Juliette raced to him as a halo of light bloomed in the room, the fire nozzles spitting on and reflecting off the shimmering plastic. The door thunked shut behind her, locking them both inside.
Juliette shook the blanket loose and shuffled around so he could see her, so he would know he wasn’t alone.
The suit couldn’t hide the shock. Lukas startled, his arms leaping up in alarm, even as the flames began to lance out.
She nodded, knowing he could see her through her clear dome, even if she couldn’t see him. With a sweeping twirl she had practiced in her mind a thousand times, she spread the blanket over his head and knelt down swiftly, covering herself as well.
It was dark under the heat tape. The temperature outside was rising. She tried to shout to Lukas that it was going to be okay, but her voice sounded muffled even inside her own helmet. Tucking the edges of the blanket down beneath her knees and feet, she wiggled until it was tightly pinned. She reached forward and tried to tuck the material under him as well, making sure his back was fully protected.
Lukas seemed to know what she was doing. His gloved hands fell to her arms and rested there. She could feel how still he was, how calm. She couldn’t believe he was going to wait, had chosen to burn rather than clean. She couldn’t remember anyone ever making that choice. This worried her as they huddled together in the darkness, everything growing warm.
The flames licked against the heat tape, striking the blanket with enough force to be felt, like a buffeting wind. The temperature shot up, sweat leaping out on her lip and forehead, even with all the superior lining of her suit. The blanket wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t keep Lukas alive in his suit. The fear in her heart was only for him, even as her skin began to heat up.
Her panic seemed to leach into him, or maybe he was feeling the burns even worse. His hands trembled against her. And then she literally felt him go mad, felt him change his mind, begin to burn,
Lukas pushed her away from himself. Bright light entered their protective dome as he began to crawl out from under it, kicking away.
Juliette screamed for him to stop. She scrambled after him, clutching his arm, his leg, his boot, but he stomped her, kicked at her, beat her with his fists, frantically tried to get away.
The blanket fell off her head, and the light nearly blinded her. She felt the intense heat, could hear her dome pop and make noises, saw the clear bubble dip in above her and warp. She couldn’t see Lukas, couldn’t feel him, just saw blinding light and felt searing heat, scorching her wherever her suit crinkled against her body. She screamed in pain and yanked the blanket back over her head, covering the clear plastic.
And the flames raged on.
She couldn’t feel him. Couldn’t see him. There would be no way to find him. A thousand burns erupted across her body like so many knives gouging her flesh. Juliette sat alone under that thin film of protection, burning up, enduring the raging flames, and wept hot tears. Her body convulsed with sobs and anger, cursing the fire, the pain, the silo, the entire world.
Until eventually—she had no more tears and the fuel ran its course. The boiling temperature dropped to a mere scalding, and Juliette could safely shrug off the steaming blanket. Her skin felt as if it were on fire. It burned wherever it touched the interior of her suit. She looked for Lukas and found she didn’t have to look far.
He was lying against the door, his suit charred and flaking in the few places it remained intact. His helmet was still in place, saving her the horror of seeing his young face, but it had melted and deformed far worse than hers. She crawled closer, aware that the door behind her was opening, that they were coming for her, that it was all over. She had failed.
Juliette whimpered when she saw the places his body had been exposed, the suit and charcoal liners boiled away. There was his arm, charred black. His stomach, oddly distended. His tiny hands, so small and thin and burned to a—
No.
She didn’t understand. She wept anew. She threw her gloved and steaming hands against her bubbled dome and cried out in shock, in a mix of anger and blessed relief.
This was not Lukas dead before her.
This was a man who deserved none of her tears.
29
Awareness, like sporadic jolts of pain from her burns, came and went.
Juliette remembered a billowing fog, boots stomping all around her, lying on her side in the oven of an airlock. She watched the way the world warped out of shape as her helmet, a viscous thing, continued to sag toward her, melting. A bright silver star hovered in her vision, waving as it settled beyond her dome. Peter Billings peered through her helmet at her, shook her scalded shoulders, cried out to the people stomping around, telling them to help.
They lifted her up and out of that steaming place, sweat dripping from faces, a melted suit cut from her body.
Juliette floated through her old office like a ghost. Flat on her back, the squeal of a fussy wheel below her, past the rows and rows of steel bars, an empty bench in an empty cell.
They carried her in circles.
Down.
She woke to the beeping of her heart, these machines checking in on her, a man dressed like her father.
He was the first to notice her awake. His eyebrows lifted, a smile, a nod to someone over her shoulder.
And Lukas was there, his face—so familiar, so strange—was in her blurry vision. She felt his hand in hers. She knew that hand had been there a while, that he had been there a while. He was crying and laughing, brushing her cheek. Jules wanted to know what was so funny. What was so sad. He just shook his head as she drifted back to sleep.
It wasn’t just that the burns were bad—it’s that they were everywhere.
The days of recovery were spent sliding in and out of painkiller fogs.
Every time she saw Lukas, she apologized. Everyone was making a fuss. Peter came. There were piles of notes from down deep, but nobody was allowed up. Nobody else to see her but the man dressed like her father and women who reminded her of her mom.
Her head cleared quickly once they let it.
Juliette came out of what felt like a deep dream, weeks of haze, nightmares of drowning and burning, of being outside, of dozens of silos just like hers. The drugs had kept the pain at bay—but her consciousness, too. She didn’t mind the stings and aches if it meant winning back her mind. It was an easy trade.
“Hey.”
She flopped her head to the side—and Lukas was there. Was he ever not? A blanket fell from his chest as he leaned forward, held her hand. He smiled.
“You’re looking better.”
Juliette licked her lips. Her mouth was dry.
“Where am I?”
“The infirmary on thirty-three. Just take it easy. Do you want me to get you anything?”
She shook her head. It felt amazing to be able to move, to respond to words. She tried to squeeze his hand.
“I’m sore,” she said weakly.
