Outside In by Maria V. Snyder

dominated. Then he rolled to his side and I saw his face.
    Logan.

7
    WHAT THE HELL WAS LOGAN DOING IN THE AIR PLANT? His shoulders shook as he coughed and I realized the flames burned closer to him. It didn’t matter why. All that mattered was saving him.
    I ripped two strips of fabric from the hem of my shirt. Lying on the floor, I pulled myself toward him as if I squirmed through a tight air shaft. When I encountered the warm puddles of water from the sprinklers, I rolled, soaking my clothes and dipping the strips in them. I tied one around my nose and mouth.
    Logan’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what he shouted. Blisters peppered his face. He squeezed his eyes closed as another coughing fit racked his body.
    Sliding as fast as possible on my belly, I finally reached Logan. He jerked in surprise when I touched him. At this distance, the heat from the fire was almost intolerable and breathing was all but impossible.
    “It’s Trella,” I yelled in his ear. “Can you walk?”
    He clutched my arm. “Yes, but I can’t see!”
    “Here.” I wrapped the other strip around his face to filter the smoke. “Stay low and keep—” Hot air choked me. Thick black smoke engulfed us and stung my eyes. A brief thought that perhaps I should have waited for the fire response team flashed. But the air cleared for a nanosecond and I tugged Logan toward the entrance.
    We crawled, rolled and stumbled. The heat intensified, evaporating the water from the sprinklers before it reached the floor. The hot metal seared our skin. Halfway there, Logan collapsed and I yanked him another meter before I joined him.
    Air refused to fill my lungs and my throat burned. Blackness danced in my vision, swirling with white sparks. It reminded me of the brief glimpse I had of Outer Space before Cogon floated away. Except then it had been ice cold and this time it was my turn to drift off.
     

    A blast of water hit me, rousing me and rolling me over. Strong arms peeled me from the floor, carried me. Voices yelled and admonished, but I had no breath to respond. Tucked against my rescuer’s chest, I stared as the walls of Inside streaked by.
    Then the familiar curtains of the infirmary surrounded me. I was laid on a bed as a mask covered my nose and mouth, forcing cool air down my lungs. I sucked it in despite the sharp pain in my throat. My skin felt like the flames still licked at it. The small prick in my arm a mere nuisance in comparison to the rest of my body.
    Only when the dizziness started did I realize what the prick meant. Too late to resist, I let my world spin out of control. It wasn’t a new feeling. Not at all.
     

    At least when I woke, the pain was gone. But the mask remained—a good thing since my lungs strained to breathe. My arms and legs had been wrapped in bandages. Soft white gloves covered my hands. Faces came and went as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I recognized Lamont’s frown, Riley’s worry and Bubba Boom’s scowl. I understood the words painkillers, idiot, brain damage, reckless and growing skin grafts. But I didn’t see the one face I worried about or hear the one voice I wanted to hear or heck, I’d even settle for someone mentioning his name. Logan.
    Without him, Inside would be lost. Besides the high-ranking Travas, he alone knew how to run this ship. The Captain in all but name. I suspected he had been the primary target of the fire for just that reason. I tried to yank the mask off to ask, but Lamont slapped my hand and threatened to inject me with a sedative if I touched it again.
    Hours or weeks later—hard to tell—I woke into the quiet stillness of bluelights. They shone through the fabric of the privacy curtains. I no longer felt as if a person made of solid metal sat on my chest so I removed the mask, but kept it close just in case.
    Sheepy was tucked in next to me. Smiling, I moved him so he wouldn’t fall on the floor as I struggled to sit up. The effort winded me. I sucked a few deep