supposed to be.
“I misjudged the strength needed to knock him unconscious,” Lynne says.
“You destroyed his face!”
Fossam doesn’t seem to care. He finds his footing, and with a stream of blood spurting out of his eye socket, he makes his way back to them. Myrha leaps out of bed, travel kit in hand, and grabs the HeatWave from underneath her pillow. Fossam collapses on top of Lynne, and Myrha can hear the click of his teeth. Lynne grabs both of Fossam’s bulky arms and hauls him off of her, throwing him towards the wall. Blood seems to be everywhere, even seeping out of Fossam’s gums and nails.
Myrha aims the weapon at Fossam and focuses the beam on his chest. Seconds later the room is filled with the scent of blistering flesh; Fossam doesn’t make a sound. Holy shit.
“He should be on the ground screaming in pain by now!” she shouts, panicked.
Fossam continues forward, and Myrha’s hands are fucking shaking and Lynne sort of says, “He must feel no pain,” but Myrha can’t really concentrate because Fossam is still walking towards her, even as his flesh burns and disintegrates.
“Turn off the beam!” Lynne commands.
“Are you insane?”
“Do it!”
Myrha groans and does as she’s told, and then Lynne darts forward, grabs the sides of Fossam’s head, and twists. Crack, crack, crack. Fossam’s head rolls to the floor and his body just sort of collapses and Myrha can feel everything she’s eaten come up her throat. Lynne grabs her arm while Myrha’s standing there in shock, and she has blood on her and Myrha can’t shut her eyes but she dearly wants to.
Lynne pulls them into the hallway and the bright light makes Myrha’s eyes water; she doesn’t look back into the room to check on Fossam, though she’s morbidly inclined to. They make for the stairs and pass by other rooms, doors smashed in; Lynne practically leaps down the steps and they rush into the lobby, only to bowl over Gerdie.
They all tumble to the ground, and Myrha jumps to her feet and points the HeatWave at the lady, who’s twitching and convulsing on the floor; Lynne jumps out of the way as the elderly lady staggers to her feet. There’s a large disgusting wound on her shoulder, dribbling with pus. It looks rancid, infected. Her features are sluggish, like her skin is molding on her bones and her eyes are glassy in a way that reminds Myrha of Werna. Her bloody teeth clack aimlessly, and a strip of silver cloth hangs from her mouth.
Lynne doesn’t waste any more time; she aims a kick to Gerdie’s chest, and sends her crashing into the wall. Her chest cavity blooms with blood and mashed muscles. Her teeth still clack at them. Lynne grabs Myrha’s arm and tugs her to the door, but Myrha spares a glance at the utiphone on the desk. The captain sits slumped over it, like he had fallen asleep on it again. Except there are bite marks on his neck and back, large strips of his silver uniform and flesh gone.
“She ate him,” Myrha yells, but Lynne’s already pushing her out the door.
And they run right into a brawl.
Bounty Hunter stands in a ring of their fellow guests; he’s dripping with blood and sweat and is wielding a HeatWave, blasting Karry in the face with it; another guest takes the opportunity to leap on his back.
“What is wrong with them?” Myrha shrieks.
Several glassy-eyed heads turn towards them.
“Smooth,” Lynne mutters.
“Run!” Bounty Hunter cries.
Myrha doesn’t think twice. She and Lynne scamper down the sandy trail, the three moons faintly watching them from overhead, and the sounds of clicking teeth and gurgling and the hum of the HeatWave drift through the air. They race to the dark hulk of the shuttle and Lynne slams the door open and they stagger in. Myrha gets out her utiphone and turns on its light.
“What are we looking for?” Myrha whispers frantically.
“If you’re looking for weapons, I already have them.”
Myrha jumps and Lynne stills, looking eerily pale and stark in the sparse light from the utiphone.
“Bartin,” she greets.
Bartin comes out of the crew quarters, face streaked with dirt and sweat. He holds a long, thin bat in his hands. It’s the kind that can deliver electrical blows.
“I see we had the same idea,” Lynne says rather neutrally.
Bartin’s throat convulses.
“Your HeatWaves suck,” Myrha says.
“It’s not the weapons, it’s the enemy,” Lynne says, “it’s as if they are missing pain receptors. They do not register pain, nor are they stopped by severe physical trauma.”
“Yeah, they’re very single minded,” Myrha says, “like…they’re in a haze.”
She gives Bartin a suspicious glance, “They kind of remind me of Werna, actually.”
A pained whimper leaves Bartin’s throat and Lynne gives her a startled glance.
“Their eyes,” Myrha explains, “kind of hazy and glazed over like Werna’s.”
Wetness dots the corners of Bartin’s eyes, and glints in the limited pale light, “She was always…she couldn’t stop.”
“What?” Lynne asks, puzzled.
“I said she was on drugs, didn’t I?”
Myrha doesn’t feel like it’s an appropriate time to boast, but she supposes she’ll never stop feeling awesome when she’s one-upped her intelligent companion.
“Ah,” and she sees the exact moment Lynne puts it all together, “she was addicted to the hallucinogenic properties of the tree bark.”
Bartin nods miserably, “Yes, my poor Werna. She hasn’t had a clear head in months.”
He sniffles pathetically.
“Then,” Lynne turns towards her, “you believe the trance-like state of the other patrons has something to do with the tree bark?”
“It’s like they got dosed with enormous, or maybe just very potent, quantities of it.”
“Is there a known antidote?” Lynne addresses Bartin.
“I don’t know,” he wails, “nothing I’ve tried seemed to counteract it. It always had a hold on her mind; and the days she seemed sober, she’d do anything to get more.”
“Wasn’t this stuff being used for experiments?” Myrha asks.
“Yes,” Bartin sighs, “but I’ve told you everything I know about it.”
“Did Werna ever become violent?” Lynne asks.
“Sometimes. She’s been using it more lately, and I’ve had to restrain her.”
His lip quivers and he bursts out, “And it’s all my fault!”
“Quiet,” Myrha shushes his wailing.
“Why?” Lynne asks, avidly interested.
His hands shake around his grip on the bat, “I should have never asked her to come here with me. She’s not like me; she doesn’t like isolation. The drugs were her escape!”
Myrha can admit that’s a little bit understandable. If she were trapped on a planet with only Bartin for company, she’d go a little stir crazy too.
“Where is Werna now?” Lynne asks carefully and oh shit Myrha has a bad feeling about this.
“She’s in the crew quarters,” Bartin says, “I’ve tied her up. But I’m not abandoning her.”
“She’s going to turn violent and eat your face!” Myrha hisses.
“We do not know if Werna is as violent as the others,” Lynne reasons, “they seem to have been…infected differently.”
“And we’re taking a chance on that?”
Lynne places a hand over her mouth and Myrha looks at her, aghast, when Lynne says quietly, “The sounds of fighting have stopped.”
She doesn’t need Lynne to tell her that that’s probably a very bad thing. A weird shiver snakes down her spine.
“We need to move on before they come looking for us,” Bartin says.
“Move where?” Myrha asks.
Bartin starts to a look little shifty, and his sweat gleams profusely, and Myrha wonders if this means more bad news.
“The shuttle,” he whispers hoarsely, “Turobeck’s.”
“What?” Myrha whispers back.
??
?He crashed here, I know it,” he continues, breathing laboriously, “We just have to find it. We can get off this planet, like I should have done months ago.”
Lynne and Myrha share a glance.
“He’s crazy,” Myrha mouths at Lynne.
“You believe Turobeck landed here and left a serviceable shuttle behind?” Lynne asks.
Bartin nods frantically, “Yes, yes, I just need help finding it. You see, all I ever needed was a way to get a shuttle, or money, to get off this forsaken planet and get Werna help. Turobeck with his shuttle, his poetry, he could give me freedom.”
Myrha wants to shake him; it’s as if he’s fallen under a hallucination as well.
“That’s why you ran the contest and lied about Lieval?” Myrha asks, “You wanted to drag someone into your search for a fabled shuttle?”
“You’ll help me find the shuttle,” Bartin decides, “all of you will.”
“You invented the fantasy that Turobeck left a shuttle here because you needed some way to believe there was a way out of your situation!” Myrha insists.
“It’s the truth,” he says stubbornly, “Turobeck was here on Lieval. I have proof!”
“Regardless,” Lynne cuts in, “we need to leave the area.”
“There’s a cave, farther down on the west side of the beach, we can hide out there for some time,” Bartin nods decisively.
Myrha is not going to be stuck in a cave with a crazy person and his equally crazy and probably-hungry-for-human-flesh wife. She shares a glance with Lynne and tries to convey all of this with a single stare.
“Bartin,” Lynne says, “I am sorry.”
With one swift move she knocks him out and Bartin crumbles to the floor. Myrha grabs the bat from his slack grip, and rifles through his clothes for anything else that might be of use. The necklace