No matter how heavy my eyes feel, I can't sleep. With the gash healing at my side, the puzzling-together of life in my belly, and the weight of the URE hanging on my shoulders, I drag from exhaustion.
I can't sleep.
Whenever I close my eyes, the darkness secretes despair. It infiltrates the parts that still pander for hope.
Whenever I close my eyes, vibrant scenarios of our destruction emerge.
Whenever I close my eyes, images flicker, demonstrating the deranged prophet I am.
I see ARC10 engulfed in flames as it glides silently past the stars.
Simon dead on arrival.
The Xani, neck-bending to stare into my eyes as it pierces me through the throat.
Dean walking away forever.
NOHA blinking out of existence. As if it were never there to begin with.
My body falling into deep space, choking on dark matter.
While staring wide-eyed at the ceiling of my pod, I don't expect anything to be different when I force myself to sleep tonight.
I spin like before, somersaulting across the universe.
But this time, there's a shape in the distance. I can't focus on it—I'm spinning too fast. I can't make out the blurred white lines standing against the stark blackness of space. It appears as Morse Code in the air.
I'm stopped.
Amid a cluster of stars, two hands clasp my arms tight. A new panic ignites as I wonder what nefarious creature has taken hold of me. What sick future will my mind cook up this time?
Slowly, the hands spin me around.
It's a man.
He seems familiar. With luminescent green eyes against olive skin and long, dark hair tied behind his back, I feel like we've met before. I can't put my finger on where, when, or how I know him, but nagging recognition stirs my curiosity and quiets my fear.
Maybe he's a patron of the Sink. Maybe he's a VIPER in another company.
He calms me.
I check my surroundings. The beauty takes my breath away. Space is peaceful when you're not watching it through inertia on spin cycle.
At rest at last, I sigh, focusing back on my savior. He smiles gently, putting his lips to my forehead. He spins me around to push me back where I came from.
Straight into ARC10 that is fully ablaze.
I wake with a start, gripping the edges of my cot as I pull my mind out of the dream. Both realms are equally awful. I have no idea which is worse anymore—dreams or reality?
I check my PAHLM.
0449.
There's no point in cramming those last few minutes in.
It's launch day.
I comb through the darkness for Simon's sleeping form. There's nothing but him, his rucksack, and our cots in here. Everything else is already on the ships, tucked away to be blasted into the universe.
I can't tolerate the emptiness.
The URE appears like a skeleton from the Before Days. No one stirs. They're probably staring wide-eyed at their ceilings, clutching their blankets, too.
I wander past the deserted marketplace. It's empty. Abandoned trash clutters the ground. What's the point of cleaning the joint if there's no one left to comment on the slop? I toss a broken milk container into a garbage tin anyway.
On Level 2, one solitary person stares at the East hatch. It's the same hatch from the first fly-over the VIPERs locked down months ago. The person hurls a stone at it.
The rock clatters off the metal door.
"Can't sleep?" I ask, sliding up to his side.
McCroy doesn't flinch. He picks up another stone and snarls as he launches it.
"Feel better?"
"Not really."
I find my own stone. Clutching the rock in my hand, I realize it's not a rock at all but a piece of the concrete ceiling. Debris from the fly-over litters the area. I never inquired about how the rest of the URE fared during the Marketplace Tragedy.
We throw concrete chunks at the door, aiming at different parts of Level 2 until our alarms ring an hour later.
He squeezes a stone, his knuckles shining white with force. This time, the porthole shatters on impact. When McCroy snatches another, I expect him to aim for the door again. But he pockets the stone and abandons me with the broken window.
No time to worry if the Invaders can squeeze through now.
After scanning the wreckage one last time, I leave.