[HR] The Last Breath
As he climbed out of the final crater he laid eyes on the soviet lander. What was left of his breath stuck in his throat. What he saw made no sense to his sleep deprived brain. The white enamel skin of the Luna lander appeared faded, not the shining fresh beacon of hope he had expected, no, needed. Dents and deep scratches covered its once smooth exterior and no lights shone through the small windows.
“To late to turn back now.” He muttered to himself running as fast as the lunar gravity would allow.
As he approached he saw movement, the hatch swung open and an orange clad arm reached out. The sight triggered something deep in the back of his mind but the headache from breathing the recycled CO2 that was fighting with the very last of his oxygen supply pushed it back. God his head hurt. He figured he had about 5 minutes left before he fully passed out and became one final death on this damned mission.
As he reached the spindly legs of the Soviet craft he reached up and clasped the hand offered to him, looking into the sun visor of the Cosmonauts suit. He mouthed his thanks, hoping the Russian would understand as he climbed into the cramped crew area. He looked around the dimly lit space. Everything seemed dingy and run down and very old. He new the Soviets were strapped for cash but he wouldn't have trusted this level of tech to get him to the mall, let alone the moon. He turned as the Cosmonaut spun the wheel locking down the air tight lander door. The Russian turned to face him. As he did his mission patch became visible. The yellow and orange stripes of the Soviet Luna program jumped out at him.
It clicked in his mind at the same time the Russian broke the seal on his helmet. The orange suit, the Luna patch, the ancient equipment, Captain Swanson lunged for the hatch. He didnt know what he would do if he got back outside but he had to try. He reached out to grab the locking wheel but he wasn't fast enough. A hand that felt like iron rods in its thick gauntlet wrapped around his wrist. It snapped like so many dry twigs. He screamed the last of his air into his helmet turning to look at the monster he had come to for salvation. He locked eyes with what had once been the Russian. The only things looking back at him were empty sockets in an empty skull covered in the same black fungal growths that had taken his crew.
Whatever this thing was, it had been here for a long time, he thought to himself as the creature reached out and gripped the sides of his visor.
He thought of his children as cracks began to form.
Black tendrils of fungus ran along the creature's arms, down its gloves, and started to cover the glass. He saw it worming for the cracks the skeletal thing had squeezed into his helmet. He saw the pulsing mass force their way into the gaps. The pressure continued, the cracks spread, the mass pushed in. He knew there was no way to stop it, nothing to do, nowhere to run.
The vacuum of the unpressurized lander module sucked the last of the air out of his suit. He stared at the grinning rictus of the skeletal face as darkness overcame him.
“God” he thought, “Let it die here.”