“Fuck!” he yelled, the “k” ending in a wet, retching cough and a second spasm. He grabbed blindly for his neck ring and released it, yanking the fouled helmet off his head, rubbing his eyes clear. He rotated the hatch out of the way, grabbed the survival kit, took a breath and rocked forward through the hatch, headfirst into the black water.
Behind him, Michael was vomiting as well. He’d peeled his helmet off when he’d felt it coming, and was using it as a bucket to throw up into while disconnecting himself and Svetlana. As soon as he saw Chad go out the hatch, he released his harness and reached up to release hers.
Svetlana still had her helmet on, and watched as Michael waved her urgently towards the water-filled hatch. Weak Americans! Why are both these men sick? She’d trained for emergency water egress in an inverted capsule in the Black Sea, and moved easily, grabbing the sides of the hatch with both hands, and thrusting herself through, feet-first. Behind her, Michael had one last look around, grabbed his survival kit, took a deep breath and pushed himself into the hatch.
All three of them were in the sea.
As Chad floated rapidly up, bareheaded, the tight rubber seal around his neck kept the water out of his spacesuit. Clutching the bulky survival kit tightly under his left arm, he pushed repeatedly with his right to fend off the sloping side of the capsule.
His lungs were screaming as he burst into the sunshine; instinctively he gulped for a huge breath just as a wave hit, slapping him in the face with a five-foot-high wall of water, smashing him into Pursuit’s hard, curved edge. He raised his hands to protect his head, and the survival kit bounced out of his grasp, skittering across the belly of the capsule.
Shit! He coughed and retched up seawater, blinking his eyes against the saltiness, scrabbling for a handhold on the smooth, wet underside of the capsule. His gloved fingers blindly found a bolt hole and he pulled hard, sliding himself towards the floating kit. The next wave picked him up and slammed him again into Pursuit, the impact making him gasp. He swam clumsily through the surging water, kicking inside the stiffness of the suit, trying to focus and time it right. Just as a third wave hit, he reached hard with his right hand and felt his fingers close around the survival kit’s handle. The crashing water tumbled them both clear of the capsule as he fumbled at the long zipper to open the bag and deploy the raft.
Svetlana’s helmeted head bobbed up behind him, and she looked around, assessing, treading water hard to stay clear of the capsule. The trapped oxygen inside her suit would only be good for a few more breaths, and soon she’d have to take off her helmet. She spotted Chad 10 meters away and started swimming hard towards him, letting each wave push her as she stroked and kicked. She watched as he reached inside an oblong bag and pulled; a yellow raft started inflating, rapidly filling, unfolding itself into a long rectangle. Chad was pulling on its handles as it reached full-size, twisting and timing the waves to try to yank it under himself, and finally he flopped facedown into the center.
She kicked hard and found a strap trailing in the water. As soon as the next wave rolled past she grabbed the raft with both hands and pulled herself up and in, landing on top of Chad’s legs. Both of them flailed to get on their backs in the center, to stabilize and not capsize in the heaving seas.
As Michael’s bare head burst to the surface, he spun, spotted them and started side-stroking hard, his elbow crooked through the end strap of his kit bag. But the raft was floating on the surface, the wind blowing it along the foaming tops of the waves. Michael stole glances each time he crested the top of a wave, gauging his progress, and realized he was losing the race; the kit was dragging him down. “Hey!” he yelled as loudly as he could, trying to get their attention above the noise of the wind and water.
Svetlana was getting dizzy with the buildup of carbon dioxide in her suit. As she popped off her helmet, she heard Michael’s voice. She raised her head over the bulbous side of the raft and spotted him splashing towards them, 10 meters away.
“Morskoy yakor?” she shouted at Chad. Is there a sea anchor? He looked at her uncomprehendingly, dazed with the nausea and his repeated hard impacts with Pursuit. Useless! She probed under him, searching for a bundle on a thick strap that had been in every raft she’d ever trained on. When she found it, she tore the package open and hurled it overboard, letting the jellyfish-shaped cloth anchor unfurl and start dragging. Immediately she felt a tug and then the entire raft pivoted, stabilizing and slowing against the wind and the waves.
She propped herself up on an elbow again to see Michael, and spotted him struggling, seemingly farther away. “Syudah!” she yelled twice, as loudly as she could. Over here! She waved her hand high, back and forth.