"I can make better time without it."
She blew me a kiss and slipped silently into the water. I followed. She had a strong steady stroke. It was only a matter of seconds until she disappeared into the wall of gray nothingness.
10
There were times when I thought my lungs would explode. My arms ached and my head throbbed. An out of control air hammer chiseled away fragments of what was left of my sanity. It was a cold, wet world fueled by hope, yet void of reality. Tiny specks of light began to flash in chaotic patterns, and my eyes felt like two hot, burning slits that had to be periodically opened to yet another assault by the salt water.
Water was everywhere, yet I felt like I was dying of thirst. My lips had split open, and I could taste the salty, sometimes bittersweet blood that seeped out of the lesions into my cotton-dry mouth.
Twice I stopped and tried to tread water, only to realize that I was too exhausted to continue the effort. Each time it was more difficult to get underway again. It was only a matter of time. Finally it happened.
There was a sharp, cramping pain. It hit first in the legs, then crept up and slammed into the small of my back — a violent seizure. My head jerked involuntarily, slapping down beneath the surface, alerting me and clearing my head. I came up gasping, choking, bobbing and thrashing in the water like a crazed animal trapped by its own limitations or an animal that knew its death was imminent.
When I closed my eyes it was with certain kind of terrifying resignation. A terrible thought ripped through my fevered mind. I was finally going to know what it was like to die, to know that this would be the last time I would fill my lungs and smell…
Smell?
I could smell it! The stench of death! The message somehow managed to get through. It meant I had to be close.
For one fleeting moment, I floundered somewhere beneath the surface of the water, and there was a new pain. Sharp and angry and gouging, it proved something, proved I wasn't dead — yet.
Someone — somewhere, somehow — was giving me orders.
''Goddammit, Wages, you candy ass, move! You want that commission, boy? You hear me, boy? You want that fucking commission? You wanta be an officer, Wages? Well, goddammit, act like it! Name, rank, horsepower."
"Cadet Wages, sir! Yes, sir! I want that commission, sir!"
"You don't act like it, boy!"
The voice was screaming. Why couldn't he hear my answer? "I want that commission, sir!"
"Then swim, goddammit, Wages, swim!"
My knee scraped against something sharp, and there was the sensation of flesh tearing.
The smell of dead things.
The grayness.
The nothingness.
Swim, Wages, you goddamn candy ass.
I felt it, and tears began streaming down my face. "I made it, sir!"
"Big fucking deal, Wages, big fucking deal."
It was solid, something to hold onto. It was fouled air, but I could breathe, and it slammed into my lungs, my arms, my legs, my feet. Everything contorted in cramps. It was coral-crusted and sandy. I collapsed and razorlike coral projections sliced savagely into my hands and face — everywhere.
But sleep came anyway.
It's difficult to say what registered first. Maybe it was the horrible stench of things dead and rotting. Maybe it was the pain. It doesn't matter, because the latter brought with it the realization that I was alive.
When I tried to move, there was a burning sensation. The sensation was everywhere that the coral had gouged out chunks of flesh. I managed to roll over on my stomach and lift my head. The stagnant gray was still there — that damn monotonous gray that was now synonymous with what the world knew of the Cluster.
It took a Herculean effort to get me on my feet. Swollen and bloody, random patches of hide betrayed every nook and cranny where the hostile coral had done its thing. Unsteady, but finally vertical, I staggered up the beach, away from the surf. The eerie, windless silence was haunting.
I found a place where the sand gave way to clusters of blackish, dead remnants of trees.
It was only a matter of minutes till I had slumped back to earth and spiraled into a less frenzied world of unconsciousness.
The sleep — or unconsciousness — was accompanied by nightmares. When I awoke the second time, I was sweating profusely; my hands were shaking, and my eyes were almost swollen shut. The difference was that this time there was hope.
"If you're not afraid to drink the water, try this." It was Hannah's voice.
My eyes were open — I knew that much — but the lady was little more than a blur viewed through puffy slits.
"I found it in one of the huts. A can of coffee, still sealed. The water was bottled so it should be all right." When she held it up to my nose, the aroma momentarily overpowered the stench. I could feel the steamy sensation of heat.
Hannah managed to get my hands wrapped around the heavy ceramic cup, and I was able to take it from there. It was hot and strong and hard to swallow. I let out a yelp.
"Your throat is swollen. You've got a colossal case of coral poisoning."
When I finally did manage to get some words out, they were garbled, coarse and bumpy. "What about you?"
"No complaints. How could I? I made it! And judging from the way you look, I'm a helluva lot better off than you are. At least I didn't get tangled up with the coral."
"What about Huntington?"
Hannah hesitated. The prolonged silence told me all I needed to know.
You don't have to like a man to feel his loss, and while I wasn't exactly mourning the little guy, there was a sobering realization that Bearing's Prometheus team was now down to two. What was worse was now we didn't even know where the damn cylinders were.
"What happened?" Some questions just have to be asked.
Through the slits I could see her shrug wearily. "He was right beside me for a while, then he started to fall back. Eventually he just wasn't there anymore."
"Maybe he made it," I tried.
"Maybe," Hannah sighed. I knew she didn't believe it any more than I did.
I sipped the coffee while Hannah watched. When it was gone, I set the empty cup down in the sand beside me. The words had to be forced. "How about a damage report?"
"Worse than I remembered. Reminds me of the pictures I saw of Jonestown."
"Just exactly where are we?" Up until now things had been little more than obscure shapes and hazy patterns of light. Even as I asked, the features in her symmetrical face were more apparent.
"Near the center of the village, about fifty yards from what must have been Zercher's offices. They're all padlocked. I looked around while I was waiting for you to come to."
"Find anything?"
"Not yet. I lost my enthusiasm. I looked in one building — looks like maybe it was a chapel — and counted seventeen bodies."
While Hannah slipped into a monotone, recounting her findings, I slumped back in the sand on my good elbow. "Hannah, what the hell could have caused all of this in the first place?"
She was silent for a moment. "You know how it strikes me, E.G.? It reminds me of what I always thought the world would look like after chemical warfare. Everything is dead — trees, birds, insects, dogs, cats, everything. If I didn't know better, I'd say it all looks like it's been frozen."
"Then you're beginning to buy my theory."
"Not necessarily. Suppose there was some kind of highly unusual geophysical phenomenon here, something like the exploding lakes in Malgapaya. As it turned out, that was nothing more than trapped gas."
"Are you saying that's what you think happened here?"
She shook her head. It was almost as if she was reluctant to say what she was thinking. "No… I guess I'm beginning to believe you're right in your theory about Bormann."