Page 24 of A Long Way Home

I give him a curt nod, watching Alex brush blood across her forehead as she wipes a few strands of sweat-slicked hair back and out of her face.

“You hear me, Kid?” Clayton says.

“Ja, meeting in ten,” I wave my hand at him, absently, my mind drifting back to Alex.

If I can’t get her out of there, then I’m going in to get her. I don’t care if I take the whole station down with me. I’ve already endured three years without her, barely alive, just going through the motions of living.

I’m not staying in a universe without Alex.

ALEX

CHAPTER EIGHT

I watch the rise and fall of Chelenko’s chest. Slow and steady. A visual reassurance that he continues to live.

His cheeks have lost any ruddiness. He’s sallow and pale and too still and it’s freaking me out. The artificial light giving him the look of a corpse.

I adjust the foil blanket I scavenged from the supplies inside Columbus, tucking it around him, mindful of the pliers jutting from his hip. I know enough about human physiology not to pull them out, especially in space, where blood could float off and pool anywhere.

He’s in a sorry state. More asleep than awake. I worry every time he drifts that it’ll be the last time. That he won’t find his way back.

Brushing his hair back from his forehead, his skin feels clammy. Sticky from dried blood. I wipe my palms against the leg of my flight suit, creases line the front of it, but I am past caring.

“Alex?” his gruff voice splutters.

“I’m here.” I shuffle closer, holding one of his hands in myown.

“Still alive.”

“Of course. We’re getting out of here in one piece.” I glance down at the pliers, quickly slicking my eyes back to his. Forcing a small smile, “Mostly in one piece.”

He grunts in an almost laugh.

“How are you?” He asks.

“How am I?” Terrified. Exhausted. “Surviving,” I say.

He nods gently, his eyes fluttering shut once more. “So quiet.”

“Quiet? I suppose with the hatch shut it blocks out a lot of noise.” I say.

The droning from the Russian modules is muted. The air recyclers are muffled. The rabble of the crew is gone. Leaving behind nothing but the sound of our breathing and a slight hum of electricity. “I thought you’d enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

“I like sound of people.” His breath labours as he speaks. “Happy.”

“I didn’t know. I always thought you liked the solitude.”

“Silence is sadness.”

“Chelenko, I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment, long enough that I wonder if he’s drifted into sleep once more. “My mother… always quiet. Always sad.”

“Your mother? I bet she’s waiting to hear from you real soon.”

“She is dead.”

“I’m so sorry, Chelenko.” I inhale. “My mother died too. Cancer. Yours?”

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