“No, there must be an error in the system.” Russell lunged past Anne and began to scroll through the data.
Anne looked up then, her face streaked wet behind her mask. “I suspected, no, I knew all along. Out in that horrible mist jungle, when we were attacked and that thing grabbed me, I recognized something about its eyes; it seemed to do the same to me. Someone was still in there.” Her chin quivered and she grabbed Russell’s arm. “It was Mitch, I knew it, I just knew it.”
“This is a fucking horror story.” Casey Franks’ teeth were grit.
Sam turned to Alex, his jaw jutted. “Like you said, whatever the hell is in this atmosphere, it’s changing everything.”
“It’s changing everything,” Russell repeated. His hands shook as he read more data. “The Orlando had a range of specimens for biological testing — cockroaches, ants, worms — Jesus, even slime molds. They were testing the effects of solar radiation on them.”
“So what? They’ve done those tests before,” Sam said.
“They all mutated,” Morag said.
“It wasn’t the solar radiation,” Alex said. “It was something far more pervasive. These creatures have evolved to better survive in this environment.” Alex turned to look out the front window. “Those things out in the mist; they used to be human.”
Russell turned away and threw up, but all he managed to do was streak the bottom of his face mask in bile.
“Jesus.” Alex tilted his head back. “Whatever was in that damned asteroid fragment they found in space is either some sort of mutagen or a contagion. They brought it all the way down here, and it’s still active.”
Alex exhaled long and slow. “Doctor Peterson.” He looked down at the blubbering woman. “Anne!”
“Wha…?” Her head came up.
“Do you think those creatures, ah, your astronauts, can be cured?” Alex waited.
She stared off into the distance for another few moments before her head began to shake. “How? How would we even start? You tell me; how do you cure evolution? Can you devolve mankind back into some sort of early hominid? Or perhaps turn a mammal back into an amphibian?” she sniggered. “Why stop there, why not devolve us all back into bony plated fishes?” She giggled.
“Well, she’s going to be a lot of help.” Casey’s lip curled.
“Hey, lighten up, she just lost her fiancé,” Russell said.
“She lost him the moment they chose to take that thing into the body of the Orlando,” Sam said. “So we’re back to square one.”
“We’re gonna have to kill ’em all,” Casey snarled.
“But it’s still Mitch, he knows me,” Anne wailed.
“Too late.” Alex brow’s creased. “You said yourself, there’s no bringing him back.”
“Out in the mist, when we were attacked. He was going to take me, but he looked at me, I mean, really looked at me.” Anne’s eyes were streaming again behind her visor. “He knew me. It’s still him in there. I can talk to him.”
“So they took our buddy instead — and fucking ate him alive.” Casey lunged, but Alex threw out an arm, stopping her.
Anne slumped. “We can’t kill them. We should try to communicate.”
“Yeah, and maybe we should all sit down and sing kumbaya with them,” Casey said, stabbing a finger at her.
Morag got to her feet, and rung her hands. “This stuff is not just in the atmosphere,” she said. “Scott McIntyre was infected. He ran off into the mist. But before he did, he looked… different.” She audibly gulped. “Plus, we think we saw some of those cockroaches — big as a pool table.” She made fists. “What’ll it do to us?”
“Yeah, she’s right; McIntyre didn’t breathe the shit in, he was spiked,” Casey said.
“So was…” Morag turned to Dunsen who was still staring out through the cockpit’s front window.
All eyes turned to the big Australian HAWC. In the confined space, people backed away.
“Lieutenant Max Dunsen…” Alex turned square-on to the man. “…what is your operational status?”
The silence stretched. Dunsen finally turned, but the visor masked his face.
“Soldier, how do you feel?” Alex asked.
Dunsen just stood there, his head beginning to nod. After a moment, he grunted and then the words seemed to come thick and painfully.
“Headache worse than bloody sunstroke. I can’t…”
“It’s okay.” Alex motioned to Anne, Russell and Morag who were closest, to get behind him. “Just take it easy there, big guy.”
“I can’t…” He reached up to his helmet. “So tight — can’t breathe.”
“Leave that on, mister.” Alex crossed to him, with Sam right behind.
Dunsen started to vibrate, and then shudder as if he was having a fit. Alex could see that the armored suit he wore was now impossibly tight across his chest, back, and even bulged at his neck.
In one step, Alex closed in on his HAWC and grabbed his left upper arm, turning him around to face him. He then grabbed the other arm and held Dunsen in front of himself. But Dunsen kept his head down.
“Dunsen.” Alex held him tight and shook him. “Soldier, what is your status?”
The man began shake, and his movements became more erratic and violent.
“Soldier!” Alex struggled to hold him.
Dunsen grabbed the sides of his helmet. “That, damned sound — can’t get it — outta my head.” Finally, he threw his head back and roared.
Anne put her hands over her ears and screamed, and Russell shrank away from the inhuman sound. Sam lunged in to help Alex hold on to Dunsen.
Franks and Monroe also pushed forward in the cockpit cabin, making it feel crowded and now crackling with tension.
“Jesus Christ.” Casey’s teeth were bared as she watched. “Please, Dundee, no.” She balled her fists.
Dunsen’s suit then burst open, showing mottled skin that was all lumps of strange muscle and covered in thick bristles more like that on an insect. He threw his arms back and both Sam and Alex were shaken off like flies.
Sam hit the wall of the cabin, and Alex went down on one knee. Then the stricken HAWC started to swing his arms like clubs, destroying equipment and denting walls, as the cabin was filled with scattering people and screams.
He roared again and Monroe and Casey raised their guns. Casey yelled over the chaos: “Dundee, please don’t make me do this.”
“Not in here,” Alex shouted as he got to his feet. The last thing he wanted in an encased, overcrowded room was for a shooting match to start.
“Open the goddamn door,” Alex yelled and dove back at his violently shaking HAWC. Dunsen swung a club-like arm and thumped down on Alex’s back.
Sam threw himself over Russell and Anne, shielding them with his body, and Morag, who was closest, spun the airlock wheel of the external door to the outside. She shoved at it, and the door, with only little power remaining, opened with grinding slowness. The heavy air immediately began to billow inside with them.
“Go!” Morag edged out of the way.
Alex then charged at Dunsen, taking him in a tackle around the waist, and bullocking him toward the door. Dunsen threw out both arms, grabbing the frame on either side, roaring and shaking his head.
Alex felt the sinew, muscle, and bone in his grip shifting and sliding, and looked up just as the tormented HAWC’s armored helmet split open, revealing the face below.
Alex felt the chill of horror at seeing the once scarred but youthful face of his soldier, now twisted like that of some sort of gargoyle. Alex leaped up to grab the frame over his head and used his body and legs to pummel the man in the chest and kick him backwards.