Kristi Helvig - Burn Out

She pulled me to my feet with one arm, demonstrating surprising strength for her petite birdlike frame. I’d read once that birds were descendants of a horrible creature called Tyrannosaurus rex . If nothing else, I finally understood the evolutionary process. The gun pointed straight at my left temple. “Scream and I’ll muzzle you. Got it?”

She shoved me toward a small hallway. I guessed she was not taking me to the main hatch where everyone was going to rendezvous. As soon as the ship touched down, we were supposed to race from the hatch to the shelter.

It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes before someone would come looking to see what the holdup was. What the hell did she think she’d do with me? I’d be useless to the Consulate dead—I couldn’t operate the stupid guns. As much as Britta disliked me, I’d only be helpful to her if I was alive and kicking.

“I’m guessing you’re not following Kale’s plan,” I remarked.

Britta spoke in a low voice. “I’m following my own plan. I have to look out for myself.”

That sounded like something I’d say. Before I had time to ponder this, she nudged me in the back toward a room at the end of the hall. Britta waved her hand over the door panel. When it opened, she pushed me inside and followed me into the space.

“Totally unnecessary push,” I said and struggled to retain my balance. The cuffs dug into my wrists as I tried to yank my hands free.

I peered around the room. It looked like a storage area with strange containers inside. Britta waved her hand over a light panel, and a small hatch door illuminated on the far side of the room. Sweat broke out above my lip. No one was around and she really hated me. Was she planning to push me out the service entrance and let me cook in the sun? Oh, God, I really didn’t want to die the way my sister did. Britta walked over to the odd containers and pushed a button. One container lit up and made a buzzing noise. Then the entire top of the rectangular-shaped box popped open.

Britta pointed at the box. “Get in.”

I’d never been a claustrophobic kind of gal—after all, I lived in an underground cave half of my life. However, this little box looked like it could only contain, well, me.

“Look, I’m sure we can work something else out.” I tried to twist and turn my hands in an attempt to escape the handcuffs, but they were so tight, I’d started to lose feeling in my fingers.

Britta came toward me. “Don’t bother. You’ll just hurt yourself.” I struggled against her grip, though each movement caused fresh pain to tear through my ribs. “Don’t worry.” She steered me to the box. “It’s a human transport container.”

Britta pointed at the hatch door. “These containers are for emergency evacuations in space. You have several days’ worth of air in there and the container emits an emergency signal—like a beacon. Since we’re already on the ground, you’ll just be right outside there.” She gestured toward the hatch. A thoughtful look crossed her face before she shrugged. “I think these things hold up in the storms. I’ve never tested it out myself.”

She shoved me hard again, and forced me to step into the box. “Don’t take this personally. I mean, you’re not my favorite person in the world, but it’s not like I’m killing you or anything. You’re just helping me out.”

“Remind me how this helps you again.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Duh. My goal is to survive. When the Consulate gets my message about where to find you—their precious gun operator—they’ll rescue you, which will distract them. Meanwhile, we’ll be in the shelter, finding the guns. Then we’ll take them and run for it. Even if they saw our ship, they wouldn’t shoot us down with the weapons on it, or they’d lose everything. Kale can escape them.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, pressing hard to make me sit. “The others won’t be upset with me, because I’m going to tell them that right before we took off, you ran away to turn yourself in to the Consulate.”

I had to stall for more time. Even if she didn’t shoot me, being stuck in a small box seemed like it wouldn’t turn out so well. I shook my head, trying to sound cocky. “So, is this where I point out the flaws in your grand plan because one, the others know I wouldn’t go out into the night storms on my own, and two, do you really think the Consulate won’t find you?”

“They’ll believe what I tell them. Besides, with you out of the way, maybe we can get out of here a little faster. Now lie down. I only have a few minutes.” She pointed the gun at me and pushed me down, which wasn’t difficult since I couldn’t offer much resistance.

I flopped down, sucking in my breath as my ribs stretched with the movement. The metal of the box grated against my skin. At least I wasn’t going to be floating around space in this contraption. I wiggled my hands underneath me but they could barely move under the weight of my body. The box was so small that the sides pressed against my shoulders. Good thing you’re skinny and packed light .

Britta pressed the button near my head. “I’d say I’ll miss you, but I’d be lying.”

I would have said something back, if the door hadn’t clamped shut over my head, inches from my face. Sweat beaded on my lip. Despite the oxygen supply, I couldn’t catch my breath. My rib situation wasn’t helping matters either. I hoped the Consulate would find me quickly, because I didn’t want to experience what several days in this box felt like.

A tiny window was positioned in the center of the box, above my face. I saw Britta move out of view in the direction of the hatch door. I realized the box must be soundproof because I heard nothing in my silent prison save for my own shallow breathing. I stared at the lights on the ceiling and hoped the window was sunproof, or I’d soon be staring straight at it. Getting rescued by the Consulate was looking better and better.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths. Inhale 1-2-3-4. Exhale 1-2-3-4. I tried to find my happy place, but that place involved my sister—and her charred body often surfaced in the midst of the memories and chased the good ones away. I squeezed my eyes tighter and attempted to relax.

A vision of my sister appeared. I saw the back of her flowered shirt and her light golden hair flying behind her as I chased her down the hallway. No gray T-shirts for her. My dad paid a truckload for it too, but it was so worth it to see her smile. Her love of flowers extended to her wardrobe, as if by wearing them they weren’t truly gone from the world. Her innocent laughter rang out as she raced to the table in the front room, which counted as “base” in our game. If she got there before I tagged her, she was safe. I ran harder, my hand reaching out to grasp the pink rosebud shirt. My fingers stretched and came close, yet touched only empty space.

The popping sound from above startled me. Had I already been evacuated into the desert and discovered by the Consulate? My eyes flew open. No, the lid of my container had been opened, and I was still in the same storage room. I sat up and looked straight ahead toward the hatch door. Britta was slumped on the ground in front of it.

“Are you okay?” James’ deep voice tickled my ear.

I startled, a strangled cry escaping my throat.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Just trying to save you,” he said, grasping my arm to guide me to my feet. I swayed a little, and he gripped me more firmly. I turned to thank him but my voice failed me. We stared at each other longer than necessary. My pulse started racing as fast as it had a few minutes ago when I thought I was going to die. Great. Two things I could count on for tachycardia: fear of death and James.