Page 42 of A Long Way Home

He’s growing paler. The black, mottled bruising across his stomach is worse. Darker. Spreading.

I worry there’s internal bleeding. But realistically, what can I do about it inside here? Nothing.

Except try to get us both out of here, ideally in one piece, and live long enough for Doctor Hadfield to patch us back together.

I stare down at my duct-taped leg. “Is this really the best–”

“Put the helmet on.” Reiter barks again.

“We’re getting Chelenko out too, right?”

Silence.

“Matze promised.” I prompt again, seeking confirmation. Needing it before I agree to this.

“Ja, Ja.Chelenko too. Put the helmet on.”

He watches me as I check the tape is holding before I reach for the helmet. I lift it up and over my head, slotting it into place. It clicks, but it doesn't lock.

I turn to Reiter again. “It won’t lock.”

He rolls his eyes as if that were obvious. “You know how to solder,richtig?” He raises a brow at me.

He knows I do. But I’ll let the snark slide.

Taking a deep breath, I take the soldering iron in hand. With one hand, I hold the helmet in the locked position, and solder it shut with the other. Immediately, there's a hum as fresh oxygen starts to circulate. I take a deep breath. Another. A few more. I start to feel better, like a shot of caffeine after a long night at the lab.

I look over to Chelenko's prone body, then over to the door. “Now what?”

“Move Chelenko as close to the door as you can.”

“On it.” I reposition him, feet aimed at the hatch.

“Place the oxygen mask over his face and attach the tubing.”

Mist fills the room as the vents pour out more oxygen.I think oxygen?

I look at Chelenko. He coughs but then snores deeply. I quickly adjust the straps of the face mask around his head, connecting the tubing to it and tuck the other end into his pocket to stop it trailing behind.

“Done!” I call out.

“Wait here.” He turns and retreats up the corridor.

“What?” I demand, attempting to crane my neck to see up the corridor beyond the glass window. “Wait here? That’s all I get?”

The room grows colder, even through the suit, which isn’t a great sign for the internal temperature regulator.

The computer chimes “Depressurisation in progress.”

“Wait. Tell me the plan again.” The comms control on my arm blinks back a no signal symbol.

“Perfect.”

I bang against the sealed door.

“What the fuck is happening?” I shout. The sound echoes in the suit, ringing in my ears.

I knew this suit was a dud, but I didn’t realise it was actual garbage. I’m surprised it’s not been incinerated to make space for something of actual value. Space is a premium commodity.

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