Mission 615

Chapter 28

Jemma

         

2 hours since first distress call

I curl my head further into my jacket, attempting to keep the sand out of my eyes. For the first few minutes of the storm, I could feel another body holding onto me but the wind started gusting even harder and I have been alone for some time.

I should stay put, I know this, but instinct has long since clouded my judgement. The howling wind has now become muffled in my ears and my skin feels nothing but the sting of pelting sand. I walk forward carefully, leaning into the gale. My foot clips a rock and I go falling into the shifting sand.

"Help!" I screech, my throat already raw from the sand and lack of water. Honestly, even in my desperation I can't convince myself anyone could hear me from two steps away.

"Help!" I wail, pathetically.

I curl into a ball, tucking my knees to my forehead.

When the hand first touches me, I almost shriek from the pain of a new sensation after so many hours of relentless sand.

The hand doesn't move and eventually I realize how gentle the grasp is.

The person's other arm guides me against them and they gently pull me to my feet.

The person doesn't say anything, not that I would know if they did. I stay huddled within my jacket, as I idly put one foot in front of the other until I'm tugged backward. A loud metal creek groans through the gale.

My hands are guided down to the metal rungs of a ladder and I descend. By the time I'm out of the gusting sand and peek out of my hoodie, my rescuer has already closed the hatch above me.

I hurry down the remaining rungs and drop down onto solid ground. A few flourescent lights wash out what little I can see of the approaching person. Already by the build of his body, it's clear my rescuer is a man. As soon as his feet hit the ground he backs away with his hands raised.

Even without his gesture, I wouldn't have felt overly threatened. The man's white blond stands testament to his age and despite his towering frame, the pains of life have clearly taken their toll on his slate blue eyes making him seem almost vulnerable. The white light seems to bleed all the color from his, no doubt, weathered skin and I glance down at my tingling hands to see the results to be the same.

"You aren't afraid," the man states. His voice is slightly scratchy and I can't tell if it's from the dust or something else.

I shake my head. "Should I be?" My voice comes out in worse shape than the man's and his eyes fill with pity.

He shakes his head. "No. Not at all."

The man's lips straighten into a tight line.

"I have water back in the room, if you don't mind."

I realize that he's forewarning me that he plans on moving and I fight the urge to laugh, mostly because I know that it would sound more like a choke.

I back towards the wall and the older man passes me. I trail him into what looks like a small store room. There are shelves lined with a variety of goods that the man plucks a container of water from. As he pours some into a cup, I peer around one of the racks to see a small cot situated in the corner. When I look back at the man, he's already extending one of the metal cups toward me. A small table sits between us that is accompanied by a single chair.

I take it and drink greedily, the liquid feeling like ice on my burning throat. After I gulp it down, I look up to see the man now wearing a small grin. He wordlessly offers me more water and I pass him my cup.