He looks up at me.
“What are we going to do about the tear in the suit?”
“One problem at a time.”
The thumping outside halts. Silence reigns.
Before the muffled noise of grinding flares up and echoes through Columbus. The vibrations trigger tension in my stomach.
The overhead lights flicker, once, twice, before dimming to nothing. A click sounds before theemergency lighting kicks in, bathing Columbus in an eerie green hue.
This is beginning to play out like a bad movie.
They really could breach the hull further.
“Matze!” I shout out, as I dump the suit and launch myself back to looting the racks for supplies.
“On it.” He disappears from view for a moment.
I cut one finger on something sharp on a tray of sterile equipment. “Fuck.” The blood beads, surface tension making it cling to my fingertips. I put it in my mouth to stop the bleeding.
“If my options are running out of air,”and slowly drifting into an endless sleep,“or being ripped out into space,”where it's a race between all the fluid forcibly escaping my body, freezing, and asphyxiation, “then I choose sleep, please.”
“We’re getting you out of there, Alex.” Matthias’ voice is firm, unwavering.
That is when I happen upon the holy grail.
I raise up the bright blue duct tape, giving it a quick kiss, before I'm back over to the still-sealed doorway. I wriggle my way into the suit, ignoring the burning in my ribs – at this point, all of me is one giant bruise anyway – and slide myself in up to my waist.
A broken suit is better than no suit, I remind myself as I take my blue miracle tool and wrap tape around the open rip on thesuit’s leg.
Round and round.
Again, and again.
Until it feels tight against my shin. Ignoring the throb as my circulation fights against the restriction.
Round again.
One more for good measure, continuing until the end of the roll peels away from the cardboard cylinder.
I slap my shin, one last wallop to make sure it’s good and stuck. I flex my leg, testing the structural integrity of my quick fix.
“Matze, I’m ready to try the suit now.” I give him a small smile through the thick glass, hoping I don’t look half as unhinged as I feel. The low oxygen is really getting to me.
My arms strain as I lift the helmet up over my head, slotting it into place.Stupid anaerobic muscles struggling to complete the most basic of tasks. I twist it clockwise, waiting for the telltale click and soft hiss of airflow.
“Sweet sweet O², come to me.”
It doesn’t come.
“Fuck. It won’t seal.”
“I know who can help.”
MATTHIAS
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
