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"Waits?" Sterling knocked on Lingard's office door. "I just got a message from Harris. The next trap was set."
"OK," Waits replied, not looking away from Lingard. He let out a sigh. "Guess that means I have to get going."
Lingard nodded. "Good luck. I love you."
They gripped each other's hands tightly. Waits couldn't bear to pull away from her. Eventually, he did, after giving her a kiss on the forehead.
Waits felt empty as he followed Sterling and Lissa out of the hospital, but he managed to refocus himself as they entered the dark hall to the transit station. Something wasn't right out here . . .
A shot went off. Waits grabbed Lissa and Sterling, pushing them behind a couple of heavy-duty trash cans. "Get down!" he yelled, taking out his shotgun.
The helmeted heads of Seegson Security guards appeared from behind random large objects lying on the ground. They lifted revolvers and shotguns, firing in Waits's direction. Using the big plastic cans for cover, Waits emerged once, shooting back at the guards.
Sterling stood up, providing cover fire for Waits. He ducked back down to reload, then popped back up, nailing one of the guards in the head with his first shot.
The halls echoed with shouts and gunshots. Waits got next to Sterling, sliding more shotgun shells into his weapon. He pumped the shotgun, but before he could get back up, Sterling yelled, "Smoke bomb, stay down!"
One of the guards hurled a smoke bomb in their direction. A pale-gray cloud quickly enveloped them. Waits and Sterling shielded Lissa with their own bodies. Coughing, Waits reached into his jacket to pull his undershirt over his nose and mouth. Sterling was already doing the same.
Waits resisted the urge to scream for help. He had to resist so hard, his entire body convulsed. He began shivering, and groaned with the effort of forcing those urges back down his throat.
A clicking sound jerked him from his thoughts. "Get up!" a man's voice snarled.
The smoke had begun clearing, and Waits looked around to see Seegson Security guards surrounding their cover.
"I said, 'get up!'" the guard shouted again.
Waits slowly stood up. He glanced over at Sterling, who stood with his hands away from his guns.
"Who is she?" The guard gestured to Lissa.
"A civilian. Leave her alone," Waits replied.
"Why the fuck are you bringing civvies out here, Waits? You really are insane, aren't you?"
"Why I'm bringing anyone out here is none of your business. Don't even think about dragging her into whatever problem you sons-of-bitches have with me."
"If she's on your side, then she's part of the problem."
From behind the guard, Waits saw Sinclair approaching the group, snarling. "Hey, I told you people we're not negotiating with anyone. Shoot 'em and take their stuff."
"It's Waits!"
"And I told you to shoot the fucker!"
Waits let a heartbeat pass, then turned to tackle the guard nearest to him. The guard's shotgun went off, buckshot peppering the wall harmlessly. The two wrestled on the floor, until the much heavier Waits was on top of the guard. Waits took out his revolver, shoving the barrel against the man's helmet, and firing a single shot. Blood sprayed onto the floor, and Waits swore he saw brain matter, too.
There was a woman's scream. Waits turned to see Sinclair and another guard had taken Lissa. Sinclair was cursing at her, and Lissa was crying, screaming. Waits hated the sound. It speared his brain with the force of the bullet he had just put in the guard, and he stood, growling, "Leave her alone, Goddamn you!"
Sinclair either didn't hear him, or did and just wanted to spite Waits. He shot Lissa in the forehead, and her screams stopped suddenly.
A horrific tearing sensation erupted in Waits's torso. He shouted, and was overcome with the urge to throttle Sinclair by the throat. How could he do this? How?
Sterling cursed when his shotgun ran out of ammunition, then swung it like a baseball bat at Sinclair. The muzzle of the weapon caught the back of Sinclair's head, and he fell, unconscious. Blood trickled down from under his helmet. "Come on!" Sterling yelled, grabbing Waits's arm. He dragged the older man toward the transit. "Go! Run, mate!"
They abruptly realized that the guards had grabbed Sinclair and were running off in their own direction, toward San Cristobal.
"No! Lingard! Lingard!" Waits howled.
"We don't have enough ammunition to fight all of them!" Sterling shouted.
"They're gonna kill her!"
"She's a doctor! They'll most likely force her to work with them to treat injuries!"
A lump rose in Waits's throat, and he let out a sob. Tears dripped to the floor, and something else did, too, from above them. Something clear and thick.
"Oh, God," Sterling whispered, breathlessly. "It's-"
He pushed Waits toward the transit stop when he heard the alien hiss and screech. Then the bladed tip of the creature's tail shoved its way through Sterling's back. Waits felt sick as he heard bones snap and organs rupture. Sterling hollered in pain. His body trembled, and blood exploded from the wound as his heart was pierced. He struggled to breathe. Blood was cascading down his uniform, then the creature withdrew its tail. Sterling stood for a moment, on the border of life and death, closer to death. His violet eyes stared blankly at Waits before he collapsed.
"No . . ." Waits wanted to throw up. He had nothing in his stomach to expel.
The creature, perched on a pipe below the ceiling, turned its eyeless head to Waits. It appeared to be grinning, and Waits paled, feeling his empty stomach clench and heave. He could see the transit car doors from the corner of his eye, and dashed toward them, leaving Sterling's corpse.
When the doors closed behind him, Waits grew more dizzy. He gripped the railing, and slowly lowered himself into a seat. He couldn't believe what just happened. Not that long ago, Sterling and Lissa were with him, alive. He couldn't believe Sinclair just killed Lissa in cold blood. He couldn't believe that creature had killed Sterling. He couldn't believe he was the only one left alive.
Waits could hardly stand with the horrible clenching feeling in his stomach. When the transit stopped in the habitation towers, he was still in shock that he had left with two people by his side, and now he was alone. He was racked with grief. Grief, shock, horror. Emotions he couldn't decipher at the moment.
The doors opened, and Waits staggered out of the transit car. He didn't know how to tell the others what happened. His whole body ached. His insides ached, starting in his core and spreading to his extremities, coursing like the blood in his veins.
He had gotten to know Lissa over the last several weeks. She was an electrician, who met her husband on Sevastopol. It was a small wedding, not very fancy, but none of that mattered as they loved each other. They planned on having kids when they were in a more stable place. With that no longer an option, Waits had asked her what she would do when everyone finally got off Sevastopol.
"I don't know," she had said. "I didn't . . . anticipate this happening."
Waits nodded. "I really am sorry this happened to you." He offered a hand of support, and Lissa took it, giving it a gentle squeeze.
It would be awhile before he opened up about himself with her. He felt like she needed a friend, someone to pull her through this situation.
"Is there . . . someone you love, Marshal?" she asked late one night.
Waits glanced at her, eyes bloodshot and lined with dark circles. "Why do you ask?"
"Curious. You have that look like . . . you're thinking about someone. You have this look of longing."
"Well, if you really want to know, yes, I've got someone I really like. She works in San Cristobal. We met about two-and-a-half years ago. Didn't instantly fall in love. It was gradual. We just . . . started liking each other, became friends, had some things in common." Waits gave a silent sigh. "Never met anyone like her, and . . . it hurts not being able to be near her."
"I can understand that," Lissa said.
Waits slowly became more comfortable talking with Lissa about his relationship. When they managed to get off Sevastopol, he considered taking her with him and Lingard to Gateway, to help her. Now, that wasn't happening. The pain in his chest worsened when he realized he wouldn't have her company in the Bureau anymore.
Or Sterling's.
He found it hard to believe that he once thought of Sterling as the biggest mole in the Bureau. Sure, Sterling did give things to Ransome that he shouldn't have, but at least he regretted his actions and proved his loyalty. Over the last several weeks, Waits had found that there were some who weren't loyal. Ross, for instance. He ditched everyone after a riot down in the terminals. If Sterling was a real rat, he would've left, too. He had a hundred options to leave, but he never took any. Sterling was resourceful, and looking to make up for his actions in the past. He led the hunt to arrest Marlow's crew.
Waits couldn't do it himself. He was afraid that if he saw Marlow or any of his crew members, he'd beat them for bringing that creature onboard the station. It wasn't easy for Waits to even look at them when Sterling brought them into the cells.
He continued to trust Sterling, even named Sterling his deputy just the week before. Now? He wasn't entirely sure who would be named in Sterling's place. Probably Ricardo, based on seniority.
Standing alone in the elevator, Waits wanted to throw up. A part of him felt like throwing up would get rid of all these painful feelings, but he knew it wouldn't. It would change nothing.
The elevator stopped, and Waits forced himself to leave, a dull ache continuing to pulse through his body. He felt like someone had taken a wrench to his stomach, twisted it hard, and left it there. His heart, too, hurt. He just couldn't believe Sterling and Lissa were gone.
I couldn't save them, could I? Waits swallowed hard, tears welling up. There had to be something I could've done!
When he entered the Bureau, alone, the other Marshals turned to face him. Waits struggled not to look broken, defeated, but he couldn't break the news without tearing up. "Sinclair . . . shot Lissa. That creature . . . killed Sterling."
Unable to face anyone, Waits disappeared into his office.
To: Mrs. Esmeralda Gorman; Deerfield, Massachusetts, USA; Earth
From: Marshal Jethro Waits; Sevastopol Station, KG-348 orbit; Zeta Reticuli System
Subject: Lost
Em,
It might be awhile before you get this message. At the time I'm writing this, long-range comms are down. I'm going to send this anyway. I don't know why, though. I'm starting to feel powerless.
I don't know when I'll get out of this. This is starting to wear on me.
I don't want you to panic when you get this. Hopefully, when you do get this, I'll be on my way home, and I can put this behind me. Just a nightmare. This'll all just be a nightmare.
I hope everything's going OK with you. I miss you. How's Micah doing? And his wife? I still wish I had gone to the wedding. I hope I can be there when they have kids. After this, I think I'm ready to be on the list of babysitters for them. No, I can't promise I won't swear around the kids. I just want them to remember me. I want to make up for so much lost time.
Don't worry, Em. I'll be home soon.
Love, Jethro
Waits's throat closed after sending his message to Esmeralda. He would rather deal with Ashton's crap than this. He would rather deal with anything than this.
For the next few hours, Waits tried to compose himself. He waged a war within himself. I can't break now. I have to keep fighting. I have to kill that creature and restore order. Son-of-a-bitch won't kill himself. Unless it's got a short fucking lifespan. Oh, God, I can only hope . . . but I can't bank on that.
He didn't have a lot of explosives left, nor did he know how to make more. That was all Sterling. He'd have to find someone else to-
Something flashed on his computer. For a moment, Waits wondered if it was from Esmeralda. Had long-range comms restored on their own?
They hadn't. The message was from Lingard.
"Waits, I need help. Sinclair's men took all the IV drip bags after the shootout. The patients . . . Either Sinclair or that creature killed them. All of them. We can't stay here anymore. I ran out of ammunition trying to protect the patients. I'm an awful shot, Waits, I'm sorry. Morley and I have to leave. Please, come help."
Waits had known this message would come. He hoped it wouldn't, but somehow he knew it would.
Without a second thought, Waits sent a reply.
"Lingard, hold tight. Don't move unless you have to. I'll be right there, sweetheart."
Waits slung a freshly loaded shotgun over his shoulder before checking his revolver. He hadn't reloaded it since coming back from the fight that cost him Lissa and Sterling. One bullet was missing. The bullet he used to kill the guard he pinned to the floor. Waits slid another bullet into the cylinder, then pushed the cylinder closed, sighing. He was prepared to tear through anyone who got in the way of rescuing Lingard. Rage had overtaken his depression, and he could feel a fire growing hotter and hotter in the center of his empty stomach.
He left the Bureau while still putting his equipment together. He knew he'd feel better with Lingard here. She would be safe. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. He couldn't. If anything happened, he would never be able to forgive himself. Not for the rest of his life.
Standing in the elevator, Waits adjusted the knobs on the motion tracker. The same tracker Sterling had carried. He tried not to think too hard about Sterling, but that was impossible given how fresh the younger man's death was in his mind.
His fight against the creature became more personal as he thought about it. He loathed the thing, and he loathed Marlow as well. Marlow knew something had happened when that spider-like creature had broke through his wife's helmet to latch itself to her face. He knew and he didn't say a word when he contacted Sevastopol.
Waits felt sick thinking about it. He felt sick knowing Sinclair had let these people through.
Leaving the elevator, Waits's ears pricked when he heard the uncomfortably familiar hiss of the creature nearby. OK, at least it's not in San Cristobal. I have to beat it to San Cristobal. I can't let it follow me to San Cristobal. Waits wouldn't deny the creature had some level of intelligence. It somehow evaded the traps he set, but Waits wasn't sure if that was intelligence or dumb luck.
He didn't care, but he knew he needed to outsmart the creature.
His blood froze when he approached the transit car, seeing the alien's tail moving inside. Waits spotted a mangled corpse lying half on the benches and half on the floor of the car. Some poor soul had gotten trapped in there with that thing.
The creature turned to look at Waits through the window. He wondered if it was capable of recognizing him, but he didn't wonder for much longer. He needed to trap somewhere.
The mall would've been an easy spot were it not for the people now camped in there. He glanced down the line of cars behind the one the corpse was in. Each car was connected to each other with cables and emergency exit doors. Waits looked back at the creature, and whistled at it like he would a dog. "Hey, there, motherfucker. Come on . . . I'm right here . . ." He began walking toward one of the cars toward the end of the train.
Hissing, the creature actually began following him. Waits had his shotgun ready, in case the alien lunged at him. He occasionally glanced at the doors of the cars, but kept his eyes mostly locked on the creature. He was amazed it hadn't lunged already. It seemed curious, but was also wary of the weapon in Waits's hands.
A part of Waits wanted to shoot now, but he was afraid of missing, or the creature's blood damaging the transit. He restrained himself, though it took what little physical strength he had left.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Human movement. He glanced to see some of the survivors from the mall, and so did the creature. He opened his mouth to tell them to run and hide, but a shot rang out above his head. They were shooting at him.
Shit! Waits ducked into one of the transit cars. The alien shrieked and dashed toward the survivors. "Oh, no . . ." he moaned. "God, no." He could hear screams of pain, but before he could try to help, the doors of the transit car shut, and the car lurched forward, toward San Cristobal.
Sitting on a bench and gripping a railing, Waits cursed himself for not being able to help the other survivors. They shot at him, sure, but they didn't deserve to be slaughtered like that by the creature. He still felt like they were under his protection, and he failed to protect them.
Waits wanted to dismiss this all as a bad day, but it wasn't just a bad day. It was more than that. It was so much worse.
He heard a horrific screeching sound, and felt the train begin to lurch. The sound ripped through his brain like the creature's claws, and he nearly fell on his knees, covering his ears.
The train stopped hard, knocking Waits off-balance. He grabbed the railing on the side of a bench, and forced himself upright.
The lights in the car dimmed. Waits blinked, feeling his eyes start adjusting to the darkness. The transit stopped . . . are we at SciMed?
Looking out the windows, all he saw was pitch-black. No signs. No light. Nothing.
Waits suddenly found it difficult to breathe. He was shaking, and a cold bead of sweat ran down the side of his head. Jesus . . . God, I'm stuck in the tunnel!
The talons of anxiety gripped him as he made his way down to the last car pointed toward SciMed. He was nauseated, but had nothing to throw up. The nausea was so intense, it was difficult to stand. Waits took a deep breath, and grabbed the door handle to get himself out of the train altogether. He wasn't sure how far he had to walk, but he could tell from the sheer darkness that he was nowhere near the end of the tunnel.
A thought surfaced. The transit outage could only be temporary. It could start back up while Waits was walking, and run him over. Then again, what if it wasn't temporary? Swallowing, Waits decided he would take that risk.
He took his flashlight from his belt. The light offered some comfort, but it wasn't enough to split the darkness all the way to the end of the tunnel. He could see there was more darkness ahead, like a black curtain.
He doubted the creature had gotten in here. It was too busy with that group of survivors to notice Waits disappeared. Plus, there was no way it was smart enough to figure out how to use the transit system. Was it? Waits didn't want to think about it.
Waits's shivering gradually changed from that of anxiety to genuine cold as he headed down the tunnel. He adjusted his jacket, pulling the collar up to shield the back of his neck from the icy draft. His muscles tensed, but he kept walking, trying to keep his blood moving.
He tried thinking of Lingard. She was always cold at night. Whenever he sensed her start to shiver, he would pull her closer, hugging her. "Better?" he'd whisper.
She nodded.
"OK." Waits adjusted the blankets, pulling them up to Lingard's cheek. No further words were said. He was glad she was safe, and warm, and comfortable.
He sighed, thinking about her, thinking about all the nights they cuddled together, thinking about all their talks together. Everything they experienced together.
He let his mind wander as he kept walking. Thinking about Lingard kept him calm. He remained focused on those thoughts. A gentle warmth spread around him, and he swallowed past his nerves and nausea. Lingard needs you. You need to keep going. You can't quit now.
He wasn't thinking about anything else. Just the drive to make sure she was safe.
Question: How might the events of Isolation play out differently if Sterling had survived and remained Waits's deputy?
