The Dark Descent Page 6

  The alarm returned to about half of its original ear-shattering volume.

  Martinez dragged me to the front door. She tapped it open and poked her head out. “They’re coming! We gotta go!”

  The thunder of stomping boots echoed down the hall.

  We exited my hab and headed in the opposite direction. Martinez carried most of my weight as I struggled to stay on my feet.

  We made it to the next intersection of hallways.

  The sound of the approaching soldiers grew louder. Any second, they would turn onto our hallway and spot us.

  I was in no shape to fight. I could barely stand up, much less effectively use the rifle hanging over my shoulder.

  Martinez could’ve done better but keeping me upright and moving had her fully occupied.

  They’d shoot us down in no time.

  “There!” Martinez said as she nodded to the left.

  A sanitation sled waited by an open door. Ten feet long and half again as wide and tall. Essentially a big self-driving box, all a worker had to do was collect garbage from inside each hab and throw it into the side hatch. Whoever was using it was inside the hab cleaning up.

  “Let’s go!” Martinez said as she guided me forward.

  We got to the apartment and peeked through the open door.

  A woman’s soulful voice drifted out into the hallway. She sang a ballad of heartache and lost love and the end of all good things. The tenderness in her lilting tone suggested a personal connection with the words.

  Martinez looked between the sled and the open door. “Not sure how to proceed here. I can take her clothes and badge while you climb into the sled. Then we figure out how to escape. It might work. Most people ignore lower-level Blues.”

  “What’s the other option?”

  “We both jump into the trash and hope for the best.”

  “Is there an option where I don’t end up in the trash?”

  She shook her head.

  “Okay. What are the down sides?”

  “For the former, my subterfuge doesn’t work and I get shot. They discover you soon after and shoot you too.”

  “And option two?”

  “We suffocate inside the sled. If we don’t suffocate, maybe we get thrown into the incinerator before we figure out an escape.”

  “Is there a third option?”

  “Sure, stand here talking about it a few more minutes and then get shot.”

  “One and two sound marginally better.”

  “Then pick one and let’s do it.”

  CHOICES:

  1. Martinez takes on the identity of the blues-singing sanitation worker while I jump into the trash module.

  2. Martinez and I both jump into the trash module.

  3. Try to get the sanitation worker to help us. (Added by the group.)

  The group chose #3 and this is what happened next…

  15

  “Why don’t we ask the lady for help?” I said, not much liking the idea of Martinez knocking her out or of us getting tossed into an incinerator.

  Martinez rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Because we don’t have time to explain everything and what if she says no?”

  “We’re wasting time we don’t have.” I carefully peeled my cap off to keep the fabric from rubbing on the drain tube.

  She shook her head in resignation. “Fine,” she said as she guided me into the hab. The space was smaller than mine, but appointed in a similar fashion. Monochromatic values covering the floors, walls, and ceiling with tasteful splashes of color to draw the eye.

  A violet vase in the shape of a tear drop holding a bouquet of vivid yellow sunflowers on a glass coffee table in the living room.

  We followed the rapturous voice through the living room, down a hallway of several closed doors, and into the bedroom at the back of the unit. I motioned for Martinez to hang the rifle over her shoulder while I did the same.

  The singing rolled out of the bathroom like warm waves of viscous liquid. Oozing and soothing.

  The lyrics combined with the deep melancholy of her tone cut straight to my heart.

  The day is long

  And the work is longer.

  Survive another

  And it makes me stronger.

  Never had a man

  With me in his plan.

  Not gonna be a wife

  That ain’t my road in life.

  Martinez helped me across the room and we looked into the bathroom.

  A short woman wore a faded blue smock and matching pants. The uniform color of the working class. Her back was to us as she leaned over scrubbing a toilet with a brush.

  Martinez tapped her shoulder.

  She bolted upright. “What!?” She spun around with the brush held like a sword in front. “You nearly give me heart attack!”

  Her thick limbs and calloused palms spoke to a life of manual labor, of serving others.

  “Sorry,” Martinez said. “We need your—”

  “What you need is lesson in manners. Not enough that I clean your toilets but you come scaring me half to death!”

  Martinez scowled. “That’s not my toilet. And I already said I was sorry. We don’t have—”

  I interrupted before the negotiation ended before it began. I glanced at her blue badge to get her name. “Ekaterina, we need your help.”

  She turned to me and a lascivious smile blossomed on her face. “My, my, my. Aren’t you handsome one?” Her eyes flicked up to my head. “Not counting stitches and pipe sticking out of head.”

  Was she flirting with me?

  “I’m Scout and this is Corporal Martinez.”

  She set the toilet brush in the sink and extended her hand like a queen being greeted by a visiting dignitary.

  Whatever it required to convince her to help. I took her thick, stubby fingers and kissed her hand.

  She smiled. “My name is Ekaterina Popov. My friends call me Kat.”

  “Look, Kat,” Martinez butted in, “soldiers are coming and—”

  Kat scowled at Martinez. “I said friends call me Kat. You call me Ekaterina.” She turned back to me with a suggestive licking of her lips. “You call me Kat, for now. Maybe something else later.” She primped her unkempt, wiry blonde hair as the lip licking continued.

  Even in my confused and muddled mental state, it wasn’t difficult to guess what later implied.

  “Wait,” she said as she looked back and forth between us. “You two are dangerous fugitives!” She grabbed the toilet brush and held it again between us. “Don’t try anything or you’ll be sorry!”

  Martinez snatched the brush away and launched it into the bedroom.

  Kat made a sour face. “You’re not only armed and dangerous, you’re rude.”

  “Listen,” I said, “soldiers are coming for us. Right now. And they’re not going to try to capture us. They’re going to kill us.”

  The woman shrugged. “What can I do? I’m a cleaner. I clean. Besides, I don’t think anybody is going to miss her.”

  Martinez blew out an exasperated breath. “Told you.”

  I took her hand in mine. “We’ve done nothing wrong, but General Curtis wants us dead. We need your help to escape.”

  She turned, flushed the toilet and lowered the lid. She opened the vanity cabinet and pulled out a small trashcan and emptied it into a wheeled collection bin.

  “Will you help us?” I asked.

  She replaced the can inside the cabinet. “I don’t get involved in such things. Bad for health.”

  Martinez snorted. “You’re already involved.”

  The sound of distant shouting grew louder.

  “Not much longer, by the sound of it. The Grays come kill you, and then I am no longer involved.” She wiped her hands off each other as if our deaths were so much dirt.

  The shouting got closer still.

  Martinez slung her rifle around to the front and checked that it was ready to fire. “I knew this was
going nowhere. We should’ve climbed into the sled.” She posted up on the doorway with her rifle aimed into the bedroom beyond. “We’ll take a few of them out before they spray us with bullets.”

  The woman’s eyes grew wide. “What? No! Get out of here! I’m not going out in blaze of glory with idiots!”

  I touched the woman’s shoulder. “We’ll pay you to help us.”

  Pay her with what, I had no idea.

  Her expression shifted from outrage to interest. “Pay? How much?”

  Martinez dug into her pant’s pocket and yanked out a meal card. “There’s two weeks left on this. It’s soldier grade grub. Not admin level, but way better than the slop you get.”

  Her eyes lit up. In a blur, she snatched it out of Martinez’ hand. “Deal. I’ll get other Grays to move on.”

  “Ekaterina, what’s the plan?” Martinez said.

  The woman batted the rifle barrel to the side. “Put that away or you’ll get us all killed.” She stashed the meal card in a pocket inside her smock and turned to the sink. She leaned over and shoved her finger down her throat.

  A couple of shuddering heaves later and she vomited into the basin. Not once. Not twice. But quite a few times.

  The sweet raw sewage smell of digested calories soaked the air.

  My stomach pinched tight as I involuntarily inhaled the odor. Whether it was the medication lingering in my system, a primal revulsion or some combination thereof, a wave of nausea swept over me. I swallowed hard to avoid adding my own insides to the potpourri of puke.

  She rubbed her sagging, pudgy cheeks until they were flushed and red. She looked at us in the mirror and grinned as she dipped both hands into the pea-colored lumpy soup.

  Martinez made a gagging sound.

  The woman laughed. “This is nothing. I clean up worse than this every day.” She scooped up two handfuls of vomit and spilled them onto her smock. The bile splashed on the fabric, dripping down and splatting on the tile floor. She scooped up another handful and wiped it over her mouth and chin.

  The voices grew louder. They were in the hab now.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  “Sweep the rest of the hab!”

  The last voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Low and gruff. Perpetually angry. The tone equal parts gravel and gasoline.

  My mouth started to water as my body prepared to vomit. I tried breathing as little as possible to avoid inhaling more of the sickening stench.

  Kat gathered another handful and splattered it on the mirror. “If we survive, you are cleaning up mess.”

  We both knew she was talking to Martinez, which I was okay with.

  She scooped both hands into the basin to gather up the remaining effluent and dumped it on the floor leading into the bedroom.

  The thumping of boots echoed in.

  “Check that bedroom!”

  “Get in shower,” Kat whispered as she herded us inside. “Lay down in tub.” She slid the frosted glass door closed as we did as instructed.

  Martinez and I laid down with our heads on opposite ends, shifting our legs and arms through each others like puzzle pieces that weren’t made to fit together.

  Her boot smacked my jaw sending a jolt of pain through my head.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  I touched my finger to my lips.

  “Check the bathroom!”

  “What’s that on the floor?”

  The indistinct shape of Kat stepped out of the bathroom. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not feeling well. My husband had fever a couple of days ago. I thought it was nothing to worry about.”

  “Have you taken him to the infirmary for quarantine and observation?”

  “No, he’s dead now.” She made a lurching sound like she was about to puke again.

  “Check that bathroom, Private!”

  The familiar voice again.

  “Me?”

  “Did I stutter? Yes, you!”

  “No way! Look at her! I’m not going in there!”

  A trigger clicked into place. “Do it or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  Footsteps squished into the bathroom.

  A dark shadow flitted in and out.

  “Disgusting! It’s everywhere! It’s on my boots, Sarge!”

  “Anything?”

  “Yeah! A lot of barf! All over the floor and mirror and sink!”

  “I’m talking about the fugitives.”

  “No. Nothing. God! I’d better not get sick and die!”

  “There’s more than one way to die, Private. And your whining is getting you close to finding out.”

  “Sorry, Sarge.”

  “I want soldiers posted at every intersection. They’re on this floor somewhere. I don’t have to tell you what General Curtis will do if we botch this. Move out!”

  “Copy that!”

  “Roger that, Sarge!”

  “And you,” the familiar voice said, “get to the infirmary. If there’s an outbreak because of you, I’ll personally make sure your death is as slow and painful as possible.”

  Kat made gagging sounds and then forced out a reply. “Yes, I will.”

  The patter of boots receded until softer steps returned.

  A shadow approached the glass and it slid open.

  Kat grinned as she wiped off her chin. “Nothing like threat of disease and death to keep people away.”

  I moved to sit up and my drain tube clipped the bathtub spout. I groaned at the now familiar sharp stab of pain.

  Kat unbuttoned her smock and took it off. She wore a beige bra with sweat stains by the armpits and holes in the stretched fabric. It looked like it had given up an impossible job long ago. “What? You never seen a mature woman with gorgeous curves before?”

  Martinez coughed as she tried to stop from laughing.

  Kat tossed the filthy smock at Martinez. “Pipe down, Toothpick Waist. A man sees you naked and thinks he’s looking at eleven-year-old boy.”

  She cupped underneath the over-worked bra and lifted the prodigious flesh it contained up from belly button level to the level it hadn’t been at for at least thirty years. “Real woman has curves. Something for man to hold onto when his passions run high.”

  She held my eyes as she spoke.

  Considering my situation, passion was the furthest thing from my mind. That said, I had to give her credit. A woman that could flaunt her curves after barfing all over the place had an unshakable confidence that was something to behold.

  She turned back to Martinez. “Scrub that until clean, Toothpick Waist. And clean up the rest after.” She released her chest and the bra went back to work, barely managing the job. She extended a hand to me and smiled. “Mr. Scout and I have future to discuss.”

  16

  Kat, missing her top, led me into the bedroom and patted the bed. “You sit and I make sure Grays are gone.”

  I unslung the rifle and laid it on the bed. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but anything more than talking was definitely not on the menu. I accepted the offered spot, ready to shut down any unwanted advances.

  She left the room to ensure the soldiers were gone and Martinez appeared in the bathroom doorway holding a vomit-covered smock held at arm’s length.

  “I didn’t sign up for this.”

  A smirk flitted across my face. “I’d help but you know I’m supposed to sit here and talk with Kat.”

  She sneered and made a rude gesture in the direction the woman had gone. “You need to get in here and help me clean up this revolting mess.”

  Kat appeared in the bedroom doorway. She frowned at Martinez. “Toothpick Waist, clean up mess. That was agreement.”

  “The agreement was that you’d help us escape!”

  “No, not true. I said I would get Grays to leave and I have done that.” She looked around with an exaggerated motion. “Do you see them? No? My part is done.” She pointed at the smock and the floor. “Your part is not.”

  Martinez snarled like
she wanted to strangle the woman. “I should’ve knocked you out and stolen your clothes.”

  Kat chuckled. “No, honey. They would hang like bedsheet off your skinny bones. Now, off to work while Mr. Scout and I negotiate.”

  Martinez was about to reply in a way that would’ve done us no good, but I cut her off.

  “Martinez!”

  Her mouth snapped shut and she spun away into the bathroom.

  Kat sat next to me and looked me up and down. “No way to sneak you two off this level. Even if I got you sanitation uniforms, you wouldn’t make it passed first Gray. But I think there’s a way.”

  Here it was.

  Apparently, there was no way to avoid it.

  “You both get into sanitation sled. I send it back like it was full and it’ll drive right by them. They won’t give second look.”

  “Will it dump us into the incinerator? I’d prefer not to be burned into ashes.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No, darling. You know nothing. It’s not like it catapults trash into giant furnace. No. The sleds are dumped onto sorting belts. Workers dig through every last scrap to find what can be saved, composted, recycled, repurposed, re-everythinged. Very little ends up in incinerator.”

  “How’s that going to work out? It’s going to be a pretty big surprise when we tumble out with the rest of the garbage. The kind of surprise that will immediately raise an alarm.”

  “I know some sorters but there’s no guarantee you’d land with them. Even if you did, I wouldn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut.”

  “So, what’s the point of going for a ride in the trash then?”

  She smiled suggestively and touched my shoulder. “I have other idea. You. Me. A bottle of vodka.”

  “What?”

  “Well, not really vodka. More dirty-water colored moonshine, but it works all the same.”