Intelligence was leaking. There was a mole among us, an imposter, a saboteur of information being distilled to dangerous people. Sabbath had intel on us. Now, Milithreat and my team spied on them just as they spied on us. But there was something in a recent intelligence product they created that had caught my eye. My eyes specifically: anathemas.
I was meant to Sabotage the other Districts. Someone was trying to sabotage us.
As far as I knew, District Five was the only one to coin such a term for these demonic entities. Yet a Sabbath report of rather basic information had that title plastered in between the sentences of their report. That meant, someone here was sending them information. It wasn’t just Milithreat personnel being a possibility, it could be anyone.
It could be Doctor Jacqueline Deveraux.
Her conversation with me back at supply was on my mind. What data could she produce that would or even could eradicate Sabbath? Greed was inherently coded in our DNA, unless that was something she wanted to change. That could be the problem with science. All these evolutions, medicines, genetic enhancing to make us superior to our past, I’m afraid we begin to lose what it really means to be human.
Sabbath had no file on Jack, which even made my suspicions grow. They had some information about nobodies here. They even had a brief information card on CSO Ruenova. But nothing on Jack. District Three had basic information on her as they were targeting her, but Sabbath didn’t? It didn’t sit well with me. Maybe SBH had its own intelligence team to keep information from leaking, but I had my doubts.
Could Jack be working for Sabbath all along?
Her mask might not just be literal. Often, those that preached world peace wanted everything to do with war. Those who spoke of good intentions often held a dagger behind their back. A part of me told me not to trust her at all, believing that she could be the one putting information out there that could expose us all. Another part also knew she had nothing to do with this. War wasn’t her world, she merely studied the after effects.
My mind was playing against my heart, against my inner instincts. Intelligence should make me wary of her. My gut instinct told me she was just as innocent as the rest. That was my problem. With all the killing, the mindless following of orders to annihilate others, innocence was such blurred lines to me. Lingering around Jack’s work slowly seemed to be attempting to change that.
All of us on Acid Squad stood near that cavern into the ground, awaiting an anathema to appear and repeat the history that had happened a month ago. There was only silence, silence and a storm approaching. Our work here might be limited today. Owen began securing the anchor for our rappel rigging into the dirt, making sure it would hold weight as everyone would slowly make their descent down.
“If you add some extra dirt on top with a bit of water, it will harden and make a sturdier anchor,” Jack pointed out gently. She hadn’t said a word all morning. Wearing that mask I gave her made most of my men wonder why she was wearing Milithreat gear. I forgot that we only used three standardized helmets and she happened to wear the most uncommon one, but it suited her needs. My men didn’t ask but figured a helmet was a healthy compromise after being an assassination target.
She even had a laser sword at her hip, although a different model than the rest of my agents. It was the most updated, like mine, with ridges in the handle to make for easier grip and technique. She wore it on her hip as if it belonged there. Whether she knew how to use it, I hoped we wouldn’t have to find out.
Owen said nothing and ignored Jack’s observation to help, throwing the rope over the edge and making sure it reached the bottom. I moved over to the anchor as everyone else prepared their rigging on their armor, slowly kicking at dirt to form a gentle mound around the anchor. Small drops of water poured, Jack letting a few drops of her canteen spill. And sure enough, it was like the dirt came alive like parched beggars in the street, demanding more drops of rain before solidifying.
“A lot of tricalcium silicate and aluminate…” Jack muttered and I perked up.
“What?” I asked, seeing her helmet turn towards mine.
“Sorry, I was just noting it has similar chemical structures to cement with water, although it dries much quicker. It’s more than likely how they built the structures here too,” she apologized, not wanting to bother me with her scientific jargon.
“Well, wouldn’t that mean if it rained here that would actually worsen the homes?” I asked, knowing they needed both water to build them, but a bad enough storm could make them weak.
“Indeed, catastrophically. Luckily it doesn’t rain much here, mostly dust storms. But when it rained and there’s some evidence it did, those homes would collapse. It could trap anyone beneath that mess too, killing them before it solidifies them into the soil,” Jack added, a morbid fact at that.
“So, you think that’s why they went underground?” I glanced at the hole, before back at her and noticed the knot around her rigging was incorrect, “Mind if I fix that? It should hold you steady, but it’s not the best knot in terms of rappelling.”
“Most civilizations once above ground don’t go back in it,” she shook her head, before taking a glance at the knot she had made. She looked like she wanted to retort something snarky, but said nothing as she undid the bindings, letting me take over.
I moved close, adjusting the rope around her inner thighs before securing her tightly, “What do you mean by that?”
“Think of Colony 501, all those tunnels under the main city. Those existed long before the city did. Now, we know after the Battle of Fallen Skies, Sabbath, known as District Six back then, dropped a bomb centuries ago and leveled civilization. When your home has turned to catacombs, you have to rebuild on the surface provided,” she explained, “just as our bodies will decompose and turn into fossils in the earth, so shall our cities and neighborhoods. There could be colonies or planets with layers upon layers of cities of old.”
There was something oddly interesting about her work. When she removed the biological aspect of her talk and wondered about the structure of civilization or social aspects, it was much more interesting. More so only because I could understand it. Never once in my life did I think to study the kind of questions she asked. Yet it seemed every day, thoughts were in my mind when entering a new colony to conquer.
The very things she studied were the things I destroyed.
I tightened the last tug of rope, letting the rest slack and she let out a frustrated grunt as her hips thrust into mine.
“Shit, it doesn’t have to be that tight,” she scowled slightly.
“I just don’t want you to fall, Doctor,” I smiled at her scowl, stepping back, “What’s with the camera?”
She had been taking pictures all morning of the area, either for documentation or for hobby. Perhaps both. Knowing all of this would be well documented by our own recordings, I didn’t see a need for an old camera like she had. But, I wouldn’t question her methods yet. I knew she had taken a few photos with us in the background.
“I like to chronicle my work. While the video feedback is helpful, sometimes photographs can tell a different story,” she explained, putting the camera away in her pack to secure for now, “besides, if I never went into science I would have liked to enter photography. However, it’s a dying art with all the technology to video log our entire lives.”
“Things are most beautiful when they’re dying,” I hummed, realizing how ghastly and macabre that sounded, “like stars, or meteors.”
“Agreed,” she concurred to my surprise, “beautiful, yet always taken for granted.”
“Death of art doesn’t seem a complication enough to stop you,” I observed, “what made you become the doctor that you are?”
“Strict, overbearing, intelligent parents. Too intelligent one might say. The Deveraux name has a deep history of great names, and hidden, forgotten nobodies. My parents warned they’d disown us if we ever became one of those nobodies. They craved a world where ‘nobodies’ didn’t exist.”
Family pressure. I didn’t know what my family had been like, if I had a mother who loved me, a father who would have died for me before Sabbath ruined it all. From what I had heard about families from the other Sabbaticals, it seemed like such a lovely concept. As dangerous as I could be, if I ever held my own child in my arms, I would do everything in my power to protect them.
Not all families seemed to have that kind of love.
“Well, I can certainly say, you are not a nobody, Jack,” I tried to compliment her.
“Nobody is a nobody. There is no metric to human value, worth, responsibility, or bearing in this world. It is infinite, limitless, varied. People created gods to create this sense of numerical value to judge, only to be the ones to extort judgment on those around them,” she paused, realizing she was getting ahead of herself.
I was beginning to see why Jacqueline took it personally when I hated scientists, hated science. At first, I believed her reaction stemmed from an ego of perfection, similar to a hippocratic oath. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t believe scientists could do evil with their work. It was that she had seen it first hand, presumably from someone in her family. She didn’t want to become someone like that.
How could she rid the idea of Sabbath, of violence and total annihilation, without thinking that same way, though?
“Alright, who’s going down first?” Grimes asked, peering down into the cavern.
Silence.
While the area below had been slightly droned out, there was still fear we were entering an animals cave. Not just cave, but domain, hive, whatever could possess a multitude of them. Maybe we were. It was very possible, though, there weren’t many anathemas still around. They could spread quickly, but what did they have to feed on before we and the other districts had arrived? Not much. Yet, my team still stood frozen with fear.
“Say no more,” I sighed, moving to be the first one down. I connected the line through my rope, slowly letting gravity and well tied knots do their work before sliding down.
When my boots finally met the sturdy ground, I could feel the vibrations of first contact. The slight storm wind from above didn’t howl down here. In fact, it was silent. Utter silence. The ground was black, unsure if that was natural or by design. It was hard to distinguish what kind of material it was.
Jack was the second to come down, noticing the quietness as well. Despite the helmet, it was clear from constant neck movement she was glancing at everything she could. It was dark down here, too dark. When the rest of the agents made landfall, it was all about picking where to go next.
“Regina,” I glanced at her, the deaf and latest addition to the crew to take over Cole’s spot. I slowly let my weapon down, signing to her, “Drone out to five hundred meters each tunnel.”
Any dead ends, we could avoid. It would be best to map out this location as quickly as possible and preferably by foot, not drone. Eventually dead ends would need to be investigated, but we had limited time today. Had this been a normal mission, I would have sent my team by two’s down each tunnel and report back within an hour. This wasn’t the case. I admitted we had to stay together.
Regina began programming the drones with instructions before the little black probes took off. The squad surrounded Jacqueline in a circle, weapons with safeties off and ready to fire if needed. While blades were the much better weapon, firearms at long range would still slow them down. Even so, we weren’t alone down here.
Anathemas. District Three. Any other District Agents…all could be a threat.
“Energy is bouncing off the walls, literally, Doctor,” one of her scientists chimed in over the communications, “This is a structure, almost like a bunker of some sorts.”
“An extensive, well designed one at that,” Jack responded.
It was colder down here than expected, despite the lack of a breeze. The black walls and floors had no heat to retain. Speaking of the walls, my flashlight glared at them, seeing not perfectly straight and smooth surfaces. It was coagulated. Switching to a black light briefly, it was clear to see why.
“Team, switch to blacklight momentarily,” I ordered, seeing confusion before they followed orders.
Those black walls were littered in purple hues caught by the light, some new and fresh, some stains clearly old. Blood. Anathema blood to be precise. Like human blood could seep into the walls and floors of a place, so could theirs despite the difference in thickness. Jack walked over to one distinct handprint, taking a photo of it.
Her gloved hand moved in front of the projection, noting the difference. When she touched the edges of the wall, it was not smooth. Indents of fingernails digging into the wall, clawing and clinging to the surface for grip. My eyes followed Jack’s black-lit flashlight as her hand followed the pattern, soon finding that hand print enlarged, fingers growing more narrow yet expansive.
It changed into an anathema, evidence right in front of our own very eyes. The material used in this structure was thick, hard, almost polished like granite. Just the thought of digging my nails enough to indent such a canvass made my spine shiver.
Our silent thoughts that remained in our heads became even further silenced with a high pitched shout, almost like a squeal echoing from the tunnels to the east. All agents immediately turned that direction, weapons aimed high.
No other sounds or indications anathemas were near came after. Regina’s drones came back, all of them in one piece to report back to her datapad. She watched as the caves were drawn up, none of them seemingly leading to dead ends, only entering a large room before ending. All of them kept going, which made sense. If this structure was made by hand, why make dead ends? She turned the datapad around so I could see the data, signing with one hand:
Where to?
Her fingers trembled as she did so with such a simple question. All the new Milithreat agents were shown video footage of the anathemas so they could know exactly what we were facing. Some had taken the video with a grain of salt, like stupid indoctrinating, initiation videos at any new job. Now, it was clear this wasn’t something to ignore. These anathemas were real. They were deadly.
“Why don’t we just delta the fuck out of here?” Owen asked.
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Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a bad suggestion. But, our objectives were to escort Doctor Deveraux around while she worked. She couldn’t work from a virtual video highlighting the ins and outs of these structures, not entirely. Running away at the moment wasn’t an option. All of us had been given shitty tasks in the past, either mundane or dangerous beyond all belief. This was no different.
“Excise Squad has an opening, if you’d prefer to conduct reconnaissance all day…” I muttered, not really appreciating Owen’s enthusiasm. Rather, lack thereof. I knew he was the best at demolitions but his personality was really starting to bother me.
I looked back at what Regina was showing, staring at the vaguely mapped out area. I glanced over at Jack, who seemed to still be taking a few photos of things from rocks, indents in the ground, or more blood residue. A quick motion of my finger to wag her over caught her eye, Jack surprised before she walked over.
“Where to, Doctor?” I asked.
“You’re the man in charge,” she scoffed, before realizing this was me trying to treat her as equal, the very thing she complained about a month ago, “Alright well, it looks like a lot of the mapped out tunnels narrow as they reach a room. This tunnel, not that far mapped out, is the only one that doesn’t begin to narrow and it’s at the center of this area.”
“Okay, good idea,” I hummed, signing to Regina: keep one probe in front of us, and one behind.
Yes sir, she nodded, signing back.
Keep Owen in the front, Jack signed, surprisingly to the both of us. Regina had a slight laugh, thinking it was a tease. Maybe it was, but I knew better than that. Jack didn’t trust him from the back, rightfully so. The front wasn’t a good prospect either, but preferable compared so she could keep her eyes on them.
It seems like private comms weren’t the only solution to having private conversations, especially if we knew those conversations could be monitored. Of course Jack would somehow know what to sign. What didn’t she know how to do?
“Team, we’ll be touching some basics on this tunnel today,” I pointed at the east one, “Owen, you and Grimes lead in the front. I will stay in the middle with Jack and Regina to monitor, the rest follow from the back. If Jack tells us to stop, we stop. Are we clear?”
Affirmative nods of silence, just how I preferred it. Owen said nothing, but probably wondered if his comment prior earned leading the front as a punishment. Regina sent the probe back out in that direction, able to conduct some minor recon for us before it was time to get moving. I noticed Jack stayed close to me as we walked, much more than before.
“So,” I chimed into our private comm, “How many languages do you know?”
“Know as in…speak? Read or write?” She asked for clarification.
“I think you inadvertently answered my question,” I sighed, figuring by that response alone she certainly was vaguely versed in linguistics as well.
“Do you not like women smarter than you?” she questioned, but added a soft laugh to let me know she was teasing. In truth, she was almost right in asking that. I suppose in my life experience in avoiding doctors or women with a brain like hers, I was unaccustomed to talking with someone who seemed to have an answer to all my questions. That didn’t mean I disliked it. I was simply not used to it.
“I think women are smarter than men,” I answered honestly, “so given that truth, the answer to your question is no.”
“Hm,” she seemed satisfied with that, “Afrikaans I can read, don’t ask me to speak it. I can speak and read Oceanica but not comfortably. Sign language, well, I’m fairly decent at. It was never a part of my studies, but I liked the idea that a community noticed someone who was unable to hear, and therefore created a language for them and everyone else to understand. What better love for a neighbor is greater than that?”
“What can’t you do?” I asked, almost rolling my eyes.
The hallways were empty, no visible signs of life or struggles we had seen before. Blacklight might illuminate more blood, but I didn’t want to think about that. We knew by now people struggled and fell prey to these anathemas. We didn’t need further evidence of them. Right now, it was as if we had to treat these aliens as pests, in a house we felt we held precedence.
This was more their home than it was ours.
“Let’s see, I can’t shoot a firearm. I can’t compose music. I can’t draw well. I can’t make a nuclear bomb,” she hummed, “I can’t swim.”
“Can’t swim? Isn’t that like Survival 101?” I asked.
“Yeah well, I didn’t have a lot of time growing up to learn how. I suppose, as an adult, there’s no excuse. I haven’t made the time to embarrassingly find someone to teach me how to swim,” she explained, “good thing this colony seems a bit barren when it comes to rivers, lakes, and oceans.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’d take anathemas over a large body of water any day,” I joked. I heard her stifle a soft laugh. So, she did find me funny sometimes? Good to know her humor wasn’t all that dry.
So, her parents were strict, borderline eugenic scientists. And, she never had fun growing up. Well, it was no wonder she seemed so miserable right? Surely, she needed to find some alone time to dabble in interesting hobbies or do something fun for once. Knowing her, though, she’d state such trivial matters to not be productive. Learning to swim, though, was definitely a survival skill.
“Problem,” Regina spoke over comms, breaking our conversation. Both of us glanced over to her datapad, seeing the probe stop dead in its tracks, some sort of barrier in the way. Well, maybe we did walk all this way for a dead end.
“Dead end!” Owen shouted unnecessarily as he approached the probe.
“No, not a dead end,” Jack immediately brushed past him. The probe had stopped at a large indent in the walls. She was right. It wasn’t a dead end, an empty space of nothing. It was a door, not like the type we were accustomed to with either handles or some sort of panel.
“Well, it looks like a dead end to me,” Owen grumbled, seeing nothing important in the shape of the structure.
“The probe senses something behind it, otherwise it would have gone into standby mode,” Jack muttered, placing her hands on the surface to gently feel it, “it’s a door, dumbass.”
She was right. Jack had only gotten a mere glance at what Regina had shown, and it was clear the probe was sensing empty space behind this barrier. A door it was, despite Owen’s attempt to want to just return back to his comfortable bed. Now comes the real question, how do we open it?
Jack’s hand followed a small, almost unnoticeable seam at the edges, finding it going into an indent into the side wall. There, she could feel soft individual ridges, like buttons for a combination. I walked over, putting my rifle aside for now.
“It’s a combination lock, looks like twenty different modules,” she glanced at me, “no numbers, or any indication of a language. It’s based on the ridges.”
My fingers gently prodded at them to feel the surface but not press anything, “It’s like touching a fucking medjool.”
“I’m surprised you know what that is,” she teased. I didn’t need her to remove her helmet to sense she was smiling. Regardless, she did eventually let that helmet collapse so she could view this puzzle without glass impeding her thought process. It was nice to see that raven hair again, and green eyes.
“Dates are tasty,” I shrugged, not caring how she judged my likeness for food, “how long do you think it will take?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
Great. Now, we wait.
Hours had passed since finding the door. Jack was in clear communication with her team, scanning and monitoring the buttons constantly. Their thought process was ingenious. Jack recommended with the help of scanning the buttons of finding evidence of wear and tear, narrowing down by touch and oils which ones were pressed more than others. Sadly, it was all twenty of them.
“This fucking blows worse than a whore,” Owen groaned, laying down entirely on his backside, staring at the ceiling out of tiredness and boredom.
“Let her do her work,” Grimes sighed, bored himself. All of us were bored. Jack probably was too, but she was doing her best to figure out the combination. If she couldn’t figure out how to get a door open, then studying or investigating everything else would be a real challenge.
I had faith in her and her team.
“Can’t we just blow a nice hole through it?” Owen asked, glancing at me.
“We don’t know what’s behind there,” I shook my head, “seems like a waste of ordinance to me. Last thing we want to do is cause an explosion that sends all the anathemas here.”
“Jack…connection going spotty…storm.” voices rang through to the Doctor’s comms. Shit. This storm was jamming our communication, and pretty well too. Mostly static came through on our end, and it seemed to piss Jack off.
“Shit, repeat Doctor O’Brian, have you established a pattern?” Jack asked with frustration laced in her voice.
“Algorithms will…send results…possible combinations,” broke through the static before being ultimately silenced.
Fucking algorithms. Although to be fair, at this moment, it wasn’t a bad idea. Instead of just pressing random buttons hoping it would come open, it sounded like based on the entire skin oil residue they could come out with more specific button mashing. Nothing predictable or statistical.
Nothing of what I was afraid of.
“Well, maybe we should have headed back earlier instead of worrying about this stupid door,” Owen scowled, rising from his comfortable spot to stand, “Garcia, let’s go see how bad this storm is.”
“You’re not the one giving orders…” Garcia noted, glancing my way.
“Go ahead, report back as soon as you can. If it looks decent enough to head back, then we can try and rush back with the Sioc,” I ordered, seeing the two move.
“And if it looks bad?” Garcia questioned.
“Then we stay here for the night. We all have packs of gear for that very reason. Preferably stay here instead of near the rope, that way we only have one pathway to keep an eye on at night,” I ordered.
I could tell nobody was keen on spending the night here. Even Jack looked skeptical at the idea, and I couldn’t blame her. But driving through a sandstorm with limited communication seemed too dangerous and risky. Besides, if this algorithm took all night to calculate, then by morning this door could be open and we continue with our work.
Garcia and Owen were quick to take off, hoping there was a chance they’d see a glimmer of late afternoon sunlight to escape. I walked back to Jack, seeing some grime and black dirt residue on her forehead, along with slight wrinkles of frustration.
“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” I asked, knowing she had spent practically all day on this thing. Just hearing her talk about all this was giving me a headache. Her having to do a lot of the brainwork was probably giving her a massive migraine.
“Well, luckily it seems like the pattern doesn’t repeat itself,” she muttered to herself, looking at simulation runs on her datapad as if she didn’t even hear me.
“How many different combinations are possible if they don’t repeat, and the order must be specific?” I asked, squatting down to be eye level with her.
“What’s the biggest number you can think of?” She answered with a question of her own, her tired eyes glancing at me.
“Uh…a gazillion?” I shrugged.
“Not a real number,” she laughed tiredly, “try more on the lines of quadrillion.”
“How many zeroes is that?” I tried picturing the number in my head.
“Too many,” she hummed, “I’m just worried what would happen if we don’t get the exact combination right. Doors, locked doors, are meant to hide, conceal, or secure something. I don’t know what will happen if we enter a wrong code.”
“If worst comes to worst…we blow the door open with a controlled explosion,” I sighed, not wanting that to be a possibility.
“And give Owen that satisfaction?” Jack scowled, “I’d rather sit here and crunch numbers.”
“Boss,” Garcia’s voice broke through with some static but was much clearer than from the command post, “storm is bad, it’s a no-go on going home.”
“Copy, guess it’s sleepover time,” I said, both back to him and aloud. Everyone seemed to groan with frustration. Jack went back to sitting in the corner against the door, looking at her data.
“You bring food? I have extra,” I offered her, knowing it was just dried meat and fruit but it would be satisfying enough.
“I have food,” she nodded, before adding, “Thank you, though.”
“How are you going to eat with…” I paused, glancing at her mask. She seemed to finally realize she wouldn’t get the privacy to do so. I could see those exhausted eyes falter with slight defeat. She’d have to take that mask off if she wanted to eat, and it was clear from her demeanor she wouldn’t do so around other people.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured me.
She’d rather starve than give us all the satisfaction of what laid beneath that mask. Admirable, but only worsened our curiosity. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad? The top half of her face looked perfectly fine, well sculpted…beautiful almost. No. She wasn’t beautiful, but she had decent looking features. Good looking. I guess I could compromise with that. She certainly wasn’t my type.
She did not eat. It worried me even more that throughout our little suppers, eating together and sharing stories, she sat alone in the corner. Every once in a while, someone on my team would glance over at her, hoping for a glimpse. I hated that they did so. I hated even more that I did it too, whenever she seemed to move awkwardly out of the corner of my eye.
We said nothing else that night, her and I. I arranged my team into firewatch stations of two hours each before going back to sleep. Jack of course was exempt. I needed her fully rested for tomorrow. I opted for the middle one, given it was the hardest and let the others fight for their slots. It took forever for me to sleep, even worse during my shift in the dark. I merely moved away from the group, laying on my stomach with my rifle on night vision to look for any heat signatures.
Nothing. We hadn’t heard or seen anything since that little banshee scream from earlier. It gave me hope that again this was hopefully not the nightmare we thought it could be. Perhaps there were only a handful of anathemas to destroy, and from there, I could work on destroying the next batch.
Regina came to relieve me, tapping on my shoulder. When I moved from my position, eager to try and get a bit more sleep, I noticed something in her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, bloodshot, as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep at all.
What’s wrong?
I keep hearing things.
I haven’t heard anything all night. What does it sound like? Emotions were hardly noticeable in sign, but it was clear from her trembling hands that this was bothering her. More than bothering her, but rather haunting her.
Talking. Low, deep, conversations I can’t understand, she nervously put together. I wondered if it was the same thing I heard when that anathema spoke in front of us all in that unintelligible dialect.
It sounds like in the walls, she clarified, although that didn’t help the sinking feeling in my gut.
Either she had a faulty hearing aid. Or, it was doing its job too well and picking up sounds I hadn’t heard at all in the past hour. Either that, or she was going crazy and imagining it. Both scenarios seemed possible. Given her already frightened state, I hoped it was just the crazy scenario. She could be dehydrated or any other various medical problems that caused deliriousness.
Turn your aids off, go back to sleep. I can take your shift, I ordered. Her tired eyes looked concerned, as if wondering if that was okay. Would I think anything less of her if she accepted that? Of course not, but I knew I didn’t always appear that way. I tried to be understanding when I could.
I’m sorry, she apologized and I shook my head. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep easily anyways. I signed there was nothing to apologize for, and someone would wake her in the morning. Hopefully the noises wouldn’t be heard further and she could have some peace tonight.
Something didn’t sit right. Why did the anathema jump from the cavern depths with ease and attack, and they didn’t attack now? If it was them in the walls or wherever and knew we were here, why didn’t they strike? If it was a breach in territory, then they would attack now.
What bothered me the most was that they talked, according to Regina. They, as in two or more. There was a possibility they could communicate in this anathema state, understand each other the same way we communicated daily. This was best kept between us for now, although in the morning I would share with Jacqueline to see what she thought.
Glancing back, she was tucked in that corner still alone, half a blanket covering her legs. She looked peaceful when asleep, the only time she really got to know the true meaning of rest. Could a woman who looked like that really work for Sabbath? What would her life have been like if she had chosen that photography route? What would mine if Sabbath hadn’t stolen me from my home?
I glanced back at my scope, trying to find something else to think about. Not about Jack’s peaceful face, hair falling between her eyes. Not about Regina’s comments about hearing noises I couldn’t. Not about the possibility of a future that wasn’t ours, if our childhoods had been different.
We’d never know the full truth of the butterfly effects that happened in our lives. Certainly, we both wouldn’t be here together, and stuck on Colony Negative. Given a choice, something I always lacked, I would be far away from this place, maybe somewhere with a beach, soaking up the sun and a nice frozen cocktail.
And with Jacqueline drowning in the background, not able to swim.