Dead Space: Martyr Read Online Free PDF

wrong with him? It was just the bartender. He shook his head. Why was he so paranoid? He didn’t usually get like that, did he?
    “I’m all right,” he said. “I’d like another beer.”
    “I’m sorry,” said the owner. “We are closing.”
    And indeed, when he looked around he saw that he was almost the last one in the bar. Everyone was gone except for one villager, the nameless town drunk who was sunk in the corner of the room, wrapped in a dark shawl, watching him.
    Hammond nodded. He stood and made for the door. The drunk followed him with his eyes. Don’t pay any attention to him, Hammond thought. He’s not one of them, he’s just a drunk. They haven’t gotten to him yet. Probably. Take a deep breath. You’re going to be okay.
    He made it out into the dusty street okay. He could hear the surf against the shore, could smell the salt as well. What now? he wondered. What else? And then he thought: Home.
    He was about halfway back to the complex he lived in, walking down a deserted street, when he heard something. At first, hewasn’t sure he’d heard anything meaningful at all. It was just a clattering sound and might have been caused by an animal. When he stopped, he didn’t hear it. But when he started up again, there it was, little traces of it, like a voice he couldn’t quite hear in his head. After half a block more he was sure: someone was dogging his footsteps.
    He turned around but didn’t see anyone. He quickened his step a little. There seemed to be whispers coming from the shadows in front of him, but as he approached them they faded, continuing on farther along the road. He shook his head. That’s crazy, he thought. I’m going crazy . He heard again a noise behind him and wheeled around again, this time seeing someone, a dark form, a little distance away.
    He stopped, stared at it. It had stopped moving, and then as suddenly as it had appeared, it stepped back into the shadows and was gone.
    “Hello?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying. “Is anyone there?”
    His heart had begun to thud in his throat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his knife, opened the blade. It looked absurdly small, almost useless, in his hand. He started back toward the shadows where the figure had disappeared, then realized that that was probably exactly what they wanted him to do. He turned quickly around to continue the way he had been going.
    Except when he turned around, he found the street in front of him wasn’t empty anymore. There were three men, two of them quite large, all faces he recognized from the DredgerCorp facility.
    “Hammond?” said the smallest one, the only one of them wearing glasses. “Charles Hammond?”
    “Who wants to know?” asked Hammond.
    “Someone would like to have a word with you,” he said. “Come with us.”
    “Who?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say,” the man said.
    “I’m not on the clock,” Hammond claimed. “Business hours are long over.”
    “You’re on the clock for this,” said another of the men.
    He nodded. He pretended to relax, beginning to move toward them, then suddenly spun on a heel and ran as quickly as he could in the other direction.
    Shouts rang out behind him. He ducked into an alley and ran down it, a ragged dog barking at his heels for half the length of it. He leapt over a makeshift fence and crashed through a pile of trash. Up and running again, he left the streets of the town proper and entered the shantytown.
    His head was throbbing. He looked back—they were still behind him, gaining. He kept running, a stitch starting up in his side. Slower now, but still running.
    By the time he reached the edge of the shantytown, they were close enough that he could hear the sound of their labored breathing. They’re going to catch me, he realized, there’s nothing I can do. He stopped suddenly, whirled around, holding the small knife in front of him.
    The three men quickly fanned out, forming a triangle around him. Hammond, panting,