What the hellwas Logan doing in the air plant? His shoulders shook as he coughed and I realized the flames burned closer to him. It didn’t matter why. All that matter was saving him.
I ripped two strips of fabric from the hem of my shirt. Lying on the floor, I used my elbows to move toward him as if I squirmed through a tight air shaft. When I encountered the warm puddles of water from the sprinklers, I rolled, soaking my clothes and dipping the strips in them. I tied one around my nose and mouth.
Logan’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what he shouted. Blisters peppered his face. He squeezed his eyes closed as another coughing fit racked his body.
Sliding as fast as possible on my belly, I finally reached Logan. He jerked in surprise when I touched him. At this distance, the heat from the fire was almost intolerable and breathing was all but impossible.
“It’s Trella,” I yelled in his ear. “Can you walk?”
He clutched my arm. “Yes, but I can’t see!”
“Here.” I wrapped the other strip around his face to filter the smoke. “Stay low and keep—” Hot air choked me. Thick black smoke engulfed us and stung my eyes. A brief thought thatperhaps I should have waited for the fire response team flashed. But the air cleared for a nanosecond and I tugged Logan toward the entrance.
We crawled, rolled, and stumbled. The heat intensified, evaporating the water from the sprinklers before it reached the floor. The hot metal seared our skin. Half way there, Logan collapsed and I yanked him another meter before I joined him.
Air refused to fill my lungs and my throat burned. Blackness danced in my vision, swirling with white sparks. It reminded me of the brief glimpse I had of Outer Space before Cogon floated away. Except then it had been ice cold and this time it was my turn to drift off.
A blast of water hit me, rousing me, and rolling me over. Strong arms peeled me from the floor, carried me. Voices yelled and admonished, but I had no breath to respond. Tucked against my rescuer’s chest, I stared as the walls of Inside streaked by.
Then the familiar curtains of the infirmary surrounded me. I was laid on a bed as a mask covered my nose and mouth, forcing cool air down my lungs. I sucked it in despite the sharp pain in my throat. My skin sizzled as if the flames still licked at it. The small prick in my arm a mere nuisance in comparison to the rest of my body.
Only when the dizziness started did I realize what the prick meant. Too late to resist, I let my world spin out of control. It wasn’t a new feeling. Not at all.
At least when I woke, the pain was gone. But the mask remained—a good thing since my lungs strained to breathe. My arms and legs had been wrapped in bandages. Soft white gloves covered my hands. Faces came and went as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I recognized Lamont’s frown, Riley’s worry, and Bubba Boom’s scowl. I understood the words pain-killers, idiot, brain damage, reckless, and growing skin grafts. But the one person I worried about, the one voice I wished to hear, or heck, I’d even settled for someone mentioning his name, wasn’t uttered. Logan.
Without him, Inside would be lost. Besides the high-ranking Travas, he alone knew how to run this ship. The captain in all but name. I suspected he had been the primary target of the fire for just that reason. I tried to yank the mask off to ask, but Lamont slapped my hand and threatened to inject me with a sedative if I touched it again.
Hours or weeks later—hard to tell, I woke into the quiet stillness of bluelights. They shone through the fabric of the privacy curtains. The pressure on my chest, as if a person made of solid metal sat on me was gone so I removed the mask, but kept it close just in case.
Sheepy was tucked in next to me. Smiling, I moved him so he wouldn’t fall on the floor as I struggled to sit up. The effort winded me. I sucked in a few deep breaths from the mask. Moving with care so I wouldn’t make a sound, I slipped through the overlap in the fabric. I paused to let my eyes adjust and my legs to solidify under me. The clock read hour ninety-two, which would mean I had been out of it for sixty hours. Losing hunksof time just had to stop, I spent more time in the infirmary than anywhere else. Or so it seemed.
A robe hung over a nearby chair as if someone suspected I’d be creeping out of bed—Riley probably. Wrapping it around my shoulders, I scanned the other beds. A couple of patients slept in the next two, but the third had also been isolated from the room by the curtains. Logan’s I hoped.
I shuffled-stepped—all I could manage with my bandage-wrapped legs and tight skin—over to the hidden patient. Ducking under the curtain, I almost fainted with relief. Logan slept in the bed. Or at least I think he was sleeping. Bandages covered his eyes and a mask rested over his nose and mouth.
He tugged it away from his face. “Who’s there?”
“Trella,” I whispered.
Logan reached with his free hand and I took it in mine. He also wore the special white gloves. “Thanks,” he said.
I shrugged, but realized he couldn’t see the motion. “I just got you closer to the door. Someone else did the true life saving.” And I would need to find out their name. “Besides, you’d have done the same for me.”
“Probably.” His smile didn’t last long.
“What’s the damage?”
“Ten air…filter bays. The computer?—”
“I meant you.”
“Oh. Burns over fifty percent…” he puffed “…of my body.” He pressed the mask to his face and inhaled deeply for a few minutes. “Lost my vision…but it might be…temporary.”
Horror swept over me and I squeezed his hand. “Might? That’s vague.”
“Doctor Lamont…will know better…in time.”
“How much time?”
