DARKNESS FALLS (2025 *)
100 feet away, Dahl rolled onto her knees, scrambled around wide-eyed, saw her dirty weapon, and slammed it against her shoulder. The blinding sandstorm encircling her screamed and the ground beneath her feet rose and fell as she was standing on the deck of a yacht during a hurricane.
Another rending tremor rose out of the trench, and Dahl covered her ears. The wreckage listed forward. Chunks of jagged debris broke away, stabbing the ground around her and Lockspur. The tipping wreckage groaned forward like a wounded animal crying out in pain. Its exposed sections teetering back and forth, threatening to flatten them. The spire swayed back in reprieve. Lockspur jumped up, rushed to her side, bloodied and raw, and grabbed her wrist. "We have to go!"
She jumped up, wide-eyed, peering up at the giant vessel in a calm dismay. The dying ship pendulum'd a few feet, a few yards like an impossible skyscraper, quivering like an ancient redwood buffeted by an unnatural gale. Dahl thought. It's coming down.
At the same moment, realization twisted her face, Lockspur jerked her away. Her pulse raced, face reddened, and breath caught as Lockspur dragged Dahl through the trench, trying to put enough distance before it was too late to get away.
A third bone rattling pulse slammed them from behind as another compartment collapsed. The soil beneath their feet turned into quicksand, swallowing their boots, pitching them forward. They slammed into the ground, face down, tumbling to a stop as the moon shook beneath them. Dahl struggled to her feet, spitting out pebbles as Lockspur lay on the ground, grasping his stomach.
"Run," he bellowed, dragging himself upright as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. A bloody cough exploded out of his mouth, filling his palm. He wiped it away, understanding his time was short.
The two upper compartments dropped 50 feet into the ground as a dozen lower hull supports crumpled like collapsing tinfoil. The twisting outer hull buckled inward and another terrifying metallic thunder clap lifted them off their feet and dropped them hard. They fell again. The vertical compartment leaned out, inched forward as gravity reached up and pulled the wreckage over them. There was nowhere to run. Escape was not an option.
Dahl and Lockspur jumped up, preparing to dart away as a choking cloud of wafting dust swirled around their feet. Lockspur seized Dahl's arm and threw her to the side. She rolled away as an enormous section of the outer hull embedded itself into the very spot she had stood just seconds earlier.
"We are leaving," he blared, jerking her to her feet. They raced away from the ship, heading towards the speck of a safety waiting in the distance.
The bullet riddled compartment loomed over the 30 foot deep trench, trapping them in its falling path. The need for answers had drawn them in too close. There would be no getting out of the way of the falling ship, and they knew it. There wasn't enough time to navigate the jagged gauntlet leading away. They needed shelter. But where do you hide from a million tons of falling steel?
Dahl stared over her shoulder at the toppling compartment as Lockspur dragged her forward. Then, as the bottom of the hull collapsed inward, the deforming mass of steel gave off a sound like an artillery barrage and exploded. The trench filled with a blinding cloud of shrapnel. Dahl turned into Lockspur's grip and ran with him, bouncing off truck sized debris that tore at their clothes and sliced at their soft flesh.
"There!" Dahl called out over the din of crumbling metal. As the wreckage fell, it blotted out the endless light.
In the near distance, a large storage container jutted out of the trench floor. Beside it lay an enormous bolder, and behind that was a giant berm of gravel left in the falling container's wake. Between the heavy steel container and the large rock, a shallow ditch had formed. A small indent, but a slight chance is better than no chance. Dahl ran at the indent full speed, preparing to dive like a runner stealing home-plate. Lockspur was close to her side, gripping his stomach. The falling ship would sink into the loose soil ten times that depth. But the shallow grave was their only hope.
At the last possible moment, they dove into the ditch as a hellish maelstrom of noise and chaos consumed them in darkness. Silence filled the world. Neither believed they were alive.
The pitch black world came back with a vengeance, bringing pain and disorientation. Dahl's body screamed. Her eardrums vibrated, and a sticky fluid trickled down her neck. Dahl imagined an exploding nuke wouldn't make that much noise.
A trembling hand touched her back, and she let out a shrill scream. "Quiet!" Lockspur said, cupping a dirty hand over her mouth. "They'll hear."
She elbowed him, catching him in the right side without meaning to. "God dammit. Don't do that." Dahl whispered, rolling over to face Lockspur. Darkness consumed his face. She could not see him, but if they faced one another, at least she could whisper.
Lockspur winced in pain, biting his hand to keep from crying out. "Shhh." he warned in an ominous whisper. "We're not alone." Dahl didn't need to see his face to know he was in agony.
The darkness closed in around them. Injured things scurried in the distance, and a tiny flame flared brightly in the darkness, stopping Dahl's ragged breathing. Lockspur held a lit match. Its faint light struggling to fill the tiny space, trapping them. The sickly yellow flicker illuminated a 6 foot circle around them. Its jittery, wavering light had the odd effect of making the darkness more claustrophobic, and the not-so-empty void surrounding them became a living entity. It circled, watching and waiting.
Lockspur extended the tiny flame. It convulsed in his filthy hand. Even in the fading glow, Dahl saw the unspoken pain on Lockspur's twitching face. Lockspur used the flame to check her for signs of injuries. "You're bleeding," he said, flicking away the match as its hot corona sizzled out against his sweaty fingertips. He struck another, moved it over her shoulders and near her ear. She looked dreadful. "Not too bad. Your shoulder stitches tore out and your ears are weeping. But all things considered, if you get going, you should be fine."
"We can get going." Dahl said, reaching back and touching the re-torn gash on her shoulder. "You meant to say we," she added, wincing in pain. Her finger sank into the hot moist trench dividing the once perfect skin and pain gripped her belly. "As if that scar would not be ugly enough. Now I get a double dose of unwanted stitches with a side of disfiguring infection."
Lockspur gave off a half exasperated / half stunned laugh. "Fucking women. We're trapped with God only knows how many of those things and you're worried about a scar? You're a mercenary. Do you see many beauty pageants in your future?"
"Oh, fuck you." Dahl said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "I'm still a woman." She grabbed his hand and moved it towards his face. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, running her hands around him as if looking for protrusions.
Lockspur pulled it away quicker than she liked. "I'm fine."
She heard the waver in his voice, and his shallow, ragged gasps betrayed his lie. He was in pain. A debilitating pain that needed immediate attention. But asking for help was his way.
"Don't bullshit me. What's wrong?" Dahl demanded in a whisper.
He moved the tiny flame up to light his right arm. It disappeared beneath the storage container they had taken shelter beside. "It crushed my forearm." Lockspur answered, struggling for a moment, trying to free himself, and then giving up, panting. "Fucking dry box rolled over when the ship came down. Can't pull it out." He hesitated. "And..."
"Please tell me you didn't shit your pants?"
"I think I broke my hip."
Hysteria and a gallon of exploding adrenaline combined, and Dahl broke into uncontrolled laughter.
Lockspur waited for her to finish. "Funny, Grandpa broke a hip."
Grinning loss of control morphed into a spasm of weeping, and Dahl said, "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Did you shit your pants?"
"No."
"Good. Then you're okay."
"I don't feel okay."
He smiled at her. "It's okay. I lost my shit the first time someone dropped a ship on me, too."
"This has happened to you before."
"No," he answered.
"Why aren't we dead?" Dahl asked, looking around, trying to get her bearings. She strained her eyes, but it was no use. The fallen wreckage had trapped them in absolute darkness, and no matter how wide she forced her eyelids, no images emerged from the darkness. She was blind to all beyond the tiny light of the match and they were running out of matches.
"Dumb luck," he replied, tossing the match away and struck another. The tiny flame flickered, threatened to go out, and then illuminated a hatch that hung off the compartment prior to the collapse. It lay half embedded in the sand less than 2 feet behind Dahl's head. They had taken refuge below the torn out hatch they had planned to enter earlier. They had just won the lottery, but now the question was, would she live long enough to spend the money?
Adrenaline coursed through Dahl's veins like a raging river. Her fight-or-flight sense bashed against her aching eardrums. She stared at the hatch. God knows we should be dead. Angry, disorienting tears trickled down her face, more from adrenaline than pain or fear. She dragged her forearm over her eyes in frustration. Dahl hated crying. Most of all, she hated crying in front of men. Men always took her tears as a sign that she either needed saving, or God forbid, needed someone to talk to. She hated talking about her feelings more than she hated crying.
Her shrink back on Sol Luca wanted her to talk after the attack in the alley. She told him to stick it. But now, laying in the dark, she wished she had. Now, she may never get the chance.
"Listen," Lockspur said, rousing her from her own darkening thoughts. "It's not over yet. You can still get out. You just have to calm down and think."
"We..." she stressed, "We can get out of here." He smiled at her as if saying she knew that wasn't true. It made her face flush with anger. "We... are getting out of here," she repeated, glaring at him as if he were being foolish. He had to know she would never leave him there to die alone in the dark. If nothing else, they had drilled a no one left behind mantra into her head.
He lay there, concluding he would have to trick her into leaving. Lockspur didn't want to, but the knots in his stomach were beyond a cure, and he had long accepted his impending death. He looked from Dahl to his trapped arm and then at the small match box containing less than a few dozen matches. "Sure," he said, offering a weak smile.
The matches wouldn't last; and when they were gone, her odds of getting out alive were slim. The desperate expression on Dahl's face signaled she knew that, too. There was no telling where they were in the wreckage, or if there was a way out, even if they could free his arm. Dragging him out would slow her down and make a lot of unwanted noise. He would never allow himself to become the reason she died. He'd lost one family, he wouldn't lose her, too. And now, here he lay, the anchor he said Moss would be.
If Dahl left him, Lockspur was certain she could get out. She was resourceful. Now he had to figure a way to convince her to leave. But that would take all his courage.
He let the flame burn down, watching it as it approached his fingertips and feeling the burn come on. He grimaced and threw the flame away. "Dammit," Lockspur blurted, fumbling for the scabbard on his tactical vest.
"We need to free your arm."
"Not going to happen," he answered, tucking the knife under his side. Dahl would use the blade to dig his arm out. And he would not allow that. She would never leave him if there was the slightest hope she could save him. So, there was only one option: he would have to choose for her. "My hand's done for," he lied. "Take the matches. I can't hold them."
"Do think there are raptors nearby?"
"Doubtful." he answered, nudging the box of matches towards the sound of her breathing. "If there were, we'd already be dead. We reak of blood."
Dahl struck a match and held it over Lockspur's arm. "Does it hurt?"
"It's numb," he answered, revealing the 3/4 inch pipe protruding through his abdomen. Shook contorted her face, and he said, "It's okay. This was always a one-way trip for me."
"What are saying?"
"I got old and scared and thought I could cheat death. It was wrong to put the two of you in danger to save my ass. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? What the hell are you talking about? We need to get out of here."
"Why didn't you listen when I told you to l leave?"
"Wh wouldn't you tell me why?"
"I was ashamed. I-"
"Too bad," Dahl said, cutting him off. "We are getting out of here? But we can't do that until I dig you out." Dahl looked around for something to dig him out with and saw nothing. The light would not penetrate the darkness.
"Stop," he warned, turning to her towards him with a foreboding expression. "They will here and come running. Work your way around to this side and help me try to pull it out." He shifted his body on top of the blade, hoping she wouldn't find the knife.
"And if we can't?"
"Then we'll cut it off," he replied, not believing she would take the chance.
Dahl gasped. "Have you lost your mind? I'm not cutting your arm off." She had nothing to dig it out, let alone amputate his arm. And even if she could find something, she was certain they'd run out of matches long before she finished. He would bleed to death in the dark, and it would be her fault. "We'll dig your arm out together."
"They'll hear us?" he said, desperately trying to think of anything to make her give up. "Do you intend to fight them off with a vicious match burn?"
"And what happens when they hear me hacking away at your arm with a jagged piece of dirty wreckage? It's not like we have any anesthetic or antiseptic or bandages. Or even a fucking tourniquet."
"Exactly," Lockspur said. He wished she would just shut up and let him go. He rubbed the sweat and dirt out of his bloodshot eyes, free hand shaking. The knife drug into his back. And his pain level was getting out of control. He begged God to let him go. His right arm had become a million biting fire ants and through it all, he couldn't fight off the nagging idea Lilith's package resided under a steel storage container. Fuck it, he thought, goddamn thing's destroyed. "I'm screwed," he said, realizing his chance to make any meetings was zero. Then he laughed, and a chill wriggled up Dahl's spine.
Lilith offered Lockspur all the things she knew he couldn't refuse. A cure he jumped at, reasoning the others would forgive him when they found out why. The pain in his body had become unbearable and his doctors told him it would get far worse before the end came.
"At least we're alive." Dahl replied, brows furrowing as she stared past Lockspur into the darkness. Something lay on the ground behind him. She beamed a tear filled smile and said, "There's still hope."
"What?"
"Look," she said, making her way towards the object laying behind him. He reached down and drew out the knife. He placed the tips over the side of his throat and tears poured down his face. His hand shook. He took a deep, calming breath before plunging through his jugular vein, and Dahl slapped the blade away.
"Carlos," Dahl cried out.
"Please leave me."
"Would you leave me?" Dahl asked.
"Never."
A grin of relief brought the color back to her face. "Your sunglasses." She held something in front of his face. "Look. They must have fallen off your head. See. They were laying behind you."
He reached up, touched the sunglasses and let out a ragged sigh. A single tear, born half of pain and half of relief, trickled down his dirty grey cheek. Only one of them could wear the glasses and with his arm trapped, it would not be him. The tears washed away the thick layer of dust covering his olive skin. In the darkness, he looked like a clown wearing a sad face make-up.
Dahl looked away. He took the glasses out of her hand and fumbled them onto Dahl's face, and pressed a button on the side of the black frames. The inside of the lenses lit up with an eerie green glow. They weren't just sunglasses; they were night vision goggles as well. Grainy green images emerged from the darkness as if she were watching an old silent film come to life. Dahl could see again. And for the moment, they were safe and alone.
"We're getting out of here." Dahl said, as a tone of elation filled her rising words. She peered around, taking in what little she could make out. "They're working."
Lockspur smiled at Dahl like a proud parent. "You know I've always loved..." He grabbed his own mouth, stifling an explosive cough. A glut of clotted blood filled his dry mouth and wafted through the air. The taste of copper and rusty nails filled his mouth. It ran through his fingers and he prayed the beasts would not smell its intoxicating aroma and race to investigate.
"We're getting out of here."
Lockspur touched her hand and shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I'm the anchor now." He wiped the blood covering his hand into the unscented dirt. "I won't let you get killed because of me. Tell Maria and the kids I love them."
Dahl nodded, but said nothing. Maria and the kids had died 30 years earlier.
He pawed the ground beside his head weakly and came up with his knife. He stuffed it in Dahl's hand and ordered her to go. "Save yourself. You can make it out. I know you can. I taught you all I know. You are ready. You have been ready for a long time. Just go. Leave me a don't look back."
"Fuck you," she blurted in utter disbelief. "I'm in charge here. Not you, dammit. I'm mission Commander."
Lockspur grabbed Dahl's hand and she fought to stifle a scream of surprise. "Don't be stupid," he said, tears streaming down his face. "Go. Save yourself while you still can. This ship could collapse at any time."
Dahl's mouth fell open as an avalanche of emotions crushed down on her all at once. In the green light, he looked a million years old. And dead tired. Terror, sadness, desperation, and anger stole her resolve. She knew what to do. Lockspur was right? But Dahl would never leave him there in the dark to die like an animal caught in a trap? She would never leave him to be torn apart by those monsters? Dahl's lips trembled, her breathing came in barely controlled sobs as she stared around, looking for something to dig him out with. "Fuck that," she said, grabbing his shirt and drawing him closer. "You won't do that to me. You don't get to condemn me to a life of knowing I choose to let you die to save my ass. And I won't tell Maria or the kids I let you die just to save myself. So, suck it up. We're getting the fuck out of here, even if I have to drag your sorry ass out kicking and screaming."
"I love you too," he said, reaching out and wiping away her tears. "But we both know you'll only end up dragging out a corpse." He gestured at his pinned arm. "Every blood vessel in my arm exploded. You know that as soon as my arm is free, I'll bleed out in minutes. And even if we find a tourniquet, the smell of fresh blood will draw them straight to us." He hugged her. "You can't save me. No one can. I know you want to. But you can't. I was dead long before the collapse. You just can't accept it yet."
"I don't have to accept anything," Dahl snapped, slapping his hug away and stuffing a warning finger in his face. "Just zip it. I need to recon the area for anything useful. Maybe I can find something to make an improvised tourniquet. Or maybe I can find a way out."
"Wait!" he blurted, grabbing her arm before she crawled away. "Lilith gave me something before I left. She said someone would meet me here and that I should give it to them."
"Why didn't you say anything before now?"
"Lilith said if I did. Our deal was off."
"What deal?"
"I have cancer." Lockspur explained. "Lilith said if I made the delivery, she could cure me."
"You could have come to us. We would have helped you pay for treatments." Dahl said, feeling more hurt than angry.
"The treatments cost 16 million credits. Lilith said she would cure me before I came back. But that will not happen now. I'm done for."
"Cure you? What's that supposed to mean?" Dahl asked, sitting back. "Is the auto-doc going to treat you while you're in stasis?"
"No. Lilith assured me the person I meet here would cure me. Cure everything that is wrong with me."
"You had to realize that's not possible."
"I was dying."
"You still should have told us."
"I was out of options. She was my last hope."
Dahl held out her hand. "Give it to me. I'll deliver it to the contact and bring them back here to help get you out."
"Don't bother," Lockspur said, gesturing to his trapped arm. "It's destroyed."
She looked perplexed and asked, "Were you holding it?"
"No." he answered. "It's buried under the skin of my forearm."
"The boil!" She covered her mouth. "Why tell me any of this if I can't help you?"
"Moss is right. There is someone out there. You need to be careful." Lockspur touched her arm. "Slow and steady, chica. There's no telling who or what is in those shadows."
"Ill be careful. As long as I can see them, I can evade them." Dahl said, half trying to reassure him and half trying to bolster her own confidence. She was aware the raptors would see her long before she saw them. Her glasses let her see, but only well enough to move around.
Before Dahl moved again, Lockspur grabbed her hand. "Wait. Listen."
"Shit!" she shrieked, far louder than she wanted to. "Will you stop doing that?"
Lockspur's voice was a whisper that made her think he believed something may be listening. "Whatever is going on here has nothing to do with raptors. Whoever... Or whatever caused those energy pulses is the real threat. So, keep your eyes and ears open. And, if you run into someone, watch your back." He leaned back and passed out.
Dahl checked his pulse, kissed his forehead, and said, "Aren't you full of good news."