Nathan Hystad - The Survivors - Books 1-3

Satisfied I was ready, I lifted the door, exiting the ship. The cold hit me like a brick wall, and I ran through the blowing snow toward the mountains. The footprints were fresh enough that they were still easy to follow.

“Dean!” a voice called thinly through the wind. “Dean!”

Gun ready, I spun, only to see Slate running toward me. “You okay?” he asked. When I nodded, he asked where the others were. I told him what had happened, and he stepped closer, looking me straight in the eyes. “You look fine,” he said, and with that, we were off together after Mary and Magnus.

“Did you see anything out there?” I asked, assuming he saw nothing but snow and ice.

“Yeah. They dragged them along this path. There must have been some fight left in the people, because one of the creatures was limping along, left behind. It was hurt pretty badly, so I put it out of its misery.”

The way he could casually talk about killing something always struck me as cold, but I think a part of me was only annoyed that he could turn it off when I held on to it so tightly.

The signs of the creatures and their prey were everywhere as we neared an entrance to the hillside. The mountain was tall, reminding me of visiting the Rocky Mountains as a teenager. Foreign trees lined the countryside, and I tried to focus on the task at hand, knowing I would have time to study this new world once we got our people back. The wind bit at my face, but the suit kept the majority of me warm as we followed the footsteps and drops of blood into an opening in the rock wall. The stark contrast of red human blood against the snow reminded me we probably didn’t have much time.

I tried the other two through the comm system, but either the storm or the rock was causing a disruption, and no one replied. The cavern opened up wide, and we turned our suits’ lights on, allowing us to see in the dimly-lit space. It looked like a huge bear cave, the kind you wouldn’t be stupid enough to run blindly into. We did just that, guns raised, ready for anything, but we saw and heard nothing.

The large room got smaller, the ceiling coming down rapidly as we went, and soon we were stuck with a choice of left or right. The cave separated into two tunnels, and we didn’t know which one to take.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Slate looked angry at having to decide. He was better at shooting first and thinking later, so this wasn’t his forte. “We could split up,” he suggested.

“With no radio communication, that adds to our risk. Let’s go left.” I went with my gut, and Slate seemed happy with it. He took the lead, gun up and lights shining forward as he bulldozed down the ever-tightening hallway. When I started to worry we would get stuck, it widened again and opened into another cavern.

“Where the hell did they go? Should we go back and try the other option?” I asked.

Slate started to answer, but I thought I could hear someone calling my name, and I didn’t make out his words. An alien sensation ran through my body, akin to the racking pain from inside the transport vessel, but more subdued: clearer now. My feet were moving, but I didn’t recall telling them to. It was as if an outside force was pulling strings, and I was a puppet. The rational part of my mind told me to be afraid and wanted to panic, but I didn’t. I went along with it, taking comfort in the new control.

“Dean?” Slate said my name, but he sounded miles away. I felt a tapping on my arm, but I didn’t stop and turn to him. I kept moving, flowing down the floor toward my goal. I wasn’t sure what that was, but it was close. So close.

“Dean! Stop walking; you’re freaking me out!” Slate was in front of me now, his large frame preventing me from continuing. I bumped against him, getting angry that he’d try to stop me from getting to wherever it was I needed to be. My pulse rifle raised, pointing at his chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled, moving away from my aim, which didn’t follow him.

“I must get there,” I said, the words not my own, but from some part deep inside me. I could feel the blood pumping in me then, each beat of my heart pushing the life-force around my veins.

“Get where?” he asked, but I was walking faster, leaving him in the cavernous room as I exited through another hallway. This one wasn’t as tight as before, and for the first time, I noticed carvings on them. The part of me that was being pushed down tried to force itself out, to warn me something was wrong, but I didn’t let it. The hieroglyphics became denser on the walls as I went, and I could make out the sound of footsteps following at a safe distance behind me. Slate wasn’t a threat, so I didn’t worry about him.

The hall went on for a couple minutes before I reached my destination, which I knew the moment I crossed into the room. The energy was palpable, and my blood sang, thrumming in my ears like an airplane taking off. The LEDs on my suit flickered, and a small part of me wanted to scream. The other part was excited, ready for what was coming.

“Dear God,” Slate said from behind me.

A light illuminated thirty or so yards inside the room, starting out small: a clear gemstone, glowing blue suddenly. I stepped toward it and the light expanded, the drawings on the walls of the cavern burning hot blue as well.

“Dean, I think you should stop,” Slate said, but he didn’t come anywhere near me.

The room was at least one hundred yards wide, and I could see it all now, basking in the cool blue light. In each corner, manufactured pillars were erected, fitting from floor to ceiling. In the center of the pillars, which were spread out the full distance of the room, stood a table of sorts, made of the same material as the columns. The gemstone hummed a near-silent but constant song, and the blue rays pulsed in it, seemingly in time with my own heartbeat.

I neared the gemstone, squinting against the bright light, and saw the table had small illuminated icons on it. There were at least fifty of them, each a unique image of hard lines and squiggles. My hand settled flat over them, moving of its own volition, and I heard Slate calling to me.

The words were getting louder, and I turned to see him rushing toward me. I felt my finger touch down on the table. The icon it hit grew bright and bathed the entire room in green light. Slate collided with me, but something told me he was too late.

T he light was gone, along with the pounding of my heart on my eardrums. I lay on the ground, recalling walking away from Slate, and knew I wasn’t in control of whatever had taken over me. It left me feeling dirty and used.

“Slate?” I asked, not able to see anything in the dark room. I fiddled with the LED controls for my suit and they flicked on, casting a white glow over the larger man beside me. He groaned, sitting up before feeling himself for injury.

“Dean, just what the hell were you doing? First you pass out on the way over here, then that?” His voice was raised, telling me he was at his wits’ end with me. Slate liked things he could understand, and what had happened didn’t fall into that category.

“I have no idea. My blood was burning, pumping hot and fast, then my brain disassociated, allowing something else to move me. I’m sorry for pointing a gun at you. I swear it wasn’t me.”

“It sure looked like you,” he muttered under his breath. Slate turned on his own suit’s flashlights and stood up, taking stock of our situation. We weren’t in the same room we’d just come from. The air felt stale and thin. Slate unzipped a breast pocket, unfolding a breathing mask from inside, and I followed suit. With the mask against my face and strapped to my head, my breaths took on a smooth flow once again.