Cold Storage (A Scifi-Zombie Potboiler) — Episode Two
The metal floor sent chills through Reilly’s bare feet, but he didn’t even register the sensation. Seeing the orange glow envelope the cabin filled Reilly’s mind with a silent scream.
The ship isn’t reentry rated.
The ship rattled hard. Reilly grabbed on his pod’s wall as his feet flew out from under him.
“Strap yourself in or get the hell back in your pod,” Chapel barked. “I don’t have time to squeegee you off the cockpit.”
Chapel wrestled with the controls, trying to keep the ship centered through the holographic brackets that overlayed the cockpit. He wore only his standard issue hibernation pajama pants. The electronic leads dangled from his chest from where he ripped them out of the wall instead of detaching them.
Borsh sat next to him. The small Russian stared at his monitor as hundreds of numbers scrolled down three open windows. His fingers hammered on the keyboard embedded in the front panel. He hunched over the screen, looking as if his spine was curling in on itself.
Reilly pushed his way forward against the invisible hand. It grew stronger with each step until it hurt to breathe. He let himself fall into the jump seat, then strapped himself tight just before the ship lurched to the side with a loud crash. The side monitors displayed diagrams of the ship, pointing towards exterior sections with red arrows.
“Tiles. We’re losing tiles,” Reilly said. The thought hit him hard. “We’re no longer on the Beagle.”
“No shit,” Chapel spat. “We’re in a lifeboat.”
The ship lurched again, jerking him forward then back. Borsh pounded on his keyboard unconcerned with all the movement. Reilly watched the man’s cheeks flush bright red, then spread over the rest of his face.
“The coordinates are all off,” he snapped. “We’re coming in too steep.”
“The god damned brackets-”
“Are wrong,” Borsh replied. “Steer above them or we’re going to burn up.”
Chapel fought with the stick. The skin over his forehead quivered. Beads of sweat broke the surface, than ran down the sides of his face. He struggled to steer the ship just over the brackets. Another bang rocked the ship followed a series of them until the rumbling subsided.
Reilly exhaled a long breath. Chapel swallowed hard. Borsh erupted into a coughing fit. The brackets readjusted themselves. They were flying right down the center.
“Where are we landing?” Reilly asked.
Chapel looked over his shoulder. His face was soaked as if he had dunked it underwater. Gone was his American bravado and was replaced with the face of a two year old who had lost his pacifier.
“I don’t know,” he whispered.
Filed under: Books and Short Stories · Tags: Cold Storage
These people are already more human than a lot of authors bother with, esp with sci-fi…I find that a lot of the characters in sci-fi have very one-dimensional personalities…one guy is the hero, one panicker, one is expendable, etc… I’m glad there are still 4 more for me to read today. :p
Well … it is a potboiler so there might be some disappointment coming down the road, but I’m glad you are enjoying it. It’s a fun a write.
So you’re making money with this, then? :p I mean, I saw it in the title, but it’s really NOT that poorly written. You must just have a natural talent for making characters less flat. :p
Thanks Nicole. I really appreciate it. The ultimate intent is to slap this all together into one cohesive piece of work and sell it for a buck on Kindle devices. It’s also testing the waters of self publishing. And well, it’s a fly by the seat of the pants story with not much thought which is both fun and liberating in a way.