Once some people begin to leave, others follow. Emma and the military have resorted to physically picking people up and throwing them toward the hallway. No one’s moving fast enough.
The alarms dim as the computer says, “Eight minutes and counting. ”
We’re never going to get out in time. There are too many people too scared to move. Too scared to leave.
Kit grabs me. “Tell Elder that these people are staying!” she shouts.
“What? They can’t!”
“They’re not leaving!” Kit says. “They’re petrified! It will take weeks before they’re ready to leave the shuttle!”
“They have to go!” I scream at her as the alarm blares incessantly. “If they don’t, they might not ever get out! The shuttle will trap them inside!”
Chris, Emma, and a few more of the military approach the group that is backed against the wall. Their eyes are terrified, open wide and flashing white as their gazes dart left to right. A woman close to me has her back flat against the metal, her hands gripping the raised rivets along the side. Her head is slammed against the wall, and a trickle of blood leaks over her left arm—I recognize her. This is Lorin, one of the women I stitched when the ship first landed. She’s thrown herself so violently against the unforgiving surface of the shuttle that some of her stitches broke.
“Lorin,” I say in as calm a voice as I can muster while the alarm blares. “We need to go. ”
She shakes her head, eyes wide, mouth forming soundless words.
“We have to,” I say. I glance at the others backed against the wall. They’ve never lived without walls—but I can’t let them die behind them, either.
“Enough of this,” Emma growls, knocking me aside as she grabs Lorin’s wrist and starts to forcibly drag her from the room.
Lorin screams, pulling against Emma with all her body weight. She stumbles, and Emma drags her on her knees for a few steps before Lorin is able to wriggle free and run all the way to the other side of the shuttle, back against the wall as she shakes her head no, no, no.
“Seven minutes,” the computer interrupts.
“You guys get to the armory,” I say. “We need all the weapons we can carry. Kit and I can take care of the remaining people. ”
Emma looks as if she’s about to protest, but she throws her hands up in resignation and leads the remaining military personnel to the armory.
“How—?” Kit starts, but I cut her off.
“Where are the green patches?” I scream, my voice already hoarse from trying to speak over the alarm.
“What?” Kit shouts back.
“Phydus!”
Kit scrambles for her med bag, yanking out handfuls of green patches. Willing or not, I smack a patch on each of the remaining people who refuse to leave the shuttle. Better to give them a small dose of the hateful drug than leave them here to die. They shuffle toward the door—not fast enough, and I scream at them to hurry.
I reach Lorin last—she keeps trying to dodge out of my reach, but as the alarm announces the last minute, I tackle her and slap a patch on her hand. Her eyes glaze over. I yank her up, dragging her behind me as I race to the door.
“Thirty seconds to lockdown,” the computer says cheerfully. “Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight . . . ”
I run to the door, more desperate than I’d ever been in any race or sprint in high school, pulling Lorin’s limp form along. I will not be trapped inside this godforsaken shuttle.
Elder stands in the door to the bridge. “Hurry!” he shouts.
The computer continues counting down. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . ”
I shove Lorin ahead of me through the door—she falls, but she’s made it to the other side.
“ . . . four . . . three . . . ”
I dive through.
The door seals shut behind me.