Page 119 of Dead Silence
As we hurry toward the spiral staircase—I don’t want Reed to catch up to us at all, but on that thing, with nowhere to run or hide, would be guaranteed death—I look down toward the atrium.
For a moment, my vision blurs and I see the atrium, bright and cheerily lit, dozens of passengers crisscrossing the space. Some of them are in formal dress, coming from the ballroom; others are in swimwear or robes from the spa. A small group of them sits, laughing and talking, on the as-yet-unmarred leather sofas. No signs of blood and mayhem, as they toast each other with flutes of champagne.
TheAurora,in one of her last moments of normal. Before First Officer Wallace turned on that device and doomed them all to hell.
I blink and the vision disappears, leaving only the dimly lit atrium full of death.
More death now.
Work lights have been turned over or smashed by bullets. A couple of them are still sizzling and sparking. And among the passengers’ bodies, several new corpses dressed in familiar environmental suits.
Fresh blood, red and alarmingly bright, is smeared across the floor. And trails across the room toward the corridor in fat droplets that increase to mini-puddles before I lose sight of it.
This is where the screaming and gunfire came from earlier, then. At least some.
Good.I fight against the swell of gritty satisfaction in me, unnerved by it. I didn’twantanyone to die.
But if it’s them or us, I know whose side I’m on.
Practical, pragmatic, ugly. Maybe I’m more the child of Verux than I realized. Then again, I didn’t sign on to die for the cover-up story, and I sure as fuck didn’t start this.
Diaz kneels at the front of the carnage, shoulders slumped and staring blankly out at her people. What’s left of them. Her helmet is tipped over on its side on the floor next to her, the light shining at an odd angle against the opposite wall. Her sidearm hangs heavily in her hand, seemingly forgotten, her arm at her side. Her chest rises and falls beneath her suit. She’s still alive.
I hesitate. Is she so lost in whatever she’s seeing, distracted by her loss or hallucinations or both, that we could slip past? Or…
Before I can do anything, even make a decision about what to do, Diaz’s head jerks up sharply and she raises her weapon to aim at me.
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I step back and throw an arm out to push Kane farther behind me. But if she pulls the trigger right now, my reaction will be too slow to save either of us.
Tensing in expectation, I wait for the loud report of the shot, the quick, powerful pressure of impact in my chest.
But there’s nothing.
A trick to lure me back into view? Or something else?
She had the shot if she wanted it a moment ago. Why would she need to trick me? But then again, also, why not take the shot?
“Kovalik!” Reed bellows behind us. His stumbling footsteps are getting closer.
Fuck.I risk a glance behind me. He’s not here yet, but he’s coming. We have to do something or we’re going to die. One way or the other. I guess if I have to choose, I’d rather it be quick with Diaz and her gun.
I edge toward the stairwell again and look over the edge into the atrium.
Diaz is still holding the gun on me, grip steadied with both hands, but she doesn’t fire.
“I didn’t believe you,” she says.
Uncertain what’s happening, but willing to engage in conversation if it keeps us alive, I nod slowly. With effort, I push the words out through my injured throat, each one sounding scraped raw. “No one did.” Except Max, who was a big fucking liar.
Diaz’s breath hitches loudly, and I realize she’s crying.
“I saw him,” she says.
Instantly, I know who she means. McCaughey.
“He was so angry at me,” she says, her voice breaking. “And he was right.”
