Isolation

This story originally appeared in Saturday Night Reader on July 22nd, 2015.

The isolation was oppressive. The ceilings so low, the halls so quiet. Outside, gale-force winds hammered the observation station with torrents of ice and snow. The overhead lights flickered and swung.

Fred poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and checked the comms again. Nothing.

What had gotten into Sergio? It had to be fifty below, he had no business going out there. Fred had overreacted, sure. Said some things he shouldn’t have. But it didn’t matter where that damned radio pulse came from, they had to send it stateside for analysis. Sergio just wasn’t making any sense.

The pipes groaned. Fred scratched his neck. All this time alone wasn’t good for the mind. It was worse than the cold. It got you talking to yourself. Doubting yourself.

Metal scraped against metal, from the kitchen. Fred grabbed a broom and crept to the doorway.

“Hello?”

The scraping stopped. He flipped on the light.

Nothing.

He sighed. Two days now, Sergio had been gone. The storehouse wasn’t a two-hour walk from here. Was he just holed up over there, waiting for the storm to pass? He should have enough supplies for a while. But then what?

Fred itched his neck. Damned flannel. The radio signal had come in strong from pretty much straight overhead. Not like he was a physicist, but it had to originate from orbit, or further out than that. Probably just some misfiring telecom satellite. Still, it came through the speakers so grating. And it just kept coming, distorted and sharp, digging into their ears so deep it made them itch. “Shut it off!” Sergio yelled, but Fred let it play out, until it fizzled into the night.

Something pounded against the door, and Fred jumped. Muffled shouts penetrated the howling wind.

Fred rushed to the airlock and punched the outer door release. A torrent of white buffeted the window, then settled as the outer door slammed shut. Inside the airlock, a bundled man dropped to a knee.

“Sergio!”

Fred pulled the inner door open and hoisted Sergio over his shoulder. He dragged the man to the table and let him sink into a chair. Sergio peeled off his outer layer. No frostbite. Lucky man.

Fred poured Sergio a mug of coffee. Sergio held it close, the steam buffeting his face. Clean-shaven. Must’ve found a razor over there.

“You alright?”

Sergio nodded.

Fred scratched the back of his neck. “Listen. I’m sorry, about what I said. It’s just, this place sometimes. You know.”

Sergio nodded again.

“Did you find the tapes?”

Sergio stared blankly at him.

“The files you were looking for, to decrypt the transmission.”

Sergio cocked his head. Steam drifted past his eyes.

“Are you alright, man? What happened out there?”

Sergio sipped his coffee.

Fred sighed. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m gonna send that transmission stateside. I was waiting for you. You know. Because of our argument.”

Sergio shrugged.

Fred headed to the comms. What had gotten into the guy? He’d been so worked up the other day, and now he just didn’t care?

Fred shook his head. He flipped on the comms, then blasted the transmission out. Someone else could deal with it. Wasn’t their job to decipher, anyway.

A loud pop echoed through the building. The comms shut off, then the lights, plunging the station into darkness.

Fred held his breath.

“Sergio?”

A crisscross of red auxiliary lights flickered to life overhead. Fred walked back to the table, itching his neck the whole way. Sergio was still there, sipping his coffee like nothing had happened. Fred started suiting up.

“Gotta check the generators. Wind probably knocked something into the exhaust vents again.”

Sergio nodded.

Outside, the wind blasted with oppressive force. Fred gritted his teeth and leaned into it. The swirling whiteness constricted around him. He kept having to wipe his goggles clean just to see the ground at his feet. By the time he reached the exhausts, his joints were screaming.

All the vents were clear except for one. Some black material was jammed into the rightmost vent, which must’ve triggered the emergency shutoff. Damned old mechanics.

He tugged the soft material loose and flipped it over. The letters “SV” were embroidered in the corner. How did Sergio’s scarf get here?

He turned and tripped over something hard. Crouching down, he pushed away snow until his gloved hands struck solid matter. He grabbed hold and pulled.

It was Sergio. He was naked, lying on his back. A layer of ice clung to his flesh, hair, and stubble. Underneath, the snow was stained red.

Fred stood there, swallowing bile until he could breathe again. Then he lifted the frozen man and tipped him over. Sergio’s back was torn open, from his neck clear to the base of his spine. A bloody, cavernous space was all that remained. Like something had crawled out.

Fred stumbled backward and fell into the snow, retching and gagging. His skin was feverish.

He clamped his chattering teeth together. What the hell happened here? And who was that inside the station? Before he’d headed out to the storehouse, Sergio kept going on about the transmission. Conspiracy crap. Aliens and mind control and god knew what else. Said they shouldn’t send it on. And now Fred had just shot the damned thing stateside. He had to warn them.

He ran to the entrance and shouldered through the hatch. He stumbled into the airlock and shut it behind him, then pushed on the inner door.

It was locked. Impossible, he’d just come out–

A face appeared in the fogged window. Sergio.

Fred banged on the door. “Let me in!”

Sergio stared at him, his head cocked to the side. What a strange expression.

The back of Fred’s neck itched so much it burned. He scratched at it. Sergio watched intently. Fred’s gloves came back covered in blood. Something hot rippled beneath his skin, from his neck all the way to the base of his spine.

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