THE RED GRAVES
1281 Words
Morning came without birdsong.
No gentle breeze.
No rustling trees.
Only silence.
An endless, oppressive silence.
Captain Noah O'Connell stood outside the broken remains of the Apollo X2 and stared at the alien horizon.
The first sunrise on Mars.
It should have been one of humanity's greatest achievements.
Instead, it felt like a funeral.
The red sun cast long shadows across the desert, illuminating the twisted wreckage of the ship. Smoke still rose from several sections, disappearing into the pale orange sky.
Behind him, Commander Ryan Frost stepped out from beneath one of the emergency tarps.
"Didn't sleep?" Ryan asked.
Noah smiled faintly.
"Did you?"
"Two hours."
"Luxury."
"Indeed."
The two men stood in silence.
Neither had to say what they were thinking.
One hundred and twenty-one people.
Gone.
Noah lowered his eyes.
"We have to bury them."
Ryan nodded.
"I know."
"We owe them that."
"Agreed."
He paused.
"Trevor suggested cremation."
Noah frowned.
"Why?"
"He said digging one hundred and twenty-one graves sounded depressing."
Noah snorted.
"He's unbelievable."
"He's coping."
"So are we."
Ryan nodded.
"Poorly."
---
The search for survivors lasted most of the morning.
Unfortunately, there were none.
Noah and Ryan moved through the shattered remains of the Apollo X2 section by section.
At first, Noah called out names.
Eventually, he stopped.
The dead were everywhere.
Lieutenant Sarah Kim from Hydroponics.
Chief Navigator Marcus Hall.
Ensign Rebecca Lee.
People he'd laughed with.
People he'd promised to bring home.
Now they were gone.
As they entered the ruined flight deck again, Noah froze.
Aveiro D'Silva remained strapped to the helm.
His hands still gripped the controls.
His eyes were closed.
His expression peaceful.
Ryan quietly removed his cap.
"He never abandoned his station."
Noah exhaled.
"No."
"He didn't."
Silence.
Then Ryan sighed.
"Stubborn idiot."
Noah smiled sadly.
"He learned from the best."
Ryan snorted.
"God help us."
---
By midday, the others had joined them.
Camille looked exhausted.
Trevor somehow looked cheerful.
And Hella had already finished cataloging what little remained of their supplies.
"We have enough rations for four months," she reported.
"Water recyclers?" Noah asked.
"Functional."
"Medical supplies?"
Camille raised her hand.
"Enough."
Ryan looked at Trevor.
"Coffee?"
Trevor gasped.
"Thank you!"
Hella blinked.
"Seriously?"
Ryan remained completely serious.
"It's for his emotional support."
Trevor pointed proudly.
"See? He gets me."
"Don't make me regret it ," Ryan muttered.
---
Camille had transformed part of the dining hall into a temporary infirmary.
"No arguments," she announced.
Trevor groaned dramatically.
"Doctor, I am perfectly healthy."
Camille pointed at his burns.
"You literally caught fire yesterday."
"Minor inconvenience."
"Sit."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ryan smirked.
"She scares me."
"I heard that."
"You were supposed to."
Trevor burst out laughing.
By the time she finished treating Ryan's cuts, Noah was quietly trying to sneak away.
Camille caught him immediately.
"Oh no."
Noah froze.
"Captain."
"I'm busy."
"Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You have blood on your shirt."
"It's decorative."
"Captain."
"I'm—"
"NOAH!"
Everyone stared.
Even Ryan raised an eyebrow.
Camille marched over and grabbed his arm.
"You haven't slept."
"You haven't eaten."
"And you have three cracked ribs!"
Noah blinked.
"I do?"
"Yes!"
"How many?"
"Three!"
"Huh."
Ryan folded his arms.
"Congratulations."
"You're officially stupid."
Trevor nodded.
"The diagnosis is terminal."
Camille buried her face in her hands.
"Why am I surrounded by children?"
Ryan answered immediately.
"Budget cuts."
To Noah's surprise, Hella laughed.
It was the first time he'd seen her smile since the crash.
Afterward, they agreed there was one duty they could not ignore.
They would bury their dead.
---
The funeral lasted three hours.
One hundred and twenty-one names.
One hundred and twenty-one memories.
One hundred and twenty-one goodbyes.
Noah spoke every single name.
Even when his voice threatened to break.
No one interrupted him.
Not even Ryan.
By the end, tears streamed down Camille's cheeks.
Trevor stood silently with his cap removed.
Hella bowed her head.
And Ryan stood at attention.
When Noah finished, the Martian desert had become a sea of markers fashioned from broken metal and debris.
Humanity's first cemetery on another world.
Red Graves.
Noah inhaled deeply.
"Rest easy."
"We'll find our way home."
---
The rest of the day was spent salvaging equipment.
Trevor emerged from Engineering carrying a battered scanner.
"Good news!"
Ryan sighed.
"I hate that sentence."
Trevor grinned.
"I found portable solar batteries."
Camille brightened.
"Really?"
"Yep. With enough time, I might even restore power to sections of the ship."
Noah smiled.
"Nice work."
Trevor bowed dramatically.
"Thank you. I'll accept my awards later."
Ryan handed him a protein bar.
"Here's your Nobel Prize."
Trevor looked genuinely touched.
"This means more to me than you know."
---
Night on Mars was colder than anyone expected.
Thankfully, Trevor managed to restore two emergency heaters.
The five survivors sat together around them.
Outside, the wind howled against the wreckage.
Nobody spoke.
Camille finally broke the silence.
"Do you think anyone's coming?"
Silence.
Trevor lowered his eyes.
Hella avoided the question.
Ryan simply stared into the heater.
Finally Noah answered.
"Yes."
Ryan glanced sideways.
"Optimistic."
Noah smiled.
"Lying."
Trevor laughed.
Camille giggled.
Even Hella smiled.
Ryan shook his head.
"I appreciate the honesty."
Camille looked at Noah.
"You really don't think they'll come?"
Noah leaned back.
"Honestly?"
"No."
"But I think they'll try."
Nobody spoke after that.
Because everyone understood the difference.
---
Hours later, Noah sat outside alone.
The stars above Mars looked colder somehow.
Distant.
Unfamiliar.
Ryan approached carrying two cups.
"Coffee substitute."
Noah accepted one and they sat quietly.
Ryan was the first to break the silence.
"You blaming yourself yet?"
Noah chuckled bitterly.
"Already started."
"Good."
Noah frowned.
"Good?"
Ryan nodded.
"Means you're still human."
He took a sip.
"Just don't confuse responsibility with guilt."
Noah looked over.
"There's a difference?"
"A big one."
Ryan stared at the horizon.
"You didn't shoot us down."
"You didn't crash the ship."
"And unless you're secretly a Martian with terrible driving skills, none of this is on you."
Noah laughed.
"Terrible driving skills?"
Ryan shrugged.
"Thought I'd cover all possibilities."
Silence returned.
Then Noah asked quietly,
"How did you know?"
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
"Know what?"
"About Clara."
Ryan smirked.
"The walls aren't soundproof."
"You eavesdropped?"
"No."
"You listened accidentally?"
"No."
Noah narrowed his eyes.
"You were standing outside the whole time."
Ryan smiled.
"You cried loudly."
Noah groaned.
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
"No."
He smiled.
"I really don't."
Ryan nodded.
"Good,"
Then his expression became serious.
"We'll get through this."
Noah stared at the stars.
"How?"
Ryan shrugged.
"We improvise."
"Humanity's greatest talent."
---
The next afternoon, Noah organized an exploration team.
Nobody went alone.
Ryan accompanied him while Trevor inspected external damage and Hella continued inventorying supplies with Camille.
The Martian landscape was strangely beautiful.
Towering rock formations.
Rolling dunes.
A sky unlike anything Noah had ever seen.
Yet something about it unsettled him.
Too quiet.
No birds.
No insects.
No sound.
Dead worlds weren't supposed to feel alive.
"This place feels like it's pretending," Ryan muttered.
Noah nodded.
He felt it too.
Then Ryan stopped.
"Captain."
Tracks.
Massive tracks.
Long grooves carved through the sand.
Noah froze.
They weren't footprints.
Something had burrowed beneath the surface.
"What made those?" he whispered.
Ryan slowly raised his rifle.
"I was hoping you'd tell me."
Suddenly—
The ground trembled.
Both men froze.
The vibration lasted only two seconds.
Then stopped.
Silence returned.
Ryan lowered his weapon slightly.
"I officially hate this planet."
Noah nodded.
"Yeah, so do I."
Neither man noticed the sand shifting behind them.
Or the enormous shape moving beneath the surface.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hunting.
And somewhere beneath the crimson wasteland...
Something ancient opened its eyes.
- Writer
