Pesquet arrives. Luca helps her with the stretcher as they place it beside Chelenko’s body.Not body. He’s going to pull through this.
At thirty, the doctor leans down again to give him two more breaths, puffing into his open mouth.
“Move him on three. One, two, three.”
Between the three of them, they shift Chelenko over to the proper stretcher. He doesn't make a sound, which has me panicking. The air inside my suit feels thinner.
Doctor Hadfield climbs onto the stretcher, tucking her feet under the metal frame as she straddles Chelenko's waist. Being careful not to nudge the wirecutters, she starts up chest compression again, continuing to count from where she left off.
“Let's get him out of here.” She looks to Luca, who nods and grabs the end of the stretcher, steering them down the corridor. He glances back at me, smiling, before Pesquet barks a command at him.
My throat tightens.I need to get out of this suit.I paw at the helmet, but it’s welded shut.
“Alex,Alles is gut?” Matthias comes into view, he has the helmet off his suit, which just makes me panic more.
“I can’t breathe.” I choke out.
His brows furrow as he reaches for the solder clasping the helmet shut. Part of it crumbles in his hand, but the seal stays firmly locked. I gulp back the bile racing up my throat and threatening to ruin the inside of the suit.
My lungs burn. My dry throat hurts, as harsh as broken glass on gravel. Matthias grabs me by the shoulder, forcing the suit's console towards his face.
“Scheisse.”
Without a second's hesitation, he rips the duct tape holding the torn leg of the suit together.
I continue to gulp, desperate for air. My vision is blurring. Matthias’ handsome face becomes harder to focus on as the black in my periphery grows closer, trying to envelope me in darkness.
A second later, I feel a sting on my arm, metal slices through my skin, and then a breath.
A small breeze crosses my face as I breathe deep the cool air.
Matthias pulls off the gloves of his suit, discarding them. He pries something metallic beneath the lip of my helmet and the visor. The lid flips open. I lurch forward, throwing up all over his lap. The bile clumps together in an ever-growing, swirling, green and yellow sphere.
He rubs soothing rhythmic circles along my spine, the touch muffled through the thick fabric, but it’s still nice. Familiar. Comforting.
He brushes my hair back from my face, holding it as my stomach continues to empty itself.
Nothing is left, and my body still convulses with each dry heave. My insides burn.
He doesn't speak.
And I appreciate the quiet reassurance his presence brings.
“I’m sorry.” I look at him, his suit is painted with sick. “I ruined your suit,” I say as I wipe away the tears streaming down my face. Snot bubbles out of my nostrils.
“I think I canforgive you.”
He dries my eyes, wiping away the tears, and snot, and God knows what other kind of bodily fluids I'm leaking.
One deep breath at a time. I rest my head against the chest of his suit. Listening as the clamour of the crew grows distant.
Slowly, I feel calm after the storm.
Someone moves towards us, their feet clattering off the metal footholds.
“How are you doing, Kiddo?” Clayton asks. I look up to see his hand resting on Matthias' shoulder, and a deep crease in his brow.
“Surviving.” We both answer.
