Bridger: a Dystopian Serial

Venn

"You can see the blood in the snow there." Linc pointed at the drifted snow a few yards away. "He was crawling before we saw him, I guess."

They came alongside the crimson patch. Char squinted at the smears in the wind-packed snow, which was flecked the ash and soot that blew in the wind. "He was dragging the one leg." They followed the tracks down the slope away from Fort Situk.

"He fell here." Char squatted down beside an imprint in the snow, speckled with blood, and eyed the clear handprints in the snow.

"The footprints stop here," Linc said from a few yards away near a scruffy bunch of trees.

"Stop?" Char stood and walked toward him.

"Yeah." Linc turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot with dark bags beneath them. "I guess they blew shut?"

They spread out in a ten-yard radius, searching for the tracks to begin again. They found nothing.

"So he fell from an airplane?" Linc said wryly.

Char sighed. "Look in the bushes. Maybe he holed up in there."

"They don't do human experiments here, do they?" Linc muttered as they circled around the little bluff, spreading the tree branches and searching for any sign the man had spent time there.

"Do you think they'd tell me if they did?" Char asked. "I mean, they told me that they're trying to find new fuel and energy sources, but I don't know."

"If only they could power cars with snow, right?" Linc said. He scanned the barren landscape. "Anyway, it doesn't look like he was here."

Char shook her head.

As they turned to hike back to the base, the whopping of a helicopter made them both look up.

Erwell's bird.

"You're in for a grilling now." Linc grinned at her.

Char rolled her eyes.

<>

The pillow crunched under his head as Seth rolled over on the thin infirmary mattress. His strange patient lay on the next bed over in exactly the same position as Seth had left him.

Seth licked his dry lips and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The bedframe groaned as he stood up and reached for his stethoscope.

As he checked the patient's vitals, his brow furrowed. They weren't great, but they weren't worrisome, either.

He leaned over the bed and stared into the man's face—at the long, oval face and high, sharp cheekbones. Seth squinted at the ears, which lacked the ordinary folds and ridges. They reminded him of oyster shells.

Everything about the man was long and narrow, including the rib cage with two extra bones.

Seth pressed his lips together. He picked up his comm and carried it over to the desk. "Captain Lee-Thompson, come in?"

The comm crackled. "Yes, doc."

"Has your team investigated where our guest came from?"

"Yes," Char replied. "Nothing conclusive to say. Any change in the patient?"

"No, ma'am."

"All right."

Seth grimaced.

You have to talk to her.

Ah, God, why now?

He could almost imagine the Man Upstairs saying, "You prayed for a year to get her back."