I stop.
The scene has a hypnotic pull, the sheer awfulness and the illogic of it. This messy chaos was once a person. It seems too improbable.
Like a joke or a prop.
Except it’s not.
Dragging my gaze away, I remove the helmet to listen as best as I can. We left Shin’s team of seven in the cargo bay, examining, perhaps removing the Verux Mira colony equipment that had been their cover story to get the device on board. Can’t have any evidence pointing to them left behind, even if it’s in pieces post-explosion.
But now, there’s nothing. No voices, no footsteps, no sounds of movement or life. Just an irregular rhythmic dripping that’s somehow too loud and sets unease rippling down my spine.
After putting the helmet back on, I lead the way in, edging past the woman’s body in the airlock. Kane, oblivious, isn’t as careful,and I will hear the squelch of his boots in her blood for as long as I live. Even if that’s only another few minutes. Especially if.
Once inside the cargo bay, though, I stumble to a halt again, my brain unable to process what I’m seeing at first in the limited view of the helmet light.
Upstairs, in the atrium, it looked more like panic combined with hallucinations and access to high-powered weapons had resulted in confusion and the accidental deaths of Diaz’s team.
In here, though, it’s… just body parts. Like Shin’s team attacked one another, deliberately aiming to take each other out. But at such close range, it resulted in amputations, decapitations, and so much blood.
Red smears decorate the now-dented side of the Mach Ten’s passenger door, and there’s an unidentifiable piece of someone on the hood.
A headless corpse is on what’s left of the shattered piano, drip, drip… dripping into a puddle on the floor.
Jesus.
A quiver runs through me, making the helmet light tremble and cast jittery shadows, adding the eerie appearance of movement among the dead. Or perhaps there is movement already; their ghosts rising to join the others.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.Okay, okay. Breathe.
I am not a soldier or security professional. Ghosts or no ghosts, I’m a team leader on a commweb sniffer. Accidents happen, yes, especially in space. But we don’t see this kind of deliberate personal violence, oranyviolence, except for the occasional coworker-on-coworker “Will you stop chewing so fucking loud?” attacks that have been known to happen.
My grip on Kane’s unresponsive hand is tight and unpleasant, probably, for him, but concentrating on that contact grounds me. Reminds me of my purpose: getting us the hell out of here, while we still can.
And we’re nearly there.
I force my eyes open and make myself focus.
A glance over at the far wall shows the retractable bridge toAresis still in place. That’s something, at least. A crate, several loaded black duffels, and one body bag lie in wait, as if someone was organizing a trip over to theAresbefore sanity gave way.
The temptation to bolt for the bridgeright nowis strong. We’re running out of time. I can feel it. The comms have gone silent; even Max is no longer shouting for updates. How long will he wait before giving the order to retract the bridge and retreat to safe distance? Even if all of his security forces on this ship die—or have died—before triggering the planned explosion, I’m certain he’s not leaving without destroying theAurora,one way or another.
I still need a suit for Kane, though. Otherwise, they’ll never open the door on the other side for us.
I lead Kane over to the LINA, up the ramp to the airlock, and then once it’s open, I pull him inside to the small bench where we changed into our enviro suits. The suits themselves are gone now. There might be a spare in here somewhere, but it doesn’t matter. It would be an immediate giveaway that Kane is not one of the Verux security team members.
I remove my helmet and the smell of home—overheated metal, aging plastic, and Lourdes’s orange tea—immediately floods over me.
My chest aches with longing, and I want nothing more than to close up the door and hide in here, pretending that nothing has changed.
I guide Kane into sitting. “Stay here, okay?” I whisper. He’ll be safer in here than he would in the cargo bay where he might wander off or where Reed might find him.
Kane doesn’t acknowledge my words or even my presence. His eyes blink, but it’s just the mechanics, the autonomic reflexes.
He’ll get better. As soon as we’re out of here, he’ll be better. He’ll come back. It’s just that damn device,I tell myself, and I try to believe it.
But when I go to release his hand, I notice the jagged tear in his skin, halfway between his wrist and elbow, still bleeding sluggishly.
I suck in a breath. It’s deep. The wound needs to be glued, if not stitched.
