Shadows
Shadows. Illusions. Shape-shifters. Perhaps cosmic dust that had been spreading since creation. None of us knew the truth. The mood of depression and defeat that encapsulated all of us was palpable. Sure, we were all hand-chosen for this mission and had suffered through extensive psychological testing prior to that selection. A more stable group of people could not have been found and, yet, all of us were unnerved by the shadows.
None more so than Silva. He had been transformed from a man with huge reservoirs of strength and an unshakeable faith in his own courage and capabilities to a near-catatonic lump of trembling flesh that would not walk. We briefly debated the merits of trying to take him with us. No one wanted to leave him but we had no way to carry him without further endangering ourselves and he would not walk. Surely he would understand what we had to do, wouldn’t he? I made the decision to leave him.
He cried in silence but did not fight us as we squeezed him into a cleft in an overhanging rock that almost completely hid him from view. Why we were hiding him or what we were hiding him from was unknown to us. Those of us who believed in a merciful God said a quiet prayer for him, knowing full well that he would soon be dead.
Now there were only 6 of us left out of the original 15 who had left the ship. We had repeatedly tried contacting the 3 men we had left with the ship but it was like speaking into an acoustic dead zone; we had no idea if they just couldn’t hear us or if they were no longer there. I would never admit it to my crew but I was certain that they were not there – making it an even dozen of us that were dead.
We could not begin to guess what had killed the people we were leaving behind – they were just dead. Not a single death had been witnessed by any of us. Each man was unmarked, with no wound or evidence of what had killed him. Yet, each face was a grotesque death-mask and terror was permanently etched into their features.
At first, we tried to carry our dead with us back to the ship but it was simply beyond our capability. In the perpetual shadows surrounding us, each of us could barely look out for ourselves. Even had there been good lighting, the footing was treacherous. With the shifting shadows and the perilous terrain, being responsible for dead weight was just not possible. We lost Johnson when he fell and ripped his suit while trying to carry out Miller who had been the first person to die. We could only watch in anguished disbelief as Johnson choked, writhed and died as he tried to breathe the thin and poisonous atmosphere.
After we left Silva, I took point only because I was the leader; I wanted to remain in that cleft with Silva and just close my eyes. I wanted to shut out those illusions, those shapes, the terror. All fear is powerful but when all you can see are shadows and those shadows continually evolve into something that reaches deep into your psyche, the fear morphs into something enormously destructive. I had faced dangers and the fear that comes with danger multiple times in my career, but in every case I could see or at least know what it was that I was dealing with. Not here. Not even the powerful lamps we carried could remove the shadows – the light was simply swallowed up; like it couldn’t exist among the shadows; like it didn’t belong.
Only a few more kilometers to the ship and those of us who were left could leave this place forever. Leave the shadows. Leave the fear.
“Colonel, Stewart is missing!” Evans shouted. “He was right behind me and now he’s gone!” Panic was evident in Evans’ voice and that was nearly as dangerous as the shadows.
“Shut up, Evans! Just stop and get a grip; there’s no reason to lose control!”
What a joke. We had lost control within 24 hours of arriving in this God-forsaken place.
“Everyone just turn around. We’ll backtrack a bit and see if we can find him – he might have stopped for a moment to gather his strength.”
There was muttering at that command but they did turn around and start walking slowly back the way we had come. It was a compelling testament to their courage and the training they had received. We were scared and nearly broken, but we were still men. I was terrified and close to panic myself; I admit it. Stewart had been riding trail and now that we had turned around, I was riding trail. I couldn’t help thinking “It’s always the last man in line that dies.” I kept turning and looking behind me, expecting to see whatever it was that was killing us; expecting to die next. Before that could happen, though, the column stopped.
“Here he is, Colonel; he’s dead,” Evans muttered. “He looks just like the rest of them did.”
Evans was right – Stewart had the same look of horror on his face that all the other men had when we found them. Saying a silent prayer, I ordered the march to resume, leaving Stewart in the dust and shadows.
We were less than a kilometer from the ship when it finally occurred to me that I hadn’t heard anything from the men behind me for some time. I stopped and forced myself to turn around. Emptiness. Emptiness and shadows. Emptiness, shadows and fear. Who knew when the last man died or fell over? My heart hammered at my chest wall and it was then I knew that the shadows had won.
With grim determination, I turned back toward the ship and started to run; ignoring the possibility of falling and dying like Johnson. That seemed infinitely preferable to what had happened to all the others.
In one of those inexplicable twists of life, the shadows momentarily cleared and I could see the ship standing tall and proud and ready to return me to safety and sanity. It was so close!
I ran faster in an effort to beat the return of the shadows and, with them, my certain death. I knew it would be in vain. I could feel the breath of something unknown and unseen close at my back – something ancient and evil. I pushed myself harder in an effort to escape. The last thing I saw was the shadows closing back in over the ship and I knew it was too late; too far; too difficult. My screams went unheard by anything human.
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