Deep Fathom by James Rollins Page A

to his back. He lumbered across the bucking mid-deck and reached the T-handle box. He tugged the vent handle and twisted it. The valve would slowly depressurize the cabins to match external pressures.
    â€œGet ready!” Colonel Durham ordered. “Switching to autopilot!”
    The orbiter bucked more violently and he flew up, striking his head savagely. One of the other astronauts, who had been unbuckling from his seat, struck an overhead support bar. His helmet split and the man fell limp.
    He started to cross to the man’s aid, but the second astronaut waved him off. “Man your station!”
    â€œAutopilot’s off line!” the commander screamed. “Gonna have to stay on manual!”
    He glanced over his shoulder at Jennifer. She was struggling out of her seat, meaning to assist with the injured crewman. But she was clearly having some trouble. She tugged at something by her left arm.
    â€œThirty-five thousand!” the pilot announced. The shuttle continued to rock viciously. “I can handle it! I can handle it!” The pilot sounded as if he were arguing with himself, then—“Jesus Christ!”
    A litany of swearing erupted from Colonel Durham. “Bailout!” he screamed over their comlinks. “Get your asses out of here!”
    He knew they were still too high, but he obeyed the direct order. He twisted the second T-handle. The side hatch blew out. Winds exploded out of the cabin. The depressurization had not been complete. He found himself almost sucked out the hatch, only saving himself by clutching the T-handle in an iron grip.
    Screams filled the com system. The shuttle rolled on its back. The floor buckled.
    He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Jennifer slide past him, belly first, her fingers scrabbling for a hold. Her parachute assembly was missing.
    Oh, God…
    He lunged out, snagging her hand. “Hang on!” he screamed.
    A huge explosion sounded from behind him. The mid-deck hatch blew out with a screech of metal. A whirlwind of flames tore into the cabin, burning all the way to the flight deck. He lost sight of the other astronauts. The fires rolled toward him and Jennifer.
    â€œHelp!” he yelled into his communication unit. But there was no answer. The shuttle had become a plummeting rock. He began to slip.
    â€œLet go of me!” Jennifer gasped at him, struggling to free her hand. “I’m pulling you loose—”
    â€œGoddamn it! Hang on!”
    â€œI’m not taking you down with me!” Jennifer reached her other hand and unlocked the metal flange that mated her suit’s glove to its sleeve.
    â€œNo!” He clenched his hand, but he was too late. He clutched only an empty glove. Jennifer slipped beyond his grip.
    As in all nightmares, he found himself unable to move. In slow motion he watched Jennifer slide away from him…so slowly. He struggled to reach out to her, but his limbs refused to obey. He could only watch.
    His last view was not of Jennifer’s panicked face…but of a small gold band, blazing brightly on her hand, shining with the promise of undying love as she fell away.
    Deaf to his own screams, he dove after her, chased by a wall of flame. He tumbled through the hatch just as the shuttle flipped end over end. The huge wing of the orbiter sliced through the air over his head. Darkness harried the edges of his vision as he twisted and spun uncontrolled. He could not breathe.
    Still, he searched as best he could for some sign of Jennifer, but the blue skies were empty. Only a flaming trail marked the path of the burning shuttle.
    Tears in his eyes, he fumbled for the manual parachute release. The eighteen-inch pilot chute deployed, instantly drawing out the four-foot drogue chute, stabilizing his spinning tumble. But the small chutes did little to stop his rate of descent. They were not meant to. Not in this thin air. Later, a third chute would automatically