Saves from blastr

I look at the lever in the airlock. I glance at the airlock’s door to my compartment and its spinning-wheel lock. I look back to the lever, then back to the door.

I coil my muscles and mentally count to three.

I pull the lever and leap toward my compartment.

Blazing-hot ammonia floods the airlock and dormitory. I slam the airlock door behind me and spin the wheel lock. I hear hissing on the other side but I don’t see anything. I might never see anything again.

My eyes burn like they’re on fire. My lungs feel like a hundred knives are having a dance-off. My skin is numb all along my left side. And my nose—forget it. The smell is so overpowering my sense of smell just gives up.

My throat completely closes off. My body wants nothing to do with the ammonia.

“Com…” I wheeze. “Com…pu…ter…”

I want to die. Pain is everywhere. I climb into my bunk.

“Help!” I wheeze.

“Multiple injuries,” says the computer. “Excessive eye mucus. Blood around the mouth, second-degree burns. Breathing distress. Triage result: intubate.”

The mechanical arms, which thankfully don’t seem to have any problem with being upside down, grab me and something is shoved violently down my throat. I feel a poke on my good arm.

“IV fluids and sedation,” the computer reports.

And then I’m out like a light.

—

I wake up covered in medical equipment and pain.

There’s an oxygen mask on my face. My right arm has an IV and my left arm is bandaged from wrist to shoulder. It hurts like heck.

Everything else hurts too. Especially my eyes.

But at least I can see. That’s good.

“Computer,” I say with a raspy voice. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Unconsciousness lasted six hours, seventeen minutes.”

I take a deep breath. My lungs feel like they’re coated in tar. Probably phlegm or some other gunk. I look over to Rocky’s area. He’s right where I left him in the airlock.

How can I tell if an Eridian is dead? When Rocky sleeps all movement stops. But that’s also presumably what happens when an Eridian dies.

I spot a pulse-ox monitor on my right index finger.

“Compu—” I cough. “Computer: What is my blood oxygen content?”

“Ninety-one percent.”

“It’ll have to do.” I take the mask off and sit up in bed. My bandaged arm stings with every movement. I pull the various things off of my body.

I open and close my left hand. It’s working. The muscles are only a little bit sore.

I got hit with a quick blast of very hot, very high-pressure ammonia. Most likely, I have chemical burns in my lungs and on my eyes. And probably a physical burn on my arm. My left side took the brunt of the blast.

Twenty-nine atmospheres of pressure at 210 degrees Celsius (over 400 degrees Fahrenheit!). That must be what a grenade feels like. Side note: With no one manning the helm, it’s pure luck we didn’t crash into the planet.

The ship is either in a stable orbit or we escaped Adrian’s gravity entirely. I shake my head. It’s truly ridiculous how much power I have sitting in the fuel bay. To not even know if I’m still near a planet…wow.

I’m lucky to be alive. There’s no other way to put it. Anything I do beyond that moment is a gift from the universe to me. I step off the bed and stand in front of the airlock. Gravity is still at one-half g and everything is still upside down.

***

Chapter 20