Bridger: a Dystopian Serial

A Blast of Guilt

Char stood in the center of her room for a whole minute, staring at the blood smeared down her front, willing herself to move.

Panic was rising up inside her like a fast-incoming tide. Vague visions of a ditch, soldiers dead around her.

She stood there staring at her trembling hands.

"Get it the hell together," she muttered finally. "It's just blood."

She unclenched her hands and pulled her sweater over her head. She dropped it in the corner and sat down on the bed and took deep breaths until the anxiety passed.

They'd worked well together, she and Seth. Who'da thunk it?

She was surprised he hadn't said anything about it, but then she'd been at Fort Situk for a week and the ice remained unbroken.

She shut her eyes and recalled the moment she saw him.

"The infirmary wing is on the other side of the command module." Site director Greta Erwell didn't point or wait, she just kept walking.

Leander rolled her eyes in Char's direction. Char smirked.

Their footsteps echoed down the curving, concrete hallway as they followed the silver-haired director. They came to the juncture where the module joined with the central hall of the living quarters, and Erwell swung open a door labeled "infirmary."

"It's a four-bed facility," Erwell said as the door closed behind them, leaving them in a square room lit with bright white LEDs. A few chairs were clustered in one corner. Four beds stood empty and waiting, ready to be partitioned off with curtains.

"There's an exam room through here," Erwell continued as she led them forward, "and then there's actually a small greenhouse that the doctor uses to grow medicinal herbs."

"Oh!" Leander smirked. "That kind of doctor?"

Erwell smiled tightly. "Mostly for his own interest, as I understand. He's very capable, I assure you."

She led them down a short passage, which opened up into a tiny greenhouse made of thick plexiglass. The wan Alaskan sun shone down on rows of plants. A man stood at the back, stooped over a bench of what looked like grass. A dark braid hung between his shoulders.

"Doctor?" Erwell said.

He lifted his head, and his smile faltered.

Char felt as if someone had dumped icy water over her head. Her pulse spiked.

Seth Thompson.

How had she gone through the whole contracting process of bringing her security force to Fort Situk without coming across the name of her ex-husband on a roster somewhere?

"Oh hey, doc," Leander said. "Fancy seeing you here."

Erwell turned her grey-blue gaze toward Leander. "Have you met?"

Leander glanced at Char. "Met? No."

Seth made eye contact with Char. Panic skittered through his eyes.

She kept her mouth shut.

Thirty minutes later, the tour of the command pod was done and Erwell dropped Char and Leander off in the cafeteria.

"Whew!" Leander slid onto one of the stainless-steel benches clutching a cup of coffee. "Should've brought those divorce papers."

Char laughed harshly. "What the hell? What is he even doing here? What do they need a surgeon for?"