Chapter Twenty-Nine

ONLY AFTER THE last cannibal disappeared into the forest, to our cheers, did Caspersen relinquish the gun. And when she turned, she was practically unrecognizable. Tears streamed from red, bloodshot eyes, and her breathing came in loud, hoarse gulps. Her entire face had swelled up and turned red.

Matt didn’t look any better. His cheeks had swollen into great puffs over the top of his mask, and the whites of his eyes had gone almost entirely red.

We raced to escort them to the supply room in the hope Kayleigh might be able to do something—anything—to help.

Caspersen didn’t resist, but she gave orders the entire time. “Don’t leave the gun unattended,” and “make sure there are no survivors,” and “we don’t want any surprises; you hear Johnson?” Matt was wheezing too much to say anything at all.

“Kayleigh,” I called, bursting into the room. I ignored the barrel of the professor’s pistol, which trembled about two inches from my face as I first stepped in, and tried not to consider how close I’d come to being shot. “Kayleigh, quick. Caspersen’s been hurt.”

“And Matt,” Connor put in. “Sons of bitches threw some sort of smoke bomb.”

“I’m okay,” Caspersen wheezed, gesturing toward Matt. “He got the worst of it.”

Matt tried to choke out some assurance of his own, but a coughing turned vomiting fit cut short the knight-in-shining-armor routine.

Kayleigh, meanwhile, moved with the precision and determination of someone who actually knew what she was doing, so I got out of her way. “All right, don’t talk. Here, let’s get you away from that.” She backed Matt away from the puddle of vomit and lowered him into a seat. “Carter, I need water. Right away.”

“What?” The professor seemed surprised, and not pleasantly, to be called on.

“Water. Now.” Then to Caspersen: “Okay, Tracie, you shouldn’t be standing either. Here.” Deftly lowering her patient, Kayleigh continued, “Johnson, what are we dealing with? What the hell is this smoke bomb?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It resembled…I don’t know, a bundle of weeds or something. It was smoldering. I didn’t get close to it, but it burned like hell to breathe it in, even through the mask. And my eyeballs felt like they were on fire.”

The professor, meanwhile, had produced a canteen of water and thrust it toward Kayleigh. “Here.”

“Good. Get another.” She turned back to Caspersen. “I’m going to try to flush your eyes out, okay? I need you to open them as wide as you can.”

“Matt first,” Caspersen wheezed. “Johnson, need you back out there.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to leave without at least knowing she was going to be okay. On the other hand, I had exactly no idea of how to help anyway.

Kayleigh seemed to sense my reluctance. “Go. I’ll get you if you’re needed.”

I left, casting a final glimpse over my shoulder. The last thing I saw was the professor’s scowling expression as he returned with another canteen, and Caspersen’s face, bloated and discolored.

I tried to swallow the fear that sight inspired and turned to the work at hand. With Caspersen down, I was now the lone captain on board. And as the highest-ranking officer fit for duty, it would fall on me to lead.

“All right,” I said as I stepped out, Connor following in my footsteps. “Caspersen is in good hands, so we need to get to work.”

Russell was a few steps behind us. The rest of the group had stayed outside by the gun, on orders.

“What now?” Granges asked.

“Now? We check for wounded, make sure there’s no one left to surprise us.” So maybe I wasn’t issuing my own orders, yet. But as long as I was confidently parroting Caspersen’s, I figured I was doing okay. “Granges, you and Cohen stay with the gun. You see anything so much as poking its head into this ship, you shoot it. Russell, you and Connor with me.”

Ours was a uniquely grisly task, as we had to sort through the downed cannibals and figure out what to do with whatever survivors we encountered—all without getting ourselves killed in any final act of vengeance. We also had to keep ourselves well within the ship and away from view to the outside world. The chatter of our enemies rang loud and clear outside, and no one wanted to be the poor fool who poked their head up and wound up skewered on a spear.

We had to move fast. If there’d ever been any doubt, the voices assembled outside made it clear: this was only the beginning. Round one had ended, but there’d be more to come.

Mostly, we encountered dead bodies. The hall ran with blood, and chunks of flesh and gore littered it. Survivors were few and far between. This was less a testament to our steady aim than a product of our superior weapon power and their inferior armor. Among those we found still clinging to life, few had long left, even with medical care. One had been riddled with bullets, and a terrible blend of liquids streamed through his wounds. Another gurgled up blood with every breath. These were easy decisions—we either ended their suffering or left them to die in agony. Connor said we should conserve the rounds, and maybe she was right. But we didn’t.

The real dilemma came with those who might have survived with medical attention. We came across two such men. One had taken a bullet to the leg, splintering the femur and ripping a massive chunk of his thigh apart. He’d almost certainly lose the leg but might live if we stopped the bleeding and got him care. The second’s prognosis proved better yet—he seemed completely uninjured. He’d huddled beside a pair of bodies and lay in wait as we approached. By the rules of engagement, at least back on Earth, we should render care where needed and humanely capture the enemy combatants.

Did the rules of engagement apply on an alien planet, where supplies were thin and the enemy wanted to make a meal of you?

I didn’t have to sort through the practical, moral, and ethical implications though. In both cases, the Keplerites acted first. The guy with the leg shot struck out with a great cleaver as I neared, and Russell put a bullet through his head before he could do any damage. The second, the one playing dead, had his blowgun and a dart at the ready. He might well have killed us if Connor hadn’t spotted a flicker of movement and reacted accordingly.

In the circumstance, we could do nothing else. Still, there was something particularly distasteful about killing a defeated man. Even if he did mean to cannibalize you.

I forgot something of my discomfort when we returned to the skin-walkers. This happened less by choice than necessity. We’d already made quite sure they were dead, and I would have been entirely happy to ignore them henceforth. But Kayleigh, presumably having concluded her efforts for Caspersen and Law, slowly opened the door of the storeroom.

She called out, “Nikkole?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it safe to come out?” She peeked her head out.

“For now, I guess. Just, keep low.” I headed over to the door. I suspected she had something to tell me about her patients. Since she seemed to want to be out of their hearing, I feared it wouldn’t be good news. I waited until she stepped out and closed the pod behind her. Then I asked, “Are they okay?”

She shot me a worried glance. “To be honest, I don’t know. The inflammation is really bad. I can’t tell if it’s temporary, like a bad case of inhaling smoke, or if there’s going to be any long-term damage.” Her forehead creased. “That smoke bomb, is it still around?”

“Yeah.” It was still in the hall, where Matt had thrown it. It had burned itself out, leaving only a smoking stub, and most of the smoke had cleared up by now. We’d given it a wide berth during our macabre search mission.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s still smoldering,” I cautioned.

“I’d like to get an idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“All right. Come with me. But, stay low. They’re still out there, and they’re probably coming back. We just don’t know when.”

By this point, the bombs were little more than glowing clumps. My eyes started watering as we got near, but Kayleigh moved close enough to prod it with her foot.

It was a cluster of some sort of thin, tubular vegetation, bound with a cord. Much of the cord and most of the plants had burned away, but what remained was enough to impress me it was some sort of grassy weed—possibly even the same weed we’d found in the foothills.

She got close enough to examine it and remained until her eyes started watering; then she pulled back, got her breath, and did it again. She repeated this cycle a few times before she stood, eyes red and glistening, and shook her head. “I wish I had my damned lab.”

“You think they’re going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Then, she paused to frown. “Hey, how did the cannibals get them in here? The smoke bombs, I mean?”

I grimaced with an offhand gesture to the skin-walkers. “They carried them in. One of them was able to throw this one before we shot him.”

“You mean, they came in with them already lit? While they were smoking?”

“Yeah. But they were running, and they carried the bundles behind, you know? So the smoke followed them?”

I noticed a gleam in her eyes beyond half-formed tears. “Are they wearing any sort of face coverings? Masks?”

“What?” The question was so unexpected I did a double take. I had deliberately not mentioned this horror to the civilians and was pretty sure Caspersen would have the good sense to keep it under wraps too. Did Frat Boy spill the beans?

Surprise crossed her face at my reaction. “To stop the smoke from affecting their eyes or lungs?”

“Oh.” I hesitated. In a way, they’d been wearing masks, I supposed. But I couldn’t imagine any use for them beyond the psychological impact on their foes. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Where are they? The guys who brought the bombs?”

I tried to think of a reason to put her off this line of inquiry. “Actually, Kayleigh, maybe you should head back to the room now. Check on Caspersen and Matt. They probably shouldn’t be left alone until we know they’re okay.”

She stared at me quizzically. “What are you talking about? My best chance of helping them is figuring out what we’re dealing with.”

“It’s dangerous. They’re still out there. They might be coming back. You shouldn’t be…” I trailed off as she’d brushed past me, heading in the direction I’d indicated a moment earlier.

“It’ll only take a minute, Johnson, and then I’ll be done. Which ones were they?”

“Kayleigh, wait.” I caught her arm, and she regarded me with genuine surprise. I knew I had to level with her. There was no getting around that now. “There’s something there.” Her eyes darted to the entrance, and she instinctively ducked. “Not alive,” I continued. “Not anymore.”

She straightened, her brow furrowing with concern. “What are you talking about, Nikkole?”

“Listen, this is… Kayleigh, what’s over there…it’s bad. Worse than anything I’ve ever seen.”

She scanned the hall and then turned back to me. “I’ve seen corpses before. Long before I ever got on this ship. Not this many, but I can handle it.”

I didn’t doubt that. But I wasn’t talking about corpses. “Not dead bodies. Worse.” There was no delicate way to say this, no way to downplay the horror. So I went for it. “Those men…they’re…they’re wearing human skin. Someone else’s skin, I mean.”

It took a moment for the words to register, and then she glanced between the bodies and me. “You mean…wearing skin?”

I nodded. She’d gone quite pale, so I reached out a hand to steady her. “Maybe we should go back now?” I expected her to acquiesce this time, now that she understood the full measure of the horror.

But she raised her chin resolutely. “No. I need to see them.”

“Kayleigh…”

She clasped my forearm reassuringly, and I knew she didn’t need a supporting hand. “If they’ve got some sort of protective gear on, I need to know, Nikkole. Because if they don’t…they’re not worried about long-term effects.”

I tried to ignore the shiver that ran up my back as I declared, “If you want, I’ll look for you.”

She hesitated but shook her head again. “I’ll do it. I’m the doctor.”

Miserably, I gestured to the nearest skin-walkers. “All right.” If I couldn’t dissuade her, I’d go with her as a show of moral support. Although, if I was honest with myself, the idea made me so damned queasy I doubted I’d be much help. Still, I followed her and tried my best to seem unaffected by the monster at whose side she paused.

For her part, Kayleigh was remarkably calm. She went pale again as she knelt by the dead man, and her hands trembled a little as she examined the mask.

It seemed all the more terrible from this vantage—and it’d been bad enough at a distance. Seams and tears that hadn’t been visible from afar covered the skin suit. They only emphasized the unspeakably gruesome nature of the Frankenstein-esque patchwork. Rough stitching and coarse edges appeared here and there. As I’d noticed before, the outer shell seemed too small for the wearer.

But the true terror lay in the face. The skin of the poor soul, whose body this had once been, ended in worn, fraying holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth. From these gaping apertures, the cannibal’s own features protruded. The mask seemed old, and it too had been torn in places. A gash ran down the back of the head, through which the wearer’s hair peeked out. A few cuts marred the cheek, too, and revealed the skin of the man underneath.

More than anything, though, it was the effect of seeing this poor, dead face take on a shape that wasn’t its own, morphing into a monstrous combination of the two, which struck me with a deep, visceral horror.

I nearly jumped out of my own skin when, after a minute, Kayleigh asked for help in turning him over. And I tried not to cringe as I acquiesced.

The skin-walker had been larger than most, and he was deadweight now. It took both of us working together to get him turned over.

Here, the Frankenstein effect seemed even more pronounced. I almost dropped the cannibal at first glimpse. Stitching and lacing ran up the body, confirming my earlier observation that the skin-walker had been somewhat larger than his victim. Like a corset laced around someone a few sizes too large for it, the skin suit wrapped nearly around the cannibal, but left a strip of bare back, crisscrossed by ties in the center. This bare strip followed down the legs and arms, terminating in the same jagged edges that had marked the facial features. Even the back of the head had a seam of laces running up it.

“Fuck,” Kayleigh breathed. “Imagine…wearing this.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Do you have a knife?”

“Here.”

She took it, drew a deep breath, and then snipped the cords, one by one. I think we both shivered as the skin suit slid off the cannibal. For a minute, she said nothing. But then she handed me back the knife with a “Thanks. Can you help me turn him back?”

I did as requested. The skin-walker lay on his back against a throw of human skin, stark naked and staring with dead eyes at the ceiling.

“All right. They weren’t wearing any sort of breathing apparatus or eye protection. Which means they weren’t worried about effects.” She paused and added, “Or weren’t planning to survive.”

“So Caspersen and Matt…?”

“May be okay.”

I stood as she did. “And you?”

She glanced up at that. “What?”

Her tone was steady, but her eyes and posture told another story as she worked hard to exert control.

“Hell, Kayleigh. You know what I’m saying—that’s some twisted shit we just saw. Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“You sure?”

Her gaze flickered. “I do feel a little like puking,” she admitted. “But…I’m okay.”