It doesn’t take long for the soldiers to realize their “side” is shooting at them and the attack is brought back to us. My heart is in my throat as I push the lever down and to the right, cutting through black clouds of explosion smoke and darting past other ships.
Please let us live.
We can’t have gone this far for nothing.
I see the Facility through the glass windshield and a crazed laugh bursts out of me to see one of the ships down at the dock. Tiny figures are darting from the ship to the Facility.
They’re almost safely inside.
Almost.
Just a few more minutes.
Henry screams when I yank on the lever again, shooting us high into the air. My stomach flops and clenches. After we make it out of this, I’m never climbing on a ship again.
My plan is to wait until the last of them are in the Facility and then I’ll dock beside their ship. With just the three of us, we can make it there if we run.
This has to work.
It will work.
“Get ready,” I grit out. “When we land, we need to be out and running. There’s no time, zelfyre. Only precious seconds. Do you trust me?”
Her hand finds my free one. “Y-Yes. I trust you, Galen.”
Those words fill me with all the fiery hope I need to complete this mission. I fire at several more ships, dipping and darting with such finesse Theron will never believe me when I recount this moment. We’re heading closer to the Facility, our target in sight.
I know what I need to do.
We’ll survive this. We have to. Before I can overthink, I do what must be done.
Stella’s piercing cry, as we barrel toward the largest ship, is a punch to the heart. She trusts me, though.
I won’t let her down.
“Brace for impact!” I roar, my voice hoarse with fear and apprehension.
This could work…or we’ll all be killed in an instant.
Boom!
Everything turns black.
9
STELLA
My head hurts.
I can’t see.
That’s all I know.
Surely the sensation of pain means I’m not dead. I test out the theory and attempt to move, but I’m pinned. Paralyzed? Too disoriented to feel panic, I set that aside.
Where are we?
Thinking hurts, so I drift back into unconsciousness for a while, letting the ebb and flow of darkness and weariness cradle me. Gradually, or maybe only seconds have passed, I’m not sure, I become aware of a sense of urgency pounding through my blood.
Did I forget something? I can’t be certain. My thoughts feel like raindrops on searing asphalt. Gone too quick to make any lasting impact.
The last thing I remember, Galen was flying the ship out to…what? It’s blank after Henry and I buckled in. I attempt to call out to either of them, but my throat is too dry, and my tongue feels like a lead weight in my mouth. Great. Can’t see, move, or talk, but at least I’m alive.
I think.
Moments pass and I begin to discern a sound in all the blackness. One that sends alarm shooting through me, causing me to jerk and writhe against whatever is pinning me down. The sound grows louder over the buzzing in my ears.
It’s crying.
Henry.
The panic inside me grows, fed by the sound of my son’s distress. It galvanizes me enough that I can crack open one eyelid. Which is useless because I’m surrounded by more darkness. For a moment, I’m not even certain I opened my eyes at all, and then I notice dim blinking lights on the control panel.
The ship.
The attack.
Galen.
I force myself to focus, fueled purely by fear for Henry. I’m pinned beneath the control panel, which has crumpled inward to an alarming degree, trapping my legs between it and my seat. Where is Henry? He’s still crying—which is a good sign. It means he’s alive. That’s all that matters.
Working saliva into my parched throat, I gather my energy and try to concentrate through the painful throbbing in my head. It’s getting easier to move. My eyelids work enough for me to adjust to the all-consuming darkness. The flashing lights from the control panel help cut through the shadows.
The garish light illuminates Galen to my side. He’s not moving, which sends a spear of anguish through me.
No.
We didn’t come this far to lose this blooming flower of hope and love and a future, crushed in an instant. I refuse to believe that. For once in my life, I’m not trying to run. I’m fighting to stay.
He won’t die.
I won’t let him.
Which is why I can’t let myself panic. They need me. My boys. I have to be strong for them. I need to focus. I need to get us out of here.
My hands are free and I have enough energy to unbuckle myself from the chair. It takes monumental effort, but I scrape and yank my legs free of the control panel, divesting myself of a layer of skin in the process. I barely even feel the pain through the adrenaline.