Page 125 of Bound By Stars

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Page 125 of Bound By Stars

“It automatically docks to the nearest station. We can’t control it. It’s a basic rescue device, not a ship.” Curran stares back at theBoundless, his expression blank.

“There has to be a way.” There’s no button, no joystick, no levers. I’m missing something. It has to have a manual mode.

Skye grabs my arm. “Maybe she can still get out with ILSA.”

“We can’t just leave her alone out here.” My voice cracks and my vision blurs. I blink away hot tears.

Skye pulls my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

Behind her, a cloud of flame expands and then dies.

I frantically search the small window for any sign of ILSA. She could have gotten Weslie out. They had to get out.

More explosions, bigger, brighter, go off all over the ship until it’s engulfed in an orange blaze.

The shockwave hits our little pod. We’re pushed forward, hurtling faster toward the station. Farther from the ship. From Weslie.

We all hit the floor. Warning alarms sound until the vessel gradually returns to travel speed. I scramble to my feet, hoping for enough of the ship to still be intact, but it’s minimized to debris. Nothing inhabitable. Small fires die off quickly without any more oxygen to burn. Gray and white fragments—the scraps of an indestructible ship—float in every direction, drifting into space.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Weslie

I blink. A flash of burning, melting plastic. My eyelids are too heavy. A high-pitched buzzing fills my ears. I try to hold my head before the noise rips it in half, but I can’t move my hands. I can’t move anything.

Smoke fills my nose, my throat, my lungs. The smell of burning leather. No. Something sickly sweet, rotting. Is it me? Am I burning? I’m too frozen to be on fire. Everything hurts. The cold burrows into me, gnawing on my bones like a scavenger feeding on a wounded animal. A shiver rips through me. My breaths are short and fast. Shuddering. There’s no air.

The floor moves under me, sliding away. I’m being dragged. Or am I falling?

Sleep. I need to sleep. I sink into darkness.


Someone gasps, loud and full, punctuated by a cry. My chest expands. Cool, oxygenated air fills me. I’m still here. An icy prickle creeps through me. Deep. Moving toward my heart, still beating slowly, every pulse drawn out.

My vision is foggy. White haze. I lift my head, hitting glass with a hollowthud. No, plastic. I try to lift my hands, but the effort is too much.

My muscles soften. The cold recedes. My heart slows. I’m so tired.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Weslie

I blink at the gentle morning glow, just enough to let it in and then squeeze my eyes shut again. It’s too early. My body is heavy, and my bed is warm and soft. Hopefully, Mom will feed the chickens and collect eggs so I can sleep in.

I yawn, sucking in a deep breath and stretching my legs. My body is painfully stiff. There’s something strange about the air. Sterile and cool. Not like home. My eyes fill with water. I lift a hand to brush it away, but halfway to my face, it jerks to a stop with a metallicclank.

My eyes fly open. The sleepy haze evaporates. The room is pale, blank, and unfamiliar. Sheer white curtains soften an orangey-red glow from outside. Monitors. Screens. My wrists are bound, chained to the rails on the sides of the hospital bed. I pull against them, but they’re secure. I tear off the heart monitor clamped to my index finger and tug the IV needle out of my arm. It burns, and I press my hand to it as blood trickles over my wrist.

The door opens.

“Oh no. Let me help you with that.” A woman with maroon hair and a lab coat grabs something out of a cabinet, hurrying to the bedside and pressing gauze to my arm.

I pull on my restraints again.

“Ah, yes. They weren’t sure who you were when they found you out there.” Her melodic accent is soothing. She tosses the soiled gauze into a bin and wraps a fresh dressing around my arm. “It’s been a mess identifying Earther survivors since the ship’s database didn’t transfer all passenger info before it was destroyed.”

Destroyed? Ship? I must have hit my head. My mom has to be worried. “Am I under arrest?”


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