Connor and Vince fight their forbidden attraction as they attempt to rescue themselves and fellow residents of the underground Refuge facility from a toxic breach.
*****
Conn...
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Patrick slipped his hands from his gloves in order to properly fit pieces of the contraption together. With lean and nimble fingers, he added the finishing touches to the two assembled gasmask attachments. "The toxins are only dangerous if inhaled, so we don't have to worry if we need to remove our gloves," he assured me.
There was no need for assurances. He was right. So far the contaminates only fatally affected individuals by attacking the respiratory system and slowly shutting down organs as loss of blood flow and necrosis took over. Rumor had it the process felt like being eaten alive by tiny organisms from the inside out, which had triggered the large-scale immense fear of contamination. Still, the less exposure to the toxin in any form, the better. But these were dire times and a cause for desperate measures.
I steadied my light on his hands. They moved expertly over the filter he'd created with rusted aluminum cans that he attached to other parts he borrowed from our supplies. Our materials weren't much, but his actions screamed confidence, which was appealing.
The old jagged scar running lengthwise on the inside of his pale wrists took me by surprise. There was no way the pair of well-placed identical injuries could be an accident. Was it the unhappiness of his apparent privileged life that shocked me most about his scars, or the oxymoron that he was unsuccessful at his attempt, being an otherwise highly intelligent man? Had he done it when he knew impact was inevitable? Had he done it before he knew he was chosen to live out the remainder of his life in the safety of the Refuge facility? Had he done it soon after the main door to the facility was sealed to outsiders? Had fear, guilt, pain, or loss been the trigger? As curious as I was about his actions, deep down I knew some stones were better left unturned.
The sand continued to whip around us, but it didn't faze him, or at least he didn't complain, which was something to admire. If only I could be as cool, calm, and collected inside as he appeared to be on the outside. And with every passing minute, and with each tightened and attached segment, my optimism grew.
"There's a twenty-eight percent chance we'll find a species of drought-resistant perennials that adapted to low-light conditions." I continued to focus my light. "If we look near structures where moisture would've gathered and pooled, that's a likely place to start."
"Agreed."
"But there's the possibility that..."
He paused and huffed. "We're going to find that plant. Trust me. We are not leaving this place without seeing that plant."
His confidence boosted my own, and I took his promise and hid it deep inside where my hopes and positive anticipation were kept. Still, the chances of failing the mission were great, and I didn't have it in me to get my hopes up only to be let down. Not after all the tears I'd shed and the final farewells I'd said to better accept my fate.
"All right." He stood, contraptions in hand. "Keep an eye on your monitor. When our oxygen levels are at the last two percent, we will remove the oxygen canister, connect these filters, and allow the last bit of oxygen to puff out of the hoses and our masks, preventing ambient air from entering the mask. Then we can remove our helmets if needed and still protect our faces and breathe the filtered air."
