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shadowy form slumped over the console at the front. It didn’t stir. Taking a deep breath, she ventured inside to find out if it was still alive.
    Fear clutched at her throat. What if the pilot hadn’t survived the crash? Her heart thudding in her chest, she picked up his wrist and breathed a sigh when she found a pulse beating strongly. She struggled to move his deadweight into an upright position to check for injuries.
    Once he was leaning back in the chair, his head lolling against the headrest, the reason for his lack of consciousness became apparent. A nasty looking gash on his forehead slowly seeped blood. Some of it matted his short spiky hair to his scalp. His face was slack, and a tiny dribble of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. She checked what she could see of the rest of his body, but couldn’t find any other injuries.
    He was so pale and still that she checked his pulse again, but it still beat strongly, and when she held her hand in front of his mouth, she could feel his warm breath. He didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, so she looked around the rest of the ship. Was there anyone else here?
    This room was small, maybe three large steps across and four deep, but she could see another room through the doorway at the back. She walked towards it and hovered in the entrance, poised to run if necessary.
    The second room wasn’t much bigger. A bench ran along one side with cupboards underneath and above. At the far end, a small table was attached to the wall with bench seats on both sides. The space on the other side was occupied by two beds, one above the other in holes in the wall. The sheets on the bottom one were rumpled. In the corner behind the bunks was another door, this one closed.
    The beds indicated there had only been one person on the ship, but she should check the closed door, just in case. As she walked towards the door, she felt boxed in. The area was narrow. She could touch the benches and the beds on each side as she walked between them. There was nowhere to run. She hesitated outside the door then took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
    The room inside was tiny with a glass cubicle in one corner and a shiny white toilet with a sink built into the back in the other. Empty.
    Satisfied there was no one else on board, Marlee returned and surveyed the unconscious pilot. He might have looked slim, but his body was taut and wiry. She’d struggled enough just to get him upright earlier; there was no way she could move him by herself. The wise course of action would be to go back to the village and get help, but she didn’t want to leave him. What if he woke up while she was gone?
    Marlee gingerly sat down in the empty seat next to him and waited. Someone would miss her eventually… she hoped.
    As she waited, she couldn’t help but stare at him. His angular jaw was clean shaven, but she could see a dark shadow indicating whiskers under the surface. Even the cut of his hair was different than anyone she knew. Unable to help herself, she reached out a hand towards his hair. Was it soft and smooth, or spiky? But before her hand touched it, she pulled back.
    In all her twenty years she had never met anyone she didn’t already know.
    This man was completely new.

    A S THEY EXITED THE WOODS, M ARLEE walked beside the stretcher the men had hastily put together, a hand resting on the unconscious pilot’s chest. His slow, steady heartbeat reverberated through her skin, until she was sure her own kept time. Each rise and fall of his ribs reassured her that he still lived. She kept her eyes on his face, even though the ground was rough and uneven. Other than the gash on his forehead, still seeping blood, he looked calm and peaceful, like he was asleep.
    She bit her lip. It had taken over an hour for the villagers to find her and another two hours to traverse the woods. Had the delay reduced his chances of survival? She desperately wanted this man to live. More than anything