The one that would protect us from space—but leave her in it.

She’s reaching for me with one hand, straining, but she’s too far away, she’s just barely too far away, and I’ll never be able to get to her, it’s too late. Too late.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she pleads.

She reaches toward me. Her fingers are almost within reach. If I reached out—maybe I could pull her to safety before I seal the doors shut?

But I can’t take that chance. I can’t risk the whole ship to save one person.

“No,” she whispers.

But I push the button anyway.

The Bridge doors swing shut.

The violent winds die.

It takes a moment before everyone left can stagger back up. Some are bleeding—a few broken bones, a dislocated shoulder, a limp—from the debris that crashed into them. More than their physical injuries, though, is the horror that twists each face, a hollowed-out shocked expression that I doubt will ever fully fade.

It is silent here, but nowhere near as silent as the other side of the door.

Chapter 58

58

AMY

I HAVE NEVER RUN SO HARD OR SO FAST AS WHEN I RACED from the Hospital to the grav tube. Still, I knew I would be too late.

And I was.

When I finally got to the Engine Room, I could hear the explosion from behind the door.

And the screams.

Now, the Shipper Level—already packed from the events of the day—falls into a sort of hushed horror. People crowd around me in the Energy Room. The door to the Engine Room dents inward, like a monster is trying to claw it out, but the steel reinforcements hold. We fall back against the far wall anyway, and some people race out of the Energy Room, heading for cover, as if they think Godspeed will continue to protect them even as it’s being ripped apart.

We all stare at the door, but it gives us no answers.

Red lights fade in and out along the edges of the floor and ceiling. The ship’s computer announces, “Breached hull: Bridge,” in a pleasant, cheerful sort of voice.

We wait. A woman opens her mouth to speak, but I quell her with a look. We’re all listening to the silence. Wondering if anyone still lives on the other side of the door.

If Elder survived.

Something smacks against the door. A woman behind me screams, and a man near the hallway shouts, “Frex!” The door moves again—not with the force of a tornado, like before, but instead with a rattle and shake.

Fingers pop out at the door edges.