Departure

Entry 001

The sirens screeched in my ears, joining the rushed pumping of blood through my veins that was pounding a bassline. Together they merged into an incoherent symphony. An orchestra that was desperately trying to attract my attention, with no thought given to harmony.

The addition of numerous shouting voices did little to ease my panic. Neither did the fact that there was a not-insignificant chance that we were all going to die. It was shocking how quickly procedure fell apart in a crisis, even when everyone was doing their best to follow it. A sizable chunk of the Harmonia Orbital Station had become compromised when the space debris had struck the space station hard enough to rotate it. Now, despite all our combined intellect and experience, we were floundering. It probably didn’t do us any favours that the chain of command had been thoroughly torn apart when several of us had died during the initial incident.

As an engineer, part of my job was fixing problems like this. But, it had quickly become apparent that there was no fixing Harmonia. Our options were to escape or perish. We chose escape - and therein laid the problem. 

With so much of Harmonia now inaccessible, too many people were crammed into narrow hallways. All shouting or screaming. A cacophony of voices accompanied the shrieking alarms as some tried to establish order and others gave in to blind panic. I had started as the former, but quickly devolved into the latter. I think most of us did.

I struggled through a sea of squirming bodies, trying to make it to the escape vessels. There were supposed to be enough to ferry every crew member down to Mars in an emergency. Yet, even with many of us dead, it didn’t feel like this was the case within the mass of frenzied and fearful people.

With every step, I felt the crush of bodies around me tightening. It was less like I was moving of my own will and more like I was being roughly shunted along by the tide. I saw people fall. I heard the sound of human bodies being trampled under the surging wave of other space station denizens. I didn’t see any of them get up. As the crowd constricted around me, the heat rising to a fever pitch to match those everpresent sirens, everything went dark. There was only the pressure of the people being pressed into me, the heat of the crunch and the unbelievable noise. 

Whoever said nobody could hear screaming in space was a liar.

Entry 002

I woke up, the screaming and shrieking of alarm systems gone. The heat of the pulsing crowd was entirely absent. It was quiet except for the sound of Wilson’s laboured breathing through his oxygen mask. It was cold, the life support systems in the pod designed for keeping things survivable, not comfortable. Compared to the compressed mass of flesh I had been a part of in Harmonia’s hallway, the pod felt vast and empty despite its far smaller size.

I don’t know how the two of us ended up the only ones in the pod. There should have been as many as fifteen of us. Instead, it was just us. Although, it might as well just have been me.

Wilson was already unconscious and hooked up to the breathing apparatus when I came to. I’m not sure if he did it himself or if I did it for him. It had to have been one of us. Nobody else was in the pod. Unfortunately, after I blacked out on Harmonia, I don’t remember anything until waking up.

I’d ask Wilson, but he’s not exactly in any shape to give me answers. Or to give me his real name. I’m calling him Wilson because I’m pretty sure his name started with a “W”, and because he’s my silent conversation partner. Talking to him is about as effective as talking to a volleyball.

That was why I started these logs. In theory someone on Mars - or even someone on Earth or one of the lunar bases - might at least notice these and respond. I don’t hold much hope of having an actual human conversation any time soon though.

I haven’t been able to reach any of the other pods. I’m also not drifting back down to Mars’ surface like I’m supposed to be. None of us had considered it at the time, but the rotation of the station meant that none of the escape vessels were pointing at Mars anymore. As it turns out, the initial force of detachment, while pointed away, was just enough to make sure we didn’t get caught by Mars’ gravity. 

Truth be told, I have no idea where I’m heading right now. I just know that I don’t have the food or oxygen to still be alive when I get to wherever that is. I actually envy Wilson. He’s got no idea what an unpleasant few weeks are ahead.

Entry 005

I disconnected Wilson’s oxygen. He’s as good as dead anyway. Now that spare oxygen can feed back into the pod’s own pumps. I’m probably as good as dead too, really. But, this way, there’s a slim chance that some sort of rescue mission might be able to do something for me.

I suppose this technically makes me a murderer. Is it weird how little that bothers me? I don’t feel any different about it than I do about the idea of a doctor pulling the plug on a stranger with no chance. I wonder what that says about me. Or about humanity. I remember how quickly all our procedures fell apart on Harmonia. I guess it doesn’t take that long for our morals to go out the window in favour of practicality either. We’re all just animals in the end.

Sorry Wilson. I guess I just value my life more than yours. I kind of wish I felt worse about that.

Entry 006

I probably should have thought ahead with this Wilson situation. I don’t have any way to dispose of him. Now it’s just me and this corpse… floating through space. He’ll decompose slowly at least. There’s not much in the way of bacteria or microbes in the pod. I’ll probably be dead long before he gets really gross.

It’s more the unnerving nature of it. It was weirdly easier to accept my looming death when I wasn’t looking at Wilson’s dead body. 

He just looks so empty and… wrong. This sucks, to put it lightly.

Entry 012

I wish Wilson were more talkative. He just sits there silently, staring at nothing. He doesn’t even laugh at my jokes. Hasn’t so much as cracked a smile.

Obviously, I know he’s dead. He can’t laugh, smile or hold a conversation. That hasn’t really stopped me talking to him though. A part of me is a little afraid that I might go crazy and start actually thinking he’s really there. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t gone with a Castaway reference for his placeholder name.

Entry 013

There aren’t any windows. There aren’t any clocks. It’s just endless, dimly lit steel, the dull hum of the life support and Wilson’s dead stare. I have no idea how long it has been. I have no idea how far I am from Mars. I’ve given up trying to reach the other pods. If any of them made it, they seem to be struggling to communicate too.

For all I know, there’s another colleague only a few metres away, floating in the same direction as me with their own Wilson. Maybe it’s Stephen or Carrie or one of my other friends. It’s oddly comforting to think of it. It makes it seem like I’m less alone out here.

But it’s just me and good old, dead Wilson really.

Entry 015

I spend a lot of time sleeping. It’s gotten surprisingly easy to fall asleep. I think that means the oxygen is starting to thin now. The mechanical hum in the pod sounds different. Like it's struggling. Chugging along on fumes.

They aren’t really meant to be able to sustain us for more than a week or so. I’d use the rations to judge how long it’s been more accurately but since it’s just me and Winston, they’re going by just fine. They taste like cardboard and dirt though. It’s not even worth gouging myself on a going away forever dinner.

Entry 019

I woke up cuddling with Winston earlier. I don’t even know what else to say about that. Holy shit.

Entry 020

I realised belatedly that with only me here, the oxygen is going to go for a lot longer than intended. It could easily last fifteen weeks or more. Can’t this just be over already?

Entry 026

I don’t even know what to add to these stupid logs anymore. I’m just talking to hear something. It’s not meant to be possible to open these doors in space once they’ve sealed. I’m an engineer though. Surely I can fix that.

Entry 027

Fixing that is proving harder than you might expect and Wilson is no fucking help.

Entry 032

I’m so tired.

Entry 033

Seriously, enough is enough.

Entry 034

Shut up, Wilson. Nobody asked you. 

Entry 035

Okay, that last one was a joke. I know the dead guy can’t talk to me. I really wish he could though.

Entry 036

I don’t recommend screaming in here. The echo is very unpleasant.

Entry 053

My waking and sleeping hours are starting to blur together. This might finally be over soon. I wonder what the aliens who crack open this can will think of me and Wilson all snuggled up and dead when we eventually crash into some rock a few thousand years from now?

Entry 054

There’s a low oxygen warning light. What is the point of that besides making people freak out? Well, it’s a sign of relief for me. I wonder how long that stupid thing has been flickering without me noticing?

Entry 57

Say goodnight to Wilson everybody.