Page 24 of Seven Oars
More bodies.
There was no warning before the violence erupted.
Rosamma's senses got flooded by the foreign stench of dirty men, the sounds of fists hitting flesh, the shouts and cursing.
In zero gravity, everything devolved into an indistinguishable tangle of flailing bodies. The red light from their emergency flashlight flashed off the blades of the pirates’knives.
Neither party discharged any more firearms, likely to avoid making a hole in the hull.
Yes. Very likely that.
The thoughts tumbled through Rosamma’s head like clothes in the dryer, as she was tossed about the cramped room, jostled and shoved by the fighting bodies.
“Get them, girls!” Gro shouted.
She unclipped one of the small supply crates and hurled it at a big body that wasn’t one of their Rix.
It connected, knocking the pirate off balance, right into Aris’s reach. He snagged the man and pistol-whipped him hard.
The pirate should have dropped, but in this environment, he just kept floating.
Rosamma strained to see. Was he dead?
Blood welled from his head wound in a grotesque blob that grew without breaking contact with skin, a macabre balloon inflating.
Gro unclipped another container and shoved it into Rosamma’s hands.
She threw it, hitting someone. Friend or foe? Impossible to tell.
More objects floated in the air now. The women started grabbing whatever they could and flinging it at the pirates.
“Die, you worthless bastards!” Anske screamed, throwing herself at a big body.
She caught a fist in the stomach and convulsed mid-air, gasping and wheezing.
“Let me go!” Fawn shrieked, her hair caught in a huge fist.
Rosamma flung the emergency flashlight at the pirate holding Fawn, but he caught it, crushing the device in his hand.
Their world plunged into darkness once again.
It amplified the strained grunts of the men and the helpless cries of the women.
Fear of death blossomed, a poisonous flower of doom, feeding off the dark.
Something cold and hard touched Rosamma’s skin.
The oxygen mask flew off her face as she thrashed wildly, pushing against the thing—anything to get away.
She wanted to smell vanilla, to see the sky, to live. She wanted Phex’s attention. Ren. To feel better and to reach Priss in one goddamn piece. Was that too much to ask?
The cold, hard thing scraped her skin. Bodies pressed in close.
It was a net.
They were sardines, dumb, senseless fish caught for dinner.
It tightened painfully, mashing their bodies into a ball, arms and legs twisted at odd angles.
