It would be dark in this hellhole when the power was out. The air would get worse, and they would each fall asleep and die. She could see panic in the distance heading in her direction, but she turned away, walking slowly back into the grating sound of wailing. As she passed the food room, she detected again a different scent she now thought was of mold. She wondered if she were having an olfactory hallucination. Perhaps some food was going bad. She stopped.
This was the area of heat shield failure. She went back to Engineering and picked up the crowbar and a good tool kit before returning. She located the burn zone and lay on her stomach to inspect it. She got up and turned out the lights. Using a flashlight, she relocated the damage, got on her belly again, and then shut off her light. She peered into darkness for several minutes. As her eyes accommodated to darkness, she saw a glow. The smell was dirt! The odor of soil and burned vegetation wafted up her nose. The little glimmer was the hope, the possibility of escape reappearing. She stood and, by the light of her lantern, made her way back to Medical, turning off every light she could.
After feeding Michael, she rubbed balm on both nipples. They were getting sore. Her breasts, normally average plus in size, were expanding. She made certain she drank often. This also meant more trips to the commode that would not flush. Oh, the things they omitted when they signed her up for this adventure.
This was worse than high-altitude climbing, an exercise in pain tolerance, fatigue, endurance, and privation. Here, there was no peak to climb and no one to tell about it if there were. There was just survival when the odds were stacked so much against you that it seemed pointless to keep trying at times. Like now.
The hole in the ship that lets in light and air might be a pinprick or picnic table in size. It was their only chance but probably another disappearing summit, like so many others. What was waiting for her and her little dependents outside? Better not to think too much about it, she thought.
The lubrication worked on two of the interior doors, finally allowing her to walk between Medical, quarters, and mess sections without clambering through the spiral stairs. With access improved, it took only a few quick trips carrying kids, blankets, and other supplies to relocate to where she needed to work on escape.
Fortunately, some of the power tools were battery operated and fully charged. She drilled a line of holes and then hammered and pried until there was an opening in the charred floor large enough to crawl through. This took the second half of the day. She turned out the lights and looked for the glow. It was not there. Either it was night outside or the hole was blocked with debris from her labors. Exhaustion prevailed, and she slept for hours, waking to nurse, feed, and change the babies. Her shoulders, arms, back, and legs hurt. She felt every muscle when she got up, hoping it was morning. She looked for the glow. It was back. As dim as it was, it brightened her outlook.
Two tool batteries were used up, and two remained as she resumed work. Normally, it would have been impossible to cut through or break the materials used in the construction of the ship. The fire had done wonders at weakening the hull. She worked at a disadvantage, her head down with limited leverage. It was slow, painful, discouraging labor. After interminable work, nursing, and infant care punctuated by bruises, bumps, cuts, and scrapes, she grabbed a large handful of soil. It must have been night outside. Her mind rejoiced, but her fatigue couldn’t allow more than an exhausted half smile to reach her face.
She nursed as she dozed in utter exhaustion, afraid she would roll on top of one of the infants but unable to come up with a better plan. There was not much good air left, and time was critical. She took care to eat and drink a lot, and her milk, thankfully, was in. The kids gobbled it up.
It was dim inside. Savanna had disconnected or turned off all lights except a few tiny bulbs that provided barely enough illumination for maneuvering if needed. She finally could not stay awake. They all slept for at least four hours and then another three or so before getting up.
The lighting remained dim despite turning on more bulbs. The ship’s power was almost gone. In near darkness, she worked. The electric tools were useless now, batteries depleted. The glow from sunlight outside slowly grew brighter as she enlarged the opening. She sawed, pried, twisted, pushed, pulled, and bent for each millimeter of progress. After hours, the hole had grown from ten centimeters to thirty. She shoveled large spoonfuls of soft, loamy, fragrant soil into the ship now in complete darkness. The opening needed to be almost twice as large. Light was waning. She had blisters and had worn through one pair of gloves. Feeding and changing were the only acts of attention the infants were getting. They objected often.
Savanna leaned against a wall in what she thought was late afternoon, nursing Yvette, when the room bumped and shook. The floor tilted, and soil welled up into the opening, blocking the scant illumination. The ship had settled. Both babies started crying. Savanna finished the feeding session in perfect darkness and went back to work. She hauled dirt by the bucketload away from the opening. Eventually, she restored a pastel glimmer that gradually faded. Sunset. She had the opening to forty centimeters in the darkness of night and could get her head and shoulders into the tunnel. Backing up and placing both feet on the upper aspect of the hole in the ship, she pushed with all her remaining strength. Thermal tiles popped off and skin of the ship peeled like popping a blister to relive pain. The opening was finally large enough to allow them to exit. Fresh air wafted in, warm and humid, full of smells she could not remember or had never sniffed. It was a new world, with plants and animals she had never seen. The only world the two little ones would ever know, provided they lived long enough to know anything.
The question was whether to spend the night inside the ship or out in the dark and unknown terrain. The sound of thunder answered.