Cress

Chapter 13

BOOK Two

 The witch snipped off her golden hair and

cast her out into a great desert.

Cress would not have believed that she had the strength to

 drag Carswell Thorne beneath the bed and secure his uncon-

scious body against the wall if the proof wasn't in her arms. 

 All the while, cords and screens and plugs and  dishes 

 and food jostled and banged around them.

 The walls of the satellite groaned and she squeezed 

her eyes shut, trying not to imagine the heat and

 friction melting through the bolts and seams, 

 trying not to guess at how stable this untested 

 satellite could be trying not to think about 

 plunging toward the Earth—its mountains and

 oceans and glaciers and forests and the impact

 that a satellite thrown  from space would have when it 

 crashed into the planet and  shattered into billions

 of tiny pieces.

She was doing a poor job of not imagining it all.

The fall lasted forever, while her small world 

disintegrated.

She'd failed.

 The parachute should have opened already. 

 She should have felt it release, felt the snap

 back as it caught their descent and lowered them

gently to Earth.

 But their fall was only faster and faster, as the 

satellite's air  grew warmer.

 Either she'd done something wrong or the

parachute hatch was faulty, or perhaps there

 was no parachute  at all and the command 

 was from false programming. 

 After all, Sybil had commissioned this satellite.

 Surely she'd never intended to let Cress land safely

on the blue planet.

Sybil had succeeded.

 They were going to die.

Cress wrapped her body around Carswell Thorne

 and buried her face into his hair. 

 At least he would be unconscious through it all. 

 At least he didn't have to be afraid.

Then, a shudder—a sensation different from 

 the drop—and  she heard the brisk sound of 

nylon ropes and hissing and there it was, the