Chapter 11
“Sterling Peoples?” C’s voice pricked the edges of my consciousness as if she’d been calling my name for some time. “Sterling Peoples, the sedative effects of the winged corpse serpent should be wearing off. Can you hear me?”
Head spinning, I pushed up and scooted backward until my butt hit the wall. My guts revolted at the motion, and I curled to the side and heaved up the contents of my stomach. “Fuck this shit.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tucked my head between my knees. The sudden dizziness eased.
“The aftereffects are quite debilitating, but they pass quickly and can be sped up by drinking fruit juice.”
I shivered at the thought of the statue-like creature creeping through the ceiling vents, stalking me, waiting to shake more of its silky sleep dust on my head. “C, is that thing still around?” Would it guard my body until I withered and died?
“It is not moving at this moment. However, a sensor is picking up an unaccounted-for weight in an overhead vent not far from you.”
I hadn’t survived sporemageddon to become corpse serpent fodder.
With a laser-eyed focus on the ceiling, I staggered to my feet, then crouched slowly to pick up the tools that had fallen from my belt. Less than a second later, I lurched toward the hovertube, holding my cramping stomach.
After stumbling from the hovertube, I dragged myself to the Tig biodome.
Crouching between rows of fragrant, ripe d’ew, I ripped one from its stem, cracked it open and dove in.
Their honey-sweet juice dripped off my chin onto the rinds of the three discarded melons at my feet.
My headache slowly disappeared, and the need to throw up everything I’d ever eaten relented.
As soon as my head stopped spinning and my thirst was quenched an image of D’alton at the bottom of a crater of sand flashed through my mind.
“C? Is D’alton back from hunting yet?” As soon as I asked, I knew the answer. If D’alton were here, I wouldn’t have woken up alone in that damn corridor covered in some crypt creature’s dust. He would’ve come looking for me.
“No, Sterling People’s. D’alton of Clan Lasting has not yet returned.”
Had I detected concern in her voice? The longer I spent with her, the more sentient she became.
“Can you try to reach him?” I checked my wristport and frowned. It indicated only two suns had passed since I’d left to seek a distraction. That couldn’t be right. “C? How long was I out for?”
“Sterling Peoples, your heart stayed at a sleeping rate for twenty suns and twenty moons.”
What the ever-loving fuck? I’d been passed out for two days! Where the hell was D’alton? I wiped the melon off my face, waiting for more info. He should have been back by now.
“D’alton of Clan Lasting is not responding to my coms. He has moved beyond the extent of my monitoring capabilities.”
Damn it. Feet pounding over metal grates, I bolted to my sleeping pod. A plan formed in my mind. “C, I need you to send me the coordinates of the hoverbay.” I needed a bike.
During my one trip to the surface since the Fires That Cleanse had been deployed, I’d seen no sign of the hoverbike storage.
If I remembered correctly, the mechanics were located on a lower floor.
Wrestling on my warmest clothes, I stuffed the rest of D’alton’s apple pie in my mouth.
Despite my stomach’s rumble for more of the sweet treat, I frowned.
I hadn’t even thanked him for making it.
I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally kicking myself for graduating to new levels of dickhood.
I knew D’alton liked me. He’d been sending me shy smiles for weeks and making us meals that resembled my favorite foods after taking the time to learn what they were.
What had I done in return? Acted like a colossal jerk, totally ignoring him when he walked out of my pod, just because he’d called me strong and beautiful.
All I’d wanted was more of his lips, the heat of his embrace, the tingling in my groin when his fangs brushed my neck… But I always got in my own damn way.
Pack full of gear, I tapped my foot on the hovertube’s floor. Maybe he’d taken down a mantu and spent the night butchering it. But that didn’t feel right. “C, send me D’alton’s com link.” How had I never even asked him for his number?
At last, the door swooshed open, and I double-timed it up the staircase to level three and shouldered my way through the exit. Sand trickled through the gap as I wiggled through the narrow opening and then kicked away the berm of sand to jam it shut once more.
Wind lashed at my hair, so I twisted it into a braid before yanking a balaclava on and covering my eyes with goggles.
“Fuck, it’s cold out here.” I rubbed my hands together and scrolled to the com link C had sent.
When D’alton still hadn’t picked up after the third try, I put on warm gloves.
Please let him be warm and cozy in front of a crackling fire, eating a giant-ass rare mantu steak.
The coordinates C had sent to my wristport flashed red, indicating the location of the hoverbay.
I leaned into the wind and hurried toward the blinking dot.
It had to be under all this sand somewhere.
Through my goggles, I squinted at the twisted wreckage, spinning in a circle to assess the damage.
My muscles tensed as I took in the three stories of plasmasteel that used to make up the above-surface portion of Thermal Station C. It now resembled half-melted candles.
How would Tern ever recover from this mammoth fuckup? All to study bacteria in the magma that might save lives. Instead of saving people, they’d killed a fuck-ton of innocent workers. Who the hell authorized a project without the proper safety precautions in place? What a clusterfuck.
Half an hour of useless kicking at the sand later, I questioned the merits of my plan.
A hoverbike would speed the search up, but if they were completely buried, I’d just have to go on foot.
A gust of wind cleared the clouds for a moment, uncovering the sun beside the moon.
The moon, God damn it! Why had I let D’alton leave? He needed blood before the moon.
Immediately, an image of D’alton leaped into my mind, his copper eyes dipping to his feet in defeat when he’d told me “The full moon’s coming, and I need blood.
Fresh meat should help.” I’d been so preoccupied with the idea of him manipulating me for my body that I’d completely disregarded his plea for help.
What if he died out here in this pink sandstorm? All alone.
My jaw and throat tightened until tears stung the corners of my eyes. It would be my damn fault. Why hadn’t I offered? Or even cared enough to ask what the hell happened if he didn’t get any?
“C?” I shouted into my wristport. “What happens if a Boola doesn’t get blood?”
“Sterling Peoples, Boola require blood on a monthly basis or when injured. The full moon drives the cycle. They can go a short period of time without blood, but they become singularly focused on finding a source, driven by their bloodlust. If no source is found they succumb to blood fever and their organs begin to deteriorate, eventually—”
“Stop!” I couldn’t take any more.
Think for a minute. I needed a shovel. When I’d changed the air filters, there had been a supply cupboard inside. Jogging to the utility chamber, I ducked inside, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of a shovel leaning against the wall.
An hour later, chest heaving and sweat beading on my brow, my shovel hit metal. I prayed this wasn’t a giant waste of time. At long last, a door came into view, revealing a pad scanner. It dangled from its wires, but when I scanned my palm, the door clicked open. “Thank my lucky stars.”
The tension in my shoulders eased as I surveyed the room. Hoverbikes in all states of repair filled the floor. One corner of the ceiling had collapsed and sand had poured in, but other than that the room was remarkably intact.
On the third try, an engine hummed between my legs, and the thrusters lifted the hovercraft off the floor. Yes! I pumped my fist in the air, topped the bike up with a nearby fuel tank and tossed my gear into the sidecar compartment.
My headlamp lit up a reflective yellow rectangle painted in a cross-hatched pattern on the floor, and I eased the hoverbike closer. I hoped the yellow button dangling from a chain would open the bay door, but who knew what the hell would happen? I pressed it anyway.
The door mechanism groaned, straining under the weight of the sand, and the bay doors tilted and jammed. You’ve got to be kidding me. A river of sand hissed through the opening. The moon, framed in the crack where daylight streamed in, taunted me. I needed to hurry the fuck up.
After a cursory glance to assess whether the gap was big enough to fit the hoverbike through, I hit the accelerator.
When my helmet skimmed the opening, I tucked my legs in and lowered the hoverbike a smidge, plastering my body to the chassis.
Whatever it took, I was getting out of here on the back of this bike.
The foot pegs ground against the lower metal bay door, and the upper door scraped over the vertebrae in my back as I inched through the crack.
I sucked in a breath, stomach glued to the bike, and held it.
If the door above me collapsed under the weight of the sand, I would become the corpse serpent’s next meal.
A wondrous blast of cold air hit my face, and the bay door collapsed a moment later, shooting me forward and tearing off the rear wind fender. “Fuck, that was close.”
The wind knocked my idling hovercraft around like a ship in a storm, and I couldn’t see more than a meter in any direction.
Frustration got the better of me, and I slammed my hand against the dashboard.
How the hell would I find D’alton in this?
On the dash, a loading screen circled for a moment, and my eyes widened beneath my goggles when a topo map appeared.