Page 50 of Bound By Stars
“I have to get out of here.” I stagger to the control panel on the wall with lazy limbs and slam my palm to the door release. Nothing happens.
“Weslie, your brain is receiving insufficient oxygen, impairing your critical thinking. If you are not compliant, I will have to put you into the emergency cryo-pod as is passenger protocol.”
I can’t let her trap me in that coffin or her tiny oxygen helmet. I just have to get the door open. I mash the button again, holding myself up against the wall. Still nothing. Gray fog curls around my view of the panel. I shake it away, slamming my fist against the button again. Nothing.
“Oxygen level critical. Your unit…”The announcement becomes too muffled to hear.
My rib cage expands and contracts around my burning lungs. I press a hand to my chest. “IL…SA…over…ride…door…con…trol.”
ILSA’s face flashes a red emergency icon. “Oxygen level 13 percent. Deficient oxygen compromises cognitive abilities. Emergency protocol initiated.”
“No,” I cough out, clawing at the edge of the door. It has to open. I need to get out.
ILSA’s hands expand around my head.
“Stop!” I duck, batting her away, tottering, and falling to the ground. “Just…open…the…door!”
“Oxygen level 12 percent. Deficient oxygen compromises cognitive abilities. Emergency protocol initiated.”
I push off the floor, but my body is too heavy. Rasping breaths come faster. My chest heaves against the cold tile. Heartbeats pound in my skull.
ILSA hovers over me, her words echoey and muffled. Is she trying to deliver a message from my mom? “It is going to be okay, Weslie.”
I blink slowly. The room around me fades away…
…
A whoosh of air drowns out all other sounds.
“Weslie, I have alerted all stored contacts aboard the ship to your emergency. Please attempt to take slow breaths. Help will arrive shortly.” ILSA’s voice is clear like everything else has gone silent and it’s only us two left in the universe.
My body melts into the floor.
Thud, thud, thud. A hollow pounding echoes through the darkness.
I blink my eyes open. Red light paints the ceiling. Everything is warped at the edges of my vision. My heavy eyelids fall shut again.
Thud, thud, thud, thud. There’s a voice. Far away. “Weslie! Someone get this door open!”
I lift a hand to rub my temple, but inches away from my head my fingers hit plastic.
“We’re going to get you out. Hold on!” the distant voice calls.
My eyes pop open. Heart pumping faster, breath quickening, I squirm. Both hands press to the helmet ILSA’s formed around my head.
“You have experienced oxygen deprivation. Take slow and deep breaths. Help will arrive shortly.”
I pinch my eyes shut, lie still, and breathe deeply. As oxygenated air fills my lungs, my muscles start to relax. I’m so tired.
The light shifts from red to soft, dim white. “Oxygen level restored,”the robotic voice of the alert system announces.
ILSA releases me.
“Oxygen level 21 percent. My readings indicate you’ve sustained no long-term damage. You may experience a headache as a result of your oxygen depriv—”
The door slides open. Noise bursts into the room. Hands move under me, propping me up, cradling my head and torso.
“Weslie!” Jupiter presses his fingers to my neck, along my windpipe.
