The Darwin Effect (19 page)

Then he heard the rustling of clothing coming from inside the closet. And then he heard heavy breathing, and then a grunting sound.

“Ward, are you okay?”

No answer from Ward … just another grunt.

Ward’s foot drew back inside the closet. He was definitely inside the small room.

“Ward, it’s me … Cromartie. I don’t want to hurt you. I … I just want to talk. Okay?”

Cromartie rushed to the closet door in the last few steps and ripped the door all the way open. He jumped in front of the doorway with his knife out, ready to defend himself.

But no attack came.

Cromartie dropped his hand down to his side limply.

“Oh God …” Cromartie whispered.

S
anders hated feeling like this, being in this kind of position—helpless because of her injured ankle. Helplessness wasn’t a feeling she was used to. She was upset at herself for letting Ward get the jump on her when she had entered Abraham’s room. But the shock of seeing Abraham’s throat slit wide open and the sheets around him covered in blood had frozen her for a second. She had seen that kind of carnage many times before when she’d been a cop so it shouldn’t have shocked her like it had.

She re-ran the memory of Ward pushing her back out the doorway and slamming her into the opposite wall. She tried to remember exactly how she had hurt her ankle, but she couldn’t remember. The only thing she knew was that the pain had been immediate.

She concentrated on that moment when Ward had attacked her. She remembered Ward looking down at her after she had crumpled down to the floor in the hallway. For that instant, as he stared down at her, she thought he was going to pounce on her like a predator taking advantage of wounded prey. She was certain that he was going to kill her.

But he didn’t.

And Cromartie had asked her if Ward had the knife with him when he attacked her. And now that she saw him again in her mind, she was pretty sure he hadn’t had a knife with him. And she was also pretty sure that he hadn’t had any blood on his clothing or skin.

Something was wrong with those details, and in these last few moments she had realized what it was. It had taken her too long to put the pieces together because she had been so convinced of Ward’s guilt. But now her errors had put her in danger because she realized that Rolle was the killer all along.

Rolle stood in front of the desk and his expression had changed. He held his knife in his right hand, gripping the handle hard.

She’d had her chance to grab the knife while he’d been in the bathroom, but she’d been too slow and her ankle still hurt like hell. She had begun to suspect something was wrong with Rolle when he said that her ankle wasn’t hurt as badly as she was saying it was. God, she should’ve put the pieces together sooner. Now she was here alone with this madman, with this killer.

For a moment she wondered if he knew about her suspicions. Maybe she could keep hiding it from him. But judging from the look on his face now, she was sure that he knew.

“You like him, don’t you?” Rolle asked Sanders as he stood by the desk.

“Who?” she asked, trying anything she could to stall Rolle. How long would it take Cromartie to find out the truth, to realize that it had been Rolle all along? Had he found Ward? Was Ward trying to plead his case to Cromartie? Would Cromartie even listen? Would Cromartie kill Ward anyway? Or worse—would Ward kill Cromartie in self-defense?

“You know who,” he sang out with an insane smile on his face.

“I like everyone here,” Sanders finally answered.

“No, I mean you
really
like Cromartie. I’ve seen you two running off to the bridge together. Spending all that time alone.”

Sanders stared at Rolle, studying him. He wasn’t the soft weakling she’d thought of him as for so long now. Now he seemed harder, dangerous, darker. “We were just talking,” she said in a careful voice, trying not to antagonize him, yet still trying to remain firm. It was cop talk, and she was instantly reverting back to it.

“But I can tell you like him,” Rolle insisted. “A man can tell these kinds of things.”

She was still doing her best not to antagonize him. It was like she was dealing with a criminal again back on the streets of L.A., a criminal who could go off at any second.

“What about me?” Rolle asked her. He took a step towards her with the knife in his hand. “Have you ever thought about me for one second?”

“Of course,” Sanders said, trying to say anything to keep Rolle calm right now.

He walked back towards the bathroom door like he was trying to gather his thoughts for a moment.

She glanced at the door, wondering if she could make a run for it.

No way. He would be on her in seconds. With her sprained ankle, she was no match for him right now.

“This is called the Darwin Mission,” Rolle said from behind her.

She didn’t say anything, but her body was tense, ready for an attack.

“Do you know who Darwin was?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, suddenly reminded of her and Cromartie’s conversation about Darwin in front of the computer terminals on the bridge. She turned around to look at Rolle; she wanted to keep an eye on him at all times. She was going to keep her voice neutral as she spoke, trying her best to keep the anger out of it, trying to keep Rolle calm.

“Survival of the fittest,” Rolle said as he walked back towards her. He had the knife down by his side now. “MAC woke us up. He said he was programmed to wake us up. And I know why. Do you know why?”

She didn’t answer him.

“I know why,” he said in that sing-song voice of his.

Sanders thought of Cromartie’s words:
I know what the answer is
.

The answer.

“Do you want to know the answer?” Rolle asked her, and his blue eyes were gleaming with madness as he walked back towards the desk, only a few steps away from her right now.

Her eyes darted for a second to the knife blade. It was at least eight inches long and it tapered to a point. It could part her flesh in an instant, sink into her skin like it was butter and pierce her organs.

“Do you want to know the answer?” Rolle asked again. He took a step closer. He still held the knife down by his side, his hand clenched around the handle so hard his knuckles were white.

She didn’t respond. She kept eye contact with him and she braced herself for the attack that she knew was coming.

“That computer woke us up because it was programmed to do so. I bet this has happened on every other ship in this fleet. They want to see who’s the strongest on each ship. They want to see who is the fittest. They want the best to survive. They want the strongest and fittest to kill off the weak, and then that person, the winner, gets to go back into cryosleep for the rest of the trip. Only the strongest and the fittest are going to be allowed to colonize the planet.”

Sanders still didn’t say anything. She wondered if Rolle’s madness was a side effect from the cryosleep. Or maybe the idea of dying on this ship had slowly driven him insane. He had killed Butler first—the weakest—and then he had tried to pass himself off as the reasonable doctor, someone none of them would suspect as the killer. He hadn’t overtly gone after Ward as Butler’s murderer … he had let her do that for him. She felt like such a chump.

Sanders was sure that Rolle would attack now. What was he waiting for? He had her cornered here in her room. She was hurt and defenseless. And he had his knife.

She took a closer look at the knife. All of the knives that they had taken from the kitchen looked alike, but she had a gut feeling about the one in Rolle’s hand. “That’s my knife, isn’t it?”

Rolle just smiled at her.

“You swiped my knife as soon as you came in here, and then you slipped it down into your belt so it would look like it was yours.”

“I needed a knife. I lost mine.”

Instead of attacking her, Rolle backed up to the desk and rummaged around in the first aid kit on the desk while keeping his eyes on her. He pulled another roll of elastic cloth out of the kit and slit the plastic with his knife blade. He tore the plastic off of the roll of cloth bandage and threw it on the floor.

“Hold out your wrists together in front of you,” he told her.

Sanders didn’t move a muscle.

“I’m trying to save you,” he said. “Either you do what I say or I kill you right now.”

C
romartie stared down at Ward who was crumpled up inside the storage closet. There was blood everywhere underneath Ward and all over his torso; he was holding his stomach, trying in vain to keep the blood inside of his body. But the blood was oozing out through his saturated fingers.

“Rolle did this,” Cromartie said and everything suddenly clicked into place in his mind now. For a moment he had considered that Sanders might be the killer, and then he had even considered himself—some kind of sleepwalking episode that he hadn’t remembered. But now the pieces seemed to fit together. Rolle hadn’t been there when Sanders found Ward in Abraham’s room. But where had Rolle been? He must’ve been stalking Ward, waiting for the right moment to strike while Cromartie had been helping Sanders to her room.

Ward nodded like he saw the realization in Cromartie’s eyes, like he saw the truth. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “You need to stop him,” he whispered. “He’s … he’s crazy.”

Cromartie bent down and reached out for Ward, but then he pulled his hand back. What could he do? “How can I help?” he asked.

Ward shook his head. “It’s too late. I’ve lost too much blood already.”

Cromartie knew it was the truth.

“When I ran up here, Rolle was waiting for me,” Ward said as he fought for breath. “He must’ve been in the cryo-room. He … he ran up behind me and then … he stabbed me.”

Cromartie’s eyes darted down beside Ward and he saw the blood-stained knife on the closet floor along with a crumpled-up rubber apron and discarded rubber gloves. They looked like the same apron and gloves Rolle had used to clean up Butler’s room. He had worn the gloves and apron to protect his clothing from Ward’s blood. He had stabbed Ward and then he had hurried right back down to Sanders’ room.

“We were all going to die anyway,” Ward said and chuckled. A few dribbles of blood dripped out of the corner of his mouth as he barked out the laugh. “I might as well go now.”

But they didn’t have to die,
Cromartie thought. There was a solution … a way out … a way to survive. But he wasn’t going to tell Ward about that now. No, he wasn’t going to ruin Ward’s last few minutes of life, teasing him with the knowledge that the answer was so close now.

Cromartie stood back up, his knife still in his hand. “Rolle is with Sanders right now.”

Ward’s eyes widened with shock as he looked up at him.

“I left Rolle with her. I left him to watch her while I went looking for you.”

“Go get her,” Ward whispered. “Don’t worry about me. You just go get her and … and save her.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”

Ward didn’t respond. His eyes were closing again.

Cromartie couldn’t waste any time. He had to get back down to Sanders’ room right now. He turned to head back down the hall towards the metal stairs, but then he froze.

Rolle and Sanders were standing in the corridor, right in front of the wall where the hallway jogged. Sanders stood in front of Rolle, her hands bound together in front of her with a cloth bandage. Her eyes were wide with fear and most of her weight was on her good foot.

“Sorry,” Sanders whispered and she looked miserable.

“Shut up,” Rolle growled at her and nudged her. She hobbled a few steps forward.

Cromartie glanced down at Ward crumpled up in the closet. Ward’s eyes were closed, his body limp, and he didn’t seem to be breathing anymore. Cromartie looked back at Rolle. “You did this.”

Rolle just nodded. “Yes, I stabbed Ward. I waited up here for him, and guess what I saw when I was up here.”

Cromartie didn’t answer him.

“I saw you walking in your sleep. I saw you writing on the airlock door with a black marker.”

Cromartie met Sanders’ eyes and he saw the shock in them.

“It was you who was writing those messages on the airlock door the whole time,” Rolle said.

“I can explain,” Cromartie said.

“I slit Abraham’s throat!” Rolle yelled at Cromartie, pushing Sanders forward another step. “I cut Butler’s wrists while she was sleeping. And now I’ve killed Ward. All of it was so easy. You two were so convinced it was Ward the whole time. And now I only have one more person to take care of … that’s you, Cromartie.”

“Wait a second, Rolle,” Cromartie said. “You don’t have to do this. None of us has to die. I know a way we can all survive.”

Rolle just chuckled. He had one arm around Sanders’ neck, holding her tight to him, and his other hand was behind her back, holding the knife blade against her. “You’re too late, Cromartie. I’ve already figured out the answer to this game.”

“There’s no game here. There’s a way out for all of us.”

“No. Not for all of us. There has to be a winner. There has to be a survivor. And it’s going to be me. Once you’re all gone, then MAC is going to put me back into cryosleep.”

Cromartie glanced back up at the ceiling. “MAC!”

No answer from MAC.

“He’s not responding now,” Rolle said. “The game’s almost over and MAC knows it. Drop your knife.”

Cromartie took a step back away from the closet doorway. Then he took another step back, then another one, moving backwards closer to the airlock door.

“I said drop the knife now!” Rolle yelled. “I’ll kill her.”

“The answer is back here,” Cromartie said, smiling like a lunatic. He pointed at the airlock door, jabbing his finger in the air towards the door. “The airlock—that’s the way out. That’s always been the way out for us. All you have to do is go inside.”

C
romartie was crazy, Sanders thought. He was just as crazy as Rolle was, just as crazy as any of the others on this ship. Maybe he was suffering from side-effects of the cryosleep.

Maybe they all were.