A/N: And welcome back, Dead Space lovers! I apologize profusely for missing my post date yesterday. I had a family obligation to deal with, so I was unable to post. However, here I am with a fresh chapter. Enjoy.


Chapter 2


Four hands reached for him and helped him over the lip onto the rickety catwalk. Ellie, holding an alight flare, dropped it at the foot of the ladder. The red glow left a burning trail. When it landed, the slashers hissed and scuttled back from it, but left it as it lay.

"Are you okay?" Ellie shouted. The wind was louder up here, colder and angrier if possible. Her hair blew back and forth, dark strands whipped into disarray. "That was close."

"I'm good. Keep moving." Seeing Damara and Dylan had rolled his heart in his chest. He hadn't quite recovered from the shock. They'd been so lifelike, alive.

Norton, white flight suit blending in, led them across the ravine that the catwalk bridged, his hand cupped to shield his eyes. He was already half to the other side. Santos and Ellie supported Buckell between them. He'd worsened since the Crozier. Their progress was slower, but Carver kept pace with them.

"Robert! Slow down! We can't keep up," Ellie shouted.

He didn't. Either he hadn't heard her because of the wind, or…be careful. Be careful because that next thought would be mutinous. Treacherous. To hell with it, he told that caution and followed the thought through. Either Norton hadn't heard or he had ignored Ellie's plea.

That thought was nauseating. This was his captain, his buddy from the good ole days. The guy who got his crew out of jams tougher than this, who had supported Carver when he'd been transferred to Uxor, whom Dylan called Uncle Rob. Cowardice didn't jive with Norton's ilk; however, the vague idea of it left a bad taste in his mouth. It wouldn't leave him alone.

Ultimately, there wasn't anything he could do at the present. They needed a secure location, protection, and a dozen other imperative needs. So pushing the anxiousness back, Carver kept unforgiving watch on the broken and collapsed areas on the catwalk. At any time he expected a slasher to crawl over one of those rails. Or something worse. None did. On the catwalk's other side, behind a rusted sheet of cheap metal was a portal. Painted across the wall with faded, peeling yellow and white was the word ALOHA. The door glowed blue, and relieved, Carver turned it with his TK.

Inside lent protection from the wind. Carver waved the others back so he could clear the area. Dark gray indoors were dimly lit with multi-color lights snaking along the wall. Debris scattered across the floor, coated with dust and grit, and the musty staleness cloistered in on him. A couple individual desks along one wall were decorated for the tropics, with family snapshots and various papers. Some lockers stood up on the far wall. Next to the lockers was a turned-off bench. And, to his wild exultation, a generator squatted on the right side under some windows.

"We're clear!" he shouted to the others, breath leaving steamy puffs hanging in the air. He stood at the elderly generator. "And we're lucky."

As the group rushed inside, wearing the cold like thick coats, Carver examined the generator. Everything seemed to be intact. It was a crank-style motor, so he used his TK again. The ancient machine rumbled to life, puttered, but steadied out. Lights flickered on and precious, wonderful heat radiated from the coil heaters attached to the walls. He noticed it had a timer with an automatic shut-off, which meant that it would stop to conserve energy unless someone charged it up again.

Ellie, Santos, and Buckell crowded around one of the coil heaters, their teeth chattering and bodies quivering. Norton had isolated himself at the generator.

He'd known Norton long enough to interpret his captain's jaw, where barely subdued anger hardened and twitched the muscles. A storm brewed, and he was sure Ellie would receive the brunt of it.

Buckell lumbered to a chair and hunkered down, skin ashen and carved with wrinkles. He seemed droopy, malleable, and exhausted beyond comprehension. His sigh was forlorn and to Carver, he sounded as if he was on his last leg.

"I'm finally getting the feeling back in my fingers," Santos said, cutting into the silence that shrouded them. "I thought for sure I'd be frostbitten."

Ellie continued to rub her hands. "I think we can get into the main installation from here. If we keep following these corridors, they are bound to lead us to some answers."

"And then what?" Norton cut in, his words sharp with fury. "Stick out our thumbs and hitch a ride home?"

"No," responded Ellie, and it sounded like deliberate patience, "we find a way to shut down the master Marker signal with this machine-thing Isaac told us about."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. This whole thing has been a farce. In case you haven't noticed, we're stranded on a dead planet, babe. With a countless number of those things wandering around, ready to kill us. We have no food, no water, no weapons. The way I see it, we're through with your precious mission. We're going to salvage what we can of the Crozier, maybe find an operational shuttle, if we're lucky, and get the hell off this planet."

"And let the Markers turn the entire human race into Necromorphs? How can you say that?" Ellie shot back. "Our lives are not the priority. I've told you and told you that the Markers are a force that will annihilate all life everywhere. We may be the only hope of defeating it. I thought you understood that."

"It's not my job, and it's not your job to save the universe." Norton's features narrowed at her resistance. "Furthermore, if we leave here, we have no guarantee of further shelter or protection from both those monsters and the freezing fucking temperature out there. And, cherry on top, you wasted at least six flares on a dead guy."

Carver noticed immediately the effect the implication had on Ellie. Cold steel straightened out her spine up to her chin. "Isaac's not dead," she said. "He'll have found a way to survive. He's survived in worse situations than this."

"Oh, you must mean Aegis VII. Well, let me refresh your memory based on the reports I've read. One, Aegis VII didn't have a life-threatening climate." Norton's fingers kept count. "Two, Isaac had an intact shuttle that he could fly off planet. And three, and this is a biggie, Aegis VII had a controlled population. A few thousand, tops. In comparison to the few billion that infest this planet. Let's face it, Ellie. Isaac survived by sheer dumb luck. Now, his luck's run out and we're still up against impossible odds."

"Is that the best you can do, Robert? Really, at this point, you're not even trying to find a solution to the problem. Yes, we're in a crisis, and yes, we're up against impossible odds, but none of that means we should give up. This is the entirety of mankind you're tossing to the dogs. I thought you were made of sterner stuff. I know that if we try, we may triumph yet."

"So now you're psychic, hunh? That's rich. Tell me, oh gypsy lady, how many more minutes do we get before we bite the dust? I, for one, have had it up to here. We are in way over our heads, Ellie. And I hate to do it, but I'm pulling rank." At this he fixed Carver with his piercing gaze. "Our main priority is survival and escape from the planet. That's a direct order."

A terrible dark hole opened up inside Carver's gut then. He didn't know what it predicated, but before he could respond, the argument carried on without him.

"Hey, you can't-"

"Enough!" Santos stepped between them, her hands raised. "This petty bickering will get us nowhere. This is a military base. There will be other shelters, I'm sure of it. If we're to get off the planet, we'll have to find bays or landing pads. We know the Crozier was one such shuttle. We at least investigate the main installation, and if there are no shuttles, we can send out an SOS. The shockbeacon we left is still operational, and we can direct the SOS through that."

"We have no map, Santos," Norton spat. He crossed his arms in triumph. "How're we going to get to the main installation? Use a divining rod? And who the hell will pick up the other end even if we clear a signal?"

"Captain, we don't have many options." Buckell's rasped voice silenced everyone. "Carver's your man. We know he'll follow whatever orders you give. But listen to Santos and Ellie. We can make it to the main base if we push forward. Think of all the supplies left behind that we could use to our benefit. At least we'll survive long enough to maybe find an escape and in the meanwhile, stop whatever the Marker is doing."

Carver wanted to refute Buckell's factual statement, but realized it had been the truth for as long as he and Norton were buddies. He was Norton's right-hand man, but as the conversation had unfolded, he felt more and more agitated with Norton's arguments. He'd actually called rank on a group of people who did not have an alignment with EarthGov, who had spent the majority of the last four or so years fighting against EarthGov's machinations.

Why did that small action bother him so much, seem so laughable? It had happened dozens of times before. But the sole purpose this time was to prevent Ellie, Santos, and Buckell from completing a humanity-saving quest.

The sole purpose this time was selfishness, pure and simple.

That deep pit, filled with hesitation and questions, cleared up. Carver felt himself align with Ellie's position. The Markers were evil, proven to destroy and murder good people. Good people like his innocent son and wife. His duty was to protect and serve human beings, so that meant protecting them against the Marker's threat, no matter the cost or sacrifice.

Norton's words, his actions, had cowardly taint to them. Distaste crept up. At that moment, Carver understood what he had to do. Regardless of rank, his sole purpose on Tau Volantis was to end the Marker's malignant reign. He would do so with whatever means necessary, which meant that everyone, including himself, was expendable. Norton could order all he wanted, but Carver had his sights set. Kill the Marker. Kill it like it had killed his family.

Oblivious to Carver's train of thought, Norton answered Buckell after a long pause. "Fine. There's no sense in staying out in the middle of nowhere. Ten more minutes, then we're moving out. Carver? You're on point when we do."

"Yes, sir," Carver responded. He stood at the opposite door they entered to wait for the group's preparations.

As he waited, Ellie, Santos, and Buckell searched the drawers and any lockers that would open. They discovered several salvageable SCAF sweatshirts, gloves, and hats. Meager offerings, but better than nothing against bitter cold temperatures. The trio bundled up as best they could. Ellie grabbed handfuls of loose papers off the desks, crumpled them, and cornered Buckell.

"Hold still," she told him. "I'm putting these under your shirt."

"Ellie, it's not necessary."

Santos intervened. "Let her. Those papers will insulate and keep your body temperature steady. You're at more risk than the rest of us for hypothermia."

"Don't you start," Buckell said, but that was as much as he could argue. He deflated a bit and let Ellie finish stuffing him. When she was finished, he muttered, "I'm the damn scarecrow."

"It'll have to do until we find some better equipment," replied Ellie. "It can't be helped."

Norton had not moved from the window, where he scowled out at Tau Volantis as a whole. The man was not a graceful loser. "Is everyone ready?" he asked, without turning.

Ellie frowned. "Yes. As we'll ever be."


A/N: Thanks, as always, for reading. If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please let me know. I appreciate all your conversation. See next time.