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Using a bottle of water and a swath of cloth, I tenderly clean the jagged edges of his wound. It’s deeper and bigger than I’d anticipated—the blood had obscured most of it. About four inches long and so deep I swear I see the white of his skull underneath, the wound steals what’s left of my breath. Frantic thoughts of brain damage and blood loss assault me, but I keep repeating the directions.
Clean the wound, Emery.
Put on the salve, Emery.
Bandage the wound, Emery.
When I’m done, I sit back on my heels, quivering. I watch him for a few long moments, like my doctoring will have some magical effect and he’ll wake if I hope hard enough.
But he doesn’t.
My stomach clenches and I force myself to eat the freeze-dried meat and vegetables I prepared, but I don’t taste it. I know I’ll need to keep my strength up, so I make sure to finish all of it, even licking the tasteless gravy from my fingers. I purify a bottle of water and drink all of that, too.
When there is nothing left to do, I settle down next to Calix and rest my head on his shoulder, hoping a short nap will calm my breathing. Hoping when I wake up, Calix will be better.
Hope is like oxygen. The more I need it, the less my body seems able to absorb.
10
Calix
The throbbing in my nog pulls me from a deep slumber, much to my annoyance. I blink several times to clear away my daze. My memory is fuzzy. Emery starred in my dreams, beautiful but worried. I remember her bringing broth and water to my lips. Assisting me in using the facilities. Sponge bathing me. Mostly, I remember how she clung to me.
I reach for her and the blanket is cold beside me. Panic rises up inside me as I try to shake away the cloud in my nog.
What solar is it?
How many solars have passed?
Why does my nog hurt so bad?
I begin to frown and feel a tugging at my temple. Tentatively, I reach up and touch the tender area that is protected by a bandage.
“Emery,” I croak.
Just beyond the vacuuroom, I can hear the wind raging outdoors. We are no longer in the elements, but we are close. I know we never traveled around Bleex Mountain. We were close to it but still two or three solars’ worth of travel around the mountain we still had ahead of us.
Rekk.
I remember the crash.
Everything else comes in flashes.
“Emery,” I call out, sitting up on my elbows. The pounding in my skull grows worse, but I ignore it as I seek her out.
When she does not answer, my heart ceases to beat. What if she succumbed to her illness? Or a beast decided to make a meal of her? What if she never survived the crash and my memories were not memories at all, but just my soul longing for hers?
I have to get out of here.
It takes everything in me to get to my feet. A wave of nausea roils through me and I stagger into a wall, hitting my shoulder hard. I let out a groan, shake away the daze, and continue for the door into the decontamination chamber. I have enough sense in me to struggle into my zu-gear, my books, and my protective rebreather under my mask attached properly before exiting.
As soon as I am out the door, I take in the scene around me. We seem to be inside a cave. I come to the realization that Emery did all this alone. While I was injured and unconscious, she saved us. Pride surges through me. My lilapetal is a fighter. I just hope she keeps fighting.
“Emery,” I call out again.
I walk past the vacuuroom toward the mouth of the cave. The storm is violent outdoors and I hope she did not decide to go out there. It would be suicide. Turning from the storm, I make my way past the vacuuroom deeper into the cave where it darkens. Something glows beyond, so I follow the light. It leads into a narrow crevasse tall enough for me to walk through and wide enough for two morts to walk side by side. It seems awfully unnatural.
“Emery!” I bellow her name when I see her slumped on the floor of the cave. No mask. Just an external rebreather. Panic threatens to consume me, but I cannot worry about those things now. I need to focus on one problem at a time. Crouching beside her, I take her nog in my gloved hands, tilting her face up. Her eyes are closed and she’s too pale. When her lids flutter, relief floods through me. I am not too late.
I am weak and my nog has turned to a maddening thunder, but all I care about is her wellbeing. I am not strong enough to carry her, but I am able to get her to her feet and rouse her enough so she can stand. Together, we hobble back to the vacuuroom. Once inside the safety of the makeshift facility, I begin stripping away our zu-gear after the rigorous decontamination process.
