The Big One

by Greg Mitchell -

“No,” Dressler said for the fourth time, now folding his beefy arms, hoping to add to the effect.

Yulaura crossed the room, releasing an exasperated breath. She flopped in the seat across from him in Meryl’s crowded living room. At their feet, five children played and rough-housed, except for Edilyn. Dressler’s daughter sat next to him, stiff and serious. She was more hunter than child now.

“Dress, be reasonable,” Yulaura groaned. “We need this.”

“We? Or you?”

“Me! You!” She gestured to the cramped quarters, shouting to be heard over the lawless kids. “How long can you possibly stand to live here?”

An especially sharp cry split Dressler’s nerves as one of his nephews pummeled his squealing niece with a pillow. Yulaura had a point.

Only last week he and Edilyn had taken in a stranger who’d run into a spot of trouble. Turns out that trouble had followed him to their home. There had been an attack. Edilyn had kept her cool, and Dressler had never been prouder of her. Together they’d defended their home and kept their haggard guest safe—but the house was destroyed. His sister Meryl had graciously offered them a couch for the last few nights, but he and Edilyn were used to their quiet. Their solitude.

A stray pillow sailed through the air, smacking him in the face. He scowled.

“What’s the job?” he grumbled. “More importantly, what’s it pay?”

Yulaura’s bright eyes lit with excitement against her tanned face. Her teeth beamed white in a wide smile. “Big. This is the big one, Dress. My contact says that it’s a huge infestation. Biggest one they’ve ever had. Hunters from all over are coming, but there’s room for everyone. And money for everyone, too. Lots of money.”

He squinted at her, apprehensive. “Well, there would have to be, considering where we’re going.”

His stomach flopped, just at the thought of it. A wave of queasiness settled over him as he rolled the word over in his mind: Avenir. There was a damn bug invasion on Avenir. The thought of breaking orbit, going into space…

Dressler swallowed hard, his weathered hands feeling damp.

After his little “adventure” down in Eclectia’s oceans, Dressler was determined to keep nice, solid earth under his feet at all times from here on out.

He looked to Edilyn, heaving a sigh. “What do you think?”

His daughter leaned over and hugged his arm. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

He patted her curly, dirty blonde locks. He didn’t want to leave, either. Last time he’d left her, he’d followed his last partner on some harebrained scheme. That turned out badly, to say the least. He’d nearly died down there in those waters, facing off against that thing. Now he was thinking about going up into space and fighting the monsters up there?

Yulaura continued to grin, nearly bouncing in place. “Come on, Dress. We need this,” she repeated. “Think of Lyn. You guys can’t stay here.”

She was right. As usual. He didn’t now why Yulaura was so excited to leave the planet. Maybe it was just the lure of adventure. Yulaura certainly liked to live on the wild side, getting them both into their share of trouble during their partnership. But he trusted her. She’d not let him down yet.

Dressler looked to his daughter, apologetically. Edilyn rolled her eyes and let him go, realizing he’d made his decision. “Oh, alright. But hurry back. If I have to stay here much longer, I’m going to go out of my mind.”

Dress chuckled and gave her a playful smack in the face with a pillow. “Be back before you know it. Maybe I’ll even bring you a souvenir.”

Parting

by Edward M. Erdelac -

Considine’s fear that the downing of the fighter would bring the rest of Morgenstar’s air force, while not unfounded, proved inconsequential.

Yulaura took full advantage of the gritty, cluttered skies, driving the rover down through low canyons and grumbling along beneath rocky overhangs, rendering them nearly invisible from the air.

They did see a pair of fighters circle like carrion flyers far overhead, but the downing of their comrade had perhaps made the others wary about flying too low.

It was a circuitous route, but in two hours time the rover came to a stop at the edge of the ocean, where the old sub-ferry station waited, along with a single Morgenstar fighter, sitting on the shore.

“Looks like they wised up,” said Yulaura. “Or one of ‘em did. What now?”

“They haven’t seen this rover,” said Dressler. “As far as they know, we’re just a bunch of grit-breathers looking for passage to Zirconia. Give him a spare suit and a mask and let’s park this thing. We’ll wait till the sub-ferry docks and then go.”

Considine donned a too-tight exposure suit and desert robes and a mask as Yulaura pulled the rover into the holding lot.

They waited a half an hour before the tower of the sub-ferry broke the surface of the water and pulled into the dock.

“You sure he’s worth all this trouble?” she asked Dressler.

“Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t, but there’s still the compensation to be had. And that’s worth the time, yes, unless you wanna live in the rover from now on.”

Yulaura sighed as Lyn pulled on her facemask again.

“Well I don’t wanna live in this thing,” said the girl.

They stepped out into the whipping, volcanic winds, and walked to the shelter of the station.

They were the only waiting passenger except for the Morgenstar pilot lounging on a bench in his flightsuit. He was a clean-cut, angular fellow, not one of these bruiser security officers, but he had a stingshot pistol strapped to his thigh, and when they came in out of the wind, he stood up.

The ferry-attendant, a bored looking old woman, announced the arrival of the ferry through her squelchy public address, and stood up tiredly to take their money.

The pilot walked towards them, his hand on his pistol.

The doors to the ferry opened, and Considine was delighted to see two familiar faces step off, along with a crowd of people bound for elsewhere.

Considine stepped to the two uniformed Enforcers and pulled off his facemask.

“Haj! Jelly!” he exclaimed.

It was Jelly Galveston and Haj, two of his own team. They looked startled to see him and stared bemused at his clothes.

Considine glanced back at the Morgenstar pilot and saw him hesitate, then move his hand away from his pistol and trot back outside, heading for his fighter and communications line no doubt.

“Inspector?” Jelly said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Haj drew his pneumatic sidearm and covered Considine.

“You’re under arrest, Considine.”

Considine raised his hands slowly, and looked over at Dressler, Lyn, and Yulaura with what he hoped was an apologetic expression.

“I’ll sort this out, I promise.”

Dressler and Lyn started forward, but Yulaura grabbed them both by the elbows.

“Sure,” she said. “Be sure and contact us when you do.”

She pulled them back, turned them around, and walked back outside.

Bird Hunting

by Edward M. Erdelac -

The bed had been overturned and blown against the opposite wall, and Considine had to worm his way out from under the debris.

He heard Dressler in the next room shouting for his daughter, and heard her anxious reply.

Considine pushed himself to his feet, rubble sliding off his shoulders, as Dressler appeared in the doorway again with a long rifle.

“You alright?” he demanded more than asked.

“Fine!” Considine managed.

Dressler nodded and leapt through the hole in his home, into the whirling ash and cinder blowing outside.

The girl scampered out behind him, a breathing mask on her face and another dangling from her fist. Considine limped along after.

Dressler rushed straight for a stand of rocks a few yards from the smoking house, and dove down behind as the Morgenstar fighter roared and banked overhead, coming around for a second pass.

They must have tracked him to the house somehow.

Considine could barely see or breathe. He clenched his eyes against the horrendous air and breathed into the crook of his elbow, but his eyes streamed tears.

When he joined them behind the rocks, Dressler already had the spare mask on and was priming the powerful-looking rifle.

The girl looked at him and grabbed his elbow, pulling him close to shout in his ear over the wind.

“Pull your shirt over your head!” she shrieked through her breathing mask.

He did so. The relief wasn’t total, but it wasn’t negligible either.

He heard the whining engine of the fighter droning closer. If the pilot could see them through the clouds of ash, he would vaporize their position with an eruption of his cannons.

Considine pulled the shirt down and scanned the area for another place to flee, but they were in the middle of nowhere.

Dressler was climbing on top of the rocks.

“What’re you doing?” Considine yelled. “Get down!”

Dressler ignored him and put the rifle to his cheek, aiming it at the sky expectantly.

Considine saw the fighter then, coming in low, flying through the ash like a great winged hunting beast.

Dressler saw it too, and fired.

The rifle bucked against his shoulder and the end of the barrel flamed, spitting out a heavy shot with a loud crack.

The fighter passed just over their heads with a roar.

Considine saw the wings waggle, and suddenly the nose dipped sharply and the bird went down, ploughing earth with its face, flipping radically end over end, and coming to an explosive rest directly in the center of Dressler’s house, which blew apart, sending chunks of permiform in all directions.

Dressler lowered the rifle.

Lyn, her blonde curls whipping around behind her facemask, stood up and slapped her father’s leg with the back of her hand.

“You should’ve let it pass!” she scolded.

“Nice shot, Dress!” came a new voice, a woman’s, but muffled by a face mask. “But bad timing!”

A decidedly female form, masked and robed, stood nearby, a long hunting rifle cradled in her arms.

Parked a few yards behind her was a bulky six-wheeled rover.

“Yulaura! The girl squealed, and rushed over, pointing angrily back at Dressler, who was coming down off the rock somewhat less heroically than when he’d ascended it. “Didja see what Dad did?”

“It was a great shot,” Considine offered, as Dressler inspected the inferno where his house had once been.

“Nothing in there that can’t be replaced,” Dressler muttered. “But who the hell was that?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. I can’t ask you to take me to Zirconia now that I know they’re after me. Just lend me a breathing mask and…”

“The hell with that,” Dressler said. “Yulaura, fire up the rover and let’s get going! How do you expect me to collect compensation for all this if you’re dead, Inspector?”

The Bug Hunters

By Edward M. Erdelac  

Considine opened one eye.

The other was swollen shut, but he could see dim artificial light through the slit of his puckered flesh, so he knew at least the eye was still there.

He saw the source of the light, a buzzing lumidome set into a permiform ceiling. There was a constant rattling and sifting of blowing gravel and a howling wind outside, so he knew he was still on Eclectia.

He tried to sit up but could do no more than touch his chin to his chest before he was overcome by muscle pain. He hurt all over. He tried wiggling his toes and fingers though, and was relieved to find everything in working order.

There was a slight figure seated just behind his feet, which were hidden beneath a coarse blanket.

It was a girl with dirty blonde hair and striking blue eyes. She was young, but swaddled in dirty robes and an exposure suit, with a cracked bandolier over one skinny shoulder. She had a long pike across her knees, the sort he’d seen the bug hunters carry.

“Daad!” the girl called over her shoulder. “He’s awake!”

A curtain was swept aside and a tall, rough faced man entered, a metal plate of steaming food in one ash-blackened hand.

“Just in time for breakfast, mister….?”

He let the question hang and raised his eyebrows.

“Considine. Inspector Scanlon Considine.”

“Dressler,” the man said, and laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “My daughter, Lyn. Why don’t you go fix yourself a plate, honey?”

Lyn rose from the stool and handed the pike to her father, who took it, along with her seat.

He laid the plate of food on Considine’s legs, and Considine’s belly growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

“Go on, have at it,” Dressler said.

Considine sucked in his breath, coughed the hard air, and groaned with the effort of sitting up.

“Sorry,” Dressler said, pushing the plate closer. “Didn’t think you were that banged up. Hardly a mark on you, except for that eye. You got lucky. My partner and I saw you crash. You’re not much of a pilot, are you?”

“No,” Considine grinned, “I suppose I’m not. How long have I been out?”

“Only few hours. You say you’re an Inspector. Where at? Avenir?” he glanced up at the ceiling.

Considine picked up the plate of brownish looking food and dug in with the fork, chewing ravenously before he could answer around the mouthful.

“Zirconia. As a matter of fact, I have to get back there as soon as possible.”

“I can take you to the sub-ferry. We’re only a few hours in from the shore by rover. Just waiting for my partner to come in so we can leave.”

“You’re a hunter?”

“Yep. That’s fresh bomber-egg you’re eating. Cut from the sac just this morning.”

“Thanks for taking me in. I’ll see my office reimburses you for fuel and time,” Considine said, though he thought, if they don’t arrest me when we get there.

Dressler waved him off, then perked up.

“Sounds like Yulaura’s back.” He stood up. “Sure you don’t wanna rest up some?” He stopped then, and cocked his head.

“What is it?” Considine asked, scarfing down the last of the bomber-eggs.

He heard a new sound weaving through the constant blowing grit rattling against the domicile. A whirring, the sound of engines, but too smooth and refined for a land rover.

Then the wall of the room blew apart in a burst of fire and permiform.

Daddy/Daughter Date

By Greg Mitchell - 

“Steady,” Dressler whispered into the little girl’s ear.

He leaned in close, brushing his whiskers against her soft check, wrapping his arms around her to tighten her shot. He felt the rise and fall of Edilyn’s breathing, the slight tremble in her thin arms as she gripped his worn rifle.

“How am I doing, Daddy?” she asked in a soft hush, her voice slightly muffled through the breathing mask he insisted she wore every time they stepped outside into the harsh red sands of Eclectia. When she was younger, she’d nearly died from ash lung—he wasn’t about to tempt fate. Not after all he’d been through to receive her back.

“Just fine, Lyn. Now line up your shot.”

Up ahead, Dressler squinted against the light grainy breeze and saw the scurrying bug, foraging in the sand. About three feet in length, the hard-shelled critter scuttled about on a hundred legs, oblivious it was being stalked.

Edilyn took careful aim, holding in her breath, releasing it slowly.

“Take your time,” he encouraged her. “No rush. You’re in charge of the situation. You control how fast things progress.”

Dressler had been taking Edilyn out on hunts for awhile now. Eclectia was a harsh wasteland; only the strong survived. While his daughter was only eleven, it was time for her to learn how to protect herself from the varied predators out here in the wilds: both of bug and human kind.

“I think I’m ready, Daddy,” she said, and Dressler grinned, holding her in his arms.

“If you’re sure, take the shot.”

“I’m sure,” she said, nodding, her arms stiff and shaking.

He slowly released her, spreading his arms wide, letting her stand on her own. She leveled the rifle, one eye squinting, the stock pressed to her cheek. Dressler watched her, beautiful and powerful, ready to conquer the world. He felt old in that moment, yet born again, as well.

Then he glanced up. Saw a dark shape clamber over the hill, nearing the bug in Edilyn’s sights.

“Wait,” he said, quickly, and she jumped with a start. Yet, in spite of her surprise, she did not fire off a stray round.

She’s learning. Good.

“What?” she hissed back at him.

Dressler relaxed, still grinning, and gently patted Edilyn on the back. “Let it go.”

Edilyn kept her gun raised, but craned her head to regard her father. “What? Why?”

He nodded towards the horizon, watching as the larger bug collected its young, the two of them retreating over the dunes in peace. Edilyn watched, too, lowering the rifle, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. I guess they’re just like us, huh?”

Dressler wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “C’mon. Let’s get back home.”

Daddy and daughter returned home, the setting sun at their backs.

More Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler awoke on rock. Vision blurry, he heard the drip, drip, drip of water echoing in a cavern. Above, he glimpsed wet stalactite, glistening with reflected ethereal light.

Am I dead?

His head ached, but his thoughts were his own. Private once more, as they ought to be. The monster in his mind was dead—he could feel that. He’d done it. He’d killed the blasted devil.

But where am I?

Groggy, he stood, covered in cuts and bruises, sopping wet. Looking about, he saw he was in a cave, a giant lagoon at his feet. Was he still underwater? Had he floated up into some kind of air pocket after the blast? Kneeling to the edge, he peered into the water—

“Ah!”

A host of fish-like “angels” floated just below the surface, all of them staring back at him. He fell back on the seat of his pants, backing away. “No, no!”

{Wait} a soft voice implored him psychically, patient and kind.

“Where am I? What do you want?”

{You were foolish to come here}

“Yeah,” he said at length, standing again, feeling in no immediate danger. “I know. I’m…sorry.”

{We guard the Trench. There are many secrets in the depths that man should not know. We were trying to warn you, when you evaded us}

“It was a mistake…I didn’t know…”

{The dark can be deceptive and alluring. We understand how weak you can be, more than you do, it seems}

At the time Dressler was about to take offense, the angel’s soft voice soothed his heart. {But we also see how strong you can be. You have killed a terrible foe. And you did it at great personal sacrifice}

“How did you know?” he asked, then shrugged it off. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

{You have impressed us—one most in particular} A lithe feminine hand emerged from the lit waters. In its scaly palm, a tiny mess of tentacles, dark green in color, and squirming comfortably.

“What is that?”

{He doesn’t have a name. He believes in being defined by one’s actions. By your act of bravery, he recognizes you as kin. As family}

“He…thinks we’re related?”

{Of a sort. You would sacrifice your life to save your people from a wayward of our kind. He would like to return your generosity}

“I don’t understand.”

{Take him to your child. Fix him to her breathing port—her mouth. He will breathe into her. She will be cured of her ailment. He would consider it an honor to die so that his kin might live}

Dressler stepped forward. “Wait, die?”

{This act will be his last. He can save her, but he will die in the process}

“I-I can’t,” he said, painfully.

{But you must. That is what family does and he considers you family now. Do not dishonor him}

Dressler focused on the writhing thing in the outstretched hand, gently writhing, waiting for him to accept its sacrifice.

Carefully, he extended a hand in gratitude.

#

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels. The ones who saved me. And Crazy!”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in soft contrast. The sound of dirt and grit brushed against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler found pleasant and reassuring these days.

“Come on, Lyn.” He grinned. “How many times have I told you that story?”

“Not enough.”

There had been five Approachings since bringing back Edilyn’s cure. The little squirmy angel did it, breathing new life into his daughter, clearing her ash lung, and softly giving up his spirit in the process. Dressler didn’t know what “peaceful” looked like on an angel, but he’d liked to think he’d seen it.

Lyn was fine, running and playing again, living life. Dressler returned to hunting, even had a new partner. Yulaura was a pistol, a rough and tumble sort that kept Dressler on his toes, and so far, had shown no signs of being under some evil angel’s thrall.

He liked that best about her.

Life had returned to a modicum of normal, but Lyn still wanted to hear the stories.

“Please, Daddy,” she begged, healthy and full of life, his every prayer answered.

Maybe Trebs—as barking mad as he was—had been right: His faith had been rewarded. Dressler had never considered himself a man of faith before that day at the bottom of Eclectia’s oceans, but Life had a funny way of changing things.

“Okay,” he laughed easy, before kissing her cheek. “I tell you the story. One more time.”

Separation

by Greg Mitchell -

Dressler stepped over a scrambling child, Edilyn in his arms. The shrill screams of her four tiny cousins cut through Dress’ mind like a hot poker. He winced. Edilyn’s chubby hands cupped her ears.

“It’s loud here, Daddy.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s only for a couple days, though, okay? Then we’ll be back home to the peace and quiet.”

One of the ankle biters charged, a toy spaceship in his hand. The boy made aggressive laser sounds, orbiting Dressler in a strafing run. Edilyn looked at her father, helpless. She’d always been a shy child, but ever since getting sick, she’d been rendered nearly invisible by other children. She never felt well enough to play, and Dressler knew dropping her off here was a mistake, but he had nowhere else to go.

Maybe this whole thing is a mistake. Angels underwater want to give me the cure to Lyn’s ash lung?

I must be nuts to go down there.

But he’d already spent a small fortune hiring Crazy—the sub pilot. Along with Trebs, they’d made the preparations. He was locked into this course of action now, and could only hope it paid off.

For Edilyn’s sake.

Or maybe just for my own.

Meryl stepped in between two warring children shouting over who had a doll first. She looked flushed with embarrassment, or perhaps just exhaustion. “Hey, little brother,” she exhaled, beaming. “Hey, Lyn.”

Edilyn just buried her face in Dressler’s shoulder.

He stroked her hair, his heart breaking. Meryl rubbed the little girl’s back sympathetically. “It’ll be fine, kiddo. We’ll have lots of fun. You’ll see.”

Dressler appreciated his sister taking Edilyn in. Especially since he’d not told her what he was going to do. He’d only said that the bugs were migrating and they had to move with them for a couple days—just enough to bring back his quota. She’d accepted that. Meryl’s husband was a miner and knew that sometimes the job called for sacrifices. This whole blamed planet did.

Nothing comes without sacrifice. That’s what their father had taught them. Dressler wondered what sacrifice he’d be called to make to appease these angels. Benevolent creatures or no, he didn’t think for one moment they were just going to hand over Edilyn’s cure out of the goodness of their squishy hearts.

No, they needed something.

But for Edilyn . . . he’d pay any price.

He kissed his daughter on the head and sat her on her own two feet. Her arms tightened around him, breaking his heart. “I won’t be gone very long, I promise.”

“I’ll miss you,” she muttered, her eyes sparkling with budding tears.

He tried to hold in his own emotion. “I love you.”

She hugged his leg as he stood. “Thanks, Meryl, for doing this.”

His sister smiled, a bit sad. “She’ll be fine, Dress. Just take care of yourself.”

Then Meryl rubbed his arm. “We’ll say a prayer to the angels for you.”

Dressler grinned for his sister’s benefit, though in his heart, her words felt ominous and filled him with dread. “Yeah . . . thanks.”

Contact

by Greg Mitchell -

“Somebody help! We need help over here!”

Trebs was growing pale, his lips turning purple, his skin sallow and thin. Dressler struggled under the other man’s weight, barely able to breathe after their long journey. After the beetle attacked out on the field, Dressler had done his best to make a tourniquet for Trebs’ pierced thigh, but without medical attention his co-hunter was going to die.

“We need a doctor!” Dressler shouted once more.

“No, Daddy…” Trebs mumbled through cracked lips. “It’s too dark, Dad…too dark…”

By time they reached the infirmary tent back at camp, another sand storm had picked up. Waves of hard grit felt like needles on Dressler’s face. He had his goggles on, his kerchief over his face, but the heat was blistering. Trebs slipped in and out of hysteria, sometimes whimpering like a child, other times shouting at the air, cursing his father.

Medics hurried out of the tent, fighting against the high winds to reach Trebs.

“He got hit by a bug,” Dressler shouted over nature’s roar. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s delirious.”

Two strong medics, decked in thick coats, caps, and goggles, hefted Trebs between them and dragged him toward the tent. Dressler followed, feeling like he’d just lost a hundred and seventy pounds. His arms tingled as he moved them again, and he looked down to see he was covered in Trebs’ blood.

Dressler pushed his way through the tent, instantly relieved of Eclectia’s cruelty. His hearing returned, his breathing slowed, and he removed his goggles and facemask. Surgeons apprised themselves of Trebs’ condition, cutting away his pants and stripping them off of him with a wet slap. Dressler glimpsed the wound, pumping blood like a volcano. Doctors hurried to stop the bleeding, beginning their operation.

“You’re going to have to leave,” one of the doctors ordered Dressler. He obliged, feeling unwanted, and retreated back into the storm.

Against the harsh winds, he crossed the camp to another, larger tent. Entering, he saw other dirtied bug hunters eating, drinking, laughing. Dressler dragged himself through the slop line, craving a little R&R at Maddie’s Pub back in town, but the mess tent would have to do. Nobody said anything to him as he gathered his plate of goop and found a seat at a nearly vacant table. Nobody knew what he’d just been through, the attack, that Trebs was fighting for his life.

He and Trebs weren’t friends, not in the traditional sense. He knew almost everything about the man, but that came from years together chasing beetles for meat. Alone out in the sands, there was little to do but talk. Get to know one another.

Except, Dressler hadn’t told Trebs about Edilyn. He’d not told many, except his sister. Dressler’s daughter Edilyn was diagnosed three weeks ago with ash lung. Only three Foundings old and the “experts” had given her two to six months to live. Edilyn was holding up, putting on a brave face for her dad, or perhaps she didn’t realize what she was facing. Only a child, she didn’t know the things she’d miss—school, growing up, making friends, falling in love, starting a family. Common human experiences that nearly everyone took for granted, but Edilyn would never have that chance. Dressler knew that even after she was gone, he’d celebrate every birthday, imagine every milestone that would have come. He’d continue to think about her life and what it could’ve—should’ve— been, long after she’d stopped living it.

It was his curse to bear.

One other hunter sat along the table from him. They were alone, the two of them. Jax was a strange one. He seemed different than the others. Quiet, withdrawn, like he was always thinking about something. The other hunters had given him a wide berth ever since his recent arrival, whispering about where he came from or who he was before he became a hunter. Most of Dressler’s ilk was born into this trade, learning to use a spear and rifle as soon as they could pull a pacifier out of their mouths. It was their culture—the mark of true manhood. Bug hunters took great pride in their work, telling stories of daring adventures against bug-kind. They were a loud, conceited sort, and Dressler might have joined with them not too long ago. He would have laughed and drank and shared wild tales, but Edilyn…

“Hey,” Jax spoke, breaking Dressler’s thoughts. Dressler regarded the other man, surprised. Jax’s face was pensive, his tone soft but distant. “You okay?”

Dressler remembered he was painted with blood—both human red and bug yellow. But he wasn’t the confiding type. “Yeah.”

Jax gave him a doubtful look then resumed his fabled deep thinking, continuing to eat. Dressler stared at the mound of nutritional slush on his plate, but had a hard time bringing himself to consume it. He thought of Trebs, of Edilyn, of his life on this ruined rock, and held his face in his hands.

“Excuse me,” a timid voice interrupted.

Dressler saw one of the camp nurses standing over him, her gown splattered with blood. It was then that Dressler realized how quiet the mess hall had grown all of a sudden, as everyone watched her and, by proxy, him. The nurse wrung her hands and Dressler prepared himself for the news that Trebs was dead. He’d have to tell the man’s family.

“Your friend wants to speak with you,” the nurse said, biting her lip. Her face was a mix of worry and fear.

Dressler stood. “He’s alive?”

She nodded. “We’ll talk more…in private.”

The nurse left him there, throwing conspiratorial glances over her shoulder. The men watched Dressler, mumbling gossip amongst themselves. Dressler felt out of place and looked to Jax for support, though he had no idea why. At last, he followed the nurse outside. She waited for him at the side of the tent, away from the hunters. The storm had subsided now, the breeze caressing the desert sands.

Dressler approached the woman, and she whispered, “He’s…he’s healed.”

“Okay,” Dressler said. “I’m glad the doctors were able to get to him in time.”

“No,” she corrected. “He’s healed. The wound is gone. It’s like he was never attacked.”

Dressler’s mind went blank. “I…I don’t understand. He lost so much blood.”

“He died on the operating table and then he just…woke up. The wound closed up on its own. There’s not even a scar. Not a scratch.”

“How is that possible?”

The nurse leveled her eyes at him. They were filled with a quiet terror. “It’s not. But…he wants to speak with you.”

At once, Dressler tromped across camp, headed for the infirmary. With force he pushed open the front flap, and gasped. Trebs was in a gown, sitting up on the bed, the medical staff pressed to one wall of the tent, talking heatedly, their voices low. Trebs turned to Dressler and smiled.

“Hey, Dress.”

Doctors and nurses halted in their debate, eyeing the visitor. Dressler wanted to talk to them, to find out what had happened, but Trebs was focused on him, his face passive and full of light.

“Hey…Trebs,” Dressler greeted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Hesitant, he walked closer to the hunter on the cot. “They, uh, they said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Not me,” Trebs chuckled softly. “Through me, but it’s someone else who has something to say. Come here.” He lifted his chin towards the professionals huddling in the corner. “It’s not for them.”

Dressler did as requested, a foreboding dread gnawing at his gut. As he drew near, Trebs leaned forward, excited. “I saw them, man.”

“Who?”

“The angels.”

Dressler shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. I was dead. I was in the black…Then one of them came to me, glowing and warm. He, it, whatever, said that he would send me back. He’d heal me. He said I had good to do in my life. Hah, can you believe that? My old man,” Trebs trailed off, his eyes glistening with tears. “…he never thought I’d ever be any good…but I’ve got work to do, the angel said. And the first thing to do is talk to you.”

Dressler exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “Why me?”

Trebs looked to the floor. “Is, uh…is something wrong with Edilyn?”

Dressler felt as though a weight had slammed into his stomach, punching out his breath. “What?”

“The angel told me. He knows she’s sick, man. She’s dying. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“It doesn’t matter. The angel wants to help. He said that he knows your kid believes and that ‘believers get rewarded’.”

Feeling faint, Dressler braced himself on the cot, trembling.

“You gotta go down there, though,” Trebs said. “I’m just the messenger. He said he can help you, but you’ve got to go down there. Under the water.”

Dressler wanted to protest. Why? How? The angel had healed Trebs—brought him back from the dead—from all these kilometers away. Why did Dressler have to brave the waters in order for Edilyn to be saved? It wasn’t fair. “Why can’t he heal her like he did you?”

Trebs shrugged. “I don’t know, Dress. I should’ve asked, but I was so grateful. You don’t know what it’s like when you’re around those guys. I felt it, man. It was like…joy. Pure joy. But you’ve gotta go to him.”

Dressler considered for a long moment, his mind filled with doubt, confusion, but most of all, hope. He spotted the doctors waiting on him, to hear his decision, and he would not keep them waiting any longer.

“Yeah. Okay. Where do I start?”

Bedtime Stories

by Greg Mitchell -

“Daddy? Tell me about the angels.”

Dressler pulled the covers to Edilyn’s neck, red light from the small bunker window painting her face in harsh contrast. The sound of dirt and grit scraped against the pane glass, a constant white noise that Dressler had all-but tuned out.

“Come on, Lyn,” he sighed. “Not tonight. You really need your rest.”

Through bleary eyes, she beseeched him. “I feel fine, Dad.”

A sharp pang pierced his spirit.

Three years old and she’s braver about this than I am.

“I don’t really want to,” Dressler grinned, his nose and eyes burning with tears that he kept barred.

“Please, Daddy,” the little girl begged, reminding him of all the little things in life she’d begged for. New toys, a special treat. A million trivial things he’d taken for granted. Things that would be left behind when she was gone.

Dressler cursed in his heart. Better do it. Better savor these moments. You won’t have much opportunity before long.

“Okay,” he relented, and the girl’s feet squirmed under the covers, her face brighter than 94 Ceti. “The angels are beautiful creatures that live in the ocean depths.”

“How did they get there?” she immediately asked her usual question.

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve always been there. Maybe they came from somewhere else.”

“A boy in my class said they have magic,” she nodded eagerly. “Is that true, Daddy?”

“That’s what I hear, but I’ve never seen one for myself,” he chuckled. “I guess that’s why we have stories. Sometimes believing in a thing is more important than the thing itself. Does that make sense?”

She shook her head no.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense to me most of the time, either.”

Pausing, Edilyn furrowed her brow, the soft shush-shushing of the windswept sands comforting, even in Eclectia’s tumultuous storms. “Daddy . . . Could the angels make me not sick?”

Dressler’s chest tightened, his breathing short. He bit on his lip, forcing his emotions back. He’d cry later, after Edilyn was asleep. He’d cry ‘til morning. “I don’t know, Lyn,” he whispered in a raw croak. “But I’d like to believe.”