Drift

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I always wonder if it would be frustrating, not being able to fully express terror. But I suppose it's usually over too fast to even think it over.

The hole is patched, and gravity restored, but it doesn't matter. This ship will be junked anyway. Parts that are valuable will be sold; the rest melted down. New vehicles of exploration made from tragedies of the past. That's what space travel is all about, I've discovered. Recycling tragedies.

I capture photos of damage, stepping over debris and glass. The most frustrating thing about my job is never being able to piece things together, at least not completely. Each wreck has a story, but there's usually no one left alive to tell it.

Judging by this one, I'd be surprised if anyone made it. Yet so far, I haven't found any bodies.

Venturing down a hallway, I pass some of my crew. Doom documenters, Zach called us the other day. A couple drinks in and everyone was joking about how much death we see. It helps to laugh, but the bureau still makes us go to therapy. That's probably for the best.

"Nadia, come have a look," Paul waves me over.

I don't know what we're looking at. A tan-colored cloth draped in a pile on the floor? But no, that doesn't seem right. Leather? I kneel closer and it clicks. Right there are eyebrows and nearby are nostrils. This was a person. And there are more scattered nearby. Dozens.

"What's capable of something like this?" I turn my back and try not to wretch.

I think of Paul as the grandpa of the group. He's been in this business for so long he's lost count of the years. Despite that, he doesn't seem traumatized from all he's witnessed. When some of the others panic, he's calm. So, when his eyes find mine and something resembling fear is in them, my breath hitches.

"I've never seen anything like this," he admits in a whisper.

An alarm blares -- a loud shrill that makes us take off running. I'm surprised this place even has a functioning alarm system after all the damage its sustained. We move through an obstacle course of debris as quickly as we can, our crew yelling orders of evacuation.

In the event of an emergency on a ship, we are to abandon it. No point in us dying while documenting the dead. Another crew like us would just have to show up. That'd be an ironic waste of time and money. Not to mention, we'd prefer to live.

When we reach the exit, already some people are making their escape. I pack my camera gear in a backpack, then check my helmet is secure. Rushing into the airlock with the rest of my crew, I press a button to close the door behind us. Nothing happens. I press it again and again, getting the same result.

"Fucking trapped," someone mutters as we watch part of the crew reach safety through the window.

Paul takes out a blade meant for cutting glass. If he does this, some of us could get pulled out into space. And if he doesn't, we are stranded on a ship looking for a solution or waiting to die.

"Do it," Zach urges him, grabbing onto a handle along the wall. I follow his lead and do the same. We all do, except for a new guy who seizes Paul's wrist instead.

"I don't wanna get sucked into space just because you guys couldn't control your panic. Let's wait it out."

Paul hesitates, taking his words into consideration. Weighing if there's wisdom in them.

This new hire must not have seen what Paul and I saw. Something or someone calculated the attack on this ship and the people inside. That threat could be intending us to be its next victims by trapping us inside.

Although it's potentially a bad idea, I swipe the blade away from them. Taking my gun from its holster, I aim it at the new guy. "Grab a handle or get stranded," I bare my teeth.

He immediately grabs a handle.

As I begin to slice the glass, blood splatters across it. Then the yelling begins. So much yelling.

What remains of Zach lays on the floor and a creature I have never seen before stands above him, watching us. It would blend into the darkness if it wasn't for its red eyes.

New guy grabs the blade from me and slices the glass himself. It's funny how danger changes a person. I lunge for a handle just before empty space threatens to claim us.

I've seen them before -- the stranded bodies in a war zone. I hate being part of the crew that gets sent out. They drift like pieces of debris, on and on forever. It's too much of a task to retrieve each one so there's always some left out there alone.

I don't want to be like them.

Integrity is abandoned, replaced by a need to survive. My crew pushes one another out of the way, fighting to be the first to hook their tether on the line. I don't bother trying to be the first. I just hope I am not the last.

That creature continues its watch of us, not striking. I grab my gun from its holster and try to aim decently. I fail at that but succeeded in angering it. For the first time I see its teeth. Each one a sharp weapon. Each one coated in fresh blood.

"Go!" Paul shoves me towards the exit.

I do as he orders, feeling a selfish relief to not be last. Paul has made the choice that it will be him.

With one final look behind me, I see the strike. It's over in a blur. That thing moves too fast for me to process anything other than my final companion is now dead, consumed and discarded like the other victims.

And then the creature begins to shift. In a matter of seconds, it adopts the appearance of Paul. Shapeshifter.

I jump out into space. Grabbing hold of the cable line, I begin to drag myself to safety. I see my ship across the way, but the distance between feels daunting.

There's a tug on the line and I know it's pursuing me. Whether to kill me now or kill me later along with everyone else, I do not know.

I take out my knife and try to cut the cable, sparing a glance at my ship. Although I can't see my crew, I know they can see me. From their vantage point it appears I am trying to strand a crewmate. They don't know Paul is dead.

The knife won't break the cable. I'm losing time. I try to move quickly, but the creature is faster. It grabs my spacesuit and pulls on the oxygen wires, but they mercifully remain intact.

I swing my knife, hoping to inflict a wound. All this does is temporarily distract the creature and I don't succeed in harming it. I need to put distance between us, but that thing is better suited to the conditions of space than I am.

It grabs my backpack and rips me away from the line, my hands slipping. All that connects me now is a tether.

I try to reel myself back in, but I'm too far out. I watch as that creature takes hold of my hook.

Right before something terrible happens to you, there's a moment where you stop fighting and accept it. No amount of effort could reverse what's happening.

And so, I watch as the creature unlatches the hook. And I watch as it makes its way across the line to my ship and crew. But I refuse to watch as it enters the airlock.

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And I can't hear the screams of my crew from here. But what they don't say is that if you're in a spacesuit, you cannot escape hearing your own.