Chapter Ten
Less than an hour after the entire colony had heard of the death of seven of the eight men who went deep into the facility, there was another piece of bad news. The reactor, which powered nearly everything in Pheonix, was malfunctioning. It was an old piece of machinery, and it was beginning to overheat. Soon, it would meltdown, and there would be no stopping it.
"Goddamn company," someone said in the cooridor outside Trevor's apartment. "Too fucking cheap to get us a new reactor. Now we're fucked."
Trevor was once again holding a bottle of scotch, taking a few sips every now and then. For the time being, everyone was packing up most of their belongings. There was going to be a mass evacuation. Most people felt almost joyous at the prospect of leaving the God-awful place, while others were almost saddened. Trevor could give a rat's ass.
No one was really worrying about the alien lifeform below their feet during those few hours when everyone was bustling around, carrying boxes, suitcases, and other personal belongings. Everyone was worried about the reactor, which was slowly getting weakened by the stress of it all.
There were only about eighty people in Pheonix, so the evacuation was going to be no problem at all. In the hangar there were four spacecraft. The colonists would be taking three of them, which was more than enough. Those spacecraft had very large cargo holds, and almost enough sleep chambers for everyone. A few people would have to stay awake for the three week trip, but that was no problem for anyone. They were leaving the last ship because it wouldn't be able to sustain more than three people for the journey. It was one of the many things on Donald and Trevor's "To Do List".
Trevor didn't want to leave. He was thinking about Donald, and the other six who were killed by that creature seventeen levels down. No one wanted to go up against that thing. Not that it mattered to anyone anyway. They were all going home.
After the bottle of scotch had been sucked dry, Trevor left his apartment and staggered out into the cooridor. A few people walked by, carrying their luggage. They were going to load it all into the ships.
An hour later, everyone was boarding the three spacecraft. At the same time, seventeen levels below, Trevor Avery was lying passed out in a cooridor, while a mechanical female voice droned, "You now have fifty-seven minutes to reach minimum safe distance."
Trevor had found another supply of scotch and had finished it all off in no time at all. Very drunk and disoriented, he stumbled into a lift and rode it all the way to the bottom. After more than half an hour of wandering, he had just collapsed in the hallway.
When he had awakened, everyone had already left, and the loudspeakers were saying, "You now have thirty-two minutes to reach minimum safe distance." Suddenly filled with panic, Trevor had looked around, desperately trying to figure out where he was. After a few minutes of walking, he had easily found his way and started for a lift.
The rest is history.