The old man nodded weakly. “Three… maybe four days. I found this pocket by luck. Been breathing what little air there is.” Elias’s heart pounded. “You’re lucky to be alive.” He glanced at the tanks on the ground, two empties, both marked with the same initials etched faintly into the metal: E.T.
Then instinct made him check his own gauge. The needle hovered dangerously close to the red. Edwin’s was the same. “We barely have enough for the way back,” Elias muttered. The old man tried to sit up. “Leave me,” he said. “You won’t make it if you waste time on me.”