“Acknowledged,” SOL replied, already tagging readings and projecting them across my visor.
I stomped toward the hatch, releasing it with a hiss as I was sucked out into a vacuum. SOL at least kept pace beside me as I drifted, before firing the wrist boosters to correct my arc toward the bay. I needed to get closer to be able to attach my tether cord, and since nobody was expecting us, there was nothing to anchor to until I climbed in there myself.
Each pulse shoved me closer and slightly off balance as I navigated along the rigging and docking struts. When I reached the outer bay rail, I latched my tether down, anchoring myself as the station's rotation tugged mesideways. Metal rang faintly through my gloves as I secured it twice, then checked again.
Drifting for eternity in outer space would fucking suck.
20
Out of Time
Solace
Life’s a bitch. Or at least it seems to be—specifically to me. You know that old adage that bad things come in threes? Turns out it’s true. Just for spite, apparently, because it turns out living through the end of the world wasn’t enough. No, life just had to go and fuck me again.
Not only was I dangerously low on water, but the antenna, or signal, or whatever the hell made the radio work had broken, and the air filtration system stopped working altogether. Miraculously, I still had power. But for how long? Who really knew at this point.
I could have lamented my death, and sat around crying about it. But mostly I was pissed.
I’d gotten Jude for a week. One week. Which is why I decided I wasn’t going to die. Not in some musty, dark bunker that already smelled like a tomb. If I was going to die, it would be under the same sky that sat between us, with the smell of the earth—no matter how rotten it might be now—lodged deep in my lungs.
I’d spent too long underground.
Waiting.
For something.
When really, nothing was coming. Except Jude. I didn’t know how he’d find me, and it was probably stupid to hope he would. Yet it didn’t stop me from tearing a page from one of Paul’s manuals and leaving a note on the control console.
Out of time.If you find this don’t look—
I scratched that part out. If Jude made it to Earth and actually came looking for me, I hoped he searched every inch of this miserable place. I was done begging in silence. Done wishing for things to happen to me instead of making them happen myself. It was the first comprehensible thought I’d had in years… I refused to die.
I bent over the paper again.
I hate being satellites.
I hesitated, then added the last line.
I love you. I always have.
I would stay near the bunker if I could manage it. For as long as I could, depending on the supplies I could find. Then—
Then I would move on,I sighed heavily. Try to find other survivors. Try to make a life out of whatever was left.
I folded the paper with Jude’s name across the front and set it on the control console.
After gathering what I thought I might need into a backpack, I sat on the edge of the cot and tugged on Paul’s extra boots. They weren’t too big—Paul had been pretty short—and they were still brand new. I’d found them tucked away in the bunkroom closet with a pile of other supplies I probably could have used years ago if I hadn’t been such a chicken. It felt wrong to use their belongings or sleep in their beds. I found it much morecomforting to sleep beside the console just in case, so I never went in there.
My pants were worse for wear, but they’d survive another day. I wrapped the extra length of the laces around my calf and knotted them tight. Thermal shirt tucked into my belt. Wool sweater over top and then the thick winter coat I’d worn down here almost a decade ago. It hung loose on me now.
I eyed the flimsy hazmat suit hanging in the entry vestibule. It was bright yellow—the kind you’d expect to see on someone cleaning up a chemical spill. There was a big chance it probably wouldn’t do shit. Not with the poisons and things Jude told me were running rampant in the air.
Despite my jaded hesitation, I pulled it down and tugged it on. The rubbery-plastic had faded with time and squeaked as I bent my arms, but it made me feel nominally better. Like a shield between my skin and the elements waiting for me outside.
I tucked Patricia into my front pocket and zipped the suit over her. Next came the gas mask. Which, again—I was a music teacher in my past life. A composer. I knew absolutely nothing about radiation or hazardous gases. I conducted music for an amateur ballet for fuck’s sake. My grades in chemistry had scraped by only enough to get me there.
Tugging the heavy gray-green mask over my face, I winced as my eyes adjusted to the dim light through the round glass lenses. A rubber tube curled down into a thick filtration disc at the chin. I had no idea how often you were supposed to change those. Technically speaking, it wasn’t even the radiation I had to worry about anymore. It was the wreckage. Nuclear winter as they called it. Theweather could be unpredictable, the air was still riddled with smoke or ash, and Jude warned me of that toxic gas that hung in heavy pockets.
