Red Horizon (The Martian Fanfiction)

Chapter 33

Sol 154

Olivia lay in the makeshift bed, propped up slightly against a bundle of blankets and gear that served as her pillow. Her leg, wrapped tightly in bandages and splints, was propped up carefully, elevated to keep the swelling down. Twenty days had passed since the accident, and while she had made progress, the pain was still constant, a dull ache that never quite left her. But she was determined, her body no longer the weak, fever-ridden shell it had been. She had been working through the pain with Mark's help—simple exercises to keep the blood flowing, to prevent her leg from withering away while she was stuck in bed. The movements were small, but they helped, keeping her muscles from atrophy, reminding her that she wasn't just lying here waiting for her body to betray her again.

Her face was still pale, her features drawn with the strain of recovery, but she no longer looked like a ghost. There was color in her cheeks, even if faint, and though she had lost weight, she was still fighting. Her body ached from more than just the injury, but she wasn't going to give in. Not now. Not after everything she had survived.

Across the room, Mark moved restlessly, the small space of the Hab feeling even smaller with the weight of their limited supplies hanging over them. He was thinner too, his face gaunt, his clothes looser on his frame. They were both rationing, stretching every last scrap of food they had, but Mark seemed to take on the brunt of it, giving her whatever he could spare. She hated that, but arguing with him felt like wasted energy.

She watched him as he crossed the room to where the dwindling pile of rations sat, each step heavier than the last. He picked up one of the small packets, turning it over in his hands, a grim look crossing his face.

"So," he said, his voice flat, though laced with a dark humor that they had both come to rely on, "now I have to hold out until the probe gets here with more food." He shook the packet slightly, the sad rattle of its contents filling the silence. "You want to see what minimal calorie count looks like? Standard issue ration."

Olivia watched him closely, her jaw tightening slightly as he spoke. She could hear the frustration in his voice, the anger at their situation buried beneath his words. They had both been through hell, but it was getting harder each day to keep pushing forward. She knew it, and so did he.

"Instead of three of these every day," Mark continued, holding the packet up as though presenting it to some invisible audience, "I'm now eating one every three days."

She winced internally at that. It was worse than she thought. He had been hiding it from her, trying to act like everything was under control, but she knew him too well. He was running on empty, just like she was.

"And now, they've asked me to do that," he added with a shake of his head. His tone was bitter, but there was a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Stretch the rations four more days... is a real dick-punch."

Olivia couldn't help the small huff of amusement that escaped her, though it was short-lived as her leg throbbed painfully. She clenched her jaw, refusing to show just how much it hurt. She had been enduring the pain for days now, refusing the Vicodin after it had made her sick one too many times. She wasn't going to take it again, no matter how much Mark tried to convince her. She couldn't afford to be incapacitated by nausea, not when she needed every bit of strength to keep moving forward.

Mark turned toward her, his gaze softening as he looked at her. He could see the pain etched into her features, the way her body tensed despite her best efforts to hide it.

"Olivia," he said quietly, "you're in pain. You don't have to suffer through it. The meds are right here." He gestured to the bottle of Vicodin sitting on the table beside her, but she shook her head before he could finish.