Dire Days (WolfStar book 01)

“Lock onto Argos and track,” I say.

“Argos located,” says A.I. interface. “Tracking in progress.”

A red square pops onto the front windshield to track Argos. All I can see in it are the tops of trees. The red square moves towards the tree line as I descend.

“Mason to Sergeant Major,” I say, just as Argos emerges into a field headed towards the campsite. “I see you. I’m coming in.”

“Make it quick, Mason,” says Fister. “My cousin’s hurt bad.”

They are heading due east as I approach from the south. The gap between us closes. I turn the vessel’s nose right and drift the transport shuttle in sideways to land next to them as Delgado stops Argos.

I raise the transport’s hatch and wait.

Fister and Bell exit Argos with Rhigas’s lifeless body and load it into Transport shuttle four.

Dr. Sellers climbs in and motions to Skedelski. “You’re coming with us.”

Skedelski ducks down to climb into the transport as Fister cuts Sergeant Bentley with a hurt, angry expression with watering, hateful eyes.

“Go with him if you want,” says Sergeant Bentley.

“He won’t make it,” says Fister.

“You don’t know that.”

“But… if he… he…”

I take the transport into flight. Dr. Sellers is compressing Rhigas’s wounds with the planet getting smaller behind us as the hatch finishes closing.

“Mason,” shouts Fister over comms. “Mason, where the haze—”

I kill the comms link between myself and the ground team. I feel bad about all that has happened, but Rhigas has no time for decision-making. The doctors and tech in the Med Bay on Athanasios have a better chance of saving him than words alone.

Doctors Wright and Utley meet Dr. Sellers next to the medical shuttle’s raising hatch as it slides in a spin across the shuttle bay to face them. I jump from the starfighter replica cockpit and race through Athanasios’s corridors. I need to help them if I can.

My steps are quick. Door after door blows by. I am almost at the medical shuttle. Panic in distant voices. I cannot make out what they are saying yet. I enter and await instructions.

Doctors Sellers, Wright, and Utley are trying desperately to pick Skedelski up and onto a hover gurney.

The big man pushes them to the side and stands. “I’ll walk.”

“I’ll prep Med Bay’s systems,” says Dr. Wright, taking off from the shuttle bay in a jog.

“Sellers…” calls Dr. Utley. “Help me with Rhigas.”

Dr. Sellers gets on the other side of Rhigas in the transport. He is unconscious, and part of his lower intestines are exposed. They lift him and exit, resting him on the hover gurney.

Morris enters the shuttle bay and freezes in his tracks with wide eyes.

“Morris,” says Dr. Utley. “Find out everything you can about the incident from the ground team and anything they might have come into contact with since they gained these wounds.”

Morris nods and leaves for the comms room, responding on his way out. “I’ll find out everything I can.”

“Mason,” he says, tossing me a clean surgical cloth. “Get Skedelski to the Med Bay. Hold this on the wound.”

I catch the cloth and reach high to hold it against Skedelski’s chest as he walks but cannot reach it. I apply pressure and try to keep up with his long strides. His blood runs down my forearm, into my sleeve, and into my armpit to make its way towards my waist. I can barely reach the wound.

“I got it,” he says, grabbing the cloth from me and pushing it to his wound.

Skedelski appears to be okay, but it is hard to tell with his congenital analgesia disorder. It is possible that he has suffered severe injuries but does not feel any pain. I jog ahead and reach the end of the corridor to look back and find him right on my heels.

“This way,” I say.

He knows where the Med Bay is at. I am panicking. His uniform has blood seeping from its waistline. It is not a gentle flow, but the Med Bay is just ahead. We enter with the doctors running behind us with the hover gurney carrying Rhigas.

I turn to help steer Rhigas’s hover gurney, trying not to bang into corners as I round them. There is not much else I can do yet.

“Hold on, Rhigas,” I say, knowing he cannot hear me. “Hold on. We have you now. The doctors are here.”

Dr. Wright is getting the Med Bay’s full systems up and running at the station on the opposite side of the area from the beds. It lights up, and a 3D holo-image of the room and everyone in it comes to life. We are all visible in it with the beds, stations, equipment and walls.

“Get Rhigas to bed two,” says Dr. Utley, turning his attention to Skedelski. “You take bed one.”

Skedelski moves to the first bed, squeezing between it and the wall. He is trying to stay out of the way but remains focused on Rhigas. The pressure he is holding on the cloth against his chest relaxes as he watches. Blood pours from the wound.

“Skedelski,” I say. “Sit down.”

He takes a seat on the first bed. I move to his side and apply pressure to the wound on his chest again. Running blood slows as he looks over his shoulder but does not stop.

The doctors move Rhigas against the second bed. I grab his upper body to help, but he convulses. My hands slip, covering my arms and chest with blood when he presses into me.

“Get back,” says Dr. Wright, stepping in to replace me.

I step away to build nerves. He is bleeding a lot and his skin… There is… It is getting darker around the wound.

“Get tier three stabilizers ready for Skedelski,” says Dr. Utley. “Tier five for Rhigas.”

I step to the shelving units and look for anything labeled tier four or five. My head goes right to left. Eyes searching.

Dr. Sellers moves in and overtakes me, pushing me out of the way.

“Blue or red?” he asks.

“Blue on Skedelski,” answers Dr. Utley. “Red on Rhigas.”

Rhigas stops convulsing. He is motionless—dead, as far as I can tell. Anxiety sets in. I am losing my calmness but remaining calm on the outside.

“What can I do?” I ask.

The Med Bay flashes red and yellow three times quickly. Everyone stops.

“Bed one in cardiac arrest,” says Athanasios.

“We’re going straight into surgery with Rhigas,” answers Dr. Utley. “I need you to clear the Med Bay.”

“Bed one in cardiac arrest,” says Athanasios.

“Stop lights and cease warnings,” says Dr. Utley.

They lift Rhigas onto the bed. Skedelski lays back on bed two. I move to his side.

The wall near him opens and a life-rack moves into position next to bed two. It is half my height, full of unfamiliar instruments, and resting on four legs without wheels—a mobile med unit capable of implementing dozens of procedures and operations. They are among the most valuable tools any doctor can have in the field, but this one is specific to Athanasios.

“What about Skedelski?” asks Dr. Wright.

“Induce him into a light coma,” answers Dr. Utley, moving to bed two. “Dr. Sellers, you’re with me on Rhigas.”

“Unrecognized biological properties detected in patients one and two,” says Athanasios. “Beds one and two.”

Dr. Wright opens a compartment on the far wall and grabs a biohazard suit, throwing it on with haste. Doctors Sellers and Utley suit up right behind him. I have never seen them scared before this moment.

“Prepping Mizophile,” says Dr. Wright.

I swallow hard, knowing I cannot help. It is painful to watch. Rhigas is flatlining and Skedelski, whom I have developed a fondness for. There must be something I can…

“Mason,” says Dr. Utley. “Leave.”

Mizophile is not a good sign and has not been used since patient zero of Kep Four Syndrome. It is an organic nano-bot-based chemical used in the medical field with many applications, including sleep aid, coma inducement, pain treatment, as well as everything else between and up to heightening senses, adrenalizing, and rendering diseases inactive. Each dose has a mixture of thousands of different nano-bots individually carrying heavy concentrations of varying chemicals. They analyze the human body with parameters given by applying doctors…and communicate amongst themselves to release suitable mixtures needed for correction. Once the desired balance is attained, they turn solid like a hardened pea to form a protective shell around any remaining chemicals they may have; and make their way from the body via the urethra.

I backpedal to the exit as they work on the men, terrified Rhigas will not make it and unsure about Skedelski. Staying in here will only put me at risk, and I have no choice but to leave. I exit into the hallway.

“Wait,” shouts Dr. Utley. “The blood.”

I stop. He stares at me for a moment. “Straight to your quarters. Take a decon shower now.”

I turn for the corridor.

“Athanasios,” he continues as the door shuts behind me. “Initiate emergency decontamination protocols, all corridors between Med Bay and Private Mason’s quarters on level—”

The door shuts behind me. Worry overwhelms my thoughts about Rhigas and Skedelski. They are both hurt badly.

Corridors around me—in front of me, behind, and those branching off to the sides along my path—flash yellow and decontamination fog purges from their sides and ceiling. I can barely see. Cold mist on my face, I feel my way to my quarters.

The door is already open when I reach it. Purging fog in my room matches the halls. I enter.

I hop straight into the already running shower with my clothes and shoes on. Decontamination fog is already pouring in with water from four places overhead. Fans run strong.

My hands shake without warning. A single sob escapes me as I remove my terra boots one by one and drop them to the edge of the shower floor. I strip down to nothing but bare skin and pile my garments in the corner on top of them.

The warmth feels good on my body but will not wash away what I am dealing with inside. Their blood… Rhigas’s… Skedelski’s… It is all over me.

Subtle effects from individual droplets falling from the shower’s ceiling cannot clean fast enough. I envision a warm rain caressing my skin, but I have never stood under rainfall. I would not know, but I think of anything to escape heart-wounding thoughts.

Sniffles slip from my chest and out of my nose. Fighting back tears, I turn my face to the flow and wash myself with soap-free hands to remove sadness. My head drops when I relax. I open my eyes and look down. A red-swirled drain is devouring another’s life force as it runs from my body.

It hurts to see. What is Fister going to think if he does not make it? I cannot handle the thought. This is too much.

Tears flow to match the overhead wash. Thoughts are as foggy as the surrounding air. My spirit is breaking. My lungs heave.

A somber cry seeps out, and I lower myself to the shower floor against the wall. Cold on my back. Palms to my face. I cannot look at it anymore. All I can do is cry, and I am not moving until the red slips away.