Graveyard Orbit

Chapter 2

There was no way to tell the time, no way to know the date. Such things mean little in space anyway. All that mattered was eating and sleeping. Sometimes fighting.

John stood in line again. The gangs in front jostled each other. Probably be a fight today. He just hoped they’d move out of the way so he could grab his box and go. The big guys stood still, arms folded, imposing. The scrawny, ratty guys darted around the edges of the group, knees bent, eyes shifty. They would make trouble with each other, but it was up to the strong silent types to inaugurate the rumble.

Each gang had its group of female hangers-on. They cackled and taunted their opposites, staying close to the biggest and strongest. The ladies wouldn’t fight. But they’d egg on the men and dart in when they had a clear shot to tangle legs or gouge eyes.

But this time it didn’t seem like the gangs were amped up enough to come to blows. They settled for shouting epithets at each other. John inched closer to his food as the line moved.

As horrible as it was, the tribal violence was better than the panic from the early months. John had been afraid to sleep. The most reprehensible crimes had been committed daily.

It was the gang leaders who brought order out of chaos. Men like Emilio. As John got closer to the front, he could see the gangster standing close, watching. Emilio had been the first, and others had followed. Emilio was a monster. He had gained dominance in the cargo hold by killing anyone who got to the daily rations before he did. In time he was king of the distribution. Strength attracts, and before long other men had allied themselves with him.

Emilio didn’t let just anyone help him. He only kept the strong and healthy, the unquestioningly loyal. Together they’d organized the lines for food and the removal of bodies and waste. And they’d eliminated the worst of the crooks onboard. The insane, murderers, rapists, thieves. All had been killed and recycled by Emilio’s gang. There began to be peace in the dim cargo hold. People started to see him as a savior, but his brutality ensured that no one got too cozy.

Rival gangs formed, but they left Emilio alone. They feuded with each other, but he stepped in if things went too far. His gang was easy to recognize. While the others were ragged, twitchy and feral, Emilio’s men were like soldiers. He made them keep their hair short, and they all wore boots taken from the dead or living. They wore no shirts. Most garments were worn to pieces at this point anyway. Underneath, they were all lean and mean. Every day, John watched them do calisthenics together. They walked in ranks and saluted each other. Some days John was envious.

He came to the front of the line as two rail-thin blondes walked away after a huge brute, tittering. John held out his hand, but a voice called out,

“Hold on.”

John looked up. Emilio was coming his way. He was shorter than John, dark skinned with hair shorn close to his head. Beardless. His arms were thin, but sinewy and strong. He looked John in the eye.

“I’ve seen you before.” A long pause. “Nobody bothers you.”

John was silent. He didn’t talk much these days.

Emilio held his gaze. “Why you so quiet?”

John shook his head.

“Come on brother,” Emilio slapped his shoulder like they were pals. “You need friends?”

This had become a very delicate moment. John cleared his throat. His voice was out of practice. “I like being alone.”

Emilio laughed. He shook his head, “What’s your name?”

“John.”

“Alright Johnny,” Emilio handed him the box. “Here you go.”

John reached out. Emilio pulled it back.

“Hey. Look at me.”

John looked. Emilio had green eyes.

“You got my attention. Okay?”

John nodded.

“Alright then.” Emilio handed him his food.

John returned to his usual spot on the wall. He wasn’t sure what to make of that encounter. He didn’t want Emilio’s attention. He didn’t want to be part of the game. He didn’t want to run with a pack, he wanted to be the grizzly bear everyone avoided. It was simpler that way. He drank his water and sighed. He untied his hair. It hung down around his head like a curtain. He ran his fingers through, clearing out the knots. Then tied it back with a cord he’d salvaged from his backpack.

The long dark room still glowed with that melancholy orange light. Perpetual dusk with no hope of dawn. A young man walked past, lithe and wild-eyed. He stared at John, and John stared back. He kept moving. John watched where he went. The youth sat down in a group of unsavory-looking characters. No one made a move.

John spent the day reliving old memories. They were all he had left, and they were all gone. The room began to settle and quiet. There was no official nighttime, but most folks kept the same sleep cycle. He laid down and closed his eyes.

He woke to a face inches from his. Instantly awake, John pounced and reached for the stalker’s neck, knees driving him to the ground. John growled and got inches from the man’s face. The man squealed. Not a man, a woman. She shook beneath him, coughing for breath. John jumped up and looked around. The women were sometimes sent in as bait to get the men to let their guard down before an ambush. But no one was coming. Nowhere to hide on this ship.

John knelt over the woman, pinning her hands to the ground. Starving women were vicious, too. He leaned close and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

She breathed rapidly, her hair obscuring her face, fluttering in front of her mouth. She offered no resistance under his weight. John cursed. He grabbed both wrists in one hand, holding them above her head. With the other he reached down and brushed aside her brown hair.

“Why can’t you people just–“

John Desmond started. He caught his breath. The woman’s eyes were wide and scared and brown. She swallowed and he saw her quivering. There was no mistaking it.

“You?”

The woman nodded.