Joely Sue Burkhart

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Week 1
Week 2
Week 3
Week 4
Week 5
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Shrill metallic screeching reverberated in the tunnel. Huddled in the mud, Rackman squeezed his hands over his ears, trying to hold back his own scream. The Fade was calling in reinforcements. Even after so many years, their rudimentary calls were dreadfully familiar. After the pack showed up, they’d drive him, screaming and shrilling until he went mad with fear and ran ahead with no thought to the trap, exactly how they hunted wolves when the eclipse cast full night on the surface.

Maybe the pack would be occupied with fresh kills upside. He could handle one Fade.

The ground sloped downward. Despite the surge of adrenaline, he slowed his crawl. His arms trembled and his knees were scraped and bloody, but the ravine should be just ahead. The underground creek used to speed up here, and Kermit had nearly been swept over the cliff. Who knew how far the water fell, where it led, how deep into the ground it traveled. Deeper caverns, darker, more Fades. The thought set Rackman’s teeth chattering so hard his jaw ached.

He edged to the right. The tunnel he needed would be just ahead, invisible, except for the faint draft. Concentrating, so careful not to slip off the edge into the ravine, he froze. The rotten cake slapped him in the face. Gagging, he fought against his instincts and crawled forward. This was the way. No Fade would keep him from Hope.

The mud ended. Coating himself in a fresh layer of moistness, he crept forward, still on hands and knees. A cool draft caressed his face, bringing another overwhelming wave of stench. Slowly, he gained his feet. Trailing his right hand along the wall, he fought his fear step by step.

The Fade was more elemental than flesh and blood. It fed on emotions, on fear. It would use his instincts against him and feed on that turmoil rioting in the pit of his stomach. It wouldn’t bleed, couldn’t as far as he knew. No weapon would touch it, but it was terrified of water. Any water.

He’d spit on it, piss on it, throw mud on it, whatever was required. He would not give in to his fear and run. He would not give in to the quivering in his knees and fall into a wailing, sniveling ball of tears. Not when Hope was so close.

Rancid molasses clogged his nostrils. Goose bumps raised on his arms, shivering down his back, tightening his muscles for flight. With trembling hands, he ripped open his pants, hoping he could perform on call and piss all over the son of a bitch.

A wash of cold drenched him, seizing his lungs. The Fade touched him, held him in a grip of sweet, fetid breath and cold terror.

Suddenly, all he could think about was Kermit. How much he hated the Butcher at first. How much Rackman hated himself. Kermit overcame his hatred, though. Kermit gave him hope for the future. He gave Rackman a reason to live, to try and redeem the blood on his hands. Then Hope’s Haven lured him onward. But in the beginning, it was the ugly frog-like alien who should have hated him, but instead saved his life.

Humming that low, resonant sound meant to soothe, Rackman smiled. He deserved to die. Fitting that he would die remembering his best friend. A Quag.

The Fade recoiled. Cold peeled away, leaving him shivering. His knees gave out, and he fell, catching himself before planting his face in the rocks. Lightheaded, he wet his lips and continued the gentle, soothing sound.

With one last metallic shriek, the Fade fled.

Afraid to wait, afraid it would regain its courage, Rackman fumbled his pants closed and crawled forward. Humming. Smiling.

A faint glow crawled up the walls, created by some florescent plant that he and Kermit had spent years trying to identify in the safety of the Obsession. It was rather pretty, a soft white fur that released a gentle light. Kermit had pronounced it edible and quite delicious, although his crap had glowed for weeks later, much to his mortification and Rack’s amusement.

Chuckling beneath his breath at the memory, he stood and quickened his pace. The first glint of metal sent his stomach churning again. Running, he turned into the side cave. Crates were tossed about, abandoned metal covered with glowing white furred plants. And there, deeper in the cavern, a softly lit ship.

Heart in his throat, he raced forward. Smaller than he expected for a colonization ship, but then the original crew had been less than twenty. The ramp was down. Was that good or bad? The ship groaned, creaking frighteningly like the Fade’s shrill cry. The medical bay–where would it be?

He tried to remember the layout of the Orion, but his mind blanked. So close. How could she possibly be alive?

Broken crates spewed farming tools, rotted clothing, tattered books, plaz utensils, heaps of moldering food. The hold, of course. The cryo area would be aft.

He shoved a crate aside and pried at the rusted door. It was stuck. Frantically, he ran back to the farming tools and hefted a shovel. Rusted, but solid enough, he decided. Racing back, he levered the protesting door open and stepped inside.

To Hope Brennan’s resting place.

Ah, clever, brilliant woman! Since she was the last surviving crew member, she used the other cryo units’ power cells to extend her cycle. The cells were all dead but one. One cell still glowed.

Hope was alive.

Hands trembling, tears sizzling painfully on the acid scar, Rackman keyed the awaken sequence. Thirty minutes. Cursing archaic technology, he paced back and forth. He tried to rake his hair out of his face, but it was hardened with clay.

Thirty minutes–long enough to wash some mud away. He went back to the hold and used some of the cloth to wipe his face and hands clean. He couldn’t find any water.

Thinking of water, he winced. He desperately needed to empty his bladder. Just in case the Fades came again, he used a plaz container to gather his urine. Disgusting, but an effective deterrent, as he and Kermit had learned.

Kermit. Rack smiled again, his heart aching with new understanding. So fragile, so tender. He never hoped to feel so good again, to feel genuine warmth and friendship, especially for a Quag. He found himself humming again and checked his comm unit. Startled, he hurried back to the cryo unit and counted down the last five minutes.

The thick plaz lid finally cracked, steam pouring out. Terrified, he pushed it open. Would she still be alive, unharmed, aware? What did she look like? Would she truly be glad to find herself awake one hundred years later than she planned?

Breathe, damn it. Breathe!

Her eyes opened. Blue. Dark blue. She hauled in air and choked. Unable to tear his gaze away from hers, he waited silently until she spoke.

Hope smiled on Rackman. “I knew you’d come.”

The End