Michael Siemsen - Exigency

John groaned halfheartedly. “What?… Hey, quit it now…” One hand blindly grappled for covers he couldn’t reach.

With his pants at his ankles, Minnie gained a clear view of the slug on his calf. A subtle wave rolled across its surface from one end to the other, repeating once more. She slipped her gloved fingers beneath one end of it, tightened her grip, and peeled it off. It was definitely more tightly affixed to him than hers had been, like separating strong Velcro. Goopy threads stretched out between the worm’s underside and John’s leg. The concept of liquefied skin launched a shot of bile up Minnie’s throat. She swallowed and tossed the contorting parasite to the wide puddle at the other side of the cave.

She looked down at his calf.

Oh no…

It was bad. An uncontrollable quiver attacked her chest and she inhaled a shaky breath.

No no no.

She rolled him onto his back and ripped the creature from his thigh. It, too, had made it well into the muscle, cauterizing the wound as it delved deeper and deeper into its food. The hunk splashed in the puddle and a sickening revelation hit her. She’d just tossed John’s left quadriceps. The wriggling mass had begun as a tiny thing—probably smaller than the one she’d plucked from her ankle—but it had broken down John’s flesh, fat, and muscle, converting the matter and expanding its own form. It had felt like a couple kilos when she threw it.

And then there was the ribcage.

The parasite landed somewhere near the last. Tears began to cloud Minnie’s eyes. With several ribs half-exposed, she didn’t know how John could possibly live through this. Even with the cauterization, burn victims’ greatest threat was infection.

“D’you mind?” he said, slowly rolling over. “Some of us’re tryin’ t’sleep here. What… what time’s it?”

Minnie opened her visor a bit more as she studied the worm on his neck. If it had burrowed deep enough, infection would be the least of his worries. “John, you had some parasites on you. I’m pulling off the last one.”

“I’m here to help.” He was still intoxicated.

“Go ahead and roll all the way toward me, okay?”

He complied with some effort. “I’m itchy. Hey, am I naked?”

Minnie leaned close and pulled back the end attached to his jaw. Indeed, it had made it well into the mandible, bone apparently no more resilient than flesh, but she was more concerned with John’s neck. She continued peeling it slowly away, its body compacting as it squirmed in her grip. It had melted away much of the neck muscle, but had yet to reach the carotid or jugular. Farther down she could see that the things seemed to prefer muscle—his pectoral and a bit of deltoid muscle eaten deeper than the surrounding skin.

Fully detached, she flung it away to join the rest.

“Minerva, what ezackly’re you doin’ t’me right now? Y’know…” He lowered his voice to a slurred whisper. “I don’ really thing of you thi’sway. No ‘ffense.”

She looked at his eyes, almost wishing he could remain ignorant of the reality he’d soon comprehend. She patted his chest, examining the ground with biomag. The little ones were everywhere. Fortunately, they moved at a snail’s pace. Minnie leaned close to John’s face.

“I need to grab some medipads to clean up these wounds and neutralize the acids.”

“What’re these wounds ?” He was sounding a trifle more lucid. “Who’s hurt? Am I hurt?”

“Just sit tight,” she said and walked around him, squashing the nearest parasites and twisting her boot into each.

“Jaw stiff. Cheek fills like… dentist. Neck too.” He poked at his cheek and she saw him itching around his ribs.

Minnie tried to sound calm for him. “Try not to touch anything, okay?”

As she knelt down and pulled the medikit from his SSK, she knew the instant that full reality kicked in for him.

“Oh… no … what, what happened to me?”

She turned to see him straining to sit up, shirt raised, and arm lifted out of the way to inspect his side. Four of his exposed ribs and the meat between them shone in the heater’s glow.

297 hours on Epsy. 12 Earth days. 15 Epsy days.

Water dripped from Minnie’s boots to the sinkhole below. Her arms and shoulders quaked as she let go of the rope, watching it with both disdain and triumph when it came to rest in its two-week-old indentation.

I win, rope. I don’t care if you care.

It would’ve been nice if John was awake to witness her victory, but he couldn’t exactly suit up, walk to the tunnel, and swim out. He could hardly roll on his side. Sealant cream was supposed to prevent infection and regrow flesh, but not that much flesh. Goddamn worms. Her only miniscule source of solace lay in the memory of worm genocide she’d committed after the incident. Wormocide , the Worm War Crimes Council would call it at Minnie’s trial.

Her pulse and breath settled, she peered out at the valley—an obscenely picturesque view lit by the afternoon sun—and she set out down the hill, back to the valley floor. Two kilometers east, a stand of especially tall trees was her target. She began with a careful jog.

Beneath the shade of thick vegetation, she maintained a constant scan of her surroundings as she ran, wary of even a single Hynka roaming about. But, as always, her thoughts soon narrowed into a tight beam, focused straight up.

If Minnie were in an EV at that moment, somehow still alive, adrift or settled into some crazy high elliptical orbit, would she want to go on living? To have survived this long would’ve meant purifying and drinking urine, gathering condensation, or possibly having had the forethought to kill her podmate on day one, thus keeping all water and solid sustenance for herself.

There remained only two possibilities: Aether was dead, or she and Qin successfully made it to the surface. If the latter were the case, they’d likely try the same things Minnie intended: attempt a link to the BH or—and Qin would be the one to think of it—hack the supply pod network to post a message. Without an EV, Minnie was limited to her suit’s comms which reached a mere 3-5K in this sort of terrain. Aether, or any crewmember for that matter, could’ve been broadcasting for days and Minnie wouldn’t know it.

She stopped at a broad trunk, placed her hands on the back of her helmet to stretch her ribcage and lungs, and gazed up the tree as she caught her breath.

She tested the lowest “branch,” a thick, circular pad nearly the size of a rooftop helipad. It bent a little from one foot, but when she stepped all the way on, it actually touched the ground. But it was still quite sturdy. She crept along the squishy surface and found a sweet spot. A meter from the central trunk, the “leaf” lifted off the ground. Minnie bounced, gently at first, then tried to actually break the thing. It wasn’t going to happen.

One of the next pads sat at shoulder height, overlapping the first. She dug her fingers into the mossy teal matter, planted a boot against the rubbery trunk, and carefully pulled herself up. Fortunately, the distance between pads decreased as she climbed.

Minnie hadn’t given up on comms after all this time, but would others? Would Aether? It depended upon environment and survival concerns.

Anyone landing in an arctic region would probably remain focused on the bare necessities of living. But anyone making it to Threck Country, a land full of wild fruits and fungus—plenty that were low on arsenic, though Minnie couldn’t speak to the taste—plus rivers and coastline loaded with healthy, presumably edible vertebrates, and no significant predators. A person landing there could afford to split their attention.