nods and murmurs of assent. I drank from my water pouch and passed it to Tarsi. Jorge walked by, taking the lead, and we began the slow, soggy hike partway around the tree and toward the presumptive colony mine.
After a few hours of hiking, Mindy gave Jorge directions, and we veered away from the base of the tree and toward the mountains. It took a few moments to see what had triggered the change in direction—then I caught a glimpse of a module through the rain. The two vehicles sat nearby, still and lifeless.
Beside me, Kelvin leaned into the rain, holding up the scrap of leaf he’d been using to keep the water off his head. He slapped me on the shoulder and pointed.
“I see it,” I told him.
The chatter picked up in our group, our pace noticeably increasing. I looked up through the falling droplets at the tangle of the underside of the canopy. It was hard to believe we’d recently been so high. Looking ahead where the cover came to an incredible end, it seemed even more amazing that we might soon walk on the ground and yet see sky above. Even if it was still full of clouds.
It was well past lunchtime when we reached the mining site, but not once had anyone suggested we stop to eat. As we left the cover of the canopy, the moss gave way to a tangle of tall grasses and woody shrubs.
The faint line of a muddy road could be seen working its way back toward the trees, presumably toward our distant colony. The grasses grew up around it, giving the path a disused and neglected look. A small area around the module and tractors had been cleared of anything that grew, the packed and trampled soil reminding me of base.
We angled straight for the module, hoping to get inside and out of the rain. Several people further up the line alternated between yelling Mica’s and Peter’s names.
Jorge halted by the door to the module; he fumbled with the latch for a minute, then turned and looked to Karl, who stood behind him, dripping wet.
“Locked,” he said.
Kelvin and I walked around to the other side of the module, looking for a window or another door, but found neither.
“Let’s at least get under one of those tractors,” Tarsi said, catching up to us.
By the time the three of us circled around the module, we saw a few others had gotten the same idea. We joined them under one of the mining dozers, the clearance much lower with its treads than our wheeled tractor back at base.
“Maybe they didn’t come this way,” Mindy said.
“Any ideas on breaking that door down?” Karl asked.
Kelvin banged his fist on the underbelly of the dozer. “We could use this.”
“For shelter, or to open up the module?”
“Or both?”
“I’ll go see if it’s unlocked,” I said, scampering back out into the rain. I stopped, turned around, and ducked my head back down by the rear of the dozer, peering inside at the others. “If it cranks,” I said, “stay put. I won’t be moving it.”
Nervous laughter trickled out from under the machine and followed me around to the ladder hanging out past the treads. I climbed up, gripping the slick rungs with my pruned fingers.
As I stepped up to the landing, I became overwhelmed with nostalgia, or at least a sense of familiarity. The mining vehicle was identical to our old construction tractor from the deck up; standing there flooded me with memories.
I tried the handle but found it locked. Cupping my hands around my face, I leaned against the door and scanned the dash, looking for any lit indicators or sign of operability. A rock would probably get us through the glass—I turned to see if any big ones could be seen in the mud below, and that’s when I saw Peter, running through the mud and toward the tractors.
I scrambled down the ladder, dropping from a few rungs up and into a puddle, then rushed out to meet him.
“Porter!” he said as soon as he recognized me.
I clasped his arms and beamed at him, the rain just starting to get him wet. “Where’s Mica?” I asked.
“In the mines where it’s dry. She—” He shook his head and looked past me toward the dozers. “Who all is that with you? Is Julie there? Did Colony send you guys?”
I shook my head. “Colony didn’t send us. We ran, just like you.” I thought about his other question, and the fact that Julie was the nearest thing we had to a doctor. “Is Mica okay?” I asked, pulling him with me toward the dozer.
“She hurt her chest in a fall up on the canopy. She—well, let’s get you guys in the mine. Is Julie—?”
“She’s not with us,” I said. We ducked our heads under the rear of the dozer, the metal shell reverberating with shouts of joy once everyone recognized Peter. I helped Tarsi out, and the others followed, each taking turns greeting Peter and transferring some of our mud and wetness to him.
“Where’s Mica?” someone asked.
“Gather your stuff up,” Peter said. “Let’s get into the mines where it’s dry. This way.” He hurried off through the downpour.
We splashed through the mud after him; I deliberately ran through a few puddles to wash the caked mud out between my toes. Tarsi and Kelvin jogged along beside me, Kelvin having a hard time with his heavy pack full of raw vinnie meat.
A few hundred feet past the clearing, where the stone face of a small rise jutted up from the grasses, the open mine could barely be seen. I only spotted it by looking the direction in which Peter was heading.
The mouth of the mine was just a darker rectangle on the charcoal rock; it looked like nothing more than a shadow cast upon a shadow. Then we were nearly upon it, and I could see the perfectly square hole cut out by the mining dozers. We hurried inside, through a puddle of collected rain that came up to our shins, and then up a gentle slope. Beyond, the mine leveled out and began its plummet into the mountain.
At the top of the rise, a dying fire let off a bit of smoke but hardly any light. A form lay beside the fire, flat on its back. I shook my head vigorously and pulled off my shirt, wringing the water out of it as I approached Mica. Kelvin and Tarsi walked with me; the others stopped by the pool of water to wash the mud off their feet.
The three of us huddled around Mica, who had her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her sternum. Peter watched us from below, where the others bombarded him with questions, their voices echoing off the rocks in a sharp cacophony.
Mica’s eyes cracked open; she looked up at us, her eyes wide with surprise. “Kelvin? Porter?” Her voice came out as nothing more than a mere whisper.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, kneeling down beside her.
“Cracked a rib, I think.” She coughed, her shoulders arching back as her chest lifted up from the bed of grasses beneath her. The agony on her face as she fought to suppress the spasms made me wince with empathized pain. I rested my hands on her arm and looked down the rise toward Peter, only to see him excusing himself from the others and hurrying up toward us.
“What happened?” Kelvin asked.
“Fell in a hole up in the canopy,” she said hoarsely. “Just a bruise, I thought. Been getting worse.”
Peter joined us at her side; he reached for a pouch of water and held it to her lips. Mica obliged him by taking a few sips before she waved him away.
“Can you get an infection without breaking the skin?” Peter asked the three of us.
I shrugged.
“I don’t know,” Tarsi said, “but lots could be going on inside her.” She reached down and grabbed the hem of Mica’s top and slid it up her stomach all the way to her breasts. She dropped the hem of the shirt and covered her mouth—we all gasped at the sight.
We were used to the sight of malnourishment, but Mica looked like she hadn’t eaten at all in days. Ribs had become ridges; her muscles were concave. As she sucked in a painful breath, I half expected to see her spine rise up along her emaciated stomach. The nasty contusion on her chest just turned the sad into the dreadful. One side of Mica’s torso was a dozen shades of purples, blacks, and reds. It looked like a bruise that had come to life and spread as a virus might.
