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“So what do I do if we get separated?”
“Ideally?” Wade, Mark’s new boss as of this morning, grunted as he adjusted his helmet, “we find each other before midnight, or else the ship leaves without us.”
Mark swallowed, staring out the ship’s window at the abandoned planet they were touching down on. A snowstorm was raging, the winds screaming outside the rusty hull of the Company Ship as Mark’s eyes traced the path Wade had been drilling into him. Ship dock to the house ruins, ruins to the third lamp, go straight and up the hill right towards the abandoned mansion doors they’ll be rummaging through for the next sixteen hours.
“And how will we find each other? It’s dark in there, right?”
“Radio”, Mark’s other teammate, Bob, chimed in. “Or by yellin’ real loud. But some things can copy your voice, so be careful about that.”
“Don’t scare him,” Wade chastised, affixing his own radio and flashlight to his vest, “Mimics are rare. Just come towards where you can hear us if you get lost. We’re both veterans at this, so we’ll make sure you get through your first shift.”
Bob handed over Mark’s radio and flashlight, his hand checking the seal on Mark’s helmet, “Make sure you don’t take this off—it might look like it’s snowing out there, but the pressure’s different.”
Mark’s fingers traced along the air-tight rubber seam, “What happens if the seal breaks?”
“Your head will pop like a grape—quick way to die, if you want that sort of thing.”
Mark shuddered, giving his helmet an extra press just to make sure it was on tight: “Thanks for the image, real pleasant.” The sound of the ship doors opening drew Mark’s attention, the blast of cold causing a reflexive shiver, “Is it at least painless?”
“There are worse ways to die,” Bob laughed, stepping out towards the doors, “Eaten, ripped to shreds, left to rot in a hallway—compared to that, the helmet ain’t so bad.”
Wade had already left the ship, with a joyful Bob following close behind, leaving Mark to quickly gather his nerves. He followed after, resolutely ignoring his paranoia of extra footsteps following him in the snow. This was an abandoned planet, and he had a job to do.
The ship dock to the ruins. Ruins to the third lamp. Straight, then up the hill, and to the doors of the abandoned mansion that had no windows and no other doors but this one. The training was clear: go in, get as many items of value that his arms could carry, and get back out and back onto the ship before midnight. It would be easy, as long as they were lucky.
Mark was rarely ever lucky.
The inside was bigger than he thought, its wooden floors echoing every footstep as Mark followed behind Bob. His job today was to be the light—to shine his flashlight down the halls and ration their shitty battery as best he could. Mark’s hands were sweaty even through the gloves, every creak of the floor making him jump and look over his shoulder.
“This planet’s been abandoned for a while,” Bob reassured, kneeling down over a heap of trash, “and the temperatures are so low, nothing could survive outside for long.”
“Well, what if they came inside? This is the only structure for miles.”
“Then we’d see signs of ‘em,” Bob huffed, standing up from the pile and wiping his gloves off on his suit’s knees, “but there’s nothing here. For them, or for us. Hopefully Wade found something down the other wing.”
Mark breathed deep as he tried to relax, closing his eyes and allowing himself to trust the veteran’s logic: there was nothing here but the three of them. He raised his hand to the radio on his chest, flicking it on: “Any luck on your side Wade? Over.”
The radio static crackled as Bob continued on down another hallway and Mark walked behind, idly trailing his gaze along the wallpaper. It was a reddish-brown, with oddly swirling patterns and stains like ragged claw marks along the plaster. An odd feeling started to come over Mark the longer he stared, only being broken when Wade’s voice finally broke through the static.
“Nothing much, lots of trash but no scrap of value. We’re having a real bad stroke of luck, aren’t we? Over.”
Wade sounded irritated, but not worried. Mark took it as reassurance and continued walking down the hall, only to feel a shot of cold through his stomach as he realized he had lost sight of Bob in his wallpaper-distraction. His mind raced at the things that could have happened, but quieted at the sound of the other man’s voice coming through the radio.
“Seems like it—hey Mark, can you come in here? I need your help, it’s real dark over here. Over.”
Mark swallowed back his panic, straining ears not even catching the hint of an echo of Bob’s voice near him. They had prepared for this.
“I think I fell a bit behind Bob, can you stop and call for me? Over.” Mark asked, his shoulders relaxing upon receiving a “No problem” and not ridicule as he flipped off the radio and stopped to listen. Without the static, all that greeted Mark’s ears was the sound of his own breathing and the creak of the floorboards. It sounded like footsteps creeping up from behind, but logically Mark knew it was just the house resettling from the storm raging outside. And yet, the unease grew as Mark continued to hear nothing down the hallways.
He flicked the radio back on, “Can’t hear you at all. You must’ve really gotten ahead of me, over.”
“Seriously? I swear you’d just been right behind me—just keep going straight, I didn’t make any turns. Over.”
Mark nodded, resuming his steady creep forwards down the hall that seemed endless with its endless reddish-brown wallpaper, listening intently for any sign of Bob. After a bit more walking he stopped again, not wanting to completely overshoot and go too deep inside, his hand traveling down and flipping the radio back on, startling when Wade’s voice erupted through it.
“—Bob! Bob, we’ve got a problem! Tell Mark there’s three—!”
The radio cut off, the static roaring as Mark’s hands trembled from the terror evident in the usually-calm man’s voice. Forgetting his hesitation, Mark began to stride forward as he pressed his button. “Wade? Wade, what’s wrong? Three of what? Over.”
Wade didn’t answer, Mark’s eyes desperately darting down the hall as his flashlight shined into every dark crevice. Its light was starting to flicker, the battery symbol on the side already halfway drained as Mark cursed and hit his radio again.
“Bob, where the fuck did you go? There’s something wrong—we need to get out and get back to the ship. Over.”
Mark grit his teeth when no response came through, leaning heavily against the wall to catch his breath. He just needed to find Bob and together they would find Wade and get the hell out of here, and leave this mansion and its impossibly long halls behind for whatever the fuck still lived here. To Mark’s relief, his ears finally picked up the sound of Bob’s voice down one of the side halls next to him.
“ Mark? Mark—can you come in here?”
“Bob!” Mark surged forward, swinging into the side hall as he followed the echo, “I’m over here! Coming towards you now!”
His footsteps echoed as Mark raced down the hall, popping his head through every door until finally he stuck his head into a large, empty kitchen area. “Bob? Are you in here?” He swung his flashlight around the room, tracing every corner, “Wade sounded real bad, we should go and help—”
“ I need your help” Bob’s voice called back, and Mark reflexively stepped further inward as he looked for him. His eyes and flashlight could only find the strange wallpaper, pausing when they came across another one of those weird splotchy stains. Mark’s breath catched as his flashlight traced its shape, trailing down to the baseboard where the paint was stained a similar, familiar, reddish-brown.
“...Bob? Are you here?” Mark whispered, eyes picking out the deep scratches in the wooden floor that pulled themselves across the threshold and back behind the counter to his right. The sound of the floorboards creaking betrayed footsteps that approached without being seen.
“ —there’s nothing here” Bob’s voice whispered back, closer than it could’ve been without Mark being able to see and hear the other man approaching. Seizing at the voice, Mark’s body finally lurched towards the countertop to see what was waiting behind it.
Bob’s suit was torn in two, long scratches having ripped into the man’s stomach, where something had clearly been eating. One arm was up, limply clutching at the seal of his neck where no head was present, the helmet having rolled slightly away from the body. The brain matter was splattered up the counter and onto the back wall. Bile welled up in Mark’s throat as he gawked at his teammate’s corpse, only held back by the terror that filled him when Bob’s voice whispered from over Mark’s shoulder.
“ —Eaten, ripped to shreds, left to rot in a hallway. There are worse ways to die.”
Instincts finally took over, adrenaline filling his limbs as Mark turned tail and scrambled out of the room and tumbled out into the hall. His feet pounded against the wood as he sprinted back the way they came, not stopping even as the sounds of footsteps doubled.
Left, right, straight, through the left door, down the stairs, through the door on the right. Mark crashed through the final door, barely pausing to recognize the mansion’s main room before his eyes caught sight of the fresh blood oozing from beneath the door leading to the other wing—where Wade was supposed to be. The footsteps that had been following behind had stopped at the same time Mark did, hiding in his echo as Mark caught his breath and stumbled to the mansion’s front door.
“ We’ve got a problem—Mark—we’ve got a problem.” Wade’s voice called to Mark through the bloodied door, Bob’s mockingly-joyous laughter joining in as Mark threw himself through the front door and out into the raging snowstorm outside.
Stumble straight down the hill and to the third lamp, who’s light flickers to the same frequency as the radio screaming static on your chest. Trudge through the snow to the ruins, who’s wooden skeleton mocks you for thinking you could stay out in these winds and come back inside with flesh still on your bones. Try and fail to ignore the two sets of footsteps following you through the snow faster than you can walk back to the ship dock. Stumble and lose your footing while staring at the Company ship just slightly out of reach, its engines starting to warm up as the warning of its imminent departure flashed across your helmet visor, along with the time. 11:55pm.
The footsteps stop just behind when Mark crumpled to the snow, silent as he heaved for air and shivered from the encroaching cold. Mark rolled over slowly, the seconds before the ship would leave without him counting down in his head as he peered through the raging snow. The two things that were following him were barely visible, two tall, gangling things who were only visible as the snow and wind whipped around them. They peered down at Mark, waiting for him to move or look away.
Mark scrabbled at the ground as he tried to drag himself back—he just needed to get on the ship. He would pull himself up the ladder and shut the heavy doors, and leave this and the corpses of Bob and Wade to freeze in the snow. All of these hopes were dashed, however, when his helmet smacked into a pair of legs standing behind him. It was only then that Mark thought to count.
Two. There were only two of those things in front of him.
“ So what do I do if we get separated?” Mark’s own voice spoke, but Mark refused to look away from the two creatures standing in front of him. The ship’s engines fired, and a message popped up on his visor, informing him that due to company policy, the ship would be returning to orbit without him, leaving anybody not on board behind.
“ We’re having a real bad stroke of luck, aren’t we?” Wade’s voice spoke out, its figure not moving even as the wind and snow tore at it. Mark’s hand started to reach up, bracing as the legs behind him seemed to ever-so-slightly move.
“ The helmet ain’t so bad—” whispered Bob, the figure’s head tilting as Mark’s stiff fingers found purchase on the seal, shaking as he prepared to pry against the air-tight rubber, “ there are worse ways to die.”
Breathing out one final time, Mark closed his eyes and apologized silently to his teammates as they towered over him. Footsteps bid him to open his eyes again, the two figures now directly over top of him, shielding him from the snow.
“...like a grape, right Bob?” Mark whispered, unable to help but chuckle when the figure responded.
“ —if you want that sort of thing.”
Mark grit his teeth, whispering out a final “Fuck you” as his fingers clenched—breaking the seal of his helmet, hoping that he was lucky enough for Bob to be right this time.