See chapter one for disclaimer.
Many thanks go out to KatKnits00, sara, Teresa, kas7, Yury (x2!), pari106, dolphinology, TeacherTam and the lurker.
This is not the best chapter ever, and I may rewrite it, so if you have any suggestions, fire away!
Cabin Fever
Chapter 4
Hitchcock inspected the casing of the generator and nodded in satisfaction. Crawling out from underneath it, she stretched her cramped muscles and flipped the switch.
Nothing happened.
Cursing under her breath, Hitchcock aimed a judicious kick at the contraption. The stubbed toe brought tears to her eyes, but after a moment the machine spluttered, and coughed into life with a rattling roar. A slow smile spread across Hitchcock's face. "Good old frontier engineering."
The base lights flickered back on. Momentarily blinded, Hitchcock covered her eyes with her hands.
That was when she heard the scream.
She froze, and the sweat that was dripping down her back seemed all of a sudden to turn to ice. Lucas! She was running before her brain had even started to process the information. What trouble could he possibly have got into down here? Probably just a practical joke, she reassured herself as she ran. And when I find him, I'm going to kill him for scaring me like this.
And finding him wouldn't take long; after all, it wasn't like the base was particularly large. In fact, now that the lights were on it seemed pretty cramped – the ceilings were low and the corridors narrow. Funny how the mind can play tricks on you, Hitchcock reflected as she ran, remembering the impression of echoing emptiness she'd had when she'd passed through them in the dark.
She found Lucas in the store-room, crouched in the far corner. A rotting corpse, revealed now in all its glory in the harsh glare of the strip lights, lay between her and him.
"Lucas?" she said, taking a step into the room. The boy didn't speak, or even move. As if he hadn't heard her. She stepped carefully around the room's other occupant, covering the lower half of her face with her hand and trying to breath through her mouth. She hoped fervently that the air recycling system would kick in soon.
"Lucas?" she said again, crouching down by the boy and looking into his face. He stared back at her, no, through her, his eyes blank. There was no spark of recognition in his face. He was crouching with his back to the wall, one arm wrapped around his knees, the other extended stiffly in front of him. Hitchcock noticed that his forearm and hand were glistening in the light, as if they were covered with some liquid. Here and there, little chunks of... something were attached to the arm. Hitchcock didn't want to think about what it might be.
She turned her attention away from the teenager's arm, and back to his face. "Lucas," she said gently, touching his shoulder, "what's wrong?" There was no response. Her concern was beginning to turn into alarm. "Lucas?" She shook him. His body moved bonelessly in her grip, like a rag- doll. But his face was still empty.
Hitchcock began to feel panic rising in her throat. She forced it down. Stay calm. But it wasn't so easy. If Lucas had been obviously injured, that would have been one thing, but this... this was downright creepy.
"Come on, Lucas, stop screwing around," she pleaded, and as a last resort, she slapped him. His head snapped round with the force of the blow, which was harder than she'd intended it to be. And then he turned to look at her, and she saw understanding return to his eyes.
"Ow," he said, ruefully rubbing his cheek. She noticed that he used his clean hand.
Hitchcock sighed with relief, and sat back on her haunches. "Jesus, you had me scared for a minute."
Lucas stared at her, frowning. "What's going on?"
Hitchcock shook her head. "I was hoping you could tell me that. I heard you scream. What happened?"
Lucas' frown deepened, then his gaze fell on his outstretched hand. All at once, the blood seemed to drain from his face. He looked past Hitchcock at the bundle of blackened flesh that lay in the centre of the room and swallowed, hard.
"Can we get out of here now please?" he asked, and his voice was hardly more then a whisper.
Hitchcock watched him for a moment, trying to understand what was going through his head. The she nodded once, and stood up, extending a hand to help him. "I think that's the best idea I've heard all day."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Dr. Westphalen put her hands on her hips and glared. Bridger found himself relieved that, for once, that look was not directed at him.
"If you think you're just going to waltz straight back to work after an incident like that, you've got another think coming," she said firmly.
Lucas glared back, and Bridger was now relieved on two counts. "What 'incident'? I was just a little freaked out!"
Westphalen raised her eyebrows. "It's called 'shock'. To be more precise, in your case it's called 'catatonic shock'."
"Oh please," Lucas snorted.
"Don't you take that tone with me young man," Westphalen said, her voice becoming more and more clipped. "You are not moving from this Med Bay until I am satisfied that you're fully recovered."
Lucas shook his head angrily. "We're on a submarine, for God's sake! Where am I going to go?" His pitch was rising. Westphalen started to tap her foot, but didn't reply. Lucas turned to Bridger, his face pleading. "Captain?"
Bridger shook his head. "I'm sorry, kiddo. The chief medical officer's decision is final in health matters."
For a moment, the teenager just stared at him, his face a picture of betrayal. Then his mouth snapped shut and he turned back to Westphalen. "Fine, OK, whatever," he said bitterly. "Can I at least have my computer?"
Bridger opened his mouth, but the doctor beat him to it. "Absolutely not," she said crisply. "Bed rest means bed rest."
Lucas' eyes flashed, and Bridger sighed. It looked like it was going to be a long argument.
Jane Monaghan sighed and stretched, rubbing her eyes. The science lab was deserted at this time of night, and the dim lighting of ship's night created deep shadows between the rows of work-stations. Monaghan leaned forward again to examine her samples, and felt her shoulder muscles complain. Bed would be pretty good right now, she thought longingly. Still, she had to get the samples done by the morning or her project manager would go ballistic. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, it was her own fault that she was still working on them when everyone else had long since finished and gone to bed. If she hadn't spent the last few days being so distracted by a handsome young ensign down in Engineering...
A smile touched the corners of her lips, and she leaned her chin on her hand, lost in her daydream. James. What a lovely name. James, James, James...
Something fell off a shelf behind her. She jumped, startled, and turned quickly round. The science lab was empty and silent, except for the reassuring deep hum of the ship's engines. She sighed, shaking her head at herself. Stop mooning around and get working, otherwise you're never going to get to bed.
She leaned over the samples again, blinking a couple of times to get her tired eyes to focus properly. Staying up late was not one of her strong suits. But just as her brain was beginning to re-engage, she heard another noise.
This one sounded like a footstep.
Monaghan froze, terrified. She turned round slowly, hardly daring to look. The lab behind her was empty, but it seemed to have transformed from the friendly, reassuring place where she worked every day to a strange landscape of dim, half-guessed forms and monstrous shadows.
"Hello?" she said, and flushed to hear the tremble in her voice. Jesus Christ, two little noises and you turn straight back into a frightened six- year-old, she admonished herself, but her heart continued to race as she stood up and slowly walked over in the direction the noises had come from. "Is anyone there?"
There was no answer. She stepped quickly around the row of workstations and looked down the next aisle. It was dark and empty, except for the abandoned lab stools. Monaghan sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. I am never working this late again, no matter how many cute ensigns ask me out. She stood for a moment, staring at the strange shadows her desk lamp cast on the laboratory wall. Then her mouth went dry.
One of the shadows was moving.
She turned sharply, and as she did she heard a sharp click from the direction of her workstation. The desk lamp went out, and everything was plunged into gloomy half-light. But somewhere over there a dim silhouette was moving.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Monaghan did her best to ignore the babbling of her brain and think rationally. She'd seen enough horror movies to know exactly what not to do in a situation like this. Quietly, she started to move towards the door.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
She had only taken a couple of steps when she tripped over a lab stool, stumbling heavily but catching herself before she fell. The stool, however, went crashing to the floor with a harsh clatter of metal on metal. For a moment, Monaghan was paralysed with fear. Then she straightened, slowly and carefully, and scanned the room, listening hard for any noises above the ever-present humming. Where is he?
Ohmygod, I don't want to die, please God I know I'm not a good Christian but I promise to believe in you if you'll just let me live.
As her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness she could see any number of bulky shapes that could be him. None of them were moving.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Then she finally heard a noise, and she knew exactly where he was.
He was standing right behind her.
Many thanks go out to KatKnits00, sara, Teresa, kas7, Yury (x2!), pari106, dolphinology, TeacherTam and the lurker.
This is not the best chapter ever, and I may rewrite it, so if you have any suggestions, fire away!
Cabin Fever
Chapter 4
Hitchcock inspected the casing of the generator and nodded in satisfaction. Crawling out from underneath it, she stretched her cramped muscles and flipped the switch.
Nothing happened.
Cursing under her breath, Hitchcock aimed a judicious kick at the contraption. The stubbed toe brought tears to her eyes, but after a moment the machine spluttered, and coughed into life with a rattling roar. A slow smile spread across Hitchcock's face. "Good old frontier engineering."
The base lights flickered back on. Momentarily blinded, Hitchcock covered her eyes with her hands.
That was when she heard the scream.
She froze, and the sweat that was dripping down her back seemed all of a sudden to turn to ice. Lucas! She was running before her brain had even started to process the information. What trouble could he possibly have got into down here? Probably just a practical joke, she reassured herself as she ran. And when I find him, I'm going to kill him for scaring me like this.
And finding him wouldn't take long; after all, it wasn't like the base was particularly large. In fact, now that the lights were on it seemed pretty cramped – the ceilings were low and the corridors narrow. Funny how the mind can play tricks on you, Hitchcock reflected as she ran, remembering the impression of echoing emptiness she'd had when she'd passed through them in the dark.
She found Lucas in the store-room, crouched in the far corner. A rotting corpse, revealed now in all its glory in the harsh glare of the strip lights, lay between her and him.
"Lucas?" she said, taking a step into the room. The boy didn't speak, or even move. As if he hadn't heard her. She stepped carefully around the room's other occupant, covering the lower half of her face with her hand and trying to breath through her mouth. She hoped fervently that the air recycling system would kick in soon.
"Lucas?" she said again, crouching down by the boy and looking into his face. He stared back at her, no, through her, his eyes blank. There was no spark of recognition in his face. He was crouching with his back to the wall, one arm wrapped around his knees, the other extended stiffly in front of him. Hitchcock noticed that his forearm and hand were glistening in the light, as if they were covered with some liquid. Here and there, little chunks of... something were attached to the arm. Hitchcock didn't want to think about what it might be.
She turned her attention away from the teenager's arm, and back to his face. "Lucas," she said gently, touching his shoulder, "what's wrong?" There was no response. Her concern was beginning to turn into alarm. "Lucas?" She shook him. His body moved bonelessly in her grip, like a rag- doll. But his face was still empty.
Hitchcock began to feel panic rising in her throat. She forced it down. Stay calm. But it wasn't so easy. If Lucas had been obviously injured, that would have been one thing, but this... this was downright creepy.
"Come on, Lucas, stop screwing around," she pleaded, and as a last resort, she slapped him. His head snapped round with the force of the blow, which was harder than she'd intended it to be. And then he turned to look at her, and she saw understanding return to his eyes.
"Ow," he said, ruefully rubbing his cheek. She noticed that he used his clean hand.
Hitchcock sighed with relief, and sat back on her haunches. "Jesus, you had me scared for a minute."
Lucas stared at her, frowning. "What's going on?"
Hitchcock shook her head. "I was hoping you could tell me that. I heard you scream. What happened?"
Lucas' frown deepened, then his gaze fell on his outstretched hand. All at once, the blood seemed to drain from his face. He looked past Hitchcock at the bundle of blackened flesh that lay in the centre of the room and swallowed, hard.
"Can we get out of here now please?" he asked, and his voice was hardly more then a whisper.
Hitchcock watched him for a moment, trying to understand what was going through his head. The she nodded once, and stood up, extending a hand to help him. "I think that's the best idea I've heard all day."
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
Dr. Westphalen put her hands on her hips and glared. Bridger found himself relieved that, for once, that look was not directed at him.
"If you think you're just going to waltz straight back to work after an incident like that, you've got another think coming," she said firmly.
Lucas glared back, and Bridger was now relieved on two counts. "What 'incident'? I was just a little freaked out!"
Westphalen raised her eyebrows. "It's called 'shock'. To be more precise, in your case it's called 'catatonic shock'."
"Oh please," Lucas snorted.
"Don't you take that tone with me young man," Westphalen said, her voice becoming more and more clipped. "You are not moving from this Med Bay until I am satisfied that you're fully recovered."
Lucas shook his head angrily. "We're on a submarine, for God's sake! Where am I going to go?" His pitch was rising. Westphalen started to tap her foot, but didn't reply. Lucas turned to Bridger, his face pleading. "Captain?"
Bridger shook his head. "I'm sorry, kiddo. The chief medical officer's decision is final in health matters."
For a moment, the teenager just stared at him, his face a picture of betrayal. Then his mouth snapped shut and he turned back to Westphalen. "Fine, OK, whatever," he said bitterly. "Can I at least have my computer?"
Bridger opened his mouth, but the doctor beat him to it. "Absolutely not," she said crisply. "Bed rest means bed rest."
Lucas' eyes flashed, and Bridger sighed. It looked like it was going to be a long argument.
Jane Monaghan sighed and stretched, rubbing her eyes. The science lab was deserted at this time of night, and the dim lighting of ship's night created deep shadows between the rows of work-stations. Monaghan leaned forward again to examine her samples, and felt her shoulder muscles complain. Bed would be pretty good right now, she thought longingly. Still, she had to get the samples done by the morning or her project manager would go ballistic. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, it was her own fault that she was still working on them when everyone else had long since finished and gone to bed. If she hadn't spent the last few days being so distracted by a handsome young ensign down in Engineering...
A smile touched the corners of her lips, and she leaned her chin on her hand, lost in her daydream. James. What a lovely name. James, James, James...
Something fell off a shelf behind her. She jumped, startled, and turned quickly round. The science lab was empty and silent, except for the reassuring deep hum of the ship's engines. She sighed, shaking her head at herself. Stop mooning around and get working, otherwise you're never going to get to bed.
She leaned over the samples again, blinking a couple of times to get her tired eyes to focus properly. Staying up late was not one of her strong suits. But just as her brain was beginning to re-engage, she heard another noise.
This one sounded like a footstep.
Monaghan froze, terrified. She turned round slowly, hardly daring to look. The lab behind her was empty, but it seemed to have transformed from the friendly, reassuring place where she worked every day to a strange landscape of dim, half-guessed forms and monstrous shadows.
"Hello?" she said, and flushed to hear the tremble in her voice. Jesus Christ, two little noises and you turn straight back into a frightened six- year-old, she admonished herself, but her heart continued to race as she stood up and slowly walked over in the direction the noises had come from. "Is anyone there?"
There was no answer. She stepped quickly around the row of workstations and looked down the next aisle. It was dark and empty, except for the abandoned lab stools. Monaghan sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. I am never working this late again, no matter how many cute ensigns ask me out. She stood for a moment, staring at the strange shadows her desk lamp cast on the laboratory wall. Then her mouth went dry.
One of the shadows was moving.
She turned sharply, and as she did she heard a sharp click from the direction of her workstation. The desk lamp went out, and everything was plunged into gloomy half-light. But somewhere over there a dim silhouette was moving.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Monaghan did her best to ignore the babbling of her brain and think rationally. She'd seen enough horror movies to know exactly what not to do in a situation like this. Quietly, she started to move towards the door.
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
She had only taken a couple of steps when she tripped over a lab stool, stumbling heavily but catching herself before she fell. The stool, however, went crashing to the floor with a harsh clatter of metal on metal. For a moment, Monaghan was paralysed with fear. Then she straightened, slowly and carefully, and scanned the room, listening hard for any noises above the ever-present humming. Where is he?
Ohmygod, I don't want to die, please God I know I'm not a good Christian but I promise to believe in you if you'll just let me live.
As her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness she could see any number of bulky shapes that could be him. None of them were moving.
Where is he?
Where is he?
Then she finally heard a noise, and she knew exactly where he was.
He was standing right behind her.