Isaac lay curled into a ball, his body squeezed tightly against the corner where his bed met the conjoining walls. His every muscle ached from holding that position during the crash, the chains on his ankles having come loose somewhere along the way. His wrists remained shackled, the metal digging into the tendons that pressed taut against the skin. He tried to unwind his stiff torso and limbs but they wouldn’t move, stuck in place with trauma, as if he’d died and entered rigor mortis.

“Isaac,” someone whispered. “Isaac.” He couldn’t tell if it was Trish or Sadina, his back to them, cinched up like a fetus as he was.

“Hey, Isaac.” It was Trish. “How about that key, huh?”

The fact that he hadn’t heard Sadina yet released a new wave of adrenaline, like an injection of oil through his system that loosened up the joints. He uncurled himself and turned to look at his friends.

Both alive. Both with eyes open. Well, Sadina had only one eye open—her other was closed up from swelling.

“You okay?” he asked, the relief at seeing them alive far greater than the worry about their injuries. “That is one nasty looking . . .”

“Yeah, bashed my face against the bed railing. It hurt.”

“I can’t believe we’re not dead,” he whispered. It sounded silly but it was his prevailing thought. He’d spent the last five or ten minutes thinking that his life was certainly over and done with, extinguished, gone. No grand reunion on the island. No more trips to the Forge for him. No more bragging about how he’d built his own yurt and once sailed across the ocean.

“I can’t, either,” Trish agreed. “Let’s get that key of yours and unlock ourselves.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Though every movement brought an ache or a jolt of pain, and his muscles groaned from stiffness, he retrieved the key from his pocket and set about unlocking himself, then Sadina, then Trish. The ship was at a slight angle, but not enough to prevent them from getting their balance when they stood up. Isaac put the key firmly back into his pocket then rubbed his wrists, feeling elated at the freedom from the shackles. And the freedom from death.

“Come on,” Trish said. “Let’s find the others.”

They moved like old people at first, but soon enough their blood started to flow and their muscles relaxed. The door to their room had bent and twisted enough to break free from its hinges. Trish gave it a hard shove and they entered the hallway. Smoke filled the air, with halos flaring constantly as sparks buzzed all over the place.

Isaac coughed, the smoke too thick to breathe. “How do we find anyone in this mess?”

Someone grabbed his arm from behind.