He gives me a jerky nod.
I kick off the racking behind and pull Chelenko along with me. He cries out in pain as we fly across the module. My palm hits the panel first as I reorient us both, sliding my fallen comrade towards one of the empty pull-out counters.
I am extremely grateful for the lack of gravity as his massive body easily glides across the lab towards the supplies wall, tucking neatly under the counter.
With straps from the wall, I belt us both in. They are usually for securing supplies, but I hope they can handle some human cargo. The last buckle snaps shut just in time for the fire and brimstone to hail down upon us.
A lone meteor rips clean through Columbus, filling the room in front of me with a sudden, brilliant light. It glows a dancing iridescence. I watch frozen, timeslowing as the glowing hunk of rock glides through the room like a rogue wave – beautiful as it is deadly.
My vision blurs, white out, slowly readjusting as I blink again and again.
It’s inside.There’s a hull breach.The wire caging that winds its way through the exterior walls of the stations must have ruptured.
Where’s the point of entry?
My mind and body war over the urge to look. I can’t risk it.
I hate to think how much radiation we just absorbed. Three months of Natural Background Radiation? A year? A decade’s worth?
Bloody hell, remind me to get checked out for any abnormal cells once we’re home.
The lab shudders as meteors continue to rain down on the outside of the station. Burning hunks of rock pelting against the metal. Hollow thunks sound off, over and over, like popcorn in a pan.
A few of the experiments escape their confines in the racking, one of which - a metal cube - dings off the floor, the side crumpling in on itself before it floats off towards the open cavity in the wall where Chelenko was working.
I frown.
Multiple breaches?
Slowly, the rumbling of the room draws to a standstill.
I hold in a deep breath. And wait.
ALEX
CHAPTER FIVE
“...I think that’s the last of it,”hesitation quivers in Anderson’s tone. My comms crackle in and out.
I reach down to check Chelenko. His head at least seems to have stopped bleeding, a bubble of red fluid clings to his brow, but as I wipe it away, raw flesh is revealed. Angry, broken flesh, but blood no longer beads along the wound.
More concerning is the single blown pupil on his left eye. That has me worried. Very worried.
“Danger passed,” Anderson calls out, his voice more certain this time.
I unzip Chelenko’s flight suit to the waist. His white vest is a mess of crimson. I lift it, peeling the wet fabric from his skin, releasing a few beads of blood that escape, floating off into the air.
His torso is mottled with deep, dark-blue and black bruises all the way along his chest and abdomen. The bruising interlaced with silvery scars from past injuries. I can’t imagine the rest of him is faring much better.
My fingers pause at the waistband of his pants. Just above his hip bone, the sharp tip of the wire micro-cutters are stuck in. Deep. About an inch or so.
I’m no doctor, but I’m thinking thisis bad. Very bad.
I click my tongue as I try to think my way out of this mess. My mind whirs a mile a minute. Hull breach. Chelenko stabbed in the gut. My ribs still burn furiously.And is it getting colder in here?
My eyes dart around, searching. The engineer in me concluding we need some duct tape. The universal tool for a quick fix-em-up.
“Is bad, eh?” Chelenko coughs, his breath labours.
