Page 26 of Atmosphere

“Ford, the cabin pressure has returned to safe levels and the airlock is fully pressurized. We want you to bring Griff out of the airlock.”

Vanessa closes her eyes. This is another thing she learned as achild. That the world beyond the edges of her eyelids can and will be a dangerous place. But that she can hide from it for whole seconds at a time when she closes her eyes. So she stays there, and breathes. In once, out once.

When she opens her eyes again, she is surprised by the steadiness of her voice. “Copy that, Houston. Preparing to enter the cabin.”

She takes her hand off Griff’s stomach; it’s no longer needed to protect him from the lack of pressure. And then she starts to open the hatch.

Once it’s open, she begins to swim out of the hatch to the mid-deck with Griff in tow. She takes off both of their helmets.

She can work her way out of the pants of the space suit. But it is hard to maneuver the torso piece without assistance. The suits are designed for crew members to assist each other when getting in and out.

Vanessa begins to panic, claustrophobia setting in. She thrashes against the suit, which only makes it worse. She cannot lose control of herself right now. She counts her breaths and then she moves her shoulder in a way that feels unnatural, as if her collarbone might snap.

But then she stops.

Because there, floating toward her, is Hank. His entire body is swollen. His face is mottled, his skin covered in a rash so severe that for a moment, she thinks it is blood. But she realizes the blood is under his skin. She wants to ask him if he’s okay.

But there’s no doubt.

Hank is dead.

She closes her eyes and screams, breaking herself out of the rest of her suit. She has never heard her voice do this: it is a raw screeching sound. When she finally gets the suit over her shoulders, it catches against her forehead and scrapes the skin above her eye.

But then she slithers out of it.

She manages to remove Griff’s suit, too, with somewhat less agony. Then she pulls down his cooling suit, exposing his chest and stomach, so she can assess his injuries. The shrapnel did not break through his skin, but there is already visible bruising across his lowerstomach, extending up into his chest. He must be bleeding internally. There is no way to know, right now, just how bad it is.

She should have told him not to leave the airlock hatch open. One small shake of her head would have prevented this.

She could not have stopped the leak. That would have happened no matter what. But she could have prevented the blow to his chest if only she hadn’t gone along with his stupid fucking idea. Instead, he is floating in front of her, unconscious.

Vanessa looks down to see Hank underneath her. She closes her eyes.Do not think of Donna pregnant this past summer. Do not think of the smile on Donna’s face the night they announced they were engaged.

Vanessa sees another pair of feet between the mid-deck and the flight deck. She moves toward them.

When she gets to Steve, she holds in a yelp. He is lifeless, drifting.Dead man’s float.

There are droplets of blood in the air around him, which he must have coughed up. She puts her hand to his neck and checks his pulse without an ounce of hope, confirming what she already knows.

How can her heart sink in microgravity? But it does.

She does not want to think of Helene and the girls. Her stomach turns as she imagines Apollo waiting by the door.

She does not want to think of just how alone she herself will be in this world without him to guide her. In this ship, out in space, inside her own head.

She inhales. “Houston, this isNavigator.Astronauts Steve Hagen and Hank Redmond are dead. John Griffin has suffered potentially critical internal injuries but is breathing. Do you read?”

She can’t fall down in microgravity, but the idea sounds so nice, right now. To let go and land on her knees and throw herself onto the ground.

“Roger that,” Joan says, her voice so gentle that Vanessa wants to cry. “We read that Hagen and Redmond have died. We have vitals on Griff. We believe Danes is alive as well. Please confirm.”

If Donna and Helene are listening in on the loop from theirhomes, Vanessa just told them their husbands are dead. Her throat constricts and goes sour. She swallows hard.

She looks to her left and then her right, and then, finally, up. That’s when she sees that Lydia is floating near the ceiling, one arm stretched out. Vanessa finds her way to her and places two fingers on her neck.

“Houston, I can confirm Lydia Danes is alive,” Vanessa says.

“Copy that,Navigator,” Joan says. And then, her tone almost breathless: “Thank you.”

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