Five Percent

Today was day 20 of the lockdown and here I was, still in the Isolation Chamber. Still waiting for men in suits to release me.

My family must be anxious. I know I am.

I look at the air gauge -- five percent. They're supposed to be watching that. How long will that last? Not a full day. The food supply from the LunarHub is gone, too, not that it’s going to matter in five percent.

Hell, yeah, I’m anxious.

I press the intercom. “Captain Degas, here. I’m feeling a bit alone. Anybody out there willing to help me outta here? Hello? That's an order!”

Silence.

It’s been silence for over a week now.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts.

Deep space should have been the danger. Who knew the real danger was here, at home.

“Um … Hello? You guys know the NASA handbook instructs you to keep a constant eye on me, right?”

Silence.

I stare into the monitor that shows the inner workings of the facility. I haven’t seen movement out there in eight days. One man scurried past, grabbing some papers as he fled.

Fled.

That’s a word that sends chills up my spine.  I push against the door that should have opened 179 hours ago.

I think back to my childhood, to COVID-times. What was I doing on Day 20, then? SpongeBob, I think. I drift off, dreaming of Patric and SpongeBob and BikiniBottom until the air runs out.

Which, of course, it does.