Dove Levy: Way Station

The storm’s closer, now. We’re hunkering down inside a cave we found, within the circle of where the signal originated. We have enough food to last us a week packed in our bags. We won’t need samples up here, I hope, and so we took out most of our tools. All we have is flashlights, bedrolls, water, and a lot of dried food.

Hopefully, the storm passes quickly. It’s almost upon us, now, and neither of us feels any calling, neither of us feels high, and I don’t see any bugs in there. I can hold out hope that this is mundane, that this won’t kill us.

I’m too cold and tired to feel scared, though. Just numb, inside and out.

First fire on POGE! Congratulations, Isaac. Congratulations, me. We just introduced fire to a whole planet. How the aliens will adore us and our advanced ways.

Nah, there must have been forest fires at some point. Forests need them to thrive, even weird animal-plant hybrid forests like we’ve been seeing all over. But the first man-made fire, that’s it. Bringing light back to POGE, one step at a time.

Storm’s here. It’s raging outside, a full-on blizzard, but nothing unusual so far. The edge just got to us, though, so who knows what will happen as the center of it nears.

Isaac’s sleeping now, back farther into the cave where he can’t hear me when I talk quietly like this. I hope he doesn’t mind me sharing this. He told me, just now, why he’s here. He opened up, and I won’t share all of it, because that doesn’t feel right. But we’re similar, him and I. We’re both here for our families.

Curse the world that led us here. That led him and I, two individuals with nothing special about ourselves, two people desperate enough to help our loved ones that we took on this mission, all the way up here, to end up cold, alone, and exhausted in a world of snow and ice and death, in the middle of a storm that could take our lives like similar ones took so many others.

Curse the people, hoarding resources. Curse the wars, curse the famine, curse the disease, curse the poverty. I made a good living for myself, but I couldn’t make a living for my two parents, not after my brother fell ill and couldn’t help me support them. Isaac could make a living for himself, but not for three parents and two toddler siblings. We were desperate, and our bosses capitalized on that desperation, just like everyone in power on that forsaken world has done to countless desperate souls.

The storm is growing worse. There was lightning, earlier. Lightning. I can’t believe it took me so long to figure this out, but of course that’s how life is spreading around the planet so quickly. Lightning will give enormous heat, enough to trigger chemical reactions in chemoautotrophs no matter how advanced they are or not. The things don’t just follow these storms, they need them, and their defense mechanisms or hunting mechanisms or whatever it is they have are chemicals swept up into the belly of it and dished out to all nearby. Pheromones, drugs, acid. This storm is just like all the others, and it’s getting steadily worse.

I have no idea what it will do to us.

It’s moved away a bit. It must be recently formed because I haven’t felt or noticed anything strange in myself or the world around me. No erosion, no odd feelings or sensations. We are only on the edge, and it’s heading steadily north, away from us and away from whoever sent the distress signal.

There are shapes in the clouds, though. Shadows of winged creatures. Small, but there are so many of them. I don’t want them to find us.

The amount of ground that had been inhabited by humans is so tiny compared to the size of the planet. Maybe the storms were always just as common as they are now, but ended up in places other than the stations. Or maybe they’re growing more frequent, more violent. I don’t know. I just know I’m watching aliens swarm in the clouds above me, dropping out of the sky and slithering across the ground, and some are close enough for me to see in my flashlight pointed to the valley floor.

We’re not too high up. They can find us.

Investigating, and then leaving. These aren’t aggressive, apparently. I could almost call them cute.

But on again. On, and on, into this wasteland. This entry will have to be short as well. It’s too cold, and I’m too tired for anything more than this. Sorry.

Dr. Eve Strauss, in the wastelands north of Facility I, on the northern continent of Way Station, assisted by Dr. Isaac Federman.

Examination review of Anne Smith, ID number 1045, details in file. Full autopsy report in temporary file, pending transfer when communication channels open again. They were found clothed in a cave on a mountain along the western edge of the Basin. Skin has a blue tinge, especially in the extremities. Three toes on the right foot and one on the left foot are black, as are all the fingers of their left hand and the index and middle fingers of their right.

Cause of death was natural from frostbite in several internal organs. The deceased recently passed away, within the last half a day to my estimate.

I—

I can’t.

We shouldn’t have delayed.

We were only hours too late.

Dr. Isaac Federman, Research Facility K on the northern continent of Way Station, assisting Dr. Eve Strauss. Walls are intact and the life support system is running at optimal capacity. Food storage and air supply are clean. The research team was found in the med bay, some on beds and some on the floor. The med bay, the lounge, and several of the bedrooms show signs of struggle.

Examination review of Christopher Murphy, ID number 601, details in file. Full autopsy report in temporary file, pending transfer when communication channels open again. They were found clothed on a bed in the med bay, their skin severely dehydrated and cracking. A dog’s bite mark is on their left hand, and there are marks that look like scratches from human nails down their left arm. No other external injuries.

Brain and spine are inflamed and throat is closed. Symptoms point to rabies, transmitted by the animals of the facility. All of the animals in the farm are dead, and all have signs of rabies within them. The livestock have bite marks from dogs. All members of Facility K are deceased.

It’s too quiet here. Feels weird to talk to myself, the exact opposite of what I’m here for — but I told Eve to start these entries for a good reason. They do help. Didn’t realize how quiet it would be without them constantly filling the silences with anything and everything they can think to talk about, no matter how personal or unnecessary they may be.

Took a long time for them to start doing that. I suppose they must feel more comfortable with me now, and I do with them, but they find it so much easier to talk than I do. I’m almost jealous.

They’re inconsolable. I haven’t really shown it myself — it’s hard, even when I’m comfortable, to show emotions properly on my face in a way that it makes sense to other people, but I’m still not over what happened. Though I’ve told Eve many times that it’s not their fault the last survivor is gone, that they couldn’t have known the hours were numbered, it’s what I feel as well. That it’s our fault.

My fault. I know they’re not the best at planning, I know they get distanced from this world sometimes. I don’t experience that, and so I should have insisted we hurry, insisted that finding the source of the signal and the person sending it was the absolute first priority. But I didn’t, because the Oasis made me happy, and the bugs made me happy, and the islands made me happy. It’s not solely my fault, but I take part of the blame, just as they are responsible for their part, even if it wasn’t completely under their control.