Or unsee what I’ve just witnessed.
That was the end of Captain Gerard and First Officer Wallace. The murder-suicide Voller first suspected. Playing out as vividly in front of me as if it were happening right now. I shouldn’t have been able to see any of it, because of the dark. Because it happened more than two decades ago. And yet…
Ghosts or hallucinations caused by the weapon—the MAW, Max called it? Both?
It occurs to me for the first time—and much too late—that whatever the MAW does to non-ghost-seeing people, it might do that and more to me. If that damn device made regular people see things, what would it do to someone who already does? I managed all right before, thanks to my experience with ignoring the unusual—if no one else acknowledges it, best to pretend it’s not there—but that was with the dampeners on.
Now, without that protection, we might be in more trouble than I realized. We have to make our way down to the cargo bay, through a ship filled with the dead, riddled with hundreds of violent and awful deaths. Forget the MAW, there are probably plenty of real ghosts here, too.
And if that is not a recipe for losing what is left of your mind, I don’t know what is.
30
The sound of screams from somewhere deeper in the ship sends a jolt through me. The distinctrat-a-tat-tatof automatic weapons fire follows, shattering my hesitation and waking me from my temporary paralysis.
My plan, such as it is, is working.
Even though I was expecting this result, hoping for it, the terrible noises of the stoic and resigned security team members losing their grip make me shiver. I glance around the bridge warily, anticipating the appearance of another death reenactment. But everything is dark and still. Which we should take advantage of, while we can.
“Come on,” I say to Reed and Kane, forcing myself to sound more confident than I feel. “We need to go.”
When I look behind me, though, Kane is where I left him, sitting near the piles of pulled-out wires at the navigation control bank. His face is newly slack, and his hands are limp at his sides. I can’t tell if he heard me or not. I can’t tell anything about him at all.
Dread pools in my stomach. At least before he was talking and listening. To people who weren’t here, granted, but this new stillness… it’s wrong.
Instinct screams at me to DO SOMETHING.
I push past Reed to kneel beside Kane.
“It’s me,” I say softly.
No response. Not even when I take his hand in mine.
Kane blinks, swallows, breathes—slowly, shallowly—but his gaze is unfocused, untethered. It’s as if he’s simply… gone.
My vision blurs with tears. Taking away the dampeners was too much for him.
“Hang in there, I’m going to get you out of here. I promise.” I squeeze his hand in encouragement, but his fingers remain loose against mine.
“I just need you to get up. Please,” I whisper.
But he doesn’t move.
“Get up!” I beg him. I cannot, will not, leave him behind. No matter what I did before.
Desperation builds in me to a pinch point. I stand up and pull at him with all my might, leaning away from him for leverage.
“Please!” The word comes out raw and painful, closer to a shout. At this point, I’m not even sure who I’m asking. Kane. God. Fate. Whoever owes me one.
Finally, his legs move. Erratically at first, folding and unfolding as if a puppeteer is momentarily confused about which string does what. And then he stands.
It looks more like muscle memory than an actual decision. Still, it feels like a miracle in the moment, and a sob of relief escapes me. I use the back of my free hand to wipe at the tears on my face.
I’m not letting go of Kane. With my hand locked tight around his, I pull him toward the doors, and he follows.
“Darrow, let’s move it,” I say to Reed.
Only then do I realize that he’s been too quiet. Too many opportunities for him to mock and sneer have passed by without comment.
