Mission 615

Chapter 4

I walk past him through the shifting sand in the direction of the mountains. Before long, Jackson is by my side, a pack of his own slung over his good shoulder. A small handgun hides, tucked into his belt. It would be our only defense should we meet any danger. Up above us, the sky hasn't changed color much but the planet's star has sunk in the sky. My guess is maybe five hours, maybe six until dark but it could be completely different here. That was one of the many things that the scientists back home couldn't tell us about Kepler. Day length, paired with water accessibility. In other words, who knows how far we are from the confirmed water source, if it still exists and how long it will be dark once the star goes down.
"How many water bottles do you have?" I ask.
"One. You?"
"Three."
"You think there's water up on those mountains?" Jackson asks, glancing over at me as we walk.
"Unless you want to start digging a well, it's our best option."

Jackson and I walk for what feels like days but my watch reads only hours. We take breaks occasionally, rationing out our water. The thin air doesn't help the dehydration. Beyond us, the mountains grow larger and larger until the sandy ground gives way to a rock field at the base of the mountain pass. Our pace slows as we climb over the large ledges. Jackson helps me whenever possible, though I can tell he's starting to get fatigued. When I finally suggest stopping, I have myself completely convinced it's for his benefit and not my own even though my legs feel like jelly.
I drop my pack on the ground and start setting up a small shelter while Jackson looks around for wood to make a fire. He comes back a few minutes later with a couple smallish scraps of wood and has a fire burning in no time. I huddle by the flames, now realizing the cold from the lack of movement. Jackson ties our small tent to the ground and winces as he pulls the knot tight.
"Can you let me see your shoulder already?" I ask.
"There's nothing you can do," Jackson says, not meeting my eyes.
"Unlikely," I smirk. I stand up, moving towards him. In the dim light I can just make out that the blood on his shirt is still wet.
"Jackson, you're loosing too much blood."
"Since when did you become a doctor?" Jackson smarts.
I cross my arms and glare at him. Finally, he sighs in defeat. He steps into the firelight and slowly removes his shirt. For a moment, I'm frozen in my place. A mixture of sweat and blood glistens on his chest. As my eyes move to his shoulder, what I see forces me to bite my lip. A shard of glass protrudes from his shoulder, a few inches long. I follow him into the firelight, getting close to inspect the wound. It's still bleeding and definitely needs to be cleaned. Suddenly, I realize how close we are and take a step back. Jackson laughs quietly.
I ignore him, pulling the first aid kit from my pack. I kneel next to the fire, motioning for Jackson to do the same. Reluctantly, he obeys. I swallow hard, trying not to let him know how nervous I am.
I get a hand full of gauze ready and scoot towards Jackson. Our knees barely touch as I lean forwards.
"How long did you think you were going to go with a piece of glass in your shoulder?" I ask, just barely figuring the glass shard. Jackson flinches, squeezing his eyes closed.
"As long as I had enough sense not to let you play doctor." Jackson keeps his eyes locked shut. For the first time since we've met, I actually feel an inkling of pity for my companion. Slowly, I reach down and set his hand on my knee. Jackson opens one eye.
"This is going to hurt," I warn. Slowly, I grasp the piece of glass and pull. It slides out with sickening ease and I press the gauze over it. Jackson squeezes my knee, fighting back the pain. I lift the gauze after a few moments and inspect the wound. It's deep. Probably too deep to leave open.
"How do you feel about needles?" I ask.
"Yeah, because they would've picked me as the protector if I were afraid of needles," Jackson scoffs.
"Good, then you won't freak out when I say you need stitches."
Jackson pushes away instantly, the gauze coming off in the process. I leap towards him, reapplying the pressure.
"Are you insane?! Do you want to bleed out?" I exclaim.
"There is no way I'm letting you near me a needle. I'll do it myself, thank you."
"You're such an idiot," I grumble.
I move towards the fire, sterilizing the needle. I pull a small package of black cord from the first aid kit and return to Jackson's side.
"Being a scientist doesn't qualify you to give me stitches."
"Oh my gosh, stop acting like a baby. This isn't the first time I've done this."
Jackson looks suddenly confused and I take it as an opportunity to begin my miniature operation. He sucks in a quick breath and clenches his fists.
"I didn't know they gave you all med training," Jackson says through a clenched jaw. I wipe away some of the blood and continue stitching the wound closed.
"They didn't. That was supposed to be the Protectors job. Evidently they didn't think you would get hurt," I pause, glancing at his rigid features. He doesn't have enough energy to ask any questions. I turn back to my work.
"I went on a missions trip the summer before my family sent me off to the Space Center. Let's just say, in remote places, you learn to do things you wouldn't ever expect to do. Gotta say though, usually my patients weren't as twitchy."
Jackson manages a tight grin. I pull the last stitch tight and move away, my back towards him. I return all the supplies back inside the container.
He chuckles softly. "I think that's the most you've ever told me about yourself."
I pause and sit up for a moment, staring out over the rocky landscape.
"There isn't a reason to talk about myself," I reply.
"That's not true." I detect more than a hint of skepticism in his tone. I turn, sitting cross-legged in the sand.
"Fine, you want to talk about something. How about you? What made you want to escape Earth?"
Jackson stares into the fire. The glowing light playing off his bright eyes. He fingers a small piece of dried wood, his muscles stiff.
I grin. "Now who won't talk?"
"Nah, it's not that," Jackson laughs. "Nobody talked about this type of thing back at the school. Being a Protector was all about the physical side of things. What about you?"
"Science was the opposite."
"Your family?"
I shrug.
"Hey if we're going to be here, you mine as well start talking. My family's as normal as it gets. Mom is a designer. My dad is a contractor. Or at least they were when we left."
"Why'd you leave?" I ask.
Jackson looks up at me. "I want to make a difference. I'm not a brilliant scientist, or a visionary, or eloquent at all. This was my version of doing that. Being the Protector meant helping someone who could make a difference. Though you've been making it quite clear you don't need my help."
I bite my lip, watching the flames lick through the air. A soft breeze rushes up the mountain side making the silence even colder. I don't want to talk to Jackson. Not about this. I've barely met him and every second he's been so irritatingly charming that I feel the need to smack him for every ounce of sympathy he's been giving me. Even now, Jackson stares at me waiting for some sort of response but there's some reservation in his stare, like he already knows I don't want to talk to him about this or anything for that matter. Finally, he glances away.
"My dad is an engineer," I start, reclaiming his attention. "He works at the Space Center. I've only met him a handful of times. My mom became a genetic scientist and that's how she met my dad. They split before I was born and I got stuck somewhere in the middle."
"I bet they're worried," Jackson says.
"Unlikely. They're probably just sad that I never got to live up to my last name. I'm sure they think I'm dead."
"Is that why you signed up for the program? To make them proud?"
I nod my head. "They're both so smart and amazing people. I needed to get out of the shadow."
"I can think of ways less extreme than this."
"Who said I wanted to be the one sent here?"