At the sound of the alarms, her almond eyes went wide, blood draining from her face, features bathed in the strobe of the flashing emergency lights alternating between red and the washed-out fluorescent white.
Kel, who had been suiting up for an outer hull inspection, stood up off the bench in his full blast suit, helmet visor still open.
“Hull breach sector nine,” the automated emergency warning system crackled through the speaker system.
Hull breach? Kel’s heart flipped over in his chest. That wasn’t good. He looked down at Cara. Doll-like. Beautiful. And oh, so flammable in her cotton jumpsuit.
In the action movies, the hero always saves the girl. No matter the circumstances, he finds a way. But in reality, there just wasn’t time. Death comes all at once, a swift sweep of his scythe cutting down the unfortunate, the vulnerable.
The fear on her face was heartbreaking; the ache of it drowning out the hammering of his own heart.
“It’s going to be okay,” Kel said, folding her into his embrace. It was a lie. But it seemed like the right sort of lie. The kind thing to say. The truth was too cruel.
Holding her close, he buried her face against his chest with one hand. She didn’t notice him reach up with the other to close his visor. What else was he supposed to do?
It was poor consolation, but at least she did not suffer. The wall of fire shot through the corridor. Face pressed against him, eyes closed tight, she never saw the inescapable blast of destruction. It came so suddenly; she probably hadn’t time to register the wave of heat that preceded it before the entire chamber was engulfed.
For Kel, safe inside a blast suit designed to withstand solar flares while working outside the ship, there were only two moments: In the first he squeezed his eyes shut against the all-consuming fury of the murderous conflagration, feeling its heat even through the shielding of his armour. And then, it was gone in a rush, sucking all the air out of the chamber, chasing the trail of oxygen down the next corridor toward another service pod.
In the first moment he held Cara’s body close; in the next Kel’s arms were empty. All that remained was the matte bronze shape of her on his uniform where her body had shielded the armour from the scorching flame. Her silhouette was a blasted charcoal outline imprinted on the flame-resistant fabric. Later, when he removed the suit, Kel would be undone by the smell of her, now baked into the radiation-proof polymers. Like bacon grease, the fat of her body flash-fried into the protective material. Charred lipids soaked into the fabric, stains that could never be removed.
But for now, Kel knew none of that. Only that she was gone. One minute he’d held her protectively in his arms, feeling her body pressed against his through the heavy layers of shielding. And then his arms were empty, as if the fire had carried her with it as it raced away down the next corridor.
He doubled over, sobbing then. Snot dribbling down his face. He wanted to open the visor to wipe it away but knew that it would be death to do so, all the oxygen burnt away by the flames. So, he just cried into his helmet. Cried because he’d been unable to do a thing to protect her. Cried because he was safe and unharmed, and she was not. Cried because he’d lied to her. Told her it was going to be okay. Cried because he didn’t know if there were other survivors.
It was this last thought that finally forced Kel to his feet. By now the alarm klaxon had stopped. The strobing red emergency lights surrendering to the usual flickering fluorescent whites. How long ago? Kel didn’t know. Had been too consumed by his grief to notice.
Now he staggered to his feet, one hand bracing him against the outer wall, not trusting his legs. Still trembling from the violence of his grief, sobs, like aftershocks, occasionally wracked his body, forcing him to come to a standstill, clinging to the wall for support.
He shuffled down the corridor from whence the flame had come to the next service pod. Scorched clean of life. Down another corridor to another empty chamber. All that remained were greasy black stains upon the walls or floors, the residue of the people who had been caught by the fire. Consumed. All that was left behind were their shadows imprinted upon the space station’s interior.
Hollowed out by grief, Kel found he had no more tears to spill for the horror he was witnessing as he toured the destruction of everything they’d worked for. The people he’d worked with, argued with, laughed with. All gone. The loss was too immense to wrap his grief around. In this moment, he could not think of them individually. Every lost life. Each person with whom he had shared the past five months. For now, Cara had to stand in for all of them. The beautiful little botanist whom he had held in his arms and lied to at the end.