I take it from him, but it will do little against a kot.
Indiz steps up beside me. “It might be in the ship. I should go.”
“You weigh more than me, you’re wounded, and you don’t know where everything is stored.” And if the kot is in the ship, his staff is too big to be effective.
Worry dances across his features. “If the kot is in there, that tiny blade won’t protect you.” He pulls me into an embrace. “I don’t want to lose you. I spent so long as air, as light, alone even though I was part of something bigger.” He tips my chin up. “Let me look inside first. I swear I won’t step inside.”
“And if I lose you, I am as good as dead.” But we can’t both go into the ship, and without each other we are screwed. I’d like to laugh and say we don’t need the supplies, and maybe if Indiz wasn’t wounded, we’d be able to manage. But he is. And an infection left untreated can be fatal. As an algae farmer that was drilled into us from the time we could walk. All cuts and scrapes were cleaned and sealed. The burn welts on his back will fester without treatment. “I’ll be careful.”
I pull away.
“Take this.” He holds out the staff. “If you’re attacked shove it in the creature’s mouth, or down its throat.”
I close my hand over his, appreciating the gesture. “It’s too long for me to swing inside the ship.” Then I step back and slip and crunch my way to the back of the ship where the doors hang open. I should’ve closed them.
A kot has definitely investigated the ship, there are large areas of snow stained red and as I get closer, I see fragments of blue flight suit. Then bones. My stomach turns. I’m looking at pieces of Sawle.
My fingers are cold and cramped round the handle of the knife, but I keep going until I can see into the ship. There’s no lighting now. The emergency reserves are gone, and the interior is dark. The first aid kit is near the mess. I just need to get in and go past the drones, and the kit should be on my left. I debate speed versus caution.
In the end, I make a snowball and toss it inside. I hear it hit the floor with a wet splat, then I wait for movement. Nothing. The kot must have claimed its meal and taken dinner back to the family.
With a confidence I don’t feel, I enter the ship, wishing I had a friendly orb of light to guide me. Instead, I go by memory. The ship creaks and groans around me. Wind whistles through the ripped open hull. Three more paces and I’m in the mess. I grope around for the big first aid kit, the one that is kept sealed until an actual emergency. It’s still tightly clipped in place. I fumble in the dark until the heavy pack comes free, then I all but run for the exit. That’s when I feel it. The ship sighs, and the floor moves beneath me. It’s sliding down the mountain and taking me with it.
