Disclaimer: See chapter one.
Thanks to kas7, Teresa, dolphinology, KatKnits00, sara, pari106 and Diena for their lovely reviews.
kas7: yeah, scary is the idea. Not sure how good I am at it, though...
KatKnits00: your logic is impeccable ; ).
Diena: hope you weren't disappointed when you actually read the story!
Cabin Fever
Chapter Two
The smell was the first thing that hit Lucas. It had been pretty bad when he was still in the shuttle, but once he stepped into the darkness of the room beyond it became overpowering. It was almost like the air was alive, thick and viscous like liquid. Air is a liquid, he reminded himself, concentrating on science and trying not to breathe.
He was momentarily dazzled by the beam of Commander Hitchcock's flashlight. "Pretty bad, huh," she remarked calmly. Lucas nodded, coughing. Every breath felt like a violation. "Come on," the Commander put her hand on his shoulder. "Let's get this generator running and get out of here." She propelled him forward through the darkness, and the beams of their flashlights cast menacing shadows into the corners of the room. For all his talk about ghosts before, Lucas felt suddenly afraid. As if something was watching them.
They found the generator without too much trouble, and knelt down beside it to inspect the damage. It looked like somebody had taken a baseball bat to it. Still, it was definitely fixable. As they set to work, Lucas felt his fears dissipate. This was just a plain old generator. Nothing spooky about it at all.
"Damn," he said after about half an hour. Hitchcock paused in her adjustments.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice tense.
"I can't find the right size screwdriver. I know I brought it. I must have left it back at the shuttle."
"We'll go and get it," the Commander said, starting to extricate herself from the generator.
"No, that's OK," Lucas said, standing up. "I can get it myself."
"Are you sure?" Hitchcock asked.
"Yeah. No point both of us going. This way we'll be done quicker." And out of this stink, he added mentally, his brain starting to register the foul air again now that his concentration was broken.
He made his way back to the shuttle, thinking about the problems of fixing the generator. He didn't have all the parts they needed, but he was pretty sure he could improvise. At least it was challenging. Stepping inside the shuttle he began to search for the screwdriver, and eventually found it under one of the seats in the passenger compartment. He banged his head sitting back up again, and rubbed it ruefully.
On his way back to the generator, he was wondering what he could use to seal a holed pipe when he thought he heard a noise behind him. He froze, feeling his stomach lurch, and was suddenly sharply aware of all the things he had forgotten about in his concentration. The silence was absolute. He couldn't hear Hitchcock. Not even the sound of dripping water broke the stillness. Lucas listened, hard. He hadn't really heard anything. It was just his imagination – right? The silence began to be oppressive, filling Lucas' head until his ears began to hurt. He'd never know silence could be so loud.
He turned, sharply, shining the beam of the flashlight back the way he had come. There was nothing there. The corridor was empty. Of course. Nothing there, you fool, he reprimanded himself. Man, Bridger would be laughing his ass off if he could see you now. He swallowed, hard, and ran his hand through his hair. Then all the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.
There was someone behind him.
He could feel a malevolent presence in the corridor behind him. He didn't want to turn round. But knowing it was there without being able to see it was even worse. Tensing himself, he turned.
There was nothing there.
Lucas' shoulders sagged in relief. Stop being such a big baby, he told himself. You know all about the power of suggestion. Stop falling for it. He tried to ignore the flickering shadows that the beam of the flashlight created at the edges of his vision and started forward again, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.
Ten minutes later, Lucas had to admit he was lost. He had seen the plans for the base back in the shuttle, and knew it wasn't big. How, then, had he managed to get lost? He shook his head, perplexed. He was in some kind of dormitory: six bunks, in three sets of two, took up most of the space in the tiny room. None was occupied. There was no other exit except the one he had come in by. Sighing, he turned to go.
He retraced his steps with a feeling of growing unease in the pit of his stomach. The silence was still oppressive. And was it his imagination, or was the smell getting worse? Your imagination, he decided. Dad always said you had too much of it.
Up ahead of him he saw the room he was sure contained the generator. The doorway was black and gaping, but he was determined not to think about how much it looked like a mouth. He stepped through, only to stop dead in his tracks.
He was in the bedroom again.
Lucas couldn't believe it. He knew he'd taken a different route this time – how had he ended up back here? Suddenly the empty bunks, which before had seemed simply mundane, took on a more menacing aspect. He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned swiftly: nothing. In a panic, he turned 360 degrees, sweeping his flashlight across the whole room. There was nothing there – nothing but him and the beds. He stood still, listening. His breathing sounded loud in the stillness. He concentrated on making it quieter. Why? the rational side of his brain asked. It's not like anyone's going to hear you. But he did it all the same.
OK, let's think about this logically. You obviously don't know the way to the generator, so let's go back to the shuttle and check the plans there. Pleased to have a plan of action, and looking forward to the light and warmth of the shuttle, Lucas set off, retracing his steps once more. After a few minutes he saw the door that led to the docking bay ahead of him and quickened his step, smiling with relief. In his confidence he stumbled over the sill of the doorway and dropped the flashlight.
It went out.
Struggling to his feet, he realised in dismay that he was not in the docking bay. There was no light coming from the open door of the shuttle. In fact, there was no light at all. He had used the term 'pitch black' many times in his life, but he had never experienced the reality until now.
Dropping to his knees, he began to feel for the flashlight. The darkness was disconcerting. He realised he didn't know whether his eyes were open or shut, and this disturbed him for some reason. If it wasn't for the stench that still filled the air and the feeling of the metal deck beneath him, he wouldn't have been sure he was alive at all. Once more, he had the feeling – stronger now – that the blackness was somehow alive.
His fingers brushed the flashlight and he grabbed it greedily, clasping it close to him like some kind of talisman against the dark. He gave it an experimental tap. Nothing happened. Then he froze.
Something had brushed the back of his neck.
He felt his mouth go dry. You just imagined it, the rational side of his brain assured him. Get the flashlight working and get back to the shuttle. Forcing his sweat-slick fingers to work, he began to prise the casing of the flashlight open. He was beset suddenly by a suffocating feeling of claustrophobia. Don't be ridiculous, his rational brain said. You're a submariner. How could you be claustrophobic? But the rest of him didn't answer, it was too busy curled up in a corner somewhere sobbing.
Because the darkness was breathing.
Thanks to kas7, Teresa, dolphinology, KatKnits00, sara, pari106 and Diena for their lovely reviews.
kas7: yeah, scary is the idea. Not sure how good I am at it, though...
KatKnits00: your logic is impeccable ; ).
Diena: hope you weren't disappointed when you actually read the story!
Cabin Fever
Chapter Two
The smell was the first thing that hit Lucas. It had been pretty bad when he was still in the shuttle, but once he stepped into the darkness of the room beyond it became overpowering. It was almost like the air was alive, thick and viscous like liquid. Air is a liquid, he reminded himself, concentrating on science and trying not to breathe.
He was momentarily dazzled by the beam of Commander Hitchcock's flashlight. "Pretty bad, huh," she remarked calmly. Lucas nodded, coughing. Every breath felt like a violation. "Come on," the Commander put her hand on his shoulder. "Let's get this generator running and get out of here." She propelled him forward through the darkness, and the beams of their flashlights cast menacing shadows into the corners of the room. For all his talk about ghosts before, Lucas felt suddenly afraid. As if something was watching them.
They found the generator without too much trouble, and knelt down beside it to inspect the damage. It looked like somebody had taken a baseball bat to it. Still, it was definitely fixable. As they set to work, Lucas felt his fears dissipate. This was just a plain old generator. Nothing spooky about it at all.
"Damn," he said after about half an hour. Hitchcock paused in her adjustments.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice tense.
"I can't find the right size screwdriver. I know I brought it. I must have left it back at the shuttle."
"We'll go and get it," the Commander said, starting to extricate herself from the generator.
"No, that's OK," Lucas said, standing up. "I can get it myself."
"Are you sure?" Hitchcock asked.
"Yeah. No point both of us going. This way we'll be done quicker." And out of this stink, he added mentally, his brain starting to register the foul air again now that his concentration was broken.
He made his way back to the shuttle, thinking about the problems of fixing the generator. He didn't have all the parts they needed, but he was pretty sure he could improvise. At least it was challenging. Stepping inside the shuttle he began to search for the screwdriver, and eventually found it under one of the seats in the passenger compartment. He banged his head sitting back up again, and rubbed it ruefully.
On his way back to the generator, he was wondering what he could use to seal a holed pipe when he thought he heard a noise behind him. He froze, feeling his stomach lurch, and was suddenly sharply aware of all the things he had forgotten about in his concentration. The silence was absolute. He couldn't hear Hitchcock. Not even the sound of dripping water broke the stillness. Lucas listened, hard. He hadn't really heard anything. It was just his imagination – right? The silence began to be oppressive, filling Lucas' head until his ears began to hurt. He'd never know silence could be so loud.
He turned, sharply, shining the beam of the flashlight back the way he had come. There was nothing there. The corridor was empty. Of course. Nothing there, you fool, he reprimanded himself. Man, Bridger would be laughing his ass off if he could see you now. He swallowed, hard, and ran his hand through his hair. Then all the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.
There was someone behind him.
He could feel a malevolent presence in the corridor behind him. He didn't want to turn round. But knowing it was there without being able to see it was even worse. Tensing himself, he turned.
There was nothing there.
Lucas' shoulders sagged in relief. Stop being such a big baby, he told himself. You know all about the power of suggestion. Stop falling for it. He tried to ignore the flickering shadows that the beam of the flashlight created at the edges of his vision and started forward again, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.
Ten minutes later, Lucas had to admit he was lost. He had seen the plans for the base back in the shuttle, and knew it wasn't big. How, then, had he managed to get lost? He shook his head, perplexed. He was in some kind of dormitory: six bunks, in three sets of two, took up most of the space in the tiny room. None was occupied. There was no other exit except the one he had come in by. Sighing, he turned to go.
He retraced his steps with a feeling of growing unease in the pit of his stomach. The silence was still oppressive. And was it his imagination, or was the smell getting worse? Your imagination, he decided. Dad always said you had too much of it.
Up ahead of him he saw the room he was sure contained the generator. The doorway was black and gaping, but he was determined not to think about how much it looked like a mouth. He stepped through, only to stop dead in his tracks.
He was in the bedroom again.
Lucas couldn't believe it. He knew he'd taken a different route this time – how had he ended up back here? Suddenly the empty bunks, which before had seemed simply mundane, took on a more menacing aspect. He thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned swiftly: nothing. In a panic, he turned 360 degrees, sweeping his flashlight across the whole room. There was nothing there – nothing but him and the beds. He stood still, listening. His breathing sounded loud in the stillness. He concentrated on making it quieter. Why? the rational side of his brain asked. It's not like anyone's going to hear you. But he did it all the same.
OK, let's think about this logically. You obviously don't know the way to the generator, so let's go back to the shuttle and check the plans there. Pleased to have a plan of action, and looking forward to the light and warmth of the shuttle, Lucas set off, retracing his steps once more. After a few minutes he saw the door that led to the docking bay ahead of him and quickened his step, smiling with relief. In his confidence he stumbled over the sill of the doorway and dropped the flashlight.
It went out.
Struggling to his feet, he realised in dismay that he was not in the docking bay. There was no light coming from the open door of the shuttle. In fact, there was no light at all. He had used the term 'pitch black' many times in his life, but he had never experienced the reality until now.
Dropping to his knees, he began to feel for the flashlight. The darkness was disconcerting. He realised he didn't know whether his eyes were open or shut, and this disturbed him for some reason. If it wasn't for the stench that still filled the air and the feeling of the metal deck beneath him, he wouldn't have been sure he was alive at all. Once more, he had the feeling – stronger now – that the blackness was somehow alive.
His fingers brushed the flashlight and he grabbed it greedily, clasping it close to him like some kind of talisman against the dark. He gave it an experimental tap. Nothing happened. Then he froze.
Something had brushed the back of his neck.
He felt his mouth go dry. You just imagined it, the rational side of his brain assured him. Get the flashlight working and get back to the shuttle. Forcing his sweat-slick fingers to work, he began to prise the casing of the flashlight open. He was beset suddenly by a suffocating feeling of claustrophobia. Don't be ridiculous, his rational brain said. You're a submariner. How could you be claustrophobic? But the rest of him didn't answer, it was too busy curled up in a corner somewhere sobbing.
Because the darkness was breathing.