Hugh Howey - Half Way Home

“Yeah?” I asked, turning.

“I will make some changes. Starting today.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling grateful.

Albeit, prematurely.

I made my way back through the tight passage between the servers and into the wide space full of bedrolls. Someone stomped up the ramp outside and I tried to think of what I wanted to say to Myra—when Hickson burst through the door and nearly ran me over.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” he asked.

“I came to speak with Colony,” I said, looking back over my shoulder for emphasis. Before I could turn back, Hickson had both hands on my shoulders. He pushed me across someone’s bedroll and against the wall.

“Nobody speaks to Colony but me, do you understand?”

I tried to focus on his face, but it was too close to my own. It was a wall of angered red flesh filling my vision. I nodded slightly, worried our noses might collide. “I was just trying to—”

“I don’t care,” Hickson said, letting go of me and stepping back. He positioned himself between me and the servers. “Get out,” he said.

Gladly , I thought, moving to the door. When I got there, I saw Myra sitting at the end of the ramp, her chin in her hands. It reminded me of something. Stepping back through the door, I called after Hickson, who had already started back through the servers.

“Hey, did you want to see me about something?”

Hickson turned halfway around. He rested a hand on the server in front of him and leaned his forehead against the back of his hand. He stood like that for a minute, and I started to ask him again, when he spoke.

“No,” he said. “It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

Not likely, I thought to myself. I stepped around Myra and out into the clearing thinking about how I was going to always remember that exchange.

Of course, at the time, I had no idea what was about to happen next.

I left the command module and headed toward the mess tent, where I hoped to find anything other than fruit paste for breakfast. That was when the first tremors began. At first, I thought the rumbling was emanating from my stomach. Usually, the growling turned into a hollow ache, a silent sort of cramping, like my intestines were tying themselves in knots. But this time, it kept growing louder. Then the ground moved beneath my feet and a nauseating sensation overtook me as my inner ear and my legs disagreed on how to remain upright.

I threw my arms out and fell into a low, wide stance, as several other colonists on their way to breakfast did the same. In the part of my brain that knew vocabulary words with no real context, I realized we were experiencing an earthquake. I knew it like I knew what air was, what trees were, with no deeper understanding beyond the mere concept. I thought if we all stayed put, it would go away and everything would be fine.

Then I heard the whistling.

The first bombfruit smacked the ground not ten feet in front of me. The whistling grew louder and more menacing as the sounds seemed to come from everywhere at once. A dozen more of the skull-sized fruit struck the earth all around me, some of them exploding in a shower of fragmented rind and tossing seed and fruit meat into the air.

I ran for the mess tent, shifting side to side as the ground continued to vibrate beneath me. When I saw one of the bombfruits slice right through the fabric of the tent and explode on one of the metal tables, I changed course, sprinting toward the old vat module instead.

A dozen other colonists had the same idea. A girl ahead of me was nearly taken out by one of the fruit; it exploded in front of her and she went down, slipping in the meat. I stopped to help her up and we both nearly went down as a large tremor rippled through the solid rock. We scurried forward, trying to reach the others inside the module, and finally crashed through the doorway and tripped over those already inside.

All of us pushed our way deeper as we tried to make room for those coming behind. It was a bizarre recreation of our birthday, but played out in reverse—we packed ourselves into the module, seeking safety in the place we had once fled.

Numerous strikes landed on the roof above with enough force to hurt our ears. We cringed in unison at each one, but the waiting between the strikes was even worse. The anticipation would draw out our nerves into thin wires, and then the next bombfruit would pluck them.

Our little group settled in, hugging our shins and each other. People asked how long it would last as if any of our guesses had merit. We hoped aloud that the other colonists had found shelter as well.

During a lull in the vibrations, I left the girl I had helped and made my way back toward the door, needing to see what was going on outside. Before I got there, Kelvin staggered through, his arm around Tarsi, both of them covered in blood.

I ran forward, cursing, not sure which of them to grab. Tarsi looked up, her eyes wide and full of fear. “Help,” she mouthed, the sound of her voice cut off by another strike above.

Kelvin practically fell into my arms. I lowered him to the decking as gently as I could. Half his face was covered in blood. I reached for his neck, trying to remember my first aid and mumbling to myself whether we should be elevating his head or his feet.

“Sit him up,” another colonist said, coming over to help. I was pretty sure she was right. A few of us struggled with Kelvin’s arms; we dragged him back against a vat. He seemed to weigh a ton. I ran my hands over his head, searching for the wound, and my palms came away sticky with fruit meat and blood.

Kelvin’s eyes opened briefly, flickered, then widened. They rolled around, unfocused, as he blinked rapidly. “Where am I?” he asked.

Someone passed me their shirt, and I began wrapping it around Kelvin’s head. “You’re okay,” I said. “Just rest.”

“I feel shaky,” he told me.

“That’s the ground,” Tarsi said. She grabbed my arm and scooted closer to us both. “What’s going on?” she asked me. “Is this an earthquake?”

I nodded. “I think so.”

Even as we discussed it, the rumbles seemed to fade away, almost as if receding into the distance. The whistles and strikes continued for a few more minutes, but none of us ventured outside until they had ceased completely.

After what felt like half an hour with no whistles, we exited the module to find the rest of the colonists staggering from their own chosen shelters, all of us marveling at the level of destruction and the green fruit meat that littered the ground.

Out of habit, or time of day, or maybe the sight of so much food, we coalesced around the mess tent—or what was left of it. I went to get some water out of one of the gold rain barrels to wash Kelvin’s wound when Oliver came running up, a red-topped blur of excitement.

“Did you see it?” he asked me.

“See what, the shit storm of bombfruit? Everyone saw it.”

“It was a miracle,” Oliver said, his face dead serious. “A miracle.”

I reached deep into the water barrel with my bowl; the level had lowered due to a direct hit from a bombfruit, which rested, intact, at the bottom. “I need to see to Kelvin,” I told Oliver. “I don’t have time for this.”

“But don’t you see?” He tugged on my arm. “You went to Colony because the people had grown hungry, and what happened?” He spread his arms. “Manna from the gods,” he whispered.

“Yeah, well, the gods have good aim. See if you can find some clean rags, Kelvin’s head nearly got split open.”

Oliver clapped his hands together and ran off. I watched him as I made my way back to my friends, but he didn’t go looking for a rag or anything practical. I saw him tugging on others, pointing toward the command module and up at the sky, spreading talk of gods and of our salvation.