Cress (The Lunar Chronicles #3) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,42

corridor, crumpling the far end of the hatch like an accordion. The docking clamp had been rammed straight through the ship’s cockpit control panel, filling the glass with hairline fractures.

“Please tell me it looks better than it smells,” said Thorne, hanging on to the door frame.

“Not really. The ship is destroyed, and it looks like all the instruments too.” Cress climbed down, holding on to the wall for balance. She tried pressing some buttons to bring the ship back to life, but it was useless.

“All right. Next plan.” Thorne rubbed his eyes. “We have no way of contacting the Rampion and they have no way of knowing we’re alive. Probably won’t do us much good to stay here and hope someone passes by. We’re going to have to try and find some sort of civilization.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, a mix of nerves and giddiness swirling in her stomach. She was going to leave the satellite.

“It looked like the sun was setting,” she said. “So at least we won’t be walking in the heat.”

Thorne screwed up his lips in thought. “This time of year the nights shouldn’t be too cold, no matter which hemisphere we’ve landed in. We need to gather up all the supplies we can carry. Do you have any more blankets? And you’ll want a jacket.”

Cress rubbed her palms down the thin dress. “I don’t have a jacket. I’ve never needed one.”

Thorne sighed. “Figures.”

“I do have another dress that isn’t quite so worn as this one.”

“Pants would be better.”

She glanced down at her bare legs. She’d never worn pants before. “These dresses are all Sybil brought me. I … I don’t have any shoes, either.”

“No shoes?” Thorne massaged his brow. “All right, fine. I went through survival training in the military. I can figure this out.”

“I do have a few bottles we can fill with water. And plenty of food packs.”

“It’s a start. Water is our first priority. Dehydration will be a much bigger threat than hunger. Do you have any towels?”

“A couple.”

“Good. Bring those, and something we can use for rope.” He raised his left foot. “While you’re at it, do you have any idea where my other boot ended up?”

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do that?”

Thorne scowled, his empty gaze pinned somewhere around her knee. “I may be temporarily blind, but I’m not useless. I can still tie good knots.”

Cress scratched at her ear and withheld further comment. She was seated on the edge of her bed, braiding a discarded lock of her own hair to use for rope, while Thorne knelt before her. His face was set in concentration as he wrapped a towel around her foot, then looped the “rope” around her ankle and the arch of her foot a few times before securing it with an elaborate knot.

“We want them to be nice and tight. If the fabric is too loose it will rub and give you blisters. How does that feel?”

She wiggled her toes. “Good,” she said, and waited until Thorne had finished the other foot before surreptitiously adjusting the folds of the cloth to be more comfortable. When she stood, it felt strange—like walking on lumpy pillows—but Thorne seemed to think she’d be grateful for the makeshift shoes when they were out in the desert.

Together, they fashioned a bundle out of a blanket, which they filled with water, food, bedsheets, and a small medical kit that Cress had rarely needed. The knife was safely in Thorne’s boot and they’d disassembled part of the busted bed frame for Thorne to use as a walking cane. They each drank as much water as they could stand and then, as Cress gave one last inspection of the satellite and could think of nothing else worth taking, she stepped to the docking hatch and pulled down the manual unlock lever. With a kathunk, the door’s internal devices released. The hydraulics hissed. A crack opened between the metal doors, allowing Thorne to get his fingers in and push one side into its wall pocket.

A breeze of dry air blew into the satellite—a scent Cress had no comparison for. It was nothing like the satellite or the machinery or Sybil’s perfume.

Earth, she supposed, memorizing the aroma. Or desert.

Thorne swung the makeshift supply bundle over his shoulder. Kicking some debris out of the way, he reached his hand toward Cress.

“Lead the way.”

His hand encased hers and she wanted to savor the moment, the sensation of touch and warmth and this perfect