Cataclysmic Evolution - 7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

“Dinner.”

“Fuck off.” Barron wasn’t that hungry. Certainly not hungry enough to be seen with Revi. At lunch he’d expected one of his friends to come get him. Creed had come to his bunk and whispered the news they’d been ordered—ordered—not to help him.

That was Revi’s job, and his dad wouldn’t let anyone else do it. Creed apologized profusely, but Barron knew it wasn’t his fault. It was the Porters’, both of them.

Well fuck if he was going to allow it.

“If you don’t go eat, I can’t go eat.”

“Sucks to be you.” That was one of William’s favorite lines.

“Hell no. No way.” His bed jerked. Revi must have kicked it, judging by the cursing and hopping thuds he could hear. That slow drawl got stronger when Revi got pissed.

Barron snickered.

“I’m not going hungry because you feel like being your usual asshole self.”

“You don’t know me.” Barron turned onto his side. Revi’s dad had moved fast sticking them together—the ass was in the bunk next to his now. “I’m busy. Go away.”

“I know everything I need to about you. You’re an overbearing bully who isn’t worth a hill of beans without his friends backing him up. And you’re just acting lazy. Now. Get. Up.”

“No.”

Annoying little twerp, meet immovable object. Barron knew Revi couldn’t make him get up, and he wouldn’t dare touch him again. Barron let his whining fade into the background. He didn’t really have anything on his mind. If he could’ve, he would have read his one precious book. He couldn’t even enjoy his favorite Brogherd novel.

What he wouldn’t give to get lost in a horror story that went away when he tapped the off button. Why didn’t life have an off button? Well, it did… but he wasn’t willing to push it.

Barron fell asleep. He woke a few times when everyone came in from work before leaving in groups to go eat, but he didn’t feel like talking. Everyone knew about Revi being saddled with him, the lazy cripple, so why shouldn’t he go with it?

D section was quiet when Barron finally woke. The dormitory-style room housed everyone from his hometown and then some. He’d been in and out of the dorms when they packed the ship. Over half of them were empty.

So many people had died. Barron still saw them in his dreams.

Thinking about it would bring on nightmares. He sighed. He couldn’t go back to sleep. He heard a lot of snoring, but no one was talking or walking around. A way to tell time would be really nice, but Barron figured it must be the middle of the night.

The perfect time for a snack. Barron slid his hand into his pocket. His chit was still there. Good. Barron sat up, and his bed creaked. He froze and listened.

Nothing.

Two steps to the end of his bunk. One more to make sure he was in the center of the corridor. Turn. He had to go thirty steps to the door. He slid his foot forward just above the floor. One. Another. Two.

By the time he got close to thirty the tension made his muscles tremble. He held up one hand so he wouldn’t run into the wall with his face. Thavin had suggested he try orienting by counting steps, and it was working, but the uncertainty of not knowing what was around him rattled his nerves. What if someone dropped something? He wouldn’t see what everyone else could avoid. Plus, he probably looked stupid, shuffling around with his arm out.

Barron breathed a silent sigh of relief when he made it to the smooth metal exit from D section to the corridor. The door opened soundlessly. The corridor was silent in a way the room full of sleeping people hadn’t been. Barron could feel a hum through the floor, vibrating into his feet. Maybe it was from the engine turning the sections around the core, creating the artificial gravity they all needed to keep from floating up to the ceiling.

He imagined it could also be the engine, something they’d been told about but never seen. He’d gotten close enough to the engine bay to see the two gigantic soldiers armed to the teeth standing outside the access door. Like they needed weapons with all their genetic modifications.

The idea they were going to shrink space… it boggled his mind. Barron was a bit of a math whiz, though he didn’t really share it around school, but he couldn’t imagine the computations needed to figure the amount of power needed to create the field around the front of the ship they’d need to move through space faster than the speed of light.

Barron jumped when the door slid shut behind him. Damn things were on a timer at night so they’d stay shut if someone forgot to turn off the proximity sensor. He’d been lost in the strange sensation of the ship itself and nearly got his heels chopped off. He had to pay attention. Now that he wasn’t worried about physical objects in his path, Barron set out. Three smooth metal doorways—all shut—broke up the textured bands waist high along the wall. He slowed, searching for the last door. The cafeteria served processed foods made from the raw molecules broken down from the collected scrap.

It was kinda weird if he thought about it. His burger might have once been someone’s car door or bicycle. He couldn’t tell the difference between the replicated food and what he remembered eating, though. It smelled the same, too.

He could smell tomatoes and garlic in the hall. He had to be close to the cafeteria. Barron slid his hand along the door and felt the seam in the middle. Double doors. He’d definitely found the cafeteria.

Spaghetti with his lack of sight would be a disaster, but Barron knew they kept ready-made snacks and other foods on hand. He groped his way through the cafeteria, trying not to bang into any tables or chairs. They’d had lunch in there every day when they helped load the ship; he remembered where the cold storage was, along the right-hand wall.

He managed to knock over a chair and kick a table leg so hard he could’ve sworn his toe audibly popped—and was probably broken—by the time he felt the smooth doors with their sleek handles. Below those were cabinets.

Barron opened one storage unit and began sliding his hand over the shelves inside. He was looking for a triangle package… Aha! He’d found it. His stomach grumbled. Barron slid to the floor, crossing his legs. He opened the sealed top of the package of food and grinned when he took a big whiff. He’d found a ham sandwich—or a toaster masquerading as a ham sandwich—but he didn’t care. It was so good.

Wolfing down two took less than five minutes. Barron barely chewed, just shoved it in his mouth. He’d acted like he wasn’t hungry, but all it had taken was one bite for his stomach to prove him wrong. If he admitted it—and he never would—he’d been starving. Ramping Revi’s temper up until his accent thickened, and he was ready to blow, was too much fun. He should get something to stash in his pillow.

That took longer. Barron didn’t want something easily crushed, like crackers, or anything in a lot of packaging that would leave any evidence behind he couldn’t get rid of without getting busted. He picked up packages, investigating different foods in the cupboards, then carefully set them exactly where he found them until he finally found an apple. He didn’t really like the seeds, but he could eat pretty much all of it.

And wouldn’t that piss off Mr. Southern High-and-Mighty of the long, curly hair?

Barron grinned. He palmed a second apple, and then slid the cupboard shut. He tossed the packages from his sandwiches in the recycler. Armed with his snacks, he made his way back to D section, reversing his direction and counting his steps. The apples went into the pockets of his loose jacket so he could walk with his right hand brushing along the wall.

In far less time than he expected, Barron made it back to D section. Barron actually traced the section plaque twice, just to make sure. Now his stomach was sated, he was beginning to get tired again. Barron crept quiet as a mouse through the corridor to his bunk, counting the steps exactly in reverse.

It worked.

He didn’t need Revi, and he was going to prove it.

The next morning he yanked his blanket over his head when everyone got up. Everyone but him. Barron snickered into his pillow as Revi raged at him. The smooth lumps in his pillow reassured Barron he, at least, wouldn’t go hungry.

Apparently he’d pushed his new guide past his limit. Revi started smacking him in the head with a pillow.

“Get up, get up, get up!”

Barron rolled over, shoving his blanket down. He stared toward the side of the bed where Revi stood, breathing hard, and said, “You have to be kidding me. A pillow? What are you, ten? A girl? That’s it, you’re a girl aren’t you? Shoulda known with that hair.”

“You have to be kidding me,” Revi mocked him. “Is that what all this has been about? My hair? You don’t like me because you think my hair is girly?”

Barron didn’t answer him.

“That’s it, isn’t it! Now who’s ten? Didn’t your parents teach you better than to judge a person by their appearance?”

Baron swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He pushed off the thin mattress and stood up, facing Revi. “My dad taught me to look and act like a man, not a girl.” He flexed his hands into fists, grinding his teeth. “Even blind I’m more of a man than you’ll be on your best day, girly boy.”

“Well this girly boy is going to knock some sense into your blind ass.”

Barron targeted the sound of Revi’s voice and jabbed. His fist was swept aside by a block, and Barron barely managed to protect his face. His left arm throbbed from the punch he’d taken in return.

Revi didn’t say anything else, but Barron heard the slide of his feet on the floor to his left, away from the bunks and toward the center of the room. He turned with the sound and stepped forward—straight into a kick to his gut.

“Ugh,” Barron grunted, bending into the blow. He swung but the edge of his fist barely glanced Revi’s body. His teeth clacked together from a sharp blow that felt like it came from an elbow. The iron tang of blood filled his mouth from the tip of his tongue. He’d damn near bit it off.

That was it. Barron couldn’t exchange blows with someone who could freaking kick like that. He couldn’t see them coming to duck under or step back, and he was going to get his ass kicked if he didn’t do something else. He had to get an advantage… and he knew just how to do that.

The next blow smacked into his jaw again, but Barron let it rock his head sideways, going with the strike instead of against it. Then he lunged, wrapping his arms around Revi’s slim body with one shoulder into his ribs. They struck the floor, and Barron grinned fiercely at the choking sound Revi made when he landed on top of him.

Wrestling he could do.

Or he thought he could. “Son of a bitch.” Revi was as slippery as a water weed. All that hair would’ve been a great handle, but he couldn’t feel it loose like he’d always seen it before. “Did your mommy do your hair for you? Make you all pretty?”

They rolled around, grappling with each other, trying to get on top and stay there. “Was not,” Revi gasped. He slammed his head against Barron’s mouth, battering his lips against his teeth.

“What?” They hammered at each other, with their elbows and shoulders. Barron’s whole torso was throbbing. If Revi thought he could distract him… Barron spit out the blood in his mouth. He felt Revi’s legs fold, and quickly spun them, flipping his opponent face down with one twist of his hips. He locked his ankles around Revi’s legs and spread them, using his weight and height to stay on top. He wound one arm under Revi’s shoulder and against the back of Revi’s head, trapping his arm and smashing his face into the floor.

“My mom”—Revi’s voice was garbled, but Barron understood him—“was not a bitch, you bastard.” He shuddered, and then went limp.

Oh shit.

The frustrated rage that drove Barron since… well, since forever, faded just enough for his conscience to begin screaming at him. Barron hadn’t liked his parents alive, but he still missed them. Even though he’d longed to be on his own, he’d never expected it to happen like it had, with the entire world going tits up. He’d been holding on to a stereotype, one he knew was wrong and hated since he turned twelve—when his dad caught him trying to do his hair with some glitter gel for a party—just because he felt like such an unfeeling traitor.

Because, in the depths of his heart, he was relieved his dad was gone. He didn’t have to be a carbon copy of the man who’d raised him, not anymore.

So why was he still trying to hurt someone who was different, just because his dad would’ve approved? No one deserved to be in the amount of pain he’d heard in Revi’s voice.

He’d loved his mom. No one could sound like that if they hadn’t had their heart ripped out by loss.

And Barron made it worse.

He scrambled away from Revi until he slammed into a bed. Barron pulled his knees up. He swiped one hand across his mouth, smearing warm liquid—probably blood—over the back of his hand.

Damn it. Damn the whole fucking world, and the ship, and Lt. Porter. Damn his brain for getting logical when all Barron wanted to do was take out his pain and fear on someone else. But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to be that guy. He hadn’t wanted to be a bully.

Saying sorry wasn’t something he was used to doing. Barron had to do something. What if Revi started crying? Barron hated that shit.

He slid one hand along the bunk. The numbers etched into the bottom corner of the bunk were wrong. Odds, when his was even. He was across the corridor from his bed. He was sixteen. Barron stood up, groaning as the muscles in his shoulders, back, and stomach flexed.

Black and blue bruises were probably already forming all over his body. He shuffled down, away from the harsh sound of Revi’s breathing. He stretched out his hand, unsure of the space and unwilling to smack his face into anything again.

He had to backtrack to his left because he’d swung too wide, but finally he found his bunk. He grabbed his pillow and reached into the pillow case, pulling out the apples he’d stashed there. He took a few steps to the end of the bed, then held one out.

“Here.”

Silence.

“Hey. I said here.”

“What?” Revi’s voice was still muffled. Was he crying or was his face still against the floor?

“Take the damn apple.” Barron shook his hand. “Just… take it.”

“Why?” Revi’s voice got clearer. “What’d you do to it?”

“Nothing. You said you were fucking hungry. Take the damn apple, or I’m dropping it. You can eat it off the floor.”

If Barron was Revi, he’d get a cheap shot in when he wasn’t expecting it. Or he would have ten minutes ago. Whatever. But Revi plucked the apple out of his hand, not touching him, and didn’t hit him either.

Revi didn’t start eating it. Barron still held the other apple, but his mouth fucking hurt. He wasn’t sure he could take a bite without dislodging some teeth that had to be loose after the last head-butt. He licked his lip, wincing when his tongue slid over the split on the bottom.

The apple made a crunching sound when Revi bit into it.

“You’re a pretty good fighter,” Barron said quietly. He shuffled backward and sat on his bunk. Barron rolled his apple between his palms, looking down. He wondered what color it was. His stomach was still flipping around.

Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t eat.

It was too quiet. Revi hadn’t taken another bite. Barron was relying on his other senses more and more. The less he tried to see and the more he tried to hear and feel, the easier it was to get a sense for what was around him.

And right then it felt like he was being stared at.

By Revi Porter.

Who’d just beat the crap out of him—and maybe knocked a little sense into his head at the same time. Barron was so tired of the act.

“Where’d you get the apple? One of your friends sneak them in for you?”

Barron shook his head. “I got up after everyone was asleep last night and ate some sandwiches in the cafeteria. I brought the apples back myself.”

“No way.” Revi snorted. “You’re blind.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m weak,” Barron snapped. His temper flared. “I don’t need you, you know, no matter what your dad thinks. I’m fine on my own.” He didn’t need his friends to lead him around either. Barron would damn well learn to deal with his nearly non-existent life until his eyes healed on their own or could be fixed.

“What happens when we get to the new planet? What then, huh?”

“Then Dr. Samuels fixes my eyes, and I do whatever I have to do.” He could maybe help build the habitats. He was good with his hands.

“What if she can’t?” Revi asked quietly. Most of the belligerence in his tone faded.

“She will.” Barron couldn’t think otherwise… but the words of the general about people dying from exposure kept flashing in his head. He wasn’t going to die, the tank saw to that, but what if the damage was too bad. Could they make him new eyes?

Or would he be stuck in a blinding fog of light forever?

“Sorry.”

Barron didn’t know what to do with that. What was Revi sorry for? Taunting him? Hitting him? Making him think about what would happen if he never saw again?

Was it payback for making him think about his mom?

Or maybe he was just… sorry.

Barron let out a big sigh. “Yeah. Sorry.”