Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(34)

But I’m wrong. He takes charge, reaches out, grabs my shoulders, and softly says, “I’m going to turn you over.”

I roll in the weightlessness of space, and he tugs my shirt off. I watch it float free ahead of me as his hands touch my lower back and begin working upward.

“Two,” I whisper.

This time he rubs some cream on my back, taking his time, hands gently massaging me.

He touches pain points three more times as he works his way up, hands moving over my back and sides, into my ribs as I float face-down.

My neck is sore (a two), and my shoulders and arms are bruised but require no treatment.

“Fowler told me what happened aboard the ISS.” He squeezes my hand then works his way down each finger. “You were very brave. And smart.”

“I was lucky.”

“True. And brave and smart.”

I feel myself blushing. I’m glad he can’t see me. A bolt of pain shoots out from my left pinky finger. I almost welcome it to change the subject.

“Three.”

He squeezes and twists the finger. “Another sprain. Not broken. I could tape it, but you won’t get back in the suit gloves.”

“It’s okay. Leave it.”

His hands return to my shoulders. I’m waiting for him to roll me over. But he doesn’t.

“I figure you can do a self-exam on your torso.”

My heart is about to explode out of my chest. If he checks my pulse, he’ll probably treat me for hypertension.

I remind myself: survival trumps modesty. I reach out, brace against the capsule wall, and roll over and face him, staring straight into his eyes.

“Please. Finish.”

He swallows hard and breaks eye contact. He scans me, his hands reaching out, thumbs running along my left and right clavicles.

“One.”

“Probably the neck pain radiating.”

I realize I’m holding my breath. I try to exhale casually, but I know he can feel my heart beating like a drum.

His hands never touch my breasts, they slide around and below, and I groan in pain.

“Four.”

He presses and kneads with his fingers.

“Five.”

“Bruised rib. Unlikely it’s fractured. Nothing to do for it.”

My abs are bruised too.

His hands stop at the top of the diaper—the last thing I have on. He doesn’t remove it. Gently, he says, “You’re in amazing shape. Given what you went through.”

“You think so?”

His eyes lock on mine.

“Know so.”

We stare at each other, for how long I have no idea. Could be a second or a minute or an hour. The world stands still—until a boom shatters the silence and the capsule slams into us, me on top of him, and we’re hurtling through space.





Chapter 24





James





Emma and I bounce around the capsule, our bodies slamming into each other, both reaching out for a handhold. This actually does feel like being in a dryer that’s on—with another person. Who is naked. And whom I barely know. Yet she’s someone I care about.

I finally grab a handle on the wall and wait for her to crash into me. With my free arm I curl her into me, shift her to the wall, and hold her there, covering her. Random loose bits pepper me while I shield her.

If this capsule gets hit with debris and punctures, we’re finished. We’re doing one, maybe two gees. No way we can get our suits on in this kind of thrust. I’m not even sure I could get my helmet on.

Space is empty, or nearly empty, so once an object achieves velocity, there’s nothing to slow it down. It just keeps going. Gravity exerts a pull on it, but that’s about it.

This scenario—the capsules being blown out of Earth’s orbit by a solar event—is one we actually trained for before launch. The protocol is to run dark and proceed to a rendezvous point. I just hope we’ll make it there—and that the other crew and capsules do too. Right now, I need to see where we are and course-correct.

“We have to shift to the other wall,” I whisper to Emma.

Her breath is hot in my ear. “You lead.”

With my left hand, I grab her forearm, then release the handle with my right. I push off, float to the opposite wall, grab another handle, and pull her over.

The screen shows our velocity and position—calculated based on data from the capsule’s external cameras, which are tracking our position relative to the stars. It’s prompting me to activate thrusters to course-correct. I hit the button.

“Hang on.”

There’s a blast on the right side of the capsule, then the top. We’ve been flipping end over end. Now we’re flying more or less straight, still at high speed.

“What was that?”

“Taking a left.”

I feel her chest press into me as she laughs.

She catches floating detritus and stuffs it behind her, trapping it and pressing her body closer to mine.

“ETA?” she whispers as she catches a roll of gauze from the med kit.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Locations of the other capsules?”

“Unknown. We’re running dark and the capsule isn’t programmed for any kind of line-of-sight analysis. Just star positioning.”