Inescapable

The Creature

Tucked away in ventilation ducts, a young man sat, idling. Staring at the blades of a grated fan as they turned slowly, the metal creaking with each rotation. The maintenance light behind it casting dim, yellow light in the cramped space. The young man had made the place into a very crude living space. Some blankets and pillows he'd gathered made up his bed, along with some cans of food that he'd been surviving off of. Even a couple magazines to help keep his sanity, or whatever remained of it.

The Duran, a colonial space station, was his former home. Now he hides away in its depths like a scared rat. But what more could he do? It was suicide to go out into the public sectors, and even the industrial areas were beginning to become too dangerous to frequent for more rations. Even the vents weren't safe, as he'd been forced to up and abandon his shelters more than once. When was the last time he'd even seen another living person? Or even spoken? Sometimes the sound of his inner voice seemed foreign to him.

The station had come under attack by some... "things." What it was had been a mystery, but everyone had panicked. Station security was useless, and gangs formed and pilfered from shops and residences. It was short lived though. People started disappearing in the beginning, and those disappearances began to occur more frequently. Groups of people were vanishing and leaving all their things behind. Sometimes there were screams, followed by vicious thuds.

"A... Adam." The young man murmured his name to nobody. As though he needed to be reminded that he even had a name.

Even that squeak felt too loud. How long had it been? Maybe three weeks? It was hard to say. So many sleepless nights had made it impossible to keep track with any kind of accuracy. Mostly, he'd been going off of how many cans of food he had eaten. That's how he counted the days. It was a worthless way of pretending to keep track. All the manuals he managed to scrounge up about survival said that the most important thing to do in a survival situation was to keep a sense of home and maintain calm and hope.

Pretty hard to maintain hope at this rate...

Cupping his face in his hands, tears threatened to spill out again. This time spent idling was simply procrastination. Adam needed to get out there again and find more water, since he was nearly out. The water still worked everywhere, but he couldn't afford to go out whenever he pleased to get a drink. So squirreling away what he could in this shelter was the safest thing to do.

Only trouble was that when he was out there was no other choice than to go out into the public areas and find a fountain or a residence. But the walls had ears, more or less. Already he'd had a few close encounters. Nearly being discovered by the things that now roamed the station.

There was no point in hiding here in this hole anymore. If he didn't go get the water, that would be it. All this self preservation would have been meaningless. Hell, it may still end up becoming meaningless. A shiver ran through him at the thought.

Crawling on all fours through the vents was easy enough, given his shorter stature. For a twenty-one year old male, he was below average for height among his peers. Topping out at 5'6, but that was something that had contributed to his survival without a doubt.

Guess all those six footers don't feel so cocky now...

Nearing a ventilation access port, Adam hesitated. The vents were kept locked unless you had a tool for it, which he did indeed possess. It was a small, screwdriver-like tool, that when inserted into a slot would unlock the grate that barred his way. Doing just that, the grate swung open an inch. With a deep breath, he pushed himself forward.

The grate let out into a cramped hallway, which looked as though it had been put through the wringer. Scorch marks were on some of the walls, vulgar graffiti, and a few brownish flecks of splatter from oxidized blood. There was only a little of it, and no bodies, so it was likely caused in a fist fight.