Furnace (11 page)

What do you do now?
I asked myself for seemingly the hundredth time since we’d crashed on Furnace.

Choose the lesser of two evils.

I was getting good at it, I guess. Escaping the city. Running through the desert. Attacking the demons rather than fleeing. I don’t know how I was ever convinced one evil was lesser than the other.

Have you forgotten what followed you through the wastelands?

For a moment, I actually had. The recollection made my blood run cold and my fingers tingle.

Forward, then. Always forward.

I thought of Flaherty’s body at the foot of the mountain. Charlotte’s. Salib’s. Sillinger’s. I swallowed and shook my head.

There’s no other choice. You can’t look at them again and you can’t look at the clown demon, either.

Some superstitious part of me was convinced that merely gazing upon the horned demon in his crusted, bleach-white clown skin would suck the soul right out of my body, dragging my heartbeat and breath along with it.

“I can’t do it,” Aziza said. Her voice pulled me back. The sensation was awful. Like a drill sergeant throwing you from your bunk to inform you of a surprise survival drop on Venus. “I’ll just stay here and wait. You two can do whatever the hell you want. Get eaten by one of those bastards, or a whole fucking army of them. I’m not moving from this spot no matter what.”

“Zeez,” Katrina pleaded. Her eyes were wide with shock and terror she never would have shown in battle, even facing an entire battalion of Kalak.

“There’s no point. We won’t survive. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have enough ammo to take out more than one or two of those things before I’m bone dry. And that’s
if
I hit my targets.” She gestured to her face and arm, moving so slowly it was difficult to even connect the two motions. “I’m pretty sure my marksmanship isn’t what it used to be.”

Katrina struggled to her feet and wiped sweat from her forehead with the dry, dusty metal of her forearm plating. “No,” she said firmly. “You’re coming with us.”

Aziza’s tone immediately soured. I was surprised it hadn’t already. She glowered at Katrina like they weren’t best friends who’d spent over a year together in the trenches. “Fuck you, bitch. It’s my choice. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Your duty’s to the fleet and the captain. Not yourself.”

“My C.O. is rotting in a cave because of
this
asshole. My duty’s not to anyone but myself. A soldier has the right to die in battle.”

“This isn’t battle,” Katrina countered.

“
This
is,” Aziza snapped, pointing to her swollen, pus-covered cheek once again. “And
this
is what will kill me. I can already feel it spreading.”

“They can help you back at the ship.”

“Who can?” Aziza demanded.

“What do you mean ‘who’? One of the goddamned doctors!”

“We’re not going to find the ship. We don’t even know if we’re going in the right
direction
.”

“We are,” I interjected.

“How do you figure?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like it, doesn’t it?” She didn’t answer. “Plus, I can see the top of a huge crater ahead,” I said, pointing over the land on the other side of the mountain. “It looks like the impact from our crash landing.”

I was telling the truth. It
did
feel like the
Hummel
was off in that direction, although I may have just felt that way because our greatest obstacle so far was stretched before us and I expected formidable opposition before victory. Blame the soldier in me.

It also seemed like the crater to the lava was a reasonable distance for the squad to have traveled since we’d split into pairs searching for supplies and refuge as our life-support waned. I never would have thought the atmosphere was breathable, but I would have preferred the most toxic atmosphere imaginable a thousand times over to the bloodthirsty aliens on the prowl.

“Shit,” I groaned. “You
should
remember where the hell the
Hummel
is. You just came from there, didn’t you? How could you all wind up together with no idea where you left the ship?”

“Same way you
did,” Aziza snapped back. “We all wound up here like you said, so why don’t
you
remember?”

She had a point. It shut me up for a while.

Luckily, Katrina wasn’t ready to give up the fight just yet, because I didn’t have any arguments left and I was starting to care less and less whether or not she accompanied us.

“You’re pathetic,” Katrina suddenly chimed in. I was shocked to see genuine disdain in her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she truly meant what she said or if she was just trying a different tactic to convince Aziza to come with us, and I don’t think Aziza could, either.

“What did you say?” she asked, more incredulous than appalled.

“You’re a pathetic piece of shit. This is the craziest action you’ve seen in your entire life and all you can do is whine. Weren’t you the one complaining how boring a political escort mission would be? Weren’t you the one who said you wanted a real fight to get your blood pumping?”

Aziza glared back but said nothing. Katrina was still struggling to catch her breath, but there was a flash of wildness in her eyes that assured me she’d find the air to go on no matter how weak her lungs felt or how badly her wounds burned.

“That’s what I thought. All talk.” She leaned forward dramatically and spat at Aziza’s feet. “You’re a spineless piece of shit and that’s how we’ll remember you when we get back home and your body’s rotting out here. I’ll tell everyone you love that you didn’t make it back because it was too
hard
for you. Because it
hurts
.” Katrina’s eyes narrowed with scorn and she spat her cotton-mouthed saliva onto Aziza’s cheek, as if she was convincing herself with each word, as well. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

As you can imagine, that didn’t go over well.

Before I realized what was happening, Aziza had pointed her rifle at Katrina and pulled the trigger. The shot only missed her head by two inches. Maybe less.

“Watch what you say to me, asswipe,” she growled with her finger flexing on the trigger-guard.

Katrina’s eyes widened again. She backed away slowly with her hands held up in the universal gesture of surrender. I think she realized at last that her best friend was capable of killing her just for questioning her honor, and maybe hitting a little too close to home with her accusations in the process.

Looking back, the rifle blast must have turned Katrina’s world completely upside-down. She wasn’t exactly naïve—no soldier who’s killed and watched her brothers and sisters die can be classified as such, and sure as hell no soldier who stepped foot on Furnace—but she was trusting when it came to her squad-mates. Really, any fleet soldier with the same assignment. I can imagine how much worse it was to have
Aziza
of all people turn on her like that, even if it was provoked.

It was a tense situation to say the least, but Aziza
had
to know deep down that Katrina was only riling her up because she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind.

Right?

I wasn’t sure.

We stood in a loose triangle without uttering a word for a few moments. Aziza and Katrina stared each other down. Neither of them was willing to make the first move. My eyes darted back and forth between them, trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to make a play for Aziza’s rifle before hell broke loose. I didn’t want to force her hand, though, so I waited for one of them to break the silence.

Just when I sensed Katrina was finally going to cave, however, a shadow passed over the mountain and we all ducked reflexively. A moment later, a giant, winged creature swooped over us. Some odd mix of a dragon and a bat. It screeched loud enough to shake the mountainside.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Find cover!”

Aziza pulled the trigger before I could stop her.

“No!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

As if the shot she’d fired at Katrina hadn’t done enough damage revealing our position and attracting unwanted attention from the creatures below, she now released a whole goddamned round into the bat’s torso.

“Stop!” I yelled, but it was pointless. She couldn’t hear me over the gunfire and it was too late to make a difference, anyway.

Once her clip ran dry, I rushed out from behind the rock I’d used for cover and grabbed her by the arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Did you
see
that bastard?” she protested. “That thing was going to kill us!”

“Maybe,” I agreed, helping Katrina to her feet. The bat let out an enraged squeal and veered back in our direction. “But it’s
definitely
going to now.”

Yet amazingly, it hadn’t seen us, even with the aid of gunfire. A blessing, surely, and one of few I can count that day.

After a while, the creature moved off toward the crater. I glanced back the way we’d come, trying to determine whether the demons at the lava lakes had realized what was happening or if they were too busy torturing innocent souls to pay us any mind. I thought that if they weren’t looking, we might be able to escape back down the mountain and try to navigate the caves to the other side instead.

I quickly realized it wasn’t an option.

“Shit,” I hissed.

Not only had the bastards seen us, a whole herd of them swarmed the base of the mountain in pursuit. At the rate they were moving, I estimated they’d overtake us within the hour even if we sprinted the whole way. We were in bad shape.

There was no time for debate.

“Move,” I told Katrina, pushing Aziza in step behind her. They both stumbled but didn’t protest. We all knew we were finally out of options. No matter what awaited us up ahead, at least we’d be moving in a new direction.

“Better reload, Zeez,” Katrina said. There was bite to her voice but sincerity, as well. I thought that was very big of her.

The two remaining troopers from Salib’s squad led the way down the steep slope and I plodded along after them, glancing over my shoulder every few moments even though movement shot bolts of pain through my neck.

We descended the mountain toward an indistinct field of corpses with an army of nightmares at our heels. The sick part is, I thought we were
lucky
for spotting them first. I guess my concept of luck is just another casualty of the fire planet.

THE DRUGS WEAR OFF: REFLECTIONS

As it turned out, the way down the mountain was a hell of a lot harder than the way up. Not in terms of the cardio workout but in the effort it took to keep our momentum from hurling us down the slope to our deaths, probably slamming into every boulder and dead bush along the way.

Our urgency faded by degrees the further we were removed from the lava lakes, despite the landscape ahead being far more macabre than what we’d left behind. Part of it was because we could no longer actually see the horde pursuing us with blood-spattered mouths. Part of it was probably the way that the rocks on the mountainside blocked the corpse fields from view, as well.

Aside from the three of us, the mountain was utterly lifeless. We couldn’t hear the creatures behind us anymore or the screams of their victims, and that made us a little more comfortable. Psychologically, if not physically. Soldiers always feel more at ease when they’re marching toward an objective, even in the direst of circumstances. It gives you a sense of control. Sitting and waiting is about as bad as it gets. No action. No control. Only nagging fears.

About two-thirds of the way down, however, we reached a section of the mountain path where the rock wall opened up and we had our first horrifying view of the corpse fields.

“My God…” I muttered.

The scene was like something out of the bizarre old-plague folktales. The ones that ran rampant during the first viral outbreak in northern Michigan. There were miles of intersecting pillars with crucified bodies draped over them. All different species. The victims were mired in varying stages of decomposition. Separate, free creatures moved between the rows wearing all black. Guards, maybe. Stewards. Watchmen. Red, wooden masks covered their faces, but they were too far away to distinguish any other remarkable features. The bodies themselves were so densely clustered that it was difficult to differentiate one from the next.

The smell was overwhelming, but the worst part of all was the measure of order in that awful place, which had led to the assembly of thousands of crucifixes as well as the systematic nailing of creatures upon them.

They must be killing constantly to have this many
, I thought.
Literally non-stop.

Somehow, the idea of structured brutality was more unsettling than the blind, sadistic delights of the monsters at the lava lakes. Those creatures had been mindless savages starved for meat and a temporary thrill. The apparent order in the corpse fields, however, hinted at a rudimentary cooperation between the abominations, and some greater—or lesser—purpose to the madness.

No
, I thought. It was my only certainty in the moment. An indefinite negation.
No. I’m not going down there.

“Is it too late to go back?” Katrina panted.

Aziza backtracked until she found a rock she could rest against and plopped down, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I let you assholes talk me into this. You should have left me. I’d be done with this shit by now.”

Easing herself down with her back to the carnage, Katrina scoffed between deep inhalations. “If you really wanted to die, you wouldn’t have run off with us the second that bat attacked. You would have reloaded and kept shooting.”

“Stop,” I said sharply. I was tired and in a hell of a lot of pain. Mostly, though, I was sick of listening to them bicker. It had gotten old fast. Bottom line, we needed water or it wouldn’t matter if any of us
wanted
to live or die. It would be beyond our control. Katrina already looked like she was on her last leg (no pun intended…seriously), and despite Aziza’s stubborn vitality, I didn’t think she was far behind, either.

Katrina laid her head against a boulder and closed her eyes. “
Is
it too late to turn back?” she asked again.

At first, I hadn’t been able to tell whether or not she was serious, but I quickly decided she didn’t have enough energy to muster the same sarcastic comment twice. “Yes,” I told her, because in terms of the time it would take us to retrace our steps versus the amount of time we had left to live, it
was
too late to turn back, or really to do anything at all. We were pretty much fucked every which way we turned. “We’ve got to keep going.”

“For what?” Aziza asked.

I glared at her, then doubled over and tried to catch my breath like Katrina. Just the sound of her labored breathing made me feel like I was running out of oxygen, too. It also brought on a peculiar, claustrophobic panic that I hadn’t felt since my first spacewalk when I heard a hiss in my suit and thought the oxygen was leaking. It was a purely psychological reaction, but that didn’t make the panic any less potent in the moment.

“You know what, Zeez?” I said. “If you don’t want to come with us, then fucking stay here. You’re not doing us any favors tagging along and bitching about it every step of the way.” I paused for breath but didn’t mind the dramatic effect it created, either. “You can stay right here and get ripped apart by those demon fucks chasing us because of you. Because
you
unloaded a clip on a goddamned mountaintop for no goddamned reason.” I took a step toward her and held out my hand. “Just give us your weapon and we’ll go on without you.”

If one-eyed looks could kill, I would have preferred the corpse fields to Aziza’s stare then. But that’s all it was. A stare. She didn’t have a comeback and she wasn’t about to challenge me physically after the hike, even if she thought she would have beaten me under normal circumstances. Any altercation would have killed both of us, and she knew it. We’d either fall down the mountain or exhaust every last ounce of strength in our bodies.

Maybe Katrina was right after all, I thought. Maybe Aziza really
didn’t
want to die. Maybe she was all talk, although I couldn’t imagine why at the time. Thinking back, I’m guessing it was a defense mechanism, but that borders on psychoanalysis and I’m nowhere near qualified to offer up that sort of judgment.

“Hold up,” Katrina protested weakly, raising one trembling hand in supplication.

“No,” I said. “I’m your commanding officer now and I’m ‘commanding’ Zeez to come with us. If she chooses to disobey a direct order, she is immediately suspended from the fleet pending a trial and is not authorized to operate fleet weaponry during that time,” I recited. “Her rifle is our property, and we need it.”

Aziza shot up, still maintaining eye contact, and held the butt of the rifle out defiantly. “Here,” she said. “Take your property back. It won’t do you any good.”

Katrina struggled up on one elbow. Her eyes remained mostly closed but I could tell by the way her brow furrowed that she was deeply troubled by the course our conversation had taken. “Zeez, please. Stop. I need you to come with us.”

“No,” Aziza said. “I’m staying here.”

“Then keep the gun.
Please
. How will you fight those things when they get here?”

“Didn’t you hear?” I cut in, taking the rifle from Aziza. “Why the hell would she want to fight those things off if she just wants them to kill her? It’s a waste of ammo, like shooting at a giant fucking bat. And God forbid we spare
one
bullet to put Flaherty out of his misery.”

That last bit brought Katrina to her knees, which immediately made me regret telling Aziza off at all. I’d just felt too shitty to keep listening to her bitching. I didn’t
really
want her to die.

“Lieutenant,” Katrina pleaded.

I turned from them and started back down the mountain. “If she wants to come, she’s welcome to, but I’m tired of her bitching and moaning. We don’t have enough time left to waste it on anything other than surviving. Now
move
.”

Favoring the side where the clown demon had skewered me before Sillinger’s miracle surgery, I braced myself and started toward the corpse fields. I didn’t look back to see whether or not they followed me, but they did. Evidently, no matter how much Aziza
thought
she was ready to throw in the towel, part of her still hoped for a happy ending. After that, her presence alone encouraged me. If even
she
thought there was a chance we would make it back to the ship, after all, and maybe even make it
home
afterward, then I figured the odds must not have been as bad as they seemed. It was fool’s logic, I know, but hearing her mutter to Katrina again on our way down comforted me even more.

After that, it didn’t take long to complete our descent despite our fatigue. Or maybe it just seemed like it because I dreaded reaching the bottom even more than I desired it. How long
exactly
, though? I’m not sure. I feel like I should apologize for my imprecise relation of time and distance throughout this account, but I’ve grown complacent and rely too heavily on our suits’ systems to monitor these so-called ‘trivial’ matters during a ground mission, and I haven’t been trained well enough to mark them in real time.

“Let’s rest here for a few,” I told the others, shambling behind the last bit of cover available before entering the corpse fields.

Katrina didn’t bother hiding. She collapsed the moment I gave the order to rest and didn’t move until I told her it was time to get going again. I didn’t need to ask why she hadn’t sought cover first, even ignoring her visible exhaustion. Just like during my dazed journey across the wastelands, we didn’t have true cover anyway and wouldn’t at all once we ventured into the corpse fields aside from the corpses themselves. She must have figured there was no point exerting herself for the sake of avoiding detection.

Aziza, on the other hand,
did
take cover but she hung back a ways to get it. Probably still pissed at me for chewing her out and ‘humiliating’ her, although I find it hard to believe she could be that stubborn knowing we were literally hours away from death, maybe less.

“You all right, Katrina?” I asked. It was easy to see she wasn’t, but I wanted to help even though I had nothing to offer.

She didn’t answer. The three of us fell silent again.

I can’t attest to what was running through Aziza and Katrina’s heads while we rested there. I would guess Aziza continued her internal debate about death versus suicide, suffering versus relief, and Katrina couldn’t think about much of anything at all except her ungodly level of pain.
I
started thinking about home for the first time in a long time, though. And not the
Rockne Hummel
or the fleet stations or even Earth itself.

Home. My
real
home. My parents’ house.

Michigan.

Mom and Dad. My brothers and sisters. My tiny apartment in the fleet barracks outside Kalamazoo. I started missing the idle summers of my youth in a physical way. The smells of the wilderness and the Great Lakes waves. The hum of insects at dusk. The movie-set quality of late-night walks on June nights outside Detroit. Those boyhood Junes and Julys were the direct contrast to
everything
on Furnace. I analyzed their imprint on my memory as a barometer of what I’d left behind and just how badly I wanted to get off that planet. To see the green shores of home again.

I hadn’t thought about any of that in a long time. I hadn’t even thought of my family beyond a general flash of memory that I had, indeed, originated somewhere that wasn’t Basic or the lower decks of some fleet warship. Resting there, I couldn’t believe how much I’d taken it all for granted while on Earth. Even just the freedom to return home and absorb the familiar smell of the old wooden floors. To remember what it was like sharing a complicated, all-encompassing history with someone that stretched back further than three or four years.

I’m a little ashamed to admit that it took so long for me to start thinking about my family on Furnace, although I’m not really surprised. It has little to do with the depth of feeling for my kin and a lot to do with how uniquely clouded a soldier’s brain gets in the thick of battle. There’s an assumption, I think, that whenever someone faces a life-or-death situation in the trenches, he or she is immediately reminded of everything they’re about to lose and all the loved ones they’ve left behind. In my experience, it’s actually the opposite.

I’ve faced a few dozen hopeless situations with aliens or gunfire or system-malfunctions beating down on me, and each time, I’m so wrapped up in the surreality of the moment that I have trouble thinking of anything at all. I’ve heard other men and women say they can see the faces of their husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, children, parents, siblings, or pets when they’re staring down death, but I think that’s bullshit. Maybe that’s just an indication of a deeper void in my own life and my capacity for true emotional profundity (the girl on Eurpoa is still the only real relationship I’ve ever had, and I wouldn’t exactly describe myself or most other deep space soldiers as emotional or well-adjusted), but I think they just want to make themselves feel better.

That same combat obfuscation was responsible for my lack of sentimentality on Furnace, and I suppose on the battlefield in general. I’m unable to pull myself far enough from the situation to have proper perspective, and there’s a big part of me that doesn’t truly
believe
the events surrounding me on the battlefield are real or that my life is truly at risk. It’s not bravery or combat numbness so much as a lack of comprehension on my part. Even though my rational mind knows the difference between the two, my heart and soul do not. I guess, then, that it’s easy enough to see why the deaths of my shipmates didn’t affect me the way they should have, ranging from losses in the heat of battle to the sheer ubiquity of death on Furnace (not to mention how most of the crew were relative strangers to me), but I’m paying dearly for it now.