Chapter 1 #2
Dread roiling in stomach, Wynn turned, snapped the control panel closed with a click, then forced her feet to move. The wind picked up, swirling and twisting around her legs while the blue and green shields rippled above as the rain continued to drizzle.
She reached the hovercart, grabbed the pulse rifle out of the bed, and tucked it against her shoulder, finger on the trigger.
Using the scope, she aimed it toward Research Station 214.
The magnifier didn’t have enough range to tell her exactly what it was, just a dark, undefined mass, but it was heading toward her steadily, maybe even slowing.
Opening both eyes, she stared above the scope. Only one. There was only one of it. If it were a beast, wouldn’t it have brought its friends? Its pack, the media kept calling them.
Lightning exploded above her, reaching its fingers under the clouds.
Wynn blinked away the streaks in her eyes and focused on the form in the distance.
It looked like a person. But why would they be out there?
She rechecked her PALM, and found no messages from Research Station 214.
If they were sending someone, then they would have notified her. It didn’t make sense.
The rain picked up, the net above her undulating constantly. Wind slapped against her body, making her sway. The environmental warning pulsed red at the bottom of her visor. She couldn’t stay out here any longer.
Wynn slid the pulse rifle between the passenger seat and the dashboard, then jogged around the front of the hovercart to jump in the driver’s seat. She pressed the start button. The engine sputtered, then died.
Her chest squeezed, echoed by another rolling rumble of distant thunder. She tried the start button again. The engine sputtered once more, then went silent.
“No. No. No.” This had happened before—the day Foster died.
She pressed the button again, and her throat closed up when she got the same results. She smacked the control panel with both hands, then gripped the throttle like she could break it apart.
Lifting her head, she focused on that figure in the distance. It didn’t look like it had gotten any closer during the past few minutes. The beasts had traveled quickly, giving her and Foster no time to seek shelter.
Lightning flashed, then another, followed by a louder crash of thunder than before. The sound rattled her helmet around her head, making her grit her teeth.
She picked up the pulse rifle again and looked through its scope. Another bolt of lightning lit up the terrain in the space between her and Research Station 214. She blinked away the bright cracks lingering in her retinas and focused.
The thing in the distance looked the same, a dark shape against a brown horizon, but it was getting harder to see with the rain now spreading between them.
What the hell was it? Her binoculars back at the outpost could see farther, and would give her more information. Wynn lowered the rifle, returning it to its place.
Inhaling a deep breath, she pressed the start button again. “Come on. Please.”
The engine rumbled to life. The vibration traveled through her body to her jittery hands.
She gripped the throttle and put it into gear.
Her foot slammed on the accelerator, the cart shooting off like a pulse cannon.
She drove straight down the row at full speed.
Once clear of the netting, she slowed and took the turn to her outpost.
No longer within the enviro-net’s protection, wind slammed into her like a wall.
Rain splattered against the hood of the hovercart and her visor, the percussive sound beating into her head and body.
She wiped her vision clear, her hand shaking.
Water coated the ground, deep channels forming in the cracks.
Without her UV-suit, she would be soaked through.
A warning flashed on the hovercart’s control panel, telling her to take cover.
“No shit.”
She increased her speed, the squat shape of her outpost growing into a rectangular building on stilts and its connected greenhouse, both made of metal composite and transparent aluminum.
Rain coated the throttle, and she gripped it tighter, not slowing until in front of the main entrance.
The cart lurched to a stop when she slammed her foot on the brake.
Reaching for the pulse rifle, she turned and searched the horizon. She couldn’t see the form through the rain. She could barely see anything at all. Wiping her visor didn’t help.
The rifle tight in her hand, she jumped out. Puddles splashed beneath her feet, and her boots slipped in the mud. She should take the hovercart back to the shed, but with the rain so thick, and the strange form on the horizon, she didn’t want to waste a second getting safely inside.
Stomach clenching with nerves, she passed the spot where Foster had died, grabbed the handrail, and pulled herself up the steps to the landing. The main doors slid open after a swipe of her PALM against the control panel.
Rain cascaded off her suit as she stumbled inside. She slapped the inner controls. As soon as the doors fully closed behind her, she unhooked her bag, empty of seeds now, and placed it in the wall compartment along with the pulse rifle to undergo their own decontamination process.
A fine mist erupted from above, coating her in cleansing fluid. She held still until it stopped. Moisture dripped from her suit to the floor, then through the grating to the filters beneath.
Wynn turned to face the second control panel, the one that would tell her how many toxins remained on her suit. The panel blinked red in warning. Too many. Not surprising after being drenched in acid rain.
Another layer of fine mist coated her before the next door opened.
She stepped into the second decontamination room and turned to watch the storm grow in intensity.
The shielding above her fields flickered in the distance, but at least it was operational.
The inner doors closed, distorting her view.
With a flick of her finger, she disengaged her helmet.
Her visor snapped backward, and the astringent scent of cleansing fluid filled her nostrils.
She twisted the closure around her neck, pulling it over her head.
The rest of her UV-suit followed. A second wall compartment slid open, and she dumped her suit, boots, and PALM inside.
She felt a familiar moment of relief as it disconnected and peeled away from her skin.
Standing in her CORE-issue shorts and tank top, she waited as another round of mist covered her from head to toe.
The transparent aluminum of the inner door reflected a faint image.
Straight black hair cut to her chin, eyes too big for her face, and pale skin—she turned away when the lights on the panel turned green.
The last set of transparent doors released with a hiss, and Wynn expelled a long breath. “Finally.” The decontamination process felt especially long today.
She stepped into the entryway of her outpost. The familiar fragrance of green plants wiped away the decontamination fluid scent that followed her inside. Slippers waited beside the door, and she slid them on as the doors sealed behind her with a snick.
On her left, the hallway opened up into the kitchen, which led to the living area.
On her right, two sets of quarters sat side by side.
Across from them was the door to the lab, and beyond that, the entrance to her greenhouse.
A short corridor connected the lab to the living area, making it a circular design in a rectangular shape.
Wynn hurried down the hallway, past her quarters, and into the lab. Besides the greenhouse, it took up the largest footprint in the building. Windows wrapped around two perpendicular sections of the walls, and glossy black terminals took up the space beneath.
She gaped at the way the sheets of rain bombarded the transparent aluminum, obscuring the endless view beyond. Rushing forward, she searched the central holotable for her binoculars.
“Where are they?” she muttered when she couldn’t find them among the diagnostic tools, scanners, and field supplies. She crouched to check the storage cupboards below, then moved to the wall compartments across from the windows.
She pushed samples and other equipment to the side, and finally found them underneath a case of petrified seeds.
Snatching them up, she crossed to the window facing Research Station 214.
With a touch to the terminal, she accessed storm controls.
The awning outside extended to protect the windows from the direct onslaught.
The cold of the eyepieces pressed against her skin, and the thick downpour hindered her ability to see farther than a few meters. Wynn lifted the binoculars away from her face and changed the settings to thermal imaging. When she resettled them against her eyes, she gasped.
It was a person.