Something heavy falls on the other side of the door—I can feel the vibration through my boots on the floor, if not the sound itself.
Cautiously, I peer into the gap we’ve created.
At first, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. The room is unrecognizable from the elegantly appointed suites I remember. The furniture is gone, nothing identifiable as such remains, in a sea of white.
And then it clicks: mattresses. I’m looking at dozens of mattresses along the walls, on the floor, stacked at least two deep.
In fact, sticking my head deeper into the gap, I see that’s what we’ve knocked down by opening the door—mattresses. Their short ends are still pressed against the back of the door, preventing me from opening it further.
It’s so dark in here, the only light coming from my helmet and… is that a faint glow from the far right corner? It’s hard to tell with my own light interfering.
Craning my neck, I try for a better look at what might be a pale blue illumination. Like one of our emergency lights from the LINA, on the verge of dying.
Adrenaline slips into my veins, smooth and bright, like liquid fire.
“What do you see?” Diaz asks.
“Help me,” I demand.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Reed says from behind me. He must have followed us up. He’s trying for stern, as if he’s in charge, but the words come out sounding breathless and more than a little terrified.
I ignore him. With me and Diaz pushing, the door opens enough for me to slide through, a tighter fit with my enviro suit and helmet on.
Once inside the room, it becomes clear that my initial assessment wasn’t quite accurate. The room isjammedwith mattresses, not just from this level but likely from all over the ship. I can’t imagine how much work it must have been to move so many and wedge them into a single room. Towels, sheets, blankets, and clothes lie in piles and heaps all over the floor on top of the mattresses.
It’s like… like a nest in here. The thought sends a shudder through me.
In the far corner, one of our portable work lights glows weakly where it’s stuck to a mattress, the last in a long succession of portable work lights attached in much the same way. Only the ones above it are all dark. Dead.
“What do you see, Kovalik?” Diaz demands again as I step onto the mattresses and attempt to make my way toward that corner. My balance is awkward and wobbly on the plush surface, reminding me suddenly of my clumsy and panicked attempt to escape the woman under the bed. The dead woman who’d reached out to grab my ankle. It had not been real, not in the way we currently define reality, but it hadfeltas real as anything I’ve ever experienced.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “I’m trying to get closer and—”
A pile of clothing at the edge of the fading work light, mostly in shadow, shifts abruptly. My breath catches in my throat, and I stumble back a step. My foot catches in the gap between a pair of mattresses, twisting my ankle sharply to the right.
I fall before I can catch myself, landing flat on my back, and the bundle of rags expands, unfolding, to tower above me.
27
In the dim light, it takes me longer than it should to pick out familiar features from the looming figure. The tangled and matted hair, normally golden skin turned ashen and smudged and dirty, and… bright blue eyes staring down at me.
Kane.
As I struggle to sit up, his hand flies up to block the brightness of my light—now aimed toward him. When I manage to push myself to my feet—my right ankle now throbbing—he recoils, scurrying away from me.
He’s thin, diminished. Starving.
But alive.
After so many weeks alone. I left them here alone.
I push that thought away to focus on Kane.
I stand slowly, gritting my teeth against the corresponding throb in my ankle. I hold my hands up, showing that I intend no harm. “Kane, it’s me. It’s Claire.”
But he gives no sign of recognizing the name or my voice. He shrinks into the corner of the room, sinking to the mattress-covered floor and curling up into a ball. “No, no, no.”
I can see his mouth moving even if I can’t hear him.
