and his men, Seth and Troy. A rifle was slung across each of their shoulders. The three men from Lake Raphael had their hands bound together with tough palm rope, and two of them hung their heads in shame. The third kept his chin high. His face was grossly discolored; large purple and brown bruises dominated the left side of his face, circling his eye. His lip was turned upward in a sneer.

  Gabi felt her temper rise. She wanted to run out of the bush and yell at James for making a mistake.

  He didn’t bring the right prisoners. He didn’t bring their leader, Karen.

  Gabi had decided that Karen was a witch of some kind. She knew it from the minute they first met. Witches were supposed to be ugly, and Gabi had thought Karen was ugly. She had pock marks and scars on her face and neck. Will had tried to tell her that they were burns from a fire, but Gabi didn’t believe him. And she was right not to. Karen’s people had brought the sickness with them. Then they murdered people. They murdered her new sister Kelly.

  James had been furious that day. He screamed and shouted all day long. He threw supply crates, tore down the clinic’s storm curtain with his bare hands, and even buried an axe in the wall of the Palm Palace. Gabi was sad that his daughter had to die before he could see that Karen was a witch. She was even angry with him for letting it happen. That anger threatened to boil over and send her running across the muddy ground to confront him, and to yell at him for not bringing her to be punished. But she didn’t want to be sent away. She didn’t want these men to go unpunished just because she couldn’t restrain herself.

  Instead, Gabi growled under her breath and clenched her teeth. It made her feel better, and she didn’t think the adults could hear over the rain, since she couldn’t hear them. She watched James talk to the three men for a minute, then he and his men took a few steps back and formed a line. They readied their rifles and aimed. Gabi covered her ears to prepare for the louds blasts, and closed her eyes.

  Six shots followed in rapid succession. Even though Gabi told herself she wouldn’t be scared by the gunfire she still flinched. When she opened her eyes, the prisoners were all on the ground, lifeless.

  Good, she thought. Maybe the witch is next.

  She slipped silently through the back entrance to the bush and made her way to the shattered pod, where she knew Will would be waiting for her. Gabi shook off the images of the executed men; those would come back to haunt her in her dreams soon enough. She needed to make sure she didn’t keep him waiting too long, or else he would make her run twice as long as normal.

  Motus Domi, Act I

  Gov Darius Owens

  5 July, 2 yal, 14:16

  North Concordia

  Perfect, Darius thought as he leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the street, admiring the market square. A couple seconds later he heard a door swing open just a few feet to his right. The apartment’s tenant stepped out and emptied a foul smelling bucket into a shallow gutter. The liquid slowly trickled along the engineered chasm, but the solid excrement just sat there, waiting to bake in the sun. Well, almost perfect, he corrected.

  It didn’t matter that he was upwind of the dump site. Much of the colony was cursed with at least a lingering odor of human waste. Hot days like this one were particularly bad. Other than the small biosolid processing facility onboard each sleeper ship, there was no sewage system in the colony, nor would there be for a long time. A system of trenches had been carved through Concordia, leading to pits in the ground covered by iron grates. But movement of the solid waste was glacially slow. Once the problem was apparent, and it was clear that the colonists couldn’t build a sewer overnight, Darius was forced to enact an unusual, if not disgusting, solution. Sanitation squads, popularl
y known as “dung draggers.”

  The immediate (and obvious) jokes about Darius assigning a “shitty job” to those unfortunate colonists had worn thin just as soon as they had been made, at least as far as he was concerned. The uproar had died out months ago, though he still overheard an occasional sarcastic exchange made casually over a trade. He had come to terms with the fact that his title would always earn him at least a measure of disrespect. That’s all that politicians back home seemed to reap, in any case. He just felt pity for the men who made up the dung squads. Their primary functions were to keep the streets of Concordia as clean as possible, transport the waste—including what was pumped from the pits—to the ships, and deliver processed fertilizer to the farms. It was as perfect of a system as they could provide without a sewer, but because of the sight and smell, colonists complained.

  Darius shook his head and turned his attention back toward the chatter of the market square as he walked along the street in the opposite direction. Early evening was one of the busier times of day for the market. The vendors, who hours before had bided their time by tidying their shops, setting displays, or making their products, were now engaged with a steady stream of customers. Though negotiation played a heavy role in the transactions, the mood was very amicable, and friends and neighbors laughed and joked as business was conducted. This made Darius smile, and it was this sense of community spirit that prompted Darius to move his meager office from the bridge of Gabriel to Michael earlier in the spring.

  The hardships of the winter seemed forgotten. The deaths of fifteen colonists were not, nor would they ever be, but they were no longer a dark blanket that suffocated the spirits of the people. Instead, they emerged from the snow and ice with a renewed sense of purpose, even if resentment for Darius still ran high. The intrepid pioneers had set their minds, bodies, and hands to work, and as a result the variety of available wares had grown significantly over the past year.