Tethers

by Sara Reinke

  “Did Alex ever make it to the bridge?” Kat’s voice was small. Here was what she had really been dodging, not the discussion of the explosion, but of Alex. Just saying his name sent a spear of pain through her heart. She began to pick at her cuticles, pushing against them with her thumbnail until she saw a thin line of blood swell along the edge. “He…that’s where he was going when he…”

  “I never saw him.” Eric shook his head. “He must have come in behind me.”

  “Behind you?” Frank frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If he was going that way, you should have run into him.”

  Eric met his gaze, a slight crimp forming between his brows. “I didn’t see him.”

  “How could you have missed him?” Frank said. “That corridor was the only way to and from the bridge. I—”

  “What the hell are you saying, Frank?” Eric snapped. “I didn’t see him, okay? Leave it alone!”

  “Both of you shut up.” Kat frowned. “We got enough to deal with without the two of you jumping each other’s shit. So just cool it already.”

  “Goddamn it, I’m not jumping his shit,” Frank said, his voice sharp and angry. “All I’m saying is—”

  “Enough, Frank!” Kat locked gazes with him, and for a moment, the furious intensity in his eyes frightened her. It took her back to another place, another time—a lifetime ago. It was the way Chris would look before he hit her.

  “Enough,” she said again, as much to herself as Frank. I’m different now, damn it. I’m in charge here.

  Frank turned away and shrugged, the rage in his face softening into subdued submission so abruptly, Kat wondered if she had imagined it.

  It’s the dream, she told herself. That dream about Chris. It’s still on my mind, still messing with me.

  She cut her gaze first to Eric, then to her daughter. “And you watch your mouth.”

  Eric looked abashed by her rebuke, his shoulder hunching. “Sorry.”

  Jerica sat next to Eric on the couch, her legs tucked under her Indian-style, watching them with a great deal of interest.

  “I think it’s about time to go on to bed,” Kat said to her. “I want to get an early start tomorrow, if we can, and you’ll need to go with us.”

  “Okay, Mommy.” Jerica slid off the couch.

  “Do you need something to help you sleep?” Frank asked. He looked sheepish, and she realized he was trying to make amends.

  She didn’t want to sleep again, or face any more disturbing dreams, but the idea of remaining awake, of spending the night through in the creepy, unfamiliar compound with only her thoughts, her memories of Alex and her bitter heartbreak for company didn’t appeal to her, either. “Yes, please, Frank.”

  “How about you, Eric?” Frank turned to the younger man. “A little something to—?”

  “No,” Eric said, quickly, almost sharply. “No, thanks, Frank. I don’t like needles. I’ve had enough sticking into me in my life. I’ll sleep okay.”

  ***

  “I didn’t mean anything by that,” Frank said, walking down the hall. “I’m sorry, Kat. I didn’t mean to get you upset.”

  “It’s okay,” she replied. “I kind of fired off both barrels at you, and I shouldn’t have.”

  “Well, I sort of fired first, so I had it coming.” He offered his hand to her, bridging the distance between them. “Truce?”

  Kat smiled, slipping her palm against his and accepting his shake. “Truce.”

  In the infirmary, Kat watched, transfixed, as he administered the sedative. The needle slid effortlessly into a small, fat, bluish-grey knot of blood vessels at the inner delta of her elbow. It burned when Frank pulled it out and he pressed a cotton ball against the small polka dot of blood that was forming.

  “There.” He winked at her. “One nightcap, shaken not stirred. A peaceful night’s sleep, guaranteed.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. You ready for bed, pup?”

  Jerica waited across the room, snooping through cabinets and drawers. She was frightened by needles. “Yuh-hunh.” She glanced at Kat and nodded. “Can I stay with you?” Jerica twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Just for tonight, I mean. Not for always.”

  “Sure, pup.” Kat looked at Frank. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “As long as I don’t stop to think about anything.”

  “Tell me about it.” She hugged him. She’d been so busy worrying about her own grief and pain, she’d failed to notice how exhausted he looked, how haggard and strained, haunted in his own right.

  “Thanks, Frank.” She wished she could offer more to comfort him. But hell, I don’t even have that for myself.

  He smiled and it touched his eyes. “I’ll see you in the morning, Kat.”

  Chapter Five

  Frank lay on his back, naked in bed, staring up into the darkness at the ceiling and thinking about what it had been like to slice open the gook’s throat.

  Xian “Doc” Tren had put up a pretty good fight, but Frank supposed that should’ve been expected.

  All those goddamn gooks know that karate shit.

  Frank knew that karate shit, too. He had learned it, among other things, shortly after he had stood on frost-crusted ground and watched as his daughter’s small, glossy white casket had lowered into its black pit in the earth.

  Leukemia. The goddamn leukemia.

  There had been no more early morning clam digs for him and Elaina. They were replaced by early morning pills. It was always his responsibility, because Elaina wouldn’t take the medicine from Lauren. Every morning at four o’clock sharp, Frank would kiss Elaina’s forehead lightly, rousing her from her fitful sleep.

  “Mornin’, punkin.”

  “Oohh, Daddy, please, no, it makes me sick, I don’t want it…”

  “Please, punkin. Take it for Daddy. It’s going to make you all better real soon.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “And hope to die,” Frank whispered hoarsely up at the ceiling.

  On her tombstone: For a moment, an angel rested here.

  He made sure all of her favorite stuffed toys were in the casket with her. He remembered a world history class from his undergraduate years in college, where he had studied how Egyptian pharaohs were buried with all of their favorite worldly possessions, including servants and pets. Frank had doubted that trying to slip Kit-Kat, El’s fat grey tabby cat into the coffin would go over particularly smooth, and so he’d settled on her powder blue Puffalump hippopotamus, the Paddington Bear she’d had since she was three days old, and her Crystal Princess Barbie doll.

  After the funeral and wake, when he and Lauren were left alone in the split-level Cape Cod on the beach with three honey-baked hams and God alone knew how many consolatory casseroles, he had sat in his bathroom on the toilet, wishing he hadn’t thrown his pistol into the Hudson River. He would have wrapped his lips around the barrel and pulled the trigger.

  Three weeks later, he had met “Colonel” David McDonald at a cocktail party in East Windsor. It had been some kind of fundraiser for one of Lauren’s stuffy politician friends. An unsuccessful candidate in two presidential elections himself, McDonald was in attendance, offering his personal backing and that of his independent militant party, Legion.

  And, of course, his financial backing. David McDonald was one of the richest men in the world, a self-made billionaire who had grown disgruntled with the mechanisms of American politics and wanted to see the country reshaped into what he called a “true democracy”.

  Frank had spent more than four hours that night discussing this concept with the good Colonel. Within a month, he was a card-carrying member of the New England Militia branch of Legion. He’d been so desperate for an escape from his grief, longing for something that felt like family to him. Christ knew that he hadn’t enjoyed that with Lauren in ages, long before Elaina’s illness.

  He had abandoned his job, his house, even his wife, and moved to Legion’s compoun
d in rural New Hampshire. Where, of course, he’d met Reba Crowe.

  Reba had taught Frank his karate shit. And his computer shit. And his explosives and weapons shit.

  He guessed that if anyone in the world besides his daughter could have been his soul mate and friend, it was Reba Crowe. And man, could she fuck. Christ knew that he hadn’t enjoyed that with Lauren in ages, either.

  Frank had been too noisy coming into the tech lab aboard the Daedalus. Reba would have been pissed at him, told him he had to be more careful.

  Doc had heard him, glanced over his shoulder and seen the butterfly knife in Frank’s hand. “Franklin…?” he’d asked, puzzled.

  Frank had gone after Doc first because he knew too much. If he’d survived, he would have been able to get all of the electrical and computer systems up and running at the lunar compound—which Frank didn’t need—and he wouldn’t have let anyone else access the systems in the meantime—which Frank did need.

  That, and Doc knew the karate shit, which made him dangerous. He was a first-degree black-belt in hapkido, as a matter of fact. Too bad Frank was third-degree.

  Doc had reached forward and hit the bridge alarm, and Frank had sprang forward in swift, sudden action. He’d brought the knife around and down, severing Doc’s index finger neatly.

  Doc shrieked and danced back clumsily, clutching his hand to his chest and watching in nearly comedic horror as blood spurted from the stump of his knuckle. Frank had brushed Doc’s finger aside and shut off the alarm.

  “Whu…what are you doing, Franklin?” Doc had wheezed at him, backing away, trying to get to the door. “Eric’s on the bridge… He will have seen the alarm. He’ll be here…any minute.”

  “Good,” Frank had replied. “It’ll be a pleasure to slice his fucking throat open, too.”

  He’d delivered a quick, hard roundhouse kick to the side of Doc’s face. Doc had swung his arm up, blocking the blow, sending blood from his severed finger spraying across Frank’s cheek. Frank had danced back, ducking around the countering punch Doc launched at him, and the fracas had been on.

  Doc had been one tough little gook. Even with his wounded hand, he’d landed some solid blows, his fists swinging, his feet kicking out as he struggled to defend himself. Frank had been breathing hard; it had felt like his heart had been going to jackhammer its way right through his solar plexus. He was exhilarated, flying on a rush of adrenaline. Again and again he swung the knife, ripping into Doc’s flesh, carving him open, sending blood splattering around the lab.

  Doc had rushed unexpectedly at Frank. He’d slammed Frank backwards into a table, nearly knocking both the wind and the kidneys out of him. Frank had felt Doc’s bloody hand clawing for his wrist, the knife, and he’d brought his fist up, punching Doc’s nose. He’d heard the moist, distinctive crunch as the bone had broken. Doc staggered away, bringing his good hand up to his face, yowling in pain.

  Frank had caught him easily, forcing the other man into a tight, choking headlock. Doc had struggled ferociously against him, even as Frank forced the open blade of the butterfly knife under his chin and jerked it swiftly, deftly, opening his carotid artery.

  Doc’s blood had splashed across Frank’s forearm in powerful, pulsating spurts. It had been incredibly hot against his skin. Frank had shoved Doc and watched him man flounder away. He’d heard Doc’s breath wheezing through his punctured windpipe.

  Doc’s knees had folded clumsily, and he’d pitched face-down on the floor. A large pool of deep crimson had spread rapidly around his head.

  Frank had wiped the knife blade clean on the front of his blood-stained shirt. He’d folded the knife closed with a quick toss of his wrist. He’d tucked it in his pants pocket and unbuttoned his shirt.

  He’d waited patiently for Eric Nagel, Everybody’s-Fucking-All-American, but after about ten minutes he realized the pilot wasn’t going to answer the alarm. He’d been both disappointed and relieved at this; disappointed because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted to carve open the arrogant pretty boy since the moment of their introduction, and relieved because at that time, he’d needed Eric to fly the escape shuttle. Alex Horne was a bigger problem in the overall scheme of things than Eric, and thus, he was number two on Frank’s list of things to do before the Daedalus blew up. But if he killed Alex and Eric, that would have left Frank alone with Kat, Leia and Jerica. Neither woman could fly the shuttle. He knew how to, but they didn’t realize this—and it would have raised a world of suspicions had he revealed it to them.

  When Frank had finished killing Doc, he’d pulled his shirt off and dropped it unceremoniously across the gook’s body. He’d glanced at his watch. He had only seven minutes left before the first round of detonations, but it had been plenty of time to throw on a fresh shirt from his quarters.

  He’d locked the tech lab behind him and headed for his room. His gait had been light and quick.

  He’d run into Leia as he’d left his room after changing. She had been stomping toward the rec room, her pretty red ringlets streaming along behind her, her bright hazel eyes flashing.

  “Hey, Leia,” Frank had said, and he was still pretty rueful that he’d never had the chance to fuck her. She’d survived the crash, even though her safety harness had broken loose of its moorings during the impact, and she’d been hurtled across the shuttle. Her body had been battered and broken, but she’d been alive, hiccupping for breath, squirming feebly on the floor. “Everything okay?”

  “Just beautiful,” she’d replied, not even slowing her pace down for a moment. “Be even better if Eric Nagel would drop off the fucking face of the earth.”

  Frank had come to before anyone else aboard the shuttle and found Leia on the floor, sprawled and bleeding. He’d limped over to her and looked down for a long moment, watching with detached, aloof interest as she’d struggled to breathe, gulping at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish caught out of water.

  “You and Eric have a lovers’ spat, huh?” he’d asked her aboard the Daedalus, amused.

  He’d broken her neck aboard the escape shuttle, genuflecting beside her broken body and cupping her face between his hands. She’d blinked up at him, uttering quiet, whimpering, pleading sounds and he’d smiled at her.

  “Hush now.” He’d wrenched her head, twisting her neck until the bones anchoring her skull to her spine snapped and her soft, snuffling mewls had faded abruptly to silence. “Hush.”

  Aboard the Daedalus, when he’d teased her good-naturedly about Eric, she’d shot him a blazing look, her nostrils flaring out and her eyes sharp and mean, and then she’d disappeared into the rec room without offering him another word. Her tits had been bouncing provocatively under her blouse, and he’d watched the way the fabric of her khaki slacks hugged the gently undulating curves of her ass.

  She’d given him a hard-on with that baleful look.

  Just thinking about her now, in his bunk at the complex on X-1226, turned him on. He reached down, his hand sliding between his legs, and folded his fingers around his hardening shaft. He began to stroke himself, remembering Leia’s tits and ass, the soft, crunching sound as her neck had broken.

  He imagined that he might have been able to fuck her eventually, if he’d been able to stay with the Daedalus crew for awhile. But at that time, Leia was obviously head over perky little ass for Eric.

  Just like Kat, although Frank figured Kathryn Emmente was too full of self-righteous indignation and petty personal insecurities to ever admit that she wanted Nagel.

  Uptight bitch, he thought. His hand moved faster, his rhythm growing more fervent. Her cunt’s probably so tight, she’d turn your dick to diamonds fucking her.

  He smiled, considering this, imagining burying his cock between Kat’s prudish thighs and finding out for himself if the ice queen indeed ran cold to the core. He closed his eyes as he came, the hot, wet rush of his release spattering suddenly against his belly.

  Chapter Six

  “Mommy?” Jerica whispered.
>
  The room was dark, and they were snuggled under the covers, side by side. Jerica had wriggled up close to Kat’s back, her face near her mother’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, pup?” Kat felt warm and sleepy from the sedative. She’d almost been asleep.

  “I’m sorry Alex is dead. I know you loved him a lot.”

  “Yes,” Kat said quietly. “Yes, I did.”

  Jerica’s small fingers crept along her side, tickling. Kat reached down and squeezed them affectionately.

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Thanks, pup,” Kat murmured. You’re wrong but thanks anyway for the sentiment.

  The drug lulled her to sleep, with Jerica snuggled up beside her. She’d hoped the drugs would keep her from dreaming, but the damn things came around anyway.

  She dreamed they were back on the shuttle, at the crash site in the forest. She could hear the rain dripping delicately down through the leaves and branches overhead. She could hear the soft, lulling creaks and groans of the battered shuttle. She could hear her own rasping, whistling breathing.

  In the dream, Leia wasn’t dead yet. Her body was still torqued crazily, horribly broken, but she was somehow still alive. Kat could hear her small, whimpering sobs.

  “Please…” the dream Leia pleaded. “Please…!”

  ***

  Kat jerked awake, twisting so sharply that the muscles in her right calf cramped into a knot.

  “Shit!” she hissed, pulling her leg up to her chest and trying to massage the muscles loose.

  The cramp subsided and she relaxed. She rolled over onto her belly and took her watch off the nightstand. She brought it up to her face, but couldn’t make out the time. The crystal had cracked during the crash, and rain water had gotten inside the face. Now there was a thick film of moisture bubbles obscuring the glass.