By Nik Cartier
It has been days since the supply of apples has run out. The doctors with the strange power of the hypnosis have been closing in on our base. I don’t know how much longer I have left before I am forced to join in their strange rituals.
I could hear them talking; they are close to me, and I don’t know what to do. Could they smell the scent of my fear? The survivors of the outbreak say they could, but if it was true, they would have found us sooner.
This is Captain Kirk, one of the twenty survivors. We lost many of our numbers today, over half of them were taken while trying to find more apples. The 203 people on the vessel have succumbed to the forces of the doctors.
I used to be friends with the head of them. Bones had been a loyal friend of mine, but something changed while Mr. Spock and I were on an away mission. He was kidnapped, and he came back, changed. I lost many friends the day he came back aboard the U.S.S Enterprise.
“Mr. Spock,” I whispered, watching a blue shirt walk by.
The Half-Vulcan came to my side, his hair had grown long without the ability to cut it. He was still the same logical self overall. “Captain,” he said in a calculated low voice.
“Did anyone make it back with apples,” he asked.
“I have counted enough for everyone to have at least two apples.”
“Wonderful, hand out the apples to everyone and tell them we are going to raid the kitchen.”
“Understood.” He slowly made his way through the winding tunnels.
Then I was once again surrounded by the uncomfortable sound of the Doctors talking. It didn’t seem right. I was the Captain of this ship and I was hiding in the vents like a coward. Alas, it was the only thing I could do without becoming a doctor.