She is definitely glad that she asked Lynne to sleep in her bed, and not just because she got to get close to a sexy woman. Myrha has a distant, smug thought that Lynne was wrong about the culprit being an animal. That doesn’t make being right any easier, though. An army may not exactly be after them, but Myrha was pretty spot-on about the radioactive part.

So when Fossam bursts through the door and attacks them, he gets a face full of Lynne’s fist; apparently Lynne didn’t go into hibernation mode. Myrha is touched.

She’s also pretty terrified.

“What the fuck?” she shouts.

Fossam staggers back and into the light from the smashed door; she can see a huge, messy hole where his eye is supposed to be.

“I misjudged the strength needed to knock him unconscious,” Lynne says.

“You destroyed his face!”

Fossam doesn’t seem to care. He finds his footing, and with a stream of blood spurting out of his eye socket, he makes his way back to them. Myrha leaps out of bed, travel kit in hand, and grabs the HeatWave from underneath her pillow. Fossam collapses on top of Lynne, and Myrha can hear the click of his teeth. Lynne grabs both of Fossam’s bulky arms and hauls him off her, throwing him towards the wall. Blood seems to be everywhere, even seeping out of Fossam’s gums and nails.

Myrha aims the weapon at Fossam and focuses the beam on his chest. Seconds later the room is filled with the scent of blistering flesh; Fossam doesn’t make a sound. Holy shit.

“He should be on the ground screaming in pain by now!” she shouts, panicked.

Fossam continues forward, and Myrha’s hands are fucking shaking and Lynne says, “He must feel no pain,” but Myrha can’t really concentrate because Fossam is still walking towards her, even as his flesh burns and disintegrates.

“Turn off the beam!” Lynne commands.

“Are you insane?”

“Do it!”

Myrha groans and does as she’s told, and then Lynne darts forward, grabs the sides of Fossam’s head, and twists. Crack, crack, crack. Fossam’s head rolls to the floor and his body just sort of collapses and Myrha can feel everything she’s eaten come up her throat. Lynne grabs her arm while Myrha’s standing there in shock, and she has blood on her and Myrha can’t shut her eyes but she very much wants to.

Lynne pulls them into the hallway and the bright light makes Myrha’s eyes water; she doesn’t look back into the room to check on Fossam, though she’s morbidly inclined to. They make for the stairs and pass by other rooms, their doors smashed in; Lynne practically leaps down the steps and they rush into the lobby, only to bowl over Gerdie.

They all tumble to the ground, and Myrha jumps to her feet and points the HeatWave at the lady, who’s twitching and convulsing on the floor; Lynne jumps out of the way as the elderly lady staggers to her feet. There’s a large disgusting wound on her shoulder, dribbling with pus. It looks rancid, infected. Her features are sluggish, like her skin is molding on her bones and her eyes are glassy in a way that reminds Myrha of Werna. Her bloody teeth clack aimlessly, and a strip of silver cloth hangs from her mouth.

Lynne doesn’t waste any more time; she aims a kick to Gerdie’s chest and sends her crashing into the wall. Her chest cavity blooms with blood. Her teeth still clack at them. Lynne grabs Myrha’s arm and tugs her to the door, but Myrha spares a glance at the utiphone on the desk. The captain sits slumped over it, like he had fallen asleep on it again. Except there are bite marks on his neck and back, large strips of his silver uniform and flesh gone.

“She ate him,” Myrha yells, but Lynne’s already pushing her out the door.

And they run right into a brawl.

Bounty Hunter stands in a ring of their fellow guests; he’s dripping with blood and sweat and is wielding a HeatWave, blasting Karry in the face with it; another guest takes the opportunity to leap on his back.

“What is wrong with them?” Myrha shrieks.

Several glassy-eyed heads turn towards them.

“Smooth,” Lynne says.

“Run!” Bounty Hunter cries.

Myrha doesn’t think twice. She and Lynne scamper down the sandy trail, the three moons faintly watching them from overhead, and the sounds of clicking teeth and gurgling and the hum of the HeatWave drift through the air. They race to the dark hulk of the shuttle and Lynne slams the door open and they stagger in. Myrha gets out her utiphone and turns on its light.

“What are we looking for?” Myrha whispers frantically.

“If you’re looking for weapons, I already have them.”

Myrha jumps and Lynne stills, looking eerily pale and stark in the sparse light from the utiphone.

“Bartin,” she says.

Bartin comes out of the crew quarters, face streaked with dirt and sweat. He holds a long, thin bat in his hands. It’s the kind that can deliver electrical blows.