11
Parsona. Molly could read the word clearly on the starboard wing, the faded black stencil spread across the wide metal surface. She hovered above the “O,” the letter bigger than her outstretched arms.
Before she could even walk, Molly had spent time out here; she would crawl around while her father worked on the surface controls. Now and then he’d scoop her up when she got too close to the edge, then hold her in his lap and look out across the prairies of Lok. It was up here that she’d learned to read her first word, spelling out her mom’s name one letter at a time.
Now she floated just above it, weightless. Her old nightmare had returned, but it was different. She was closer, and there was something to push against.
Molly reached down and touched the cold metal with her bare hands; she hooked her fingernails on the edge of a line of rivets and pulled herself toward the gleaming hull. She floated, pulling herself along, working toward the glow emanating from the cockpit.
Someone was inside. She wanted to see who. Her father? Her mother? Was she dead, here to join them?
She approached the navigator’s porthole, so close to finding out, when she felt the first vibrations—the thrum of the main thrusters reverberating through the hull. She screamed for them to wait as the ship lurched into motion, but her wails would not carry in the vacuum. Her anguish reached no further than her own ears, transmitted through her tear-streaked jaws. Molly pounded the hull with her fists, struggling to alert someone to her presence, but the violent act just pushed her away. Off into the vacuum. Through which Parsona moved easily.?.?.
Molly startled awake, a shiver from the nightmare traveling into the real world with her. Or was it the cold? Last night’s events washed over her, filling her with a hollow dread. Her head rested on her hand, which was palm-down on Cole’s chest. She could hear his heart thumping, like the thrum of an idling engine. A warm and mostly-dry shirt was draped over the back of her soggy blouse, the hem pulled up to her neck. She rolled her eyes up Cole’s chest and neck and found him wanly smiling back at her.
“Good morning,” he said.
But it was still dark outside. The rain pattered softly on the passenger side door; various leaks had allowed rain to seep in, collecting at the bottom of the damaged shell. Molly felt sore and cold, but happy to be alive.
“How long have I been asleep?” She pushed up from his chest and searched for a way to brace herself in the awkward confines of the upturned car.
“Not long,” he said, sitting up and wincing, rubbing his neck as if it were stiff. “I think the worst is over, but we’d better get out of here before the authorities come looking. I figured out how to shut off the lights, but I’m sure we still stick out like a sore thumb.”
Molly agreed. She thought about their next moves and realized they didn’t have many available: back to the Regal, and now they were relying on Drummond for help. The thought absolutely mortified her.
Cole made some room and Molly stood on one door while trying to operate the other. The impact had jammed the seam a bit, but it opened with a creak of warped metal. She tried pushing it up and out, but the feeling in her arms hadn’t fully returned from the nightmare.
“Little help.”
Cole wiggled his way up beside her and shoved the door out into the early morning air. It flopped back into the darkness and a drizzling rain invaded their temporary shelter. Cole boosted Molly up to the side of the car and she slid down with a splash into the street.
“It’s deep,” she warned him.
She heard him grunting as he forced himself up and out. He landed beside her with his backpack held over his head.
“Not that deep, silly.”
Cole shot her a look. “Thanks. You know, I take you out for the night, hold the door for you and everything, and all you can do is make fun.”
Molly laughed and waded in the direction of the Regal. The water was up to her shins, the wide street flowing like a lazy river. The slight crown in the pavement kept most of the flood in the deep, wide gutters, but Molly saw that they could stand to be even bigger.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, looking around. “Why not build the city underground? Why build here at all?”
“Are you kidding?” Cole sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “And not enjoy this fresh air?”
Actually the air did smell quite a bit fresher. And the water was moving, carrying the last of the detritus with it, rather than standing and festering. As they splashed down the dimly lit street in the general direction of the hotel, Molly could see that the alleys were clean, the bags of refuse gone. The city was clean again. For now.
“Do you remember if these rains happen every month, twice a month, or what?”
Cole shrugged. “Nope. You seem to recall more than I do. I’d say it can’t be daily. I mean, people will build in some silly places, but like you said, this is just ridiculous.”
“I wonder if people ever get used to it.”
“Did those Navy guys seem used to it?”
“No, but I only saw a handful of locals dashing around after that first thunder. It looked like off-worlders and tourists.”
“I think we’re the only tourists here.”
They sloshed down several blocks in silence as the sky slowly brightened. Either the days here were extremely short, or Cole had lied and had allowed her to sleep for quite some time.
“It’s freezing,” she said, wringing water out of the bottom of her new blouse. Several of the pockets along her thighs bulged with rain. Molly slapped at them, sending out a spray. At least her boots seemed to have been a solid choice. The strap across the top had kept the water out, just as advertised.
Cole caught up to her and put his arm across her shoulder, trapping their heat together. Side-by-side, they kicked through the water, splashing downstream through an ankle-deep flow.
“What’re we going to do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I just wanna get out of here, to be frank. We might not even see this ship of yours. I spent all night trying to figure this out, but nothing makes sense. The Navy seems to be pushing us toward the ship while also keeping us away from it. It doesn’t add up.”
“I think we killed two Navy Officers last night. Maybe four, if those other two didn’t get back in time.” Molly felt sick just saying it. Being trained to kill aliens from a distance hadn’t prepared her for this.
“I know,” he said. “I spent a lot of time thinking about that as well. I don’t know when the next shuttle leaves, or if there’s another ship down here besides yours that can scoot us off-planet, but we need to get to Drummond and tell him he isn’t crazy.”
Molly nodded. “Yeah, this world is.”
????
The sight of the Regal Hotel, so recently hideous, filled Molly with cheer and hope. She felt the urge to skip through the puddles toward the lobby, but the sight of crowds milling nearby forced her to restrain herself. They were going to draw quite enough attention as soaked off-worlders.
Pushing against the flow of the crowd, Molly and Cole swam upstream and into the emptying room. There were still plenty of people lying about, and the smell was awful, but it wasn’t quite as bad as it’d been the day before. Molly rushed over and claimed her bag, shooting Cole an exaggerated smile.
“Yeah, you think you’re so clever,” he said. “But we coulda used that last night.”
“Funny. As a weapon, you mean?”
“As an anchor!”
“Har. Har.” Molly hoisted the bag over one shoulder, tempted to paw through it right then and change into one of the fresh outfits inside. But the room, with its safety and privacy, was just up the stairs. She followed Cole up there and down the hall, nearly bumping into him as he came to a sudden stop.
“What’s up?”
Cole brought a finger to his lips and pointed to Drummond’s door. It was open. Wide open. Something was wrong. The day before, Drummond hadn’t been comfortable cracking the door enough to let them inside, no way would he leave it like this. Molly felt her empty stomach grumble and twist into knots. She followed Cole as they crept forward. The gun from last night materializing in his right hand.
He reached out and used the barrel to press the door inwards the rest of the way. It squeaked on worn hinges. Somewhere above them a kid thumped down a hallway, laughing. “Drummond?” Cole called out. “Be easy, we’re comin’ in.”
Cole peeked around the corner and Molly peered around Cole. The room was a wreck. Even more of a wreck than earlier. The dresser was on its face, the mattress from the bed leaned against the window, and the blinds were up, allowing a pool of light to gather in the room.
In the center of that pool lay Special Agent “Drummond” Simmons. She could tell at once that he wasn’t alive; his limbs had an unnatural shape, as if he had gone down flailing. Crimson fluid spread out from his head, a pool-within-a-pool. Drummond’s face pointed toward the door, staring at them with a frozen expression of shock, like he couldn’t believe he was dead.
“Don’t move!” someone yelled.
But they didn’t give them a chance. Boots thundered down the hallway and several men tackled Molly and Cole, pinning them to the ground.
“He’ss got a gun,” someone hissed. Molly heard Cole grunt from a silent blow. The world went black as something was pulled over her head.
She tried to struggle, but she was suddenly too tired. Her body had gone limp, her brain emptied of any thoughts. It was just too many bad events over too short a period of time. She was entering what Corporal Joss, the man who had first pushed her hard in the simulators, used to call “battle fatigue.” She could recall his face so clearly, could remember the training—something stirred inside of her. It fought back the black cloud that was attempting to make her envious of Drummond, jealous of the long nap and the pleasure of having this end. Her training pushed these dark thoughts into the primal lair of her brain, the old cave in which they lived.
She was not going to be consumed with hopelessness, she decided. She stayed limp, conserving her energy. But she wasn’t done fighting.