Disclaimer: I do not own Enterprise or any of its characters.
Chapter 2: Beginning Descent
… am I dead or am I living?
Too afraid to care, too afraid to know…
– Sting
I kept my distance
Wanted no part of this world
Of this hateful existence
The rot that this fate had unfurled
Lord, get me out of this world…
…A message from heaven
For the mighty that fell
And the wise men as well
Came a message from heaven
"Very sorry all… welcome to hell."
– Gowan
… don't close your eyes
God knows what lies behind them
don't turn out the light…
– Evanescence
He opened his eyes to a darkness as dense and cold as deep space. But he wasn't alone… he could sense something out there, watching him. Something… malevolent. Slowly his eyes adjusted… or maybe the scene did. It wasn't an improvement either way. He found himself in a scene out of a bad horror movie: a dark, leafless forest cast not in earthy, living browns and greens, but in bleached bone white, ash grey and coffin black. He shivered; fear soaking through him like a heavy rain. A full, bloody moon compressed things to two dimensions – the odd, changing shadows were both flat and endlessly deep.
Where is this place? When had he left Enterprise?
He heard something behind him, a high pitched chattering. IkIkIkIkIkIkIkIk He spun but saw nothing. Then bushes rattled from the other side.
This is not good. Reflexively he reached for a phase pistol, only to realise that he didn't have one. He wasn't in uniform either… just a light t-shirt and jeans, which gave little armouring against something that might want to harm him. And I don't think that whoever's around here is inclined to be nice.
IkIkIkIkIkIkIkIkIk He jumped – this time it sounded closer. He wished this were a horror movie; he was versed well enough in the rules of horror to handle what might exist in the celluloid world… but this is real. Real enough, anyway – he perceived things with all five senses. He heard and saw, felt the ground beneath his feet, smelled the wet, rotting earth, and could even taste the acid in the back of his throat. Instinctively he knew that whatever harm came to him here would be real… even if this was some kind of dream.
Should I care? After all, he'd failed. Did he even deserve to come out of this okay, or even alive? Am I still alive? Maybe he wasn't – in rare cases, the disease could be fatal… And I shouldn't have come down with it once, let alone twice. If so… was this Hell itself, or merely Purgatory? Circumstances argued the former… after all, wasn't Purgatory reserved for souls with a chance of gaining entry into Heaven?
He let loose with a shuddering sigh as despair rose again. At this point Toby would be arguing with him about his Judeo-Christian centric perspective – she was the one with the ultimate faith in God, yet he was the one who tended to take the narrow view. Maybe that's why she can believe. He couldn't believe the narrow view because too much evidence contradicted it… maybe being able to meld perspectives together made it easier.
Well, I'm not staying here. If he hadn't been kidnapped… if there hadn't been an accident… then the rules don't apply. No sense following search protocol if there wouldn't be a search. So… which direction then?
A howl in the distance settled it: whichever direction that thing wasn't. He headed off down the path, trying not to flinch at every little noise. He could sense something following him, however – tracking him. He began to run, even as he knew that it was stupid – that the worst thing to do with a predator was to give it a reason to chase.
He tripped and fell, landing hard on sharp rocks. Groaning, he scrambled to his feet and kept going, trying to ignore the new pains. He could sense the… thing growing closer. It wants me… it's hungry, and it wants to feed on me. He had no idea what tracked him, but knew that this was indeed a case of predator and prey, and that man was no longer on top of the food-chain. Were we ever? Or were we just mice pretending that we were smarter than the cat? He stifled a hysterical giggle and a sudden urge to start whistling. I'm not going past the graveyard; I'm right in the middle of it. Besides, he was well past the point of pretending not to be scared – the least observant of creatures could smell his terror now. And he knew – somehow – that what chased him was very observant indeed.
He stumbled again, but this time managed to retain his footing. It got closer though… he thought he could hear it panting behind him. Or maybe that's just me. He didn't look, though, looking back would only slow him down, and make it easier to fall. The forest grew thicker – skeletal limbs reached out for him, tearing at his clothing and his flesh. Twigs snapped under his feet like tiny bones – or maybe that's what they were; he didn't dare look. Something else squished beneath his shoes – the sound from it resembled the one when he accidentally stepped on a long dead rat. Toby had been there for that, too – she'd laughed like crazy until the smell hit. And it clung, too. His mother had burned the shoes and he'd practically lost a layer of skin trying to scrub the odour away. And you made maggot jokes for weeks after that, girl. You even made a spaghetti sandwich to bring to school, just to gross me out. It had worked, too… he hadn't been able to eat for a week.
The muck sucked at his feet, slowing him down. He struggled, then felt a shoe disappear. To hell with it. Gunk oozed through his sock and around his toes, chilling them. Pain came with the cold, but he kept going, limping as best he could. It was playing with him… it had to be, or it would have caught him by now. His knee twisted suddenly, and he fell, face first into the mud.
He came to under bright sunlight – humid and burning, like a summer in an Everglades swamp – he wasn't in that forest anymore The rot was stronger here… and mud had flooded his mouth. Spitting, he opened his eyes.
A bloated face stared back at him, one eye bulging from its socket as fluid pressures forced it beyond the bounds of the bone. He could see that it had once been purple – an odd match for the blood and muck matted red hair that framed… he gasped, sucking muck and debris down his throat.
Oh, God… He'd never seen this, never actually seen her body, but – I'm responsible… He vomited and choked, unable to tear his eyes away. Then she reached for him, catching his hair in her putrid fingers.
"Toby, please… I'm sorry."
She didn't answer, just pulled him closer, down more into the murky ditchwater. He fought to get away, but she proved too strong for him. Then the water closed over his head, and he gave up.
!!!!
"Doctor!" Jon sat up suddenly as alarms sounded again – when had he fallen into a doze? Trip jerked and seemed to choke, and Phlox dashed over.
"He's vomiting. Turn him on his side before he can aspirate it into his lungs." Phlox didn't even wait to finish his explanation before lifting Trip's shoulders and rolling him to his side. Dark liquid spilled from Trip's mouth – foul smelling and filled with bits of odd debris.
Jon flinched… whatever this was, it smelled like rotting flesh. "Why do I think that's not breakfast?" He hoped it didn't sound as flippant to Phlox's ears as it did to his own. But I'm worried. He'd come down here to watch over Trip – rationalising that one best friend deserved as much attention as another, and hadn't he sat vigil when Porthos grew ill? He'd convinced Phlox to let him sit close – if Trip wasn't contagious, then there'd be no harm in it. As for best friends… Porthos had somehow escaped Jon's quarters and now watched concernedly from the bottom of Trip's bed. It's like you know there's a problem too, don't you? And as much as Jon hated to admit it, sometimes his dog preferred the company of the engineer to that of his master. "He sneaks you cheese, doesn't he?" He didn't realise he'd murmured aloud until Porthos turned to look at him.
"I certainly hope not, Captain." Jon couldn't be sure which question Phlox was answering, but wasn't sure he cared. "I will have this substance analysed. As far as I can tell it's been a while since Commander Tucker last ate… his stomach should have been empty."
"Then how?" Jon stared at the brown-black stain on the pillow. It looked like… sewage. "I just can't see him eating anything like that… and I know he just threw it up… but there should be something that looks like food in there." Instead, it appeared that a few small bugs still swam in the liquid – and as strange as Trip's tastes could be at times, he wasn't in the habit of eating live insects.
Phlox eased Trip back down, now that the vomiting seemed to have passed. "I have no idea," he admitted. "This is not a phenomenon I am familiar with. There were no viral traces on the glass samples you brought me, and so far, no one else on board the ship has reported any symptoms." He ran a scanner over the substance and frowned. "I will have to do a more detailed analysis. According to this, Mr. Tucker has just vomited up a combination of common earth soils, water, and various organic substances – including human DNA from a foreign source. I will attempt to determine where it came from, but as I mentioned, this is – as you humans say – a new one on me."
"Me too," Jon watched as Trip seemed to slip into a deeper level of sleep. It tied into the picture somehow – that much he knew. "Let me know what you find out, Doctor. There's something I need to work on… keep me informed as to any changes in his condition."
"Understood, captain," Phlox turned to work on his newest puzzle and Jon left for one of his own.
!!!!
A message waited in the communications queue – its surface text and address appeared quite innocuous Indeed, it was designed to look that way. But beneath a friendly letter home lurked something far more dangerous, far more incendiary. Something else skipped past, scented it, and stopped to take a closer look. And then became very, very angry.
!!!!
Strangely, he could still breathe, even though Toby had pulled him completely under. She'd vanished, too… leaving him alone again and back in the dead forest. A light shone in the distance and he forced himself to his feet and moved towards it. "Go into the light?" He sounded hysterical, even to himself. And I'm used to me being hysterical. But wasn't a light supposed to be a good thing? Didn't a light mean people… or at least some sign of civilisation and comfort? He hurried towards it, and finally saw what it was. Thank you.
A tall, handsome man stood at a crossing of paths, holding a lantern. He smiled as Trip approached – an open, friendly smile. "Hello… you appear lost."
"Somewhat," Trip admitted. He relaxed, at least he wasn't alone in this place anymore. He smiled back, glad to finally have something to smile about. "Do you know your way around?"
"I know my way around many places." The man reached out a hand, and Trip shook it. The stranger's grip was warm and comforting. "Come… let's get you warm and dry."
"Gladly," he smiled further, the weariness taking hold now. Warm and dry… it sounded like heaven.
The man shifted his grip to Trip's elbow in a possessive grasp. "Excellent. I'm glad you agree."
Trip tried to pull away, suddenly uncertain. The stranger held him too tightly however – his grip seemed inhumanly strong. Too late, Trip remembered something that Toby once told him, one of their late-night treehouse discussions. The Latin translation for Light-bearer – he looked over at the stranger again, and uncertainty turned to horror – is Lucifer.
