SCRABBLE

Oh god oh god oh god. I swear. If I survive this, if I get out of this, I'll be good. Whatever that means. I try. I do. But I have to live, right? Oh jesus. I don't want to die.

How did I let this happen? Because I wasted time. I got all nostalgic when I found that toy store. Why did I go in there? Right. Batteries. I thought there might be batteries. But once I realized they had already been looted, I should have left. What useful thing was I going to find in a god damn toy store? But I got distracted looking at all of the things and games, things that served no purpose but playing. I was stupid and didn't notice that it had started to get dark.

Batteries. It's getting darker. I won't be able to find my way through the debris without my flashlight soon. I pray it holds out. Please, hold out.

Scavenged for five hours and what did I end up with? Three cans of green beans. A can of peaches. A box of Cheerios, probably stale. And then I grabbed that Scrabble board as I ran from the toy store. What was I thinking? Katey likes Scrabble, right? I'm pretty sure she mentioned it once. Like we have the energy to play Scrabble. Take our minds off things. The things. I should just toss the box right now but its not like its heavy. Besides, if I get through this tonight, I might as well not have it be totally in vain.

The shadows are getting deep. This is bad, so bad. I don't have that far to go but most of it is in the open. Is that better or worse? I don't even know. I might be able to see them coming. Is that a good thing? They're so damn fast. And the open means flyers. I should cut through the buildings. Give me cover. Actually less distance. But more climbing through and over rubble.

Also more place to hide. For them to hide.

Wait. What was that? Was that movement? Maybe just a dog or cat? Really? When was the last time you saw a dog or cat? Hell, when was the last time you saw a fucking rat?

Hell.

God damn it! Stop staring into the dark! Move!

Inside. Dark in here. Turn on the flashlight. Does it seem dimmer than before? Are the batteries dying? Don't think. Keep moving. Fucking Scrabble. Maybe it wasn't Katey. Maybe it was someone else.

Through the living room. Past the burned sofa and the bones. I wonder who they were. Hallway. Kitchen. Should I look for food? Have I already searched this building? Let me think. No! No time. The backdoor is blocked with something. Up the counter and through the window. Then I just have a quick dash through the backyard to the next building. Just run straight. Only twenty yards.

Fifteen yards. Ten yards. At the swing set, bent and twisted. Shit! That noise. Wings. That awful fluttering, grinding and sharp. Like a dozen scissors opening and shutting. Run. Five yard. Louder. How many? Don't look. Just get to the doorway.

Inside. Get deeper inside. Flyers can't maneuver inside. They won't follow but get away.

There. Take a moment and get back my breath. A dining room. Big oak table, broke down the center, scratch with deep cuts. Shards of china everywhere, crunching under my boots. Dark stains on the walls. Just rest for a second and then move. Close now. Through this building, across the alley and then into the shelter. Why can't I breathe?

Oh no no no no. That shadow. By the shattered cabinet. It glistens as if it were moist. Don't move. Please don't move. It might not be awake yet. Maybe. Just maybe.

The darkness shifts. It slips its corner, probing the into the room. Maybe it has already fed. Maybe it's full. Can they get full? Like thick living oil. Oh no. It is bulging, shaping. Run. Why can't I run? Tendrils, twisting up, forming tendons and limbs. Just move. Wet puckering sound coming from the mouth as it breaks from the surface. Oh god. Please. The flashlight reflects off its skin. Look away. Don't look at it.

Faces in its black, silent screaming faces. A young boy. An old man. A young woman. No no no. Is that her? That's Katey's face. Is it really her or a trick? Oh god, Katey. Why?

No! Move! Run! Up on the broken table in a step, towards the back hall. Don't think of it. Don't think of Katey. She is dead or in the thing or she's at the shelter alive. Down the halls and into the alley. Don't think about the screaming of the thing behind me, the wet sloshing sound so close. Cut down the alley, past the dumpster. Key from pocket, ready to open the shelter.

Katey. what did you do? Did you come looking for me? Crashing behind. That sound! So much hunger. There's the metal door, white painted glyphs. Just get in and then I'll be safe. Katey. Key. Get in, damn it! Twist. Damn it, Katey. Hand on the door knob, turn, throw it open towards me. Feel the thing's cold, sucking heat from me. Please be inside. Oh god please.

Inside. Spin around. The thing is right there, rage and hunger and abyss. Slam the door shut. The shadow hits the door and howls in pain. Turn the lock, lower the bar. It can't get past the glyphs but people can. Can't breathe.

Turn the flashlight off first. Save batteries. Can still here it outside. It will give up soon. They always do. Light match and get candle from the box. Plenty of candles left. The stairs down to the basement flicker in the fire light.

I am just standing here, the thing behind me, behind the door. But I can't move down the step. I am scared of what I might find. Or what I might not. I can't move. I am just waiting here, avoiding.

She used to love Scrabble. I am pretty sure.

“Katey?”

FRIDAY DINNER

"I hope you all don't mind but I tried something new." Fredrick was almost bubbly this evening as he placed the plates of food before us. It was slow going because he only had the one arm and his prosthetic right leg below the knew was just a touch too short. "I experimented with the White #16 and Yellow #5 to make a something like mashed potatoes. I think they came out pretty well. Not that I can actually remember what potatoes even tasted like." Fredrick laughed and everyone else politely laughed along with him. Except me. I wasn't in the mood to laugh.

Out of the five of us, Fredrick was the best cook and, as always, he managed to make the processed "food" elements that gave us most of our nutrients into something that actually looked like food. And since it was Friday night, we were actually having our special dinner with real meat. And, in spite of myself, it smelled delicious.

Jessica looked done at the thin slices. "Barbecue? You made barbecue sauce?"

Fredrick sat down and tucked his clothe napkin into the front of his shirt. Something about that felt vulgar to me. Tacky. Disrespectful. "Yep. Not only that but...." With a flourish, he removed the lid from ceramic dish on the table to reveal a thick brown fluid.

Peter leaned over and stuck the tip of his pinkie in it and stuck it in his mouth to taste. I restrained the need to wince. "Gravy!"

"Yes," said Fredrick with obvious pride. "Yeah, I know that barbecue and gravy don't really go together but I thought it might make the potatoes feel more like potatoes." And with that he took a large spoonful and dripped it unto the mound of white on his plate.

Looking at the four of them, I could see the anticipation and hunger in their eyes as they readied themselves to dig in. We rarely stood on any sort of ceremony but this was Friday night dinner. Fredrick was staring at me with that stupid grin on his face. In someways, I was glad that he was to cook tonight since I knew the meal would be excellent. But it irked me the joy he took in it. Cooking Friday dinner always bothered the rest of us but not Fredrick.

The others awkwardly avoided my gaze which also made me mad. I suppose it was a no win for them and me. I looked down at my plate, both ravenous and nauseous. The meat looked so delicious, lined with crispy fat and red with juices. My stomach ached at the smell but my head rebelled at the thought.

Fredrick coughed. I looked up at his questioning but smiling face. I knew he didn't mean it, but I felt like I was being mocked. I took a deep breath, knowing my roll. "We thank you, Fredrick, for preparing tonight's meal," I said in measured tones.

He, in response, said brightly, "And we thank you, Noah, for providing it." And with that they began eat.

We rationed the food substitutes we had slowly, keeping ourselves alive a long as possible. We had no idea what we might be waiting for since we hadn't had contact with anyone in months and were isolated. The last communication we'd had was jumbled and confused. We could only guess when (or if ever) they'd be able to mount a rescue. After six months, we'd realized that there was a gap in the nutrients, some type of protein we weren't getting. So we'd come up with this solution.

I suppose it was an extra special Friday. When our turn came up, we got to chose what got provided for the meal. And I, unlike Fredrick, was not ready to give up an arm yet. So this was our first thigh as my shins had been offered up on my previous turns. I knew that the extra meat made this a large meal. And all that fat rendered down made the gravy possible.

The pain from the surgery still hurt. I looked down at the bandages just below my right hip, where my leg had been just 24 hours before. I refused to take any more painkillers because if I was going to have this meal, I wanted to be able to at least taste it since we had so few pleasures.

I pushed past my disgust and cut a piece of the succulent me. Speared it with my fork, I slowly drew it to my mouth and held me on my tongue.

WEIGHT

The last of the other pilots was gone. Only Benjamin remained.

He woke up and climbed from the pod. Not that he was ever not “awake” now, even in the pod. But the ship's system insisted on taking him out of stasis. They thought it would mitigate the effects to get up and move around and not just be plugged in. But now, surround by twenty-three “dead” pods, it just reminded him of how alone he was.

Alone. Funny to feel so alone knowing that the ship carried a hundred thousand people. But they were just cargo now and would be until they arrived at their destination. If only he knew where, and win, that would be.

They'd had very little warning. Less then ten years. The Sun would flare and make Earth's solar system would be become uninhabitable. For the human race to survive, they would have to find a new system, a new planet.

There was panic and war, but during it all a plan was put forth. The ship was built to travel. But it was unknown if a habitable planet would be found on the first try. They had enough fuel to get there. But it would take over 40 years to get to the nearest system with the highest probability of sustaining life.. If they got there and nowhere suitable was found, the ship would gather more fuel and materials and set off to another system.

They had to plan for trip that might take hundreds of years. Or more. The speeds achieved, while great, were still much slower to take much advantage of time dilation. To achieve such speeds would use too much fuel.

The ship was designed to run itself. It could self-repair and everything was automated. The “passengers” could be placed in a dreamless stasis, fully unaware of time passing. But choices would have to be made. The computer, as advanced as it was, still needed to be monitored. Too much was at stake.

Benjamin stretched. When he placed his hand on the side on the pod it left a streak in a thin film of dust. No matter how good the filtration system were, dust material still gathered. It had been 3 years since any of the pilots had woken. Benjamin checked the records and saw that it had been 2 years since the cleaning robot had been through the cabin. With a few quick flicks of his finger on a monitor he initiated a scrubbing sequence. He would have done it even if the cabin had been clean. He liked there to be movement around him. He missed movement.

Massive leaps in technology were made in a very short time to make the ship possible, but there was not enough time to fully test everything. You can't test run a mission that would last so long. Simulations could be run, but there was a limitation to what could be predicted. Especially concerning the human mind.

The solution to the pilot problem was to place people in stasis physically but to keep them aware. Their bodies unmoving and unaging but their minds tied into ships systems, overseeing it all. No dreaming, no sleep, but mentally one with the ship.

They knew this would take a toll on the mind of the pilots, to be isolated yet aware for so much time, for an indefinite time. Even during the few short years of testing the system, many pilots cracked in training. The system was improved but could never be perfected. Madness would overcome almost everyone eventually.

Benjamin walked to the pilot's chair and sat down. He ran his eyes over the monitors. He was already aware of exactly what he'd see. He's been plugged into the system only minutes before. The pilot's chair and cockpit were unneeded but the designers put it in anyway. It gave the pilots a sense of control, made them feel less like parts of just a system.

Even though he knew it what it would say, Benjamin check the radiation outside the ship. It was clear and safe. He flicked his fingers and lowered the shield on the small clear window. He could have viewed it on the screens but he wanted to see it, like he always did, with his own eyes. Again, the window wasn't needed for any reason except to make the pilots feel more like pilots.

Twenty-four pilots were selected. The best and most mentally stable that could be found. They would operate in six month shifts, two pilots at a time. The other twenty-two pilots would slip into full-stasis, resting their brains and lessening the time they'd have to be aware. Two pilots to keep each other company, to be a team. Out of every six years, each pilot would be “awake” for only six months.

And so many pilots would operate as backups. Because they could never test the system fully.

The shielding slipped away and Benjamin shut of the cabin lights and dimmed the monitors. But outside was just black and distant stars. The window faced forward and Benjamin new one of the stars was their next destination. If he gave it much though, he could probably figure out which. There was little point. The ship knew where they were going. It always knew.

He moved his fingers across the monitors and brought up cameras from the outside of the ship. It was massive and utilitarian, with little attention to aesthetics. So much metal and plastics and ceramics. A huge ark carrying the human race. It was too large, too heavy, to every enter the atmosphere of a planet. If they ever found a suitable one.

The first pilot cracked only three weeks in his shift. Too much responsibility, too much grief over the billions left behind. The second pilot lasted for 17 years before breaking. The rest stayed stable.

Until they reached the first system after more than four decades. Nothing would suit their needs. The ship gathered material from the planets and asteroids in the system, refilling and repairing. After a year, the ship departed again. Two months, to the day, into the first shift, both pilots cracked. They awoke fully from their pods and committed suicide together.

The ship had a”awoken” Benjamin and his partner, Nathan, as they were up next. It informed them of what had happened. The bots and cleaned up after and disposed of the bodies.

Nathan had lasted 23 more years. More pilots would go. More systems would be visited, reaped and left behind.

They were now on there way to their thirty-second system. Thirty-one systems had been dead. The ship still functioned as new, but six hours ago Cassandra had slipped into madness. She and Benjamin has swapped six months shifts for over fifty years. And now Benjamin was the last pilot.

He shut the monitors back down and closed the shielding. He walked back to the pods and found Cassandra's. He couldn't remember her face. They had never been out of their pods at the same time and the last time he'd seen her was before the ship left Earth's orbit. Now she lay in full stasis. There she'd wait until Benjamin could deliver them to somewhere to make a home. A hundred-thousand souls, all relying on him and only him. He would only age for the few shorts hours he left the pod every few decades. The rest of the time he'd remain in sleeplessness, constant aware of the ship and it's status.

Now it was all on him.