The cold crept into Wylie's bones sheering off any pretence of warmth that she might have had. She looked around her noticing one of the Vesta moons perched low on the horizon glowing like a baneful, blue eye. The wind howled again pushing snow into her face causing it to burn a trail of pins and needles on both cheeks. She shivered inwardly trudging through the drifts and pulled her coat tighter around her. She yawned with alarm. Slapping herself hard across the cheek she reveled in the temporary warmth the rush of blood brought.
Cold. Too many people underestimate it. It lures you into a quiet slumber only to suck the warmth and life out of you. How nice it would be to lay down right here in the snow. Just for a little while. A little nap.
"Snap outta' of it Wylie." She grumbled to herself. "You didn't come this far to die at this pricks doorstep."
She moved on through the snows spotting the lights of the slam up ahead. They glowed like a beacon through the dark, frozen wasteland.
"Cold, cold, mother fucking c-c-cold." She shivered to herself as she pushed through one last drift.
Looking up past the light she noted no one was on the outside wall.
Couldn't blame em'.
She knew that if anything, all the guards were inside monitoring some of the outside walls on closed circuit. The trick was remembering which walls. Wylie squatted in the snow and closed her eyes looking into her memory trying to pull up the plans for the security system."Think Wylie, think." She tapped the side of her head with a gloved hand trying to get her brains unfrozen.
The plans came to her in a flash. She could remember them clearly. On walls 2, 6, 8, and 10 there were cameras. Wall seven had a trash chute that led into the inner rings of walls. The "walk" area they had called it. If you would consider going outside in below zero temperatures with no shoes and shirt a relaxing walk than sure. The trash chute she decided would be the best way in. not too many guards would see you coming up through a trash chute. She could go up through there and hit one of the outer loading doors. That's where the code would come in. She could remember going out through the door and needing the code to get back in. Not that the wall wasn't monitored in some small way. There were always guards peeping in and out. Always a stray snitch here or there but, dealing with a stray and gaining a quiet entry was much more preferable than hacking her way through a whole crew of guards armed to the teeth.
Wylie shook herself causing the stray bits of snow and ice that had settled on her to fall slowly off, landing soundlessly in the never-ending drifts.
Its funny how you're whole life comes to one moment. One pinprick of absolute clarity. Almost as if you know this is what you were born to do. As if it has been predestined since you were born. That forces….albeit fucked ones have been pulling the strings and guiding you to this one event. The question that keeps running through my head is…What happens when it's all over? Is that it? Have you served your purpose? And if so; do you continue after that?
Moving just outside the ring of light hat the slam walls put off she rounded the corner of wall seven. The trash chute loomed open like a yawning mouth. Wylie squatted in the snow for a moment noting with alarm that she had stopped shaking; that both her hands and feet had gone numb
Doctors will tell you that the human body is the ultimate survivor. The human anatomy is programmed with a self preservation mechanism. When the core temp of your body gets too cold it shuts off the blood flow to all the extremities. In essence preserving you're core. Making sure that your mind, heart and all you're other vital organs get blood and warmth. You're body could care less if you have arms and legs. Arms and legs are not necessary for survival.
She shook herself out of her grim thoughts scanning the top of the wall for any straggling guards. Seeing none, she moved quickly in a crouch towards the opening. Setting both her hands on either side of the cold, metal opening she noted that it curved up. Looking into it she could see no obstructions and knew it to be a straight shot into the "walk' area .She pushed her head in. Wincing at the slimy cavern that had just engulfed her. Moving her shoulders slightly she pushed in with her legs finding there was enough room to turn and even pull her hands from her sides. She braced her boots on either side of the chute and began to climb slowly.
A few moments later Wylie could see the familiar glimmer of the antiquated halogen lights they used to illuminate the inner walls. She stopped for a minute in the chute; her legs shaking form the exertion it took to keep her precarious grip inside the slick tunnel. Shimmying herself up the rest of the way she came out the other side and crouched in the snow breathing heavily. Quickly she looked around.
Quiet. What the hell is goin' on?
She looked towards the door directly in front of her. Its disuse was immediately obvious. There were several inches of snow piled in front of it and there seemed to be no foot prints around the yard. The observation alarmed Wylie. She reached the cool steel door; ice had incrusted the edges. She smoothed her gloved hand over the control panel. Punching in the number she tilted her head listening to the sound of the lock tumble then release. The door opened with a hushed whisper. Her first observation as she stepped into the inky hall was the overpowering smell of death. Wylie put her gloved hand to her nose suppressing a gag. The smell was beyond horrible it reached to the level of nauseating. Death. Old death, new death. Rotting. She tried breathing out of her mouth the smell had locked itself in her nose. She gagged again pushing herself further into the hallway.
The guard room was to her left. Looking into it she found it abandoned. The video screens flashed intermittently bathing the room in black and white contrast. The door hung open, as if someone was in a hurry to leave. She moved farther into the dark hallway feeling the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.
Wylie turned the corner cautiously; pulling out one of her blades as she did so. As she moved towards the holding cells she tripped over something on the floor. The object jarred her out of her thoughts. She bent down. There was a corpse on the floor. By the look of it a few weeks gone. She took her blade and tilted the now rotting head to the side noting the entrance and exit hole of a plasma blast.
Did all the cons revolt? If so where the fuck are they? There is no sound, no footsteps, no yelling, and no noise.
She stepped over the decaying body moving in the direction of Rozemonds quarters. Wylie stopped in front of the door to his office. Her nerves were on end. Everything about this was wrong. Her mind screamed at her not to open the door.
Wylie pressed the control on the door. It slid open with a hiss; the sound rang loudly through the deserted hall. She looked in. The room had not changed since the last time she was here. The same black-market Persian rug. The same statuary and the same overstuffed wing-back chair. She strode over the rug gauging each step as she did so. Moving farther into the room she squinted her eyes against a small reading lamp that was next to the chair. She saw something stir.
Moving around the chair, her eyes grew wide at the scene in front of her.Rozemond sat in the chair. At least what served as Rozemond. His once mighty body was reduced to a skeletal figure. Eyes cloudy and sunken into his skull added to the overall effect. His skin hung in loose flaps around his naked chest. The stench in here was alive. A living breathing thing. She let her eyes roam over the rest of his body. His legs had been loosely draped in a cloth. It did nothing to hide the fact that they had rotted off at the knee laying in a blackened, festering heap at the base of the chair. The infection had moved his way up to his abdomen. She noted the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and over his top lip.
"Come to gloat have you Wylie?" A cracked voice said. The cloudy eyes in the skeletal face rolled up towards hers.
"Good help is so hard to find these days." He laughed. It caused a fit of coughing. He hacked a large black lump up and out of his mouth and spit it to the floor. Blood seeped out of the corner of his lip.
Wylie stood quietly waiting for Rozemond to regain his breath.
"You didn't know?" He tilted his head to the side questioning. The movement made his joints pop with a dry sound. That movement brought on another round of wet laughter.
"I'm guessing that I didnt get any neat fuckin' prizes." She stated sarcastically.
He laughed and shook his head. "Everyone here has Graco plague. Its airborne you know. No cure. I've heard it's similar to leprosy. Fitting that you show up just as the plague should take effect. It's ravenous. It affects the skin working the infection into the inner tissues. I've heard only the very thick skinned can survive."
He cackled madly. "Once infected it takes only a matter of minutes to manifest the first signs. Very painful too. Wondering how I received this little gift? It seems that one of my merks brought it back on the ship with them. "
He moved his head weakly towards her. "Enough about me. I suppose you have come to kill me." Relief shone in his cloudy eyes.
Wylie looked at Rozemond. Listening to his breath rattle in and out of his chest.
"No Rozenond I think this is more fitting than anything I could come up with. Almost justice. Funny how the universe has a way of cleaning itself." Wylie turned and began to walk out of the room.
"You bitch. You bitch. He wheezed. "You never had enough courage to face me. You were always a weak little coward. Just like your mother. And your brother. Simpering little weaklings to the end."
Wylie turned; marching back towards the chair Rozemond sat in. She slammed both her hands down on the arms of the chair and leaned forward.
"I want you to think of me." She said her voice shaking with anger. "Want you to reflect on every fuckin' life you've taken while you slowly rot away. I hope their faces haunt you when you feel the skin side from you body. With no one to hear you cry, no one to slake your thirst, no one to ease your pain."
She glanced down to the table with the lamp on it noting the dull gleam of a knife there. She reached over and picked it up.
"To fuckin' afraid to do yourself Rozemond? How pathetic." She spat. She took the blade and slid it into one of her magnetic holders at her hip.
"I'm going to walk out this door Rozemond. I'm going to take this blade with me. The thought of you're suffering will be something that I will pull around myself at night. Knowing with certainty that the pain you endured in the final days of your life will be pale compared to the grief you inflicted on others. You will cry for god, the devil or any one you can get to listen to you; to ease you're suffering. The hell will be that there will be no one. No. One. "For once in your life," she leaned in close to him. "You will have to face something alone. With out guards, guns, or toys." She pointed at his chest. "You are the coward. Afraid to die after hastily delivering all the others before you. There will be no one to save you, or even hold your hand as you cry out for absolution. Its fitting really; that you should be where I was years ago. Alone, scared, in the dark. Instead of the hands of the guards coming for you its just the hands of the people you have sent into the darkness. Clawing at you as your sanity slowly slips. In the dark," she chuckled. "Everyone's sanity slips slowly."
"Does that scare you Rozemond? I know you still believe in god, even if you made him dead to me. You will die with all the sins of you're past weighting down your soul."
She laughed madly; leveling her mercury gaze with his. "Look at me." She shouted.
Rozemond rolled his white glazed eyes to Wylie's face.
"Have you no compassion? No soul?" He said pleadingly.
She tugged on his shoulders causing him to cough uncontrollably.
"No. I have no compassion, no soul." She shrugged. "You made sure of that. Too bad you did such an excellent job. You beat, kicked, whipped and raped it out of me." She cocked her head to the side, eyes glinting coldly; like the eyes of a snake. "I guess you never expected it to come back and bite you in the ass."
"Look at yourself. Oh how the mighty have fuckin' fallen. A scared little prick of a man. Afraid to take his own life. Hoping that someone would do it for you. Why? Because it's a sin? What's one more?" She asked merrily and laughed again. "If there is a god; you fucking bastard, I will not rob him of his revenge." She pushed herself back from the chair violently. Her eyes never left his face.
She turned and walked to the door.
"The fever." He cackled madly. "That will be the first sign. Then the light. It will burn your eyes."
"Fuck you Rozemond." She said and walked through the door. Turning, she hit the panel for the door to close and jammed the knife into it; sending sparks flying into the dark hallway. The door locked with a hissing finality.
'Hey you." A voice echoed down the hallway.
Wylie turned quickly registering where the voice came from.
Two slam guards walked towards her both with filter masks on their face.
"How did you get out?" They raised their plasma guns in unison.
Wylie sprinted around the corner. She took another left heading towards the landing bays. She could hear footsteps dash towards her.
"Catch her. Catch her. No one leaves. Quarantine."
Wylie could feel her breath burning in and out of her lungs. She began to feel icy rivulets of sweat gather at her temples. She turned yet another corner.
She hit the loading bay door with a dull thud. Her vision began to swim in the abnormal heat. With blurred vision she punched in the code with shaking fingers.
The door took what seemed like an eternity to open. Wylie crouched and scuttled under the door as it began to lift from the floor. Her strength almost gave out. She was now sweating profusely. Her arms shook with the effort it took to push herself up from the floor. She gathered her feet underneath her almost tripping and staggered to the first star-jumper she could find. She raced to the back of the jumper her vision and strength were both fading fast. Behind her she could hear muffled shouts.
It was then she felt a sensation that overcame the fever burning in her body. She looked down to see a neat hole in her side. Just to the right of her hip. She stumbled. Grabbing the wound and pressing her hand against it. The world swam in color as she held her gore soaked hand to her face. Using her bloody hand she depressed the button for the bay door to open on the ship. As the inner gears grinded she flattened herself against the hull of the ship trying to focus on the guards coming at her. Another shot tore through her shoulder dimpling the metal behind her with a squeal. The door opened enough for her to climb through. She hoisted herself up and over the dropping door and slid down the inverted gangway. As she reached the bottom she mashed the button the gears came to a grinding halt and the back of the jumper shuddered; reversing gears and closing the back of the ship.
Wylie gathered the last of her strength limping to the front of the ship and hitting the nav controls. Her vision was too blurred to do much else but set a course to the shipping lanes. Hitting the ignition she felt the ship pull itself from the ground and move out of the hanger. Weakly she steered the ship out of Vesta 5's atmosphere.
She looked down and fell to her knees noting the rhythmic sound her own blood was making on the steel deck of the ship.
Sounds like rain.
Moving her hand to her hip she felt the burning liquid that was tumbling between her fingers. The pain was subsiding leaving her with a tingling emptiness; like a vessel that has just had its contents poured out. Moving her head slowly her vision distorted causing the inside of the ship to look like a watercolor. Everything seemed so disconnected, so far away. She could see an abstract of her ashen face reflected in the pool of quickly congealing blood.
She fought to keep her eyes open, feeling the heat behind them. Her consciousness swam in waves. Her lids closed once, twice and then shut out the burning light.
Fuck you Riddick you were right.
She breathed heavily as she slumped over falling into pool of her own cooling blood.
………………………………............................................................................................................................
Riddick looked into the mutli vid screen on Helion Prime.
"This just in." The announcer spoke in a detached voice. "Vesta 5 has been designated a plague planet."
Riddick's eyes squinted taking in the grainy images displayed on the monitor. Pictures flashed in rapid succession showing one horror after the next. His eyes roamed over the images looking to recognize any of the indistinct blobs.
"Flights coming to Vesta 5 are now asked to immediately change course. Anyone transporting prisoners are asked to detour to Crematoria or Butcher Bay. There are no reported survivors. Clean up crews have now entered the atmosphere and are set to deploy nuclear explosives. Vesta 5 Triple max will be scheduled for reopening in one year's time. In other news…"
Riddick pressed his large hand to the Vid screen; it slowly streaked down where it came to rest at his side. He shook his head and turned away.