Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 26
Abruptly, Char sat up.
Dr. Scott reeled backward, managing to catch himself in a makeshift crab walk.
A deep sucking inhalation reverberated through the darkened corridor. Char’s hands went to either side of her mask. Spiderweb cracks ruptured the glass. Slowly, she shook her head, regaining her senses.
Dr. Scott leaned in and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Char, are you alright?” He examined the damage to her mask, then stared intently into her eyes, watching them dilate.
“I think…I’m fine. It’s just a little bump.”
“Let’s be certain, shall we?” Dr. Scott gently patted her shoulders. His head bobbed as his gaze dropped to her torso. He tugged on the zippers and fittings on her pressure suit. Then he ran his hands all over her body, around her back, patting and groping in a way that might have seemed intimate, if it wasn’t so clinical and hurried.
“Getting a little frisky, aren’t we, Doc?” said Char groggily. “And with so many people watching.”
Wilkins shot a look at Fairhaven. The thought flashed through her mind, even in danger, Char could be so irritating.In the silence, they could hear it, loud, echoing off the corridor walls.
Hissing.
Char heard it too.
Her exuberant smile waned. She placed her hand to the crack in her mask and felt pressure against her glove pushing her hand away. Repeatedly, she dabbed at the spot. The hiss muffled every time she applied pressure.
“Um, guys?”
Suddenly, Fairhaven’s annoyance with her became vapor. From the expressions on the faces of the Marines, of Wilkins and Dr. Scott, they didn’t seem bothered by her either. Instead, a deep sorrow grew in its place.
Dr. Scott cupped her head in his hands. Slowly, he ran a gloved finger across a fissure in the glass. “Your helmet is cracked.”
“But I’m going to be okay, right?”
The only response was blank stares.
Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She pawed at Dr. Scott’s forearm. A slight warble rose in her voice. “I’m going to be okay, right?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Everyone was staring at her. Waiting for her to choke. Or melt into the floor.
Or die.
But none of that happened.
“Um.” Char sniffled. “Well, this is awkward.”
Those gathered around stood silent in the morose moment.
“Yeah, well…” Char grabbed the latches on her mask. Dr. Scott half-heartedly raised a hand, as if to stop her. One by one, she undid the latches.
Penetrating silence filled the catacomb. In the absence of sound, their minds began filling the void with phantom noises. The slightest shifting of feet was the grinding of boulders. Even the structure itself sounded as if it was settling, a huge pressure bearing down on top of them. Creaking wood. Cracking mortar.
Char removed her helmet.
To their amazement, nothing happened.
She tossed her hair back and dabbed at her eyes. She most certainly had not been on the verge of tears, and no one was going to tell her otherwise. She let the cracked mask hang from its umbilical.
Dr. Scott waggled his scanner in her face. “You can breathe?!”
Char inhaled deeply, sucking in the dusky catacomb atmosphere. “I can breathe.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m not one to argue, but uh, apparently, it’s not.”
“How are you doing that?”
“Uh, you see, you like suck in a little bit of air, and then when you feel your chest fill up, you sorta let it all out.” Char blew out an exaggerated breath.
Dr. Scott grabbed her. “Hold still.”
She squinted over his shoulder. Her gaze fell upon a shaft of light twisting through the opening overhead. Closing her eyes, she sighed, relieved to be alive.
But she’d never tell that to the others.
When she opened her eyes, Marcia was locked on to her, expressionless as always, peering from behind crimson goggles. Momentarily, Char felt exposed, as if Marcia viewed her as another science experiment to dissect. Whether or not she survived Earth’s toxic atmosphere did not appear to influence Marcia one way or the other. Both warranted further scrutiny, likely on the wrong end of a scalpel.
Dr. Scott was already treating her like a medical experiment, but his inquiries into her state stemmed from her actual wellbeing. Wilkins and the other Marines shared equal amounts of shock. The only person who appeared out of place was Fairhaven.
Her hands were wrapped around herself, hugging her bloated belly. Char doubted that Fairhaven was even conscious of the move. Likely performed it on instinct. Fairhaven stared off-center, lost in a thousand-yard stare.
Char couldn’t fault them for their surprise. She, too, expected to cough up a lung in front of everyone. Maybe dissolve into a puddle on the floor. Or have her blood evacuate her body from every orifice.
But none of that happened.
This felt like Heaven.
Only better.
The air wasn’t recycled. Or stale. Or stuffy.
“I can taste”—she licked her lips—“I taste salt. In the air.”
Char stuck out her tongue. She pushed off Dr. Scott, and turned in circles, arms outstretched, trying to catch every nuanced flavor on the tip of her tongue.
“This is so weird.”
“You can say that again,” said Wilkins. “And this is you we’re talking about.”
“Char,” said Dr. Scott. He was clearly worried, waving his scanner in her face, trying to get readings. But Char found the coddling off-putting.
“Stop that, will ya?” Char shoved him away. “I’m fine.”
A small tube now poked out of the scanner. “Breathe into this.”
Char slapped his hand. “Get that outta my face.”
She moved deeper into the corridor, outside the halo glow the halogen lamps cut into the darkness. “The air, it’s so different. Different than on Heaven, ya know?” She looked back at the crew. At their nonplussed expressions and masked faces. “Right. Of course, you don’t know.”
“Char, I need you to blow into this.”
“Oh, you’re not tricking me with that one, Doc. I fell for that once in high school. Never again.”
“What?”
Wilkins smirked. But next to him, Fairhaven remained horrified. Normally, she would have seized upon an off-the-cuff comment, criticizing Char’s lack of decorum or social graces. But now, she was deathly quiet.
Guess them’s the perks of nearly being killed by accident.
“Lighten up, Fairhaven. It’s not every day you try to kill someone on purpose by accident.”
“I—” stammered Fairhaven. “I wasn’t trying to…I didn’t mean to…”
“Of course not.”
“Char. The scanner.” Dr. Scott held it out to her. “This here. Please, breathe into this.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the tube and blew.
The scanner spit out a string of vitals. Dr. Scott placed a hand over the display, concealing his patient’s information. But Char stood on her tippy toes, attempting to read over his shoulder. She couldn’t blame him for trying to hide it. Who wanted to tell someone they were dying?
Or already dead.
Not her, that was for sure.
“What does it say?” asked Wilkins.
“Yeah, what is it, Doc?” Char pestered.
“It’s—” The scrolling diagnostics reflected a blue glow off his pressure suit mask. “—amazing.”
Char hopped off his back. “Been saying that for years.”
He tipped the scanner toward Marcia. “She’s fine.”
“Why, thank you.” Char sidled up next to Dr. Scott, giving him an exaggerated wink. “You aren’t too bad yourself.”
“I don’t know how this could happen. The algae blooms are in full force. She should be dead by now.” He wafted the scanner from side to side at the ceiling, the walls, the ground. “But in here—there’s nothing. No trace of neurotoxin at all.”
Marcia approached Dr. Scott and managed what Char couldn’t. Instead of looking at the data on the scanner, in one nonchalant move, she took the scanner out of his hand and paced away, inspecting the data.
“Interesting,” said Marcia. “Not only is there no trace of neurotoxin in Char’s system, but there is no trace of it in the air.”
Wilkins raised a brow. “What do you think is causing it?”
“It’s Sindarhe, right?” said Char. “It’s gotta be. What other explanation is there?”
“No, it’s…” Dr. Scott shook his head at Char. “No. Not Sindarhe. How could that be?”
“Of course it is! Gimmie that!” Char swiped the scanner out of Marcia’s hand. “It says, hm, what does it say?” Char held the device sideways, squinting at it. “Oh, this is a fancy instrument you got here, Doc.”
“Will you stop horsing around? You nearly died. No, not nearly. You should be dead.”
“But I didn’t, did I? And your little doohickey says we have to go farther in.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Dr. Scott yanked the scanner away from Char and punched in a few buttons. He was silent for a moment, reading the contents on the display. “Oh…it does.”
“Toldja.”
Marcia walked through the group toward the darkened end of the corridor. “From the readings, it appears whatever is neutralizing the neurotoxin in the atmosphere is coming from in there.”
The party exchanged glances.
Wilkins pointed into the pitch black recesses of the catacombs. “In there?”
“Yes,” said Marcia.
Dr. Scott nodded. “The instrument does indicate that, yes.”
“Hate to be the big old worrywart,” said Wilkins, “but what’s waiting for us in there?”
“Does it matter?” asked Dr. Scott. “We need to find the source of whatever is neutralizing the neurotoxin. We need to figure out how this is happening.”
Marcia seconded him. “It means mankind could return to the surface sooner than anticipated.”
Char was already charging into the darkness. “C’mon, scaredy pants. What do you got to lose?”
Wilkins shook his head. He signaled for two of the Marines to take point with Char. He directed Dr. Scott and Marcia to follow. The remaining two Marines fell in line behind the convoy.
Fairhaven had taken a seat in one of the recessed walls, leaning against an intricately ornate sarcophagus. Her gear pack was slumped at her feet. She leaned forward resting against her rifle.
Wilkins reached out for her. “Melody?”
She didn’t respond.
He approached and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Melody?”
“Huh?”
“We’re moving. You with us?”
For a moment, she looked lost. Her gaze flitted around the corridor, then locked on to him. “Uh, yeah. I’m with you.”
Torches snapped on, illuminating familiar-looking walls. Not manmade walls of stone and brick. These were distinctly alien. Walls Wilkins was all too acquainted with. He wasn’t alone in that fact. Char and Fairhaven had seen them before as well.
Slime-slicked flesh coated the ancient catacomb architecture. The surface blistered with oozing pustules constantly spewing a viscous fluid making everything glisten, appearing wet under electric torchlight.
“Ew,” said Char.
Marcia produced her scanner, a model similar to Dr. Scott’s. It beeped as she held it to the wall. “Interesting. It seems as if the wall itself is a living organism.”
Char jumping-jacked in front of Marcia. “Hey, Miss Doc! There’s probably something you should know about this stuff.”
“And what would that be, my dear?”
“It is alive.”
“Yes, you’ll excuse me if I don’t just take your word for it.” Marcia produced a small vial from her satchel.
“No need to get snooty about it.” Char scowled. “I was just trying to help.”
Scraping a sample into the vial, Marcia asked, “When did you make this discovery of yours?”
“When we were onboard the alien space station.”
Dr. Scott interjected, “You were onboard their station?”
“Uh, yeah. Didn’t they tell you that? Totally common knowledge. Everyone here knows about it. You’d think that’d be part of any report filling you in on Sindarhe. We, totally, were all up inside of it.”
“What was it like?”
Char raised both arms and spun like a ballerina. “It looked pretty much like this. All of this.” She abruptly stopped. “Also, everything was sentient.”
Marcia became a statue. Her brow twitched. “That wasn’t in your reports.”
“Yeah, we may have left some things out. Gotta talk to Wilkins about that one. Reports are his deal. Not mine.”
Dr. Scott sidled up next to Marcia and leaned down, getting a better view of her specimen. He flicked it with his finger. The black oily substance recoiled in response. “Everything onboard their station was sentient?”
“Not just onboard it. Everything. Was it.”
“Everything was sentient?”
“I think that’s the right word.”
“Their vessel was a living entity?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Doc.”
“I really wish I had been better informed.” He turned to Marcia. “How much of this did you know about?”
“All of it, of course,” said Marcia, trying to save face about the parts that had been kept from her. She didn’t bother looking at Dr. Scott. Instead, she casually placed the specimen vial in her satchel and retrieved a fresh one. “It’s need to know. They trust me with these things.”
“Perhaps it is,” said Dr. Scott, “but I think we are at the stages where I need to know, wouldn’t you agree?”
Marcia nodded, looking like she was going to agree, but instead replied, “Not at all.”
“What else aren’t you people telling me?”
Char shrugged. “I don’t know. What don’t you know?”
“That would be a lot easier to answer if I knew what I didn’t know,” said Dr. Scott. “But then I wouldn’t need to ask.”
“Uh...” Char pointed at the beacon of light slowly disappearing down the corridor. “We should probably catch up to the others.”
“Yes, dear. I’ll catch up in a moment.”
“Uh, kinda, like now. We’re gonna lose them if you keep fingering the walls.”
Dr. Scott snorted.
“In a moment, dear.”
Char bounced up and down on her tippy toes. “C’mon. How many of those things do you need?”
“That should do.” Marcia placed the last vial in her satchel and smugly smiled at Char. “See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it.”
Char wanted to punch her. Right in the nose. Knock those designer goggles crooked. Or better yet, use the butt end of her rifle to flatten her face.
But she was here to protect Marcia. Not brain her. Or debrain her as the case may be.
They navigated the dimly lit corridors, catching up with Fairhaven, who was trailing behind the rest of the group. She skipped ahead, shimmying between Marines, reaching out for Wilkins at the point.
“Hey, g—” Char faltered, tripping over her feet.
Dr. Scott caught her. “Am I your knight in shining armor now?”
“I’m feeling…”
“Lightheaded?” A concerned expression spread across his face. He scanned the air above their heads. “Do you need to stop?”
“No. I, uh, it’s not that. I actually feel great. High, even.”
The scanner beeped, and Dr. Scott’s eyes bugged out. He slapped the side of it several times. “Oxygen readings are off the charts. Not a trace of neurotoxin either. No wonder you’re feeling high. With this concentration of O-2, you’re probably euphoric.”
“It’s no Painbringer, but it’s good stuff, that’s for sure. Feel like I could run a marathon on Heaven’s hard circuit.”
“Are we good here, Doc?” asked Wilkins.
Dr. Scott tipped his head in Char’s direction, leery. “She should be okay, but we should keep an eye on her.”
“Right.” Wilkins raised two fingers, holding them beneath his eyes. He pointed at the Marines and then at the corridor. The Marines moved in formation into the darkness. They came to an intersection. Wilkins held up a fist and everyone stopped. Cautiously, he slinked forward.
“We’re close,” said Dr. Scott, fiddling with his scanner. “We’re practically on top of the signal.”
At the end of the corridor, Wilkins pressed his back to the wall. He gave a silent three count and peeked around the corner. It was a snap movement. Brisk and quick. He returned with a puzzled look on his face. Slowly he turned, peeking back around the corner again. This time, he kept his head out there for an extended duration. “Good gravy.”
As he withdrew, returning his gaze to the group, he waved for Fairhaven to come closer.
“Melody, you should check—” He stopped midsentence. Fairhaven was hunched over her rifle. She looked up at the sound of her name, but not at him; rather, through him. “Never mind. Char, come take a look at this.”
The scientists stepped forward, but Wilkins held out a hand. “Char first.”
She skipped between them and peeked around the corner. “What’s the—oh.”
“Yeah,” said Wilkins.
The chamber was larger than the rooms and corridors they previously explored. At the apex of its high vaulted ceiling, Char could barely make out the stone girders arching together, supports holding up the room. From floor to ceiling, organic alien flesh coated the walls. Only sparse glimpses of the underlying structure were evident on the pillars and certain key structures. Unlike the corridors, the layer of organic matter covered everything. The room also possessed another distinct attribute.
Spongey cabbage rows budded out of the flesh walls.
“Oh, we’ve seen this before,” said Char.
“Right?” Wilkins raised his chin. “How many you think?”
“Ugh. Math? I don’t know. A hundred.”
“I’d say more like three.”
Dr. Scott and Marcia’s interests were perked. They crowded in on Wilkins and Char.
“Three hundred what?” asked Marcia. She braved the corner, peering out. Hundreds of newly budding squiddies lined the walls, neatly arranged in rows like crops. They looked like slimy olive-green cabbages, tentacles tightly wrapped around the protruding buds like leaves. But still, the alien appearance was unmistakable.
