The Darwin Effect (13 page)

Abraham and Rolle nodded, but Sanders just stared defiantly at Cromartie.

“How much more proof do you need?” Sanders asked him.

“It’s not enough,” Cromartie said through clenched teeth. “Ward’s right. Someone could’ve planted it there.”

Sanders sighed in frustration and shook her head.

Cromartie looked at Ward and put his hands out in a calming gesture. “Nobody’s doing anything. Okay? We’re all going to discuss this like rational adults.”

Ward seemed to relax, but only slightly. “Okay. But I swear I didn’t do this. I don’t know how to convince you guys that I didn’t do this.”

“We have to live together on this ship, and we can’t turn into animals. Is that clear?”

Again they all agreed, but Cromartie could tell that Sanders wasn’t completely onboard with this.

Ward took a few steps backwards towards the archway that led out of the dining hall to the corridor. He glanced at everyone for a moment like he expected them to all rush him at once, and then he left.

“This is a mistake,” Sanders grumbled after Ward was gone.

“Maybe,” Cromartie told her, “but we all need to agree on this.” He glanced at Abraham and Rolle who both nodded again.

“There are other possibilities,” Cromartie continued. “And until we’re one hundred percent sure of what happened, we’re not doing anything to Ward.”

“What other possibilities?” Sanders asked.

Cromartie looked at each of them for a moment, hesitating before answering Sanders’ question. “Maybe Butler really did kill herself, and then whoever found her body took the knife.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“Who knows? Maybe to implicate Ward.”

Sanders looked shocked like Cromartie was accusing her directly, but she didn’t say anything.

“We haven’t been in our right minds since we’ve woken up, have we?” And Cromartie looked right at Sanders. He could mention the fact that she had just woken up not too long ago screaming because she swore a dead woman had been standing right beside her bed.

Rolle set the knife down on the countertop and backed away from it like he didn’t want to touch it anymore, like he didn’t want to be near it.

“And there’s also another possibility,” Cromartie said.

They all waited for him to continue.

“Maybe Ward isn’t the killer … maybe it’s one of us.”

“T
hat’s crazy,” Sanders said. “All of the evidence points to Ward.” She ticked off a finger with each point she made. “Ward was the one so concerned about how much food we have left. Ward seems to have the most explosive temper out of all of us. Ward has a criminal past. And most of all, the murder weapon was found in his bathroom.”

“
If
that’s the murder weapon,” Cromartie said.

“Of course it is,” Sanders snapped at him. “Why else would he have hidden it in his bathroom?”

Cromartie glanced at the archway that led out to the corridor, and then he looked back at Sanders, Rolle, and Abraham. “Let’s take this discussion into the kitchen,” he said in a low voice.

They moved from the dining area into the kitchen in case Ward was hiding just beyond the archway and listening to them. They stood near the freezer door. The freezer, Cromartie thought, the place where Butler’s body was still propped up against a shelf of food.

Cromartie looked at Rolle. “Can you tell if that was the knife used to slash Butler’s wrists?”

Rolle shrugged. “Not really. Not without some sophisticated equipment. The best I would be doing is an educated guess.”

“And that’s usually good enough in a court of law,” Sanders said. “An educated guess from an expert.”

Cromartie sighed in frustration. “There’s another thing we need to consider. Maybe Ward did this and doesn’t remember doing it.”

They all stared at him.

“MAC said memory loss was a side effect of suspended animation,” Cromartie continued. “Maybe there are other side effects that we don’t know about, side effects that MAC hasn’t told us about.”

“What? Like murdering someone and not remembering it?” Sanders wasn’t trying to hide the sarcastic tone in her voice.

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility,” Cromartie told her. “Look how messed up Butler was when she came out of that cryochamber.”

“Too messed up to kill herself,” Sanders retaliated with.

“Maybe not,” Cromartie said. “Maybe she snapped out of the fog she was in and freaked out. Maybe she had been in some state of shock for a while and when she snapped out of it, she finally realized where she was—trapped on a spaceship with very little food and no hope of survival.”

“And a screwed up computer running things,” Abraham said.

Cromartie glanced up at the ceiling as if he could tell that MAC was listening to them, and then his eyes darted to Abraham. He hoped the older man read the expression in his eyes: Maybe it’s not the best idea to be criticizing MAC right now.

“Butler’s state of mind just proves that there could be other mental side effects,” Cromartie said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“I can’t believe you’re sticking up for Ward,” Sanders said.

“I’m not trying to stick up for anybody. I’m just trying to think of other possibilities before we convict someone.”

“Here’s a possibility for you, Cromartie. Maybe Ward, a
survivalist
, wants to kill each one of us and use us for food so he can survive for as long as he can.”

Cromartie turned to Rolle for help. “You’re a psychiatrist and a doctor. Could Butler have woken up to the realization that all of this is hopeless? Could she have killed herself?”

“It’s possible. After a trauma, some people can go into a catatonic type state. It can take anywhere from hours to years to come out of these states. Sometimes they never come out of them at all.”

“But, even in one of these catatonic states, Butler could’ve known what was going on around here, right?” Cromartie asked. “She could’ve heard everything, seen everything,
experienced
everything. But maybe the full force of what was going on here didn’t sink in until she was alone.”

“All of our certain deaths,” Abraham mumbled.

“Exactly,” Cromartie said.

Rolle shrugged again. “It’s possible. Even with all we’ve learned about physics, chemistry, and the reaches of outer space, the mind is still mostly a big mystery to us.”

“If Butler killed herself, that doesn’t explain why she didn’t have the knife on her,” Sanders said. “Or why that knife was in Ward’s room.”

“And now we’re back to murder,” Abraham said with a grim look on his face.

“Or we’re back to the side effects from cryosleep,” Cromartie said. “What if we’re all having some side effects and we don’t even realize it?”

“W
hat do you mean by that?” Abraham asked. “I haven’t experienced any side effects.”

“You’re sure about that?” Cromartie asked him. “You may have experienced some and not even realized it.” He looked at Rolle again. “Couldn’t that be a possibility?”

“Sure … I suppose.”

“Butler’s side effects where just more noticeable,” Cromartie said. “But maybe our symptoms are a little more subtle … so subtle that we don’t even notice them ourselves.”

“I’m sure there might be some common side effects from the suspended animation that we were in for a hundred years,” Rolle said and began listing them off: “Depression, anxiety, paranoia …”

“Which all seem perfectly reasonable reactions, given the circumstances we’re in,” Sanders said.

“But what if these side effects include murderous urges?” Cromartie asked. “Or suicidal thoughts.”

Rolle nodded in agreement. “Of course it’s all possible. I don’t really know anything about the effects of suspended animation on the mind.”

“Let’s ask MAC,” Cromartie said and looked up at the ceiling. “MAC, are you there?”

“Yes, Cromartie.”

Of course MAC was there—he was
always
there.

“Could the things we just listed be possible side effects from cryosleep?” Cromartie asked, staring up at the lines of ductwork, pipes, and wiring that snaked across the ceiling.

“Yes, Cromartie,” MAC answered. “Side effects of cryosleep include: depression, nausea, anxiety, paranoia, fatigue, vivid dreams and nightmares, light-headedness, dizziness, short-term memory loss, murderous thoughts, suicidal urges, insomnia, hallucinations, sleepwalking—”

“Thank you, MAC,” Cromartie said, cutting the computer’s voice off. “We get the point … there are a lot of possible side effects.”

“Yes, Cromartie. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Thanks, MAC.”

Cromartie stared at Sanders, Rolle, and Abraham like he’d just won the argument. “I’ve been having vivid dreams and nightmares. That’s a possible side effect. What about you guys?” He looked right at Sanders.

She only nodded, but she didn’t admit to her nightmares or hallucinations. And now she watched Cromartie carefully as if she was still trying to decide how much she could trust him.

Rolle spoke up. “Like Sanders said, a lot of these side effects MAC just listed could be obvious reactions to the situation we’ve found ourselves in and may have nothing to do with side effects from cryosleep.”

Abraham looked like something had just clicked in his mind—a connection made.

Rolle noticed the reaction from Abraham. “What is it?”

“Remember when I told you guys about seeing Ward in front of the airlock door?”

They all nodded.

“What if Ward was sleepwalking when I saw him? I mean, now that I think about it, the way he was walking, the way he stared at the door, it was like he was in some kind of trance. Like he might have been sleepwalking. And then it seemed like he sort of snapped out of it when he was standing in front of the door.”

“If he had snapped out of it, then he would’ve remembered being there when you told him about it,” Sanders said. “Not denying that he’d ever been up there in front of that door.”

“Maybe he
does
remember,” Cromartie said. “But he doesn’t want to admit it because we’ve practically convicted him as Butler’s murderer already.”

“And practically accused him of writing those words on the door,” Rolle added.

“I’m just looking at the evidence,” Sanders said. “And it’s stacking up against Ward.”

“What did you do when you saw Ward snap awake in front of the airlock door?” Rolle asked Abraham.

Abraham looked a little embarrassed and he smiled sheepishly. “I ran back down the hall before he could see me. I hid in a storage closet. I thought he might’ve seen me, but he walked right on by the door.”

“Why did you hide?” Rolle asked him.

Abraham cocked his head a little like the question had never occurred to him. “I don’t know. I was scared, I guess. But I don’t really know why I was scared.”

“Feelings of anxiety,” Rolle said. “Paranoia.”

“Okay,” Sanders said. “You guys win. We can’t convict Ward just yet.” She looked right at Cromartie. “I guess we’ll just wait until another one of us is attacked.”

“I think she’s right,” Abraham said. “What are we going to do? Just wait around?”

Cromartie didn’t answer.

“What about the knives?” Abraham suggested. “They’re the only real weapons we’ve seen on this ship. Maybe we should hide them.”

“Where?” Rolle asked. “And from whom?”

Abraham didn’t have an answer for him.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Sanders said and marched out of the kitchen to the dining area.

They followed her to the dining area where she opened the drawer that contained the utensils. She selected a sharp kitchen knife and gripped it in her hand. “We all should have a weapon on us at all times to protect ourselves.”

“Great,” Cromartie said. “One of us might be a killer and now we’ll all be armed.”

H
ours later Cromartie tossed and turned in his bed. He wanted to be alone for a while so he went to his room. He kept the knife he had selected from the utensil drawer with him, leaving it on the top of the built-in desk against the far wall across from his bed.

He stared at the smooth ceiling, his thoughts turning to his family: his wife Julie, his daughter Carrie, and his son Joey. Tears slipped out of his eyes as he imagined their faces in the darkness.

They were surely dead. If the Earth was destroyed by a nuclear war like MAC said, then there was no way his wife and kids could have survived. If random people had been abducted and shoved onto spaceships headed to colonize a distant planet in a last-ditch effort to save humanity from extinction, then there could be no hope left back on Earth.

Cromartie imagined his family’s shock if they had seen the nuclear blast coming—that split second of terror before they were torn apart in an instant. Or even worse, if they were on the outskirts of an attack and died the slow, agonizing death of radiation poisoning, wasting away on some FEMA cot somewhere or even in their own beds; their bodies aching with fever and spasms; sores on their skin; their teeth and hair falling out; constant vomiting and diarrhea.

It seemed like hours to Cromartie, but he drifted off to sleep in a few minutes, beginning to dream … beginning to see his family again.

Cromartie was back at home. The house was bright with sunshine and everybody was there. It felt like a Sunday morning, a late breakfast of pancakes being cooked, Carrie and Joey eager to help Julie in the kitchen.

He saw himself at the breakfast nook off of the kitchen, a seating area built into a bay window. He had a cup of coffee in front of him, the steam drifting up lazily and disappearing into the sunlight.

The newspaper was in his hands and he was reading about the buildup of nuclear weapons in Iran and North Korea, both countries threatening the other countries around them with annihilation. Russia and The United States seemed to be on opposite sides of the table in this battle.

Were we on the brink of a world-wide nuclear war? the newspaper asked. It was a question on everyone’s lips these days. There were rumors of terrorist groups that had secured nukes from Iran and they wouldn’t hesitate to use them in their holy war on all Infidels. The story was all over the TV, drowning out all other news stories. America was on its highest security alert.