Impact (36 page)

The lever gives an agonising squeal, and jerks down. Carver and I fall backwards into the icy water.

There's a split second where I get a good look at Prophet. He's almost done, barely able to keep himself upright. His eyes find mine. He might be chest-deep in freezing water, but the hatred in those eyes is hotter than the surface of the sun.

Then the bulkhead door drops, slamming into the passage with a giant boom, sending a wave of water slapping against my face.

“Can he get through?” says Carver. He puts his feet on the bottom, doing his best to hold his arms above the water. Not that it matters. We're both soaked.

I don't think so,” I say. I'm slurring my words. “If it took two of us to work that lever, there's no way he's doing it on his own.”

We may have saved the ship, but we're trapped. The realisation is starting to sink in. I'm already looking around the corridor, hunting for an exit. This side of the door, the water is still climbing fast. The corridor tilts away from us, the water lapping at the ceiling a few yards away.

Could we wait it out? Wait for Prophet to die, and then open the door? Carver sees where I'm looking. “There's no way we're getting that door open again,” he says.

I wade over to him, trying to keep my arms above the water. It's a struggle to get the words out. “So we swim out of here.”

“You're crazy.”

“There's a hole from the explosion, right? We make our way along the passage, and we find it.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, man. Oh, shit.”

I can see the terror on his face, and feel it in my heart. Everything below our chests is frozen, and there's no telling how long we'll last if we're completely submerged. Even if we make it out, we'll be a mile from shore, floating in open water.

“All right,” he says, steeling himself. “Here we go.” He takes two quick breaths, his hand finding mine. We'll go under together.

“Wait,” I say.

“There's no time.”

“I have to say this.”

And I do. I should have said it a long time ago. I've known it ever since I kissed Carver, back on Outer Earth. I've tried to tell myself that I wanted to be with Prakesh, that it would be wrong
not
to be with him, after everything we've been through.

But I've been through just as much with Carver. He understands me in a way Prakesh couldn't. I've tried to ignore it, tried to run from it, but that doesn't stop it being true. Prakesh is one of the best men I know, but Carver is the one who's always been there for me. He's never let me down.

And I knew this, even before we came down here to try and save the ship. I knew it back on the bridge, when he was telling me about the bulkhead doors. He didn't need me–I could have let him do it himself. He's just as capable as I am.

But that would have meant letting him go. It would have meant being apart from him. And I'm not going to let that happen again. Not ever.

I look into his eyes. “You remember back on the
Shinso
? I told you I still loved Prakesh? You asked me who you had left.”

“Riley, I don't—”

“I was wrong, Aaron,” I say, barely able to get the words out. “I love you. You have me, and you'll always have me.”

It doesn't matter that
always
may only be a few minutes more. It's the truth. No one should ever have to make this choice, but, right now, in the depths of this ship, I'm glad I've made mine.

I don't give him a chance to answer. I wrap my arms around him, and pull him close. Our lips touch, but we're shivering so badly that we can't hold the kiss.

He's got that weird smile on his face, like he can't quite believe what's happening. He runs a finger along my cheek, then leans close, his forehead against mine.

And in that moment, it's as if the water isn't even there. There's nothing but us.

I try to hold it for as long as I can. But the water is almost at our necks. Carver kisses me once more, then says, “Let's get out of here.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He holds me tight. “On zero,” he says. “Three. Two. One.”

“Zero,” I whisper, and we sink below the surface of the water.

The cold is everywhere. It's not like ice–it's like fire, scorching me, making my skin bubble and spit.

I feel Carver push away from me, and force my eyes to open. There's still some light from the bulbs above the water, and it's filtering down around us. I can just make out the walls of the passage. Debris floats in front of me, swirling in the current.

I don't know how long I have before the cold sucks my life away. I don't care. I push myself through the water, pumping my arms and legs, not sure if I'm doing it right, not caring. I can feel Carver alongside me. I look down, and see that he's using the ribbed metal on the walls to pull himself along. I try the same trick, and find that my fingertips are completely numb.

Globs of fuel float in the water, and I manage to get one of them in my eyes. It forces me to squeeze them closed, blocking out the sting. When I open them, I've lost Carver.

My lungs are already tight, but panic crushes them. I spin in place, hunting for him, but there's hardly any light now. I'm in a black pit, and if I don't get moving again, I'm going to run out of air long before I die from cold.

There he is, just below me, beckoning me on. I thrash my arms–they feel like they've got lead weights tied to them. It's hard to remember what I'm doing. I can't keep my thoughts straight. I find myself thinking of Outer Earth, of the hab Prakesh and I shared. A moment later, I remember my father, right before he went on the Earth Return mission. Why am I thinking of him? I don't want to think at all. I just want to sleep. I close my eyes, just for a second, but that second stretches out into eternity.

Carver is pointing at something. A part of the corridor wall, darker than the rest. A hole. Why is there a hole? It'll let the water in.

Carver grabs me. His grip is incredibly tight. I want to shake him off, but he's insistent, refusing to let go.

His grip makes me focus. I snap back to life, thrashing in the water, then thrust myself towards the hole. There's debris in front of me, floating metal, and I almost scream as I push it out of the way. My lungs are roaring in pain.

There's nothing but darkness beyond the hole. It's as if we're swimming out into deep space.

I push and push and push, but I don't seem to be getting anywhere. It feels as if my lungs are going to pop. There's a crushing weight in my head, pulling everything down with it.

I swear I feel Carver take my hand, but I'm so numb that I can't tell if he's there or not.

Fragments.

Each one is as sharp as a piece of broken glass, lancing into my mind. They only last a moment before vanishing, leaving no trace. No memory. Nothing.

Carver is in front of me in the water. I can just make out his shape, see his arms and legs moving, his hand reaching out for me.

The sky above us, the grey clouds hanging low.
Air.
Searing my lungs, burning a million time worse than the cold water.

The ocean. How could there be this much water in one place? It's unimaginable. Made up. It's a dream I'm having, and any second now it'll be gone.

Something looming up from the water in front of us. The seaplane. Harlan reaching down from it, reaching towards me. How is it here? How did it know how to find us?

I'm half in, half out of the plane. Harlan has me under the arms, and Carver is pushing me from below.

We're moving over the surface of the water, high above it. I can see the ship, dropping away behind us. And then we're on the ground, surrounded by people. Hands and faces everywhere. Harlan is there, and Eric, but I can't see Prakesh, or Carver. I want to find them so badly. But even keeping my eyes open is beyond me. It's like trying to hold the entire world across my shoulders. I let my head drop, close my eyes.

When I come back, there's something wrapped around me. A blanket, or a coat. It doesn't seem to matter. It's thick and warm, slightly scratchy against my cheek.

“Give her some water.”

There's a pressure, under my head. A hand lifts me up, and another one brings the lip of a water canteen to my mouth. The water is tepid, slightly salty, but I drink and drink.

The canteen slips away. I want to tell whoever is holding it to keep it there, but at that moment pins and needles explode across my body. My muscles clench involuntarily, and that just makes it worse.

The pressure on me increases. It's someone lying on top of me.

“Stay still,” Eric whispers in my ear, as he squeezes me tight, giving me as much heat as possible.

It's some time before I open my eyes again. Eric is gone. I'm wrapped in a thick, dark brown coat, curled up on the damp ground. My wet clothes have been removed–I've still got my underwear, but that's all. I'm shivering uncontrollably, my teeth clacking together.

There are people everywhere. Workers from the ship. There are dozens of them–they're ragged and worn out, but it's impossible not to see the relief on their faces. They're moving in small groups, shouting orders, marshalling supplies: food and blankets and containers of fuel.

The shore itself is made up of black dirt and jagged rocks. The seaplane floats in the water, a few yards away. There are the strangest things piercing the surface of the sea, and it takes me a minute to realise that they're buildings. Or what used to be buildings, anyway. The hulking
Ramona
is beyond them, a distant black shape.

“Hey.”

It's Harlan, crouching down next to me.

I stare at him for the longest time. Then I crawl over, doing my best to keep the coat on my shoulders, and wrap my arms around him. I can't stop shaking.

“How?” I say. It's all I can manage.

He looks perplexed, but then his eyes light up. “Oh, the plane? We got hit, but not nearly as bad as we thought. Eric put her down upriver, up on the Knik Arm. Nearly went into the drink. He bossed me around some when we tried to fix her, but we got the bird up in the air again, no sweat. Eric always was good at that kind of shit. I told you how he read all those books, right? When we were kids?”

“You came back.” The words are coming a little more easily now.

He looks guilty. “Almost didn't. We thought you and Finkler were done. But then we took off, and saw that gun tearing up the bridge on the ship. That's… kind of not what we expected to see, so we thought we should get a closer look. And then we saw you running across the deck like your feet were on fire.”

It takes me a minute to process his words. I'm still doing it when the memory of what happened to Prakesh broadsides me.

I look round, and this time I find him almost immediately. He's lying on his back, one arm flung out to the side. His face is so pale, his dark walnut skin gone bloodless. There are people on their knees around him, bent over him, and there's too much blood.
Way
too much blood.

I can't describe the sound I make. It's halfway between a moan and a scream. A memory surfaces: Prakesh, kidnapped by Oren Darnell, sprawled out on the floor of a disused storage facility off the Outer Earth monorail tracks. I was in the ventilation system in the ceiling, looking through a gap in the panels. But the panic I felt then is like a cup of water, and what I feel now is an ocean, stretching out in front of me to an endless horizon.

I don't remember getting up. The coat falls from my shoulders, leaving me almost naked, sprinting across the shore. Sharp rocks dig into my feet, slowing me down.

Eric materialises at my elbow, his strong hands falling on my shoulders. I have to make myself pay attention to what he's saying.

“You need to stay warm,” he says. “Get back there, wrap yourself up.”

I try to push past him, but I'm not strong enough, and he holds me in place.

“We think he'll be OK,” Eric says. “One of the people off that ship has some medical training.”

He indicates a grey-haired man, his blood-soaked hands pressing down on Prakesh's chest. “Right now, infection is the big worry. We've got supplies in Whitehorse, so we'll get him back there.”

I look back at Prakesh, at his blood soaking into the sand. Frustration and helplessness boil inside me, and I try to push past Eric again.

“No,” Eric says, blocking me with an arm across my chest. “You'll just be in the way. Let them work.”

I can see the
Ramona
in the distance, over his shoulder. The ship is a black, smoking hulk, squatting on the horizon like a bad dream. But it's still there. We saved it. Carver and I.

Carver.
I swing my head around, so suddenly that the muscles in my neck creak, sending a fresh wave of pins and needles down my back.

“The man I was with,” I say. My throat is parched again, and I swallow, sending razor blades dancing across it. “Where is he?”

Eric says nothing.

“Eric?” I say.

But then I catch sight of something over his shoulder.

A tarpaulin, spread out across the filthy sand. There's a shape underneath it. A person, lying on their back.

I shake my head. “No.”

“He pushed you out of the water,” Eric says.

“No.”

“You were unconscious, and he was still swimming, and he made sure you were in the plane first. Riley, he was already hypothermic—”

“
No.
”

I'm running. Sprinting across the sand. I'm going to tear that tarpaulin off him, shake him, wake him up. He's not dying on me. Not after he came back. Not after I told him that I'd made my choice. Not happening. No way. I won't let it.

But when I get there, my hands have stopped listening to me. The damp tarpaulin is too heavy, and I can't move it. I try to grip the edge, but my fingers keep slipping. And then Eric has his arms around me and I'm trying to get away but I can't, and all I can hear are my screams.