House Cleaning

As quickly as Justin drove the Mongoose into the Kaiser's putrid and treacherous realm only moments ago, he was now on the move again, leaving with Chris and Ken and Bill in tow. The engine whined at top RPM as the shanty town faded away behind them, the smog and the dust and the crimson fire diminishing into the bottom of the horizon. Chris placed his sights back to the front, anticipating a different view. But now, they were headed back to the igloo. God only knew what was waiting in store. Was Pete dead? Was he dying? Would he ever forgive them all for leaving and not fighting to save his life?

"I really admire the way you handled that back there." Chris said.

"Thanks."

"I would've folded for sure."

"Eh, don't sell yourself short, Kid. You would've done the same thing if you were in my shoes."

"I'm not so sure."

Holding a conversation with the engine noise and the wind rushing past wasn't easy, but Justin's voice easily permeated it all. "Once you understand your adversary, you can adapt to them. Then, only then, can you defeat them…or reason with them."

"So you understand him then?"

"I've met a few types in my years. Sergei is unique. He's a visionary."

"What do you mean, visionary?"

"He leads and people follow. He's obviously very strong-willed. You've seen him up close so you know he looks the part, charismatic, can easily sway a person's decisions. How else could someone lead the people in that room?"

"You'd have to be special."

"He gives wayward men direction and a purpose. Most of them buy into it, at least for a long time. To them..." Justin glanced about the wide plains as the Mongoose drove on "...he's king of the world."

"How is it you understand him?"

"I studied him for many months. I see Sergei as any other criminal, corrupt and getting desparate or foolish people to carry out his dirty work."

"That's it?"

"Plain and simple."

"What's with his eyes? They're so black."

"Surgical discoloration. Probably did it so he could fake a retinal scan."

Chris stopped leaning forward and took in the barren view.

"Now that you've made introductions, it changes the way you think about the universe, eh?"

Chris didn't answer.

Ever since his arrival at Traxus IX, he was sickened day by day, discovering awful truths inherent in the human race, and how he seemed to uncover more of it as time progressed on this cold, dead world—as if the moral integrity of mankind could be peeled away over and over again like the layers of an onion until finally reaching a bottomless core of pain and villainy...which was apparently Sergei.

Here Chris was on this heartless world—a black hole in the galaxy, far away from a real existence—and yet he experienced more reality inside it than out. He knew more about the corruption and the greed and the darkness of the universe without even living in it, on the outside looking in. Somewhere out there in the Milky Way, in many places far away, there was a galactic war occuring between Human and Covenant forces. Which was worse?

The remainder of the ride home went on in silence, much in the way it always did.

They reached the fork in the road, all occupants turning to regard City 17 as they whipped by at max speed. The Admin courtyard was predictably empty and the mine shaft from where Justin and Chris retrieved the flower was closed off, whether by natural occurrence or someone's doing. The usual sights breezing past them were all just visual triggers to memories of everyday life; none of it seemed to matter. Not that it ever did, but so much had transpired in just a few hours:

Four out of five of them had taken the wildest trip of their lives off the Trumpet Flower, some of them quite possibly still intoxicated by it. Chris was beginning to wonder if any of their sanity had been peeling away just like the dwindling hope he witnessed in mankind. Adding to this now were the strange voices in their heads further deteriorating their minds. Chris kept adding up the growing list of catastrophes they had experienced in this short amount of time...

Strong, fast and aggressive creatures invaded their igloo and attacked Pete, and his condition was yet to be ascertained. They had just ventured into the domain of arguably the most dangerous man in-system to acquire the weapons to deal with their deadly predicament. Consequently, yet another serious issue arose from their business deal: Justin had pledged service in Kaiser Sergei's army. What the fuck is happening to this place? Chris mumbled into the deafening wind. There was no answer to his question, and he expected none, at least nothing logical he could ponder, so he reflected on something Solomon said…

Something is happening to this world

And now they were about to storm back into the igloo, literally with guns blazing. Actually, there'd only be one gun—wielded by Justin. Everyone else would have to go strictly on faith as Justin took care of business alone; that much, Chris envisioned.

Not much further now.

City 17 had even faded from sight and their destination was now at hand. A Graveball field away, and Justin slowed to a coast. And for good reason. He propped himself up with his weight on the handle bars, jockeying for a good bead on the igloo sitting quaintly in its own little niche. From his vantage point, he could see that the shovel—the rudimentary deadbolt they used to secure the only door—was still in place and holding. Justin breathed easy as he darted the ATV forth again, dead ahead to the igloo. It was time.

He stopped the Mongoose right where it usually sat each night and killed it. He was the first to dismount. Everyone was slow to make whatever preparations they needed to make, most of them looking dubiously to the ground, avoiding Justin's eye contact for the moment. He patiently waited. He knew this would be hard on them, to speculate, and thus possibly confirm that Pete was indeed dead. The little bastards inside their house were something truly from Hell. But Justin had the antidote, the black but stock of it tucked into the pit of his right arm.

"Time for a little house cleaning." Justin said, a steely gaze cast towards his new weapon as he fed cartridges into its receiver.

Bill immediately walked away towards the water pallet, maybe for safety reasons or maybe to preserve whatever innocence he had left. Or maybe some other reason entirely. Whatever the case, Justin could put himself in Bill's shoes and understand him, if only for a moment. This was Pete. It was hard.

Ken nodded stoically. And Justin took note of his disposition. Ken might prove to be a fighter, and Justin could really use that trait if things got nasty in there. But he wasn't about to levy expectations on anyone; he was actually on the verge of second-guessing this whole operation himself.

Finally, Justin looked down upon Chris. He didn't exude much of a reaction at all, but Justin knew he was ready for whatever was about to happen.

"Whatever happens," Justin said, pausing his advance on the igloo door, "don't try to be heroes. If I come out, then good. If not, just get outta here…and don't ever come back."

He didn't turn to see their faces, just proceeded to the door. He then tossed the fragmentation grenade over his shoulder and Ken caught it in mid arc. Justin's voice then rebounded off the metal exterior of his igloo, his home. "Use the frag if they come for you. Pull the pin and toss in their general direction. Nothin' really much else to it."

"What about you?" Ken asked, flipping blonde strands of hair out from in front of his face.

"If they make it outside before I do, then I'm already dead…so use it on them before they can get to you."

Justin brought the shotgun to bear and racked it once, the well-oiled assembly of parts working in perfect harmony. He reached for the shovel that was wedged into the door tabs. "Good luck!" Chris shouted.

Justin budged the shovel loose with one, swift but stroke of the shotgun and it clattered to the dirt. He waited.

There was no sound from the inside. No reaction, no creatures rapping their deadly appendages up against the walls at the onset of the noise he created. He figured all stealth was lost now, so he brought a knee up to his chest with one fell lunge and kicked the door in with his boot.

It flung open, the rusted out hinges croaking louder than ever just before the door frame impacted the inner wall with a b-dang!

The echo roiled across the plains.

He walked into the threshold, momentarily loitered there in half-shadow, then disappeared into darkness.

Once out of sight, Bill and Ken and Chris could only surmise that Justin was still alive by the sound of his soles impacting the floor, muffled at first from the cushioning dirt of the atrium floor, but soon it rang a true metallic ping as he transitioned into another room. A light flickered on—good. He could now see inside there. Chris and the others jockeyed for a better view and found themselves inline with the entrance. But there was nothing. Justin was in too deep now. He had passed from their sight. All they could do was listen, pray…and wait.

There was a loud clang!

"It's okay!" Justin said from the inside, his voice greatly attenuated by the network of metal bulkheads inside. "I opened another door, that's all."

They collectively exhaled, and waited even more.

Another clang!

"Mother-fucker!"

Justin fired off a shot. The noise made everyone outside flinch, the plains filled in an echoing chaos. Bill immediately fired up the Mongoose in case they had to flee. Chris and Ken rushed over to him just as well.

Another shot rang out and Chris mounted on the 'Goose behind Bill. Ken stood nearby, donning his ski gear in no time flat. They were at least ready. Ken brought the grenade to bear, ready to prime it and chuck it at the igloo entrance prior to departing.

Another shot rang out, followed by the distinctive, metallic declaration of a shotgun being racked. At least Justin was still alive and firing.

There was one final shot, doubly louder than all the others before it. And then it got very, very quiet.

Then…

A figure walked outside.

It seemed to meet the ambience of Traxus IX in perfect, dreadful slow motion.

It was Justin, caked in soot and strange liquid.

"What's going on?!" Ken demanded, holding the grenade in a threatening gesture high above his head. Justin walked ever closer to them. "I'm gonna pull the pin!" He just inched closer. "Say something, Justin!"

Justin stopped…and crashed right where he stood. He was now sitting down, almost Indian style like he contemplated heavily on some thought.

They all eyed him suspiciously for a moment before Chris dismounted. He took a few steps towards Justin but kept his distance. "What happened?"

Justin wavered in a daze for at least a whole minute, the confusion on his face revealing nothing. He heard Chris, but whatever was running through his own mind had drowned out the world around him.

A moment went by and Chris posed the question again, "What's going on, Justin?"

As if suddenly revived, Justin slowly met Chris' eyes, pairing the voice with them, recognizing them.

"What happened?"

"The strangest thing."

Chris took a seat next to him, letting the clay stain the folds of his over garments. "Tell me what happened."

"Pete is…"

"…He's what, dead?"

The boy almost prefers this outcome, to hear that a friend hasn't suffered.

"Was. He's not Pete anymore."

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean? Exactly."

"Those creatures did something to him. They changed him."

Chris stood slowly. "How?"

"I can't explain. You're gonna have to go in and see for yourself."

"But Pete's suffering is done?"

"Done."

Chris cast a wary glance into the entrance and licked his lips. "…And the creatures?"

"Dead. Killed 'em all. It's safe." Justin said, but noticed Chris was firmly planted where he was, not willing to venture inward. "And I wedged the vent closed with the heater. Go in." Justin looked down again, finding a place for thought in the clay beneath his feet.

Chris sauntered up to the entrance, slowly. The entrance he'd been so willing to enter many times before, a place of comfort and shelter. Ken and Bill followed him. Justin remained.

The atrium was still aglow in the overhead fluorescence, nothing other to be seen for the present. But a strange, pungent odor was wafting throughout the air inside. Chris had smelled it before: raw sewage. It reminded him of his oldest memories as a child, living and growing up in an environment that most would deem wretched. Inner Colonial sewer systems were well-established and actually quite habitable with densely-populated refugee camps roaming about the subterranean passageways. Underground shopping wasn't the world-class experience, but it was underground—which meant it was free of annoying ads and free of tax and levies. It wasn't until people found themselves among the less robust infrastructure of the outer worlds that the situation became dire.

The brief nostalgia was replaced by the sight of the door ahead, dripping with strange fluid. The same fluid Justin was now wearing on most of his clothing. Chris stretched out his index finger and pushed the door open a few millimeters, the same door to the heater room where they first encountered the organisms.

About a dozen of them were there and torn to shreds, pieces of them strewn all about the deck. Their blood was everywhere. It pleased Chris in some savage, vengeful way, the way the pale liquid clung to every surface where it splashed. Like the childhood memory a moment before, his revelry only lasted a few seconds...and the stench came back ten-fold stronger with the door now open; a brisk draft that had originated somewhere in the plain outside circulated it all and Chris got the face-full. It smelled more awful than it looked. There was also a small amount of human blood speckled about every surface, almost no metal showing like some butcher's mural. He panned his gaze around and saw a single human body lying in the corner of the room. "Oh my God!" Chris gasped. "It's Pete!"

He rushed over and knelt down next to the ravaged body that was once Pete Barker's. His thick parka had been nearly torn to pieces from seemingly…himself. Pete's body had somewhat doubled in size. Limp and lifeless tentacles sprouted out from his torso and upper limbs, protruding straight through his clothing and twisting into jagged, vine-like appendages. His neck was a mangled mess, tilted at odd angles in two separate places such that it practically hung off his left shoulder. The upper vertebrae were clearly broken. A single, gaping hole defined his upper chest, undoubtedly from the blast of Justin's shotgun. And the most horrid feature was Pete's own face: it was morphed into pure hate and agony, hardly even discernable as their friend. His motionless hands were stiff and raked in a permanent clawing action, the Rigor Mortis fully set in despite him only being dead for two hours at most.

Chris stood up. "These things did this to him."

"—And it didn't take them long." Bill said. "I think we should leave. We've seen too much and they could break through again. Let's go."

Bill grabbed Chris by the collar, forcefully. Ken was not far behind, remaining only a few more seconds to survey the carnage, and perhaps to say his goodbyes.

They emerged outside, Justin still sitting in the dirt.

Chris sobbed only a little. "You put him out of his misery." he said rhetorically.

"You could say that." Justin said, standing himself up. "The bastard attacked me with my own shotgun."

"You mean the one we left inside?" Ken asked.

"Yep. He came at me with it. I had no choice but to put him down."

"That must've been the loud bang." Ken affirmed. "Two shots, simultaneously. Did he hit you?"

"Does it look like it?"

"You're incredibly lucky." Bill said. "That, or the Lord, our God, has a different path set for you."

"Yeah, yeah." Justin said, brushing the dirt off himself.

"There's so much blood in there, on you." Chris said. "What do we do about Pete? We can't just leave him in there. What are we gonna do?!"

"There comes a time in a man's life," Justin said, "and I've had plenty. Stop bitching and help me get Pete outside. We're gonna bury 'em."

The remnants of the day's sunlight had been vested in them laying Pete to rest. The process was long and tiresome. The hole had been dug and they lowered his appalling corpse into the pit, all the while their tortured nostrils baring the brunt of the sickening odors. Decaying flesh and alien secretions wafted upwards. They each stood there for a moment quietly reflecting to themselves, trying not to pay any heed to the nauseating olfactory punishment. Justin spoke up:

"Pete was…" Justin looked around, searching the plains as if they inspired the best words here "…a bastard." Everyone then glanced up with a sudden astonishment; the way their eyes locked onto Justin's suggested his choice of words hardly befitted the eulogy.

"…But at least he was an honest bastard. He never lied, never sugar-coated anything."

Now, the others nodded in somber agreement.

"…And he would've wanted us to say that about him. He was his own man. Nothing ever got the better of him, save for these fucking creepy-crawlies. But we got you, Pete," Justin bored his steely gaze down onto Pete's rudimentary headstone—a half-drunken pint of the finest Vodka they had in stock, "we got your vengeance for you. And now you can rest easy."

Bill said, "Amen," and the others solemnly echoed.

Justin reached down and grabbed the shovel, the first gesture of closure and finality. He stole a scoopful of Traxus IX and hurled the orange-brown clump downwards, preparing Pete's body for a permanent dirt nap.