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Their new barrack is quieter than the lab. Darker too. Strange and unfamiliar shadows lurk ominously, stretched and disfigured. Hunter’s imagination gives them monstrous faces, fangs and claws. They are the creatures out of their flash training courses about predators throughout the galaxy. Creatures that stalk, watching their prey’s vulnerabilities, then lashing out, tearing through flesh and bone.
Hunter swallows, reminding himself another time that while those creatures are real somewhere, they are not in this room. But another flash of lightning makes the shadows lurch, and Hunter yanks his blanket over his head. He shouldn’t be so afraid. He is nearly four standard years, far too old to be afraid of silly things like shadows. But then the thunder growls, its guttural voice making the room shudder. And something latches onto Hunter’s arm.
He is too afraid to make a noise, too afraid to move .
But then a loud, trembling voice says, “I’m scared. Can I sleep in your bunk with ya? Please, Hunter?”
Hunter takes a deep breath and peeks out from his sanctuary. Wrecker is there, fingers still curled around Hunter’s arm like his life might depend on it.
“Okay,” Hunter says. He hopes that he does not sound as relieved as he feels.
Wrecker wastes no time clambering into Hunter’s bunk, pressing himself as close to Hunter as he can. Wrecker is already taller than all of them, even if he was the second to last decanted. Nonetheless, he is still Hunter’s little brother, so Hunter threads his arms around him, and hugs him tight.
“I wanna go back to our old room,” Wrecker tells him.
“I know. But it’ll be better this way. You’ll see.”
Wrecker nods. “Okay.”
Hunter wonders if Crosshair will tease them when their morning cycle comes, or if Tech will say their fears were illogical.
But when Hunter wakes again, Crosshair and Tech are in his bunk too, sleeping soundly. Hunter smiles, sleep coming to reclaim him.
Maybe it’s alright to be braver together.