I killed someone...
The phrase echoed in my mind like a broken record.
"It was an accident... I-I didn't mean to do it," my voice cracked, desperate.
She didn't respond.
Of course, she didn't respond...
She continued staring at the sky without blinking, as if watching the best movie in the world and not wanting to miss a single scene. Her chest no longer rose and fell. My hands trembled, stained with her blood—blood that was already beginning to cool on my skin.
The Dust bullet had left a jagged hole in her side, the edges burned, and the smoke still rising from her body made it even worse... much worse.
I couldn't look at it for more than two seconds without feeling my stomach churn.
"It wasn't my fault... You were suffocating me; it was self-defense. Besides, you were already badly injured from the spaceship crash... I-I didn't mean to..."
The intention didn't matter.
The result was right there, staring up at the sky.
It wasn't my fault.
It wasn't my fault.
If I kept insisting, maybe it wouldn't be a lie.
Maybe it's better to just admit it:
"I killed you..."
There. That wasn't so hard.
Time to head back to the spaceship and look for anything that might help me.
And what about the others who fell from the ship? Maybe they died too.
But this guilt—at least this one—the universe could keep.
When I stand, I can feel my bones creaking under the strain, and my wounds reopening from the fall and the fight.
A warm, throbbing sensation trickles down my shoulder. The dust mixed with blood stings, making my eyes water. I swallow hard and press my hand against the crooked wall of the cabin, trying not to collapse again.
The world spins slightly.
Or maybe it's just the spaceship still tilted too far.
Either way, it doesn't matter.
All I know is that if I pass out now, I might never wake up again.
The control panel is completely destroyed, not that I had any hope of getting the ship back online anyway.
What I'm looking for is the radio.
I crawl toward the twisted panel, pushing aside loose cables and charred metal fragments. The acrid smell of melted plastic rose sharply, irritating my nose. My hand groped through the debris until it found something that felt like a radio—a crumpled metal box with half its buttons torn off.
"Please... please work..." I murmured.
I turned the side knob.
Nothing.
I pressed the transmit button.
Only a dry hiss, like a dying sigh.
I pressed it again.
And again.
And again.
Hiss.
Hiss.
Silence.
I drop the radio to the ground, feeling my chest sink.
"Great. Wonderful. Perfect. I survive a terrorist attack, a fall, and a fight... only to die isolated in the middle of nowhere because of this damn radio."
I take a deep breath—or try to. Every time my lungs fill, a sharp, burning pain shoots through my ribs. Great, maybe I broke something.
Okay... the radio isn't working.
The dashboard is destroyed.
Cold air is seeping in through every possible crack.
Plan B: find something useful before I pass out.
I get up and begin to search the cabin thoroughly. The sloping floor constantly makes my body want to slide.
My hand finally touches a small box secured beneath the pilot's seat with safety straps. It sways from the impact of the crash, but remains closed. The red sticker clearly identifies its contents:
EMERGENCY KIT
My heart skips a beat—the first happy thing to happen all day.
Bandages
Burn gel
Something that looks like a strong painkiller
An emergency water bottle
And best of all: a mini-pack of military rations.
"Thank you... whoever set this up. Probably an angel."
I leaned my head against the metal wall, feeling my body finally relax a little.
But not for long.
Outside, far away... almost imperceptible...
A scratching.
Low.
Slow.
Like claws testing a piece of metal.
The cabin's temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees.
"No... not now... please, not now..."
I know exactly what it is.
A Grimm.
And they love the scent of fear.
And I'm practically exhaling pure terror.
I crawled toward the rear hatch—the same one she had used earlier... the same one still half-open after the crash.
Shit.
A cold wind whistles through the crack, stirring up dust and making the door groan. The sound echoed through the wrecked spaceship, almost like an invitation:
Come and devour me alive.
I force myself to stand, but my legs trembled as if they wanted to flee on their own. I leaned against the metallic frame of the door and yanked the side lever.
It didn't budge.
"Ah, of course! Perfect time to jam!"
Outside, the scratching turned into a heavy stumble. Something slammed against the fuselage with a DOOM that reverberated through the metal.
I yanke the damned lever harder, feeling pain explode in my ribs.
"Close... close... CLOSE!"
The latch groaned, resisted... and then, with a jolt:
CLANK!
The door slid down a few centimeters.
But it still wasn't enough.
Something scrapes against the outside—this time right at the door. The vibration rattles in my hand.
I let out a sob and pull again, with every ounce of strength my battered body can muster.
The door finally slides shut.
THUD!
It seals completely.
The silence returns, thick, tense, suffocating.
For two seconds, I think I'm safe.
Until the Grimm starts pounding on the outside.
BOOM.
The metal trembles.
The air vibrates.
And my soul tries to evaporate from my body.
I press my forehead against the door, breathing too fast, my heart pounding.
"Great... wonderful... now I'm trapped in here with a Grimm trying to get in. Congratulations to me."
I spot the first aid kit tossed near the co-pilot's seat. I open it with a trembling hand, nearly spilling everything onto the floor.
The bandages are filthy with dust and reek of burnt metal, but it's this or nothing. I tear off my shirt and press the cloth against the deepest cut, nearly screaming as the gel touches my skin. It burns like someone has shoved fire directly into my flesh.
"Just... a little more. Stay awake."
My vision is already starting to blur at the edges.
I wrap the bandage around my waist, pulling it too tight. I need to stop the bleeding, not look pretty. With each turn, I feel my ribs protesting, the air growing harder to draw in. Then I tie the shoulder as crookedly as possible—trembling so badly that I make an ugly knot, but one that's firm enough to hold.
The hatch groans as it seals shut, but it locks. Done. At least no curious Grimm will get in while I'm unconscious.
I lean against the wall. The metal is cold.
"Just... one minute of rest."
And then I blacked out.