Read Online Bravado's House of Blues by John A. Pitts - Free Book Online
Authors: John A. Pitts
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self-contained for surviving in extreme conditions. Mitch had insisted on the extra protection, just in case. So, what did they have? Forty minutes of oxygen? An hour? They’d been out for thirty minutes already. Or was it more?
The migraine exploded behind her eyes. Marta twisted away from the console and lunged out of her chair, flinging her headset off, and landed on all fours, vomiting. Pain blurred her vision. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. This one was fast and extreme. There were meds in her kitbag, in the back of her chair. Only trouble was getting up off the floor.
The tinny noise of conflict and shouting leaked out of the headset, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Her world narrowed to getting to that bag. Every movement sent shards of glass through her brain. Retching hurt, breathing hurt, blinking hurt. She turned her body carefully, crying out as a sudden sharp pain blossomed behind her left eye. Then her sight failed altogether.
She managed to get her bag out of the storage compartment in the back of the seat and found the syringe by feel. She’d never given herself this shot blind before, but she had no choice. She’d black out soon if she didn’t do something. The plastic tube felt too small in her hand, but she knew it was the right one. She pulled the rubber stopper from one end and slowly pulled the hypodermic from the case. She sat back on her heels and carefully negotiated the tip of the hypo to her thigh. Her left index finger triggered the auto-inject. She lay down beside her workstation as the morphine-enhanced cocktail surged into her bloodstream, dropping a heavy, wet blanket over the raging fire of the migraine.
A large explosion rocked Marta back to awareness. Lightning split the blackness all around her. Blinking back afterimages, she rolled over onto her stomach, pushed herself up onto hands and knees, placed one hand on the control console, and pulled herself upright. A few deep breaths and she struggled to her feet. The room spun as the narcotic swam through her system.
A sudden movement caught her attention. The vid-screens showed a struggle in the aft engineering bay. She leaned over the console and tapped through images. The tow cable still hung in the water. How much time had passed? She couldn’t remember how much oxygen Mitch had.
The lightning paused for a moment, leaving her ears ringing. In the sudden stillness, she heard the sounds of conflict from her headset. She lifted the set from her chair, flopped down, and pulled on the headphones. Shouting and scuffling came through in loud and painful clarity. Susan was screaming. Marta tapped through the vids and found the second camera in the engineering section. Robert lay on the ground, blood pooling around his head. Susan stood over him with a large wrench, swinging it wildly at someone lunging at the towline control.
“What the hell’s going on?” Marta shouted into the commlink. She winced at her own volume.
“Marta,” Susan grunted as she swung the wrench. The meaty thump that accompanied the swing indicated that someone was hurting. “The bastards tried to disengage the cable. Fucking crew bastards hit Robert with a fire extinguisher. He’s breathing, but bleeding pretty bad.”
“Hang on, Susan,” Marta said. “I’m on my way.”
She threw the headset on the console and staggered toward the door. How the hell had this gotten so out of control?
She stumbled up the ladder to the crew quarters, her vision swimming in shades of red. The hallway loomed, long and unwelcoming, as her eyes struggled between the migraine and the drugs. She kept one hand on the left wall and staggered past the crew’s quarters. Empty. Her people bunked at the end of the hall in two separate rooms. Mitch, Robert and Steve shared one room, she and Susan another. She dashed into the men’s quarters, unknown territory. Mitch’s bunk stood out—so neat and under control. Something she envied about him. She grabbed the
The migraine exploded behind her eyes. Marta twisted away from the console and lunged out of her chair, flinging her headset off, and landed on all fours, vomiting. Pain blurred her vision. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. This one was fast and extreme. There were meds in her kitbag, in the back of her chair. Only trouble was getting up off the floor.
The tinny noise of conflict and shouting leaked out of the headset, but she couldn’t worry about that now. Her world narrowed to getting to that bag. Every movement sent shards of glass through her brain. Retching hurt, breathing hurt, blinking hurt. She turned her body carefully, crying out as a sudden sharp pain blossomed behind her left eye. Then her sight failed altogether.
She managed to get her bag out of the storage compartment in the back of the seat and found the syringe by feel. She’d never given herself this shot blind before, but she had no choice. She’d black out soon if she didn’t do something. The plastic tube felt too small in her hand, but she knew it was the right one. She pulled the rubber stopper from one end and slowly pulled the hypodermic from the case. She sat back on her heels and carefully negotiated the tip of the hypo to her thigh. Her left index finger triggered the auto-inject. She lay down beside her workstation as the morphine-enhanced cocktail surged into her bloodstream, dropping a heavy, wet blanket over the raging fire of the migraine.
A large explosion rocked Marta back to awareness. Lightning split the blackness all around her. Blinking back afterimages, she rolled over onto her stomach, pushed herself up onto hands and knees, placed one hand on the control console, and pulled herself upright. A few deep breaths and she struggled to her feet. The room spun as the narcotic swam through her system.
A sudden movement caught her attention. The vid-screens showed a struggle in the aft engineering bay. She leaned over the console and tapped through images. The tow cable still hung in the water. How much time had passed? She couldn’t remember how much oxygen Mitch had.
The lightning paused for a moment, leaving her ears ringing. In the sudden stillness, she heard the sounds of conflict from her headset. She lifted the set from her chair, flopped down, and pulled on the headphones. Shouting and scuffling came through in loud and painful clarity. Susan was screaming. Marta tapped through the vids and found the second camera in the engineering section. Robert lay on the ground, blood pooling around his head. Susan stood over him with a large wrench, swinging it wildly at someone lunging at the towline control.
“What the hell’s going on?” Marta shouted into the commlink. She winced at her own volume.
“Marta,” Susan grunted as she swung the wrench. The meaty thump that accompanied the swing indicated that someone was hurting. “The bastards tried to disengage the cable. Fucking crew bastards hit Robert with a fire extinguisher. He’s breathing, but bleeding pretty bad.”
“Hang on, Susan,” Marta said. “I’m on my way.”
She threw the headset on the console and staggered toward the door. How the hell had this gotten so out of control?
She stumbled up the ladder to the crew quarters, her vision swimming in shades of red. The hallway loomed, long and unwelcoming, as her eyes struggled between the migraine and the drugs. She kept one hand on the left wall and staggered past the crew’s quarters. Empty. Her people bunked at the end of the hall in two separate rooms. Mitch, Robert and Steve shared one room, she and Susan another. She dashed into the men’s quarters, unknown territory. Mitch’s bunk stood out—so neat and under control. Something she envied about him. She grabbed the
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