by A. G. Riddle
“Da?”
“He’s coming.”
“When?”
“Soon. Soon, sweetie.” I squeeze her tight, hoping it’s true. “Now, you need to go to breakfast. Mommy has to stay here and rest.”
My stomach feels as if it’s turning in on itself, a deep pang of hunger boring out from the inside. I almost feel nauseous. And that reminds me of the nausea I felt before the asteroids, the nausea that has been absent since. Is it because of the stress? Or has the pregnancy ended?
I search the rolling table by my bed, but there’s no health analyzer on it.
“Hey,” I call out, but no one comes. I try to sit up. Sharp pains greet me, worse than the day before.
I slump back to the bed and soon my vision blurs and sleep overtakes me, like a heavy blanket being pulled over my body, too heavy to fight.
I sleep for hours at a time, the lights low in the infirmary, my stomach turning when I wake, aches droning across my body.
When I wake the next time, Madison is by the bedside again, an MRE waiting. She activates the heating element on the plastic carton.
I stare at it, feeling conflicted.
“Emma…”
“I know. I have to.” I close my eyes, feeling wiped out. “Can you get me a health analyzer?”
I glance down at my stomach.
Madison’s face goes slack. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
I take a pain pill and try and fail to take my time with the meal. It’s chicken and rice with vegetables. When you’re this hungry, everything is a five-star meal.
I wonder if the pain pills are interfering with the pregnancy. The thought makes me instantly regret taking it. Slowly I feel the medicine working, dampening the low-grade ache throughout my body. And that just makes me worry even more.
Madison returns with the health analyzer, and I touch it to my finger and wait as it extracts the drops of blood and runs its tests.
“Have you—” she starts but breaks off.
“Felt nauseous? No.”
I stare at the screen and shake the health analyzer as if that will speed up the result.
I’m suddenly aware of everything going on around me: footsteps in the hall, the survivors shuffling to and from the mess hall. Someone moaning in one of the other med bays, a male voice assuring the man that everything will be all right.
The results appear on the tiny LCD screen and I scroll through the routine labs, past the CBC and other blood panels, to the simple test at the end.
<
I swallow hard as my eyes fill with tears. For a moment, Madison looks stricken. I smile and nod. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”
She lunges forward and hugs me, the touch setting off pain across my battered body. But I don’t care. My baby is still alive. Right now, that’s all that matters.
Time slips by in periods of sleep and hazy wakefulness. I never feel rested or satiated by the small meals. I’m constantly weak and tired. And most of all, I’m afraid for myself and for Allie and for the fetus inside of me. I know that fear is running wild—and I know that there’s nothing that I can do except to recognize that fear and tell myself that it can’t help me now. It’s served its purpose. Now I have to disregard it and focus on the task at hand, which is staying strong for Allie.
But that’s easier said than done. It’s easier to read those passages in the Birthright and say they’re true and say you’ll control your fear than it is to actually do it.
Still, I try. I put up a façade for Allie’s sake because, most of all, I want to protect her from knowing how desperate our situation is.
There’s little activity in the halls now. No one’s working in the tunnels. I think everyone is bedding down, waiting, as if we are all hibernating down here, trying to get through a long, deadly winter we all hope will end.
Chapter 29
James
Once again, I stand on the rim of the impact crater, taking in the giant bowl in the desert. Near the center point, Grigory and Harry are working, excavating deeper, racing the clock.
The sound of the excavator hammering the rock echoes up from the crater until Harry pauses and attaches the bucket and thumb to the end of the excavator’s arm. Methodically, he lifts the broken rock and earth out of the hole. Grigory, driving the bulldozer, pushes the broken earth to the edge of the donut-shaped mountain around the hole. They’ve hammered and dug and used every shred of energy the solar panels can soak up from the dimming sun, which is setting on the horizon now. It’s just not enough.
Our time is up.
There’s only one thing to do now.
Back at CENTCOM, I march into the situation room, where Captain Brightwell’s British accent is ringing over the radio.
“Team four, sitrep.”
“Almost done, Captain.”
“What did you find?”
“A few more bottles of… hold on, I can’t pronounce—”
“Never mind the medicine’s name. Just bring it in. And get to your next habitat. We’re losing daylight fast and tonight’s going to be even colder than last night.”
There are no more survivors in the wreckage. The search has turned to the things we need, that we can’t make any more of: medicine and complex electronics. We’re gathering food too.
Brightwell, reading my solemn expression, says, “What happened?”
“It’s time.”
Instinctively, her hand goes to the sidearm on her belt. Her right arm is still bandaged and her left leg is in a brace, but I wager that she’s still the most lethal individual on the surface here in Camp Seven. She’ll have to be very fast if Arthur betrays us. I hope we won’t have to find whether she’s fast enough.
“Have you told Grigory?”
“No,” I mumble. I’m dreading the task.
“Will he have an issue with it?”
“Yes, he will have a problem with it.” My voice sounds as tired as I feel. “But I don’t think he’s going to do anything, at least not until we get everyone out of the Citadel. After that, who knows?”
“We could assign him to rescue ops here in the camp. Separate him from Arthur.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“I’ll have someone in his rescue team keep an eye on him.”
“Also a good idea. We’ll also need a guard detail for Arthur.”
“I’m the only active military here topside. We’ve got three reservists among the survivors. Two are out searching and one has a pretty bad leg injury. But he could serve guard. Want me to recall the other two?”
“Please.”
Brightwell gives the order over the radio, then quietly says to me, “You sure about this?”
I plop down in one of the chairs at the long conference table and rub my face. “I’m sure we don’t have another option. We’re out of time.”
After a silent moment, I ask, “Is this what it was like during the war? When the AU was fighting for the last habitable zones?”
Brightwell’s face goes slack and she breaks eye contact. “There wasn’t much down time. Not much discussion, at least not at my level. Day and night, I just tried to keep everyone in my company alive.”
“Company?”
She eyes me, surprised. “The AU Army is organized roughly like the old US Army. I had four platoons in my company. My company was one of four in the battalion, which was part of a regiment, which was part of a division and so on.”
“Oh, got it. Never knew how the army was organized.”
“Well, it’s all history now. The AU probably can’t field a single battalion at this point.”
“A lot of things are about to change.”
When the two reservists arrive, I lead them and Brightwell to the troop carrier. They form a semicircle around the rear, guns held at the ready. Across the bunker, voices die down. Whispers take their place, starting near us and sweeping across the open-air room like a wave rolling through.
I let the unlocked chain fall loudly to the
floor as I swing the doors open wide. Arthur walks to the precipice, an arrogant smile on his face. An expression of triumph that sickens me.
“I take it we have a deal?”
“We’ll be watching you.”
“I expected nothing less.” He pauses, the smile widening. “I’d like to take this opportunity to reiterate the terms of our agreement.”
“Go on,” I growl, the words barely audible.
“No aggression toward the harvester. If anyone on this little watery rock takes offensive action, the harvester will strike. Remember, he can see you from where he is. Our telescopes are far superior to yours.”
“Okay.”
“The deal is that when the sun sets for the last time on Earth, there will be no living humans on this planet. Do you understand the implications of what I’m saying, James?”
Until now, I’ve been so focused on the problem at hand—the Citadel—that I hadn’t actually considered the full ramifications of the deal. What he’s saying is that when the sun sets, every human must either be off the planet—or they have to be dead. What he’s saying is that even with his deal, another war might be waiting for us. A civil war among the last survivors.
“How many survived the asteroids?” I ask.
Arthur shrugs theatrically. “I have no idea. I arrived at the same time as the asteroids, remember?”
“You don’t have active communication with the harvester?”
He scoffs. “Of course not. That would be a waste of energy—and that’s not something we do, James. I was sent down with a simple directive.”
“Our surrender.”
He glances up at the ceiling, as if pondering whether to tell me a secret. “Well, not exactly.”
“What exactly was your directive?”
“To eliminate any threats remaining after the asteroid strike.”
Behind me, Brightwell and the reservists stir, as if getting ready for a fight.
“Relax,” Arthur says nonchalantly. “In this case, helping you leave is the most efficient method of completing my mission.”
It’s all an algorithm to them. There truly is no emotion behind the grid, no consideration of us as a people. Our exodus from Earth is the most efficient way to eliminate us as a threat. That is, if we believe what Arthur is saying. That’s a big if.
“Do you understand the terms of our deal?” Arthur asks, tone bordering on disinterest.
I stare at the concrete floor, biting my words off. “Yes. We accept.”
“Wonderful,” Arthur says with mock enthusiasm.
A silent moment passes. Then I look up at the representative of our enemy, now our conqueror, and I swallow every bit of pride I have, because I have to, because the lives of my wife and child are on the line, and I ask, “What can I do to help you?”
“You never cease to amaze, James. It turns out I could use your help. And Harry’s.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’re now officially an assistant to the grid. Let’s get started.”
For the next thirty-two hours, I barely sleep. Harry and I assist Arthur in building the excavation drone from the parts in the CENTCOM bunker and what we’ve scavenged throughout the camp. The device isn’t pretty; it’s like a giant beetle, round, about five feet in diameter with a domed cover made from white habitat tiles. It’s hard to believe it will bore into the ground and make its way to the backup water tube. But, before the grid arrived, it was hard to believe a device could travel through the galaxy harvesting the output of stars. Their technology is truly on a level far above our own.
The excavation drone is just big enough for one large person. Two kids easily. Its underside is a mix of lasers, jagged teeth that can extend out to carve a larger diameter shaft, and a series of retractable wheels that will be used once it reaches the Citadel.
If it reaches the Citadel.
It’s midday when we lower the device to the desert ground beside the impact crater and watch it burrow and disappear. At the control station set up inside a troop carrier, Arthur directs the device as Harry and I watch the video feed. Brightwell and her two reservists stand at the ready, but Arthur has ignored them so far, focusing only on the work. He’s even dropped the mocking tone. Perhaps he reasoned that it was no longer a good use of energy.
Izumi is the first to board the drone and go down to the Citadel. I follow. I’m dead tired when I rise from the drone’s carrier compartment and step out into the water treatment plant in the subbasement.
Still, my heart is racing. It worked. But it’s not over yet. Could Arthur have waited for this moment to betray us? It’s possible. The thought bounces around in my mind as I watch the drone disappear, on its way back to the surface. The plan is to load it with food this time.
The backup water tube is gone, a much larger horizontal shaft drilled in its place. The treatment plant is a mess of mud, dust, dirt, and rock. The water from the tank must have mixed with the dirt.
When the drone returns, it simply stops on the pile of rock and dirt, waiting. For all I know, it could explode right now and seal this tube and, with it, our fate. We would die down here.
It would be an efficient method of killing us. It feels like something the grid would do. Harry and Grigory are above. They would fight to get us out, but I doubt it would do any good. Our future is in Arthur’s hands now. I stare at the drone, knowing this is a moment of truth. Has my gamble doomed us?
Chapter 30
Emma
The sound of shouting and footsteps wakes me. It’s like a stampede in the hall, but the lights are still low, the infirmary mostly in darkness and shadow. Allie stirs at my side, looking up at me.
“Mommy, what’s dat?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. You have to stay here with me.”
“Wanna see.”
“No. You can’t.” I pull her tight to me and strain to hear what’s happening. I can’t make out the words.
Is it a fight for the last meals?
Something worse?
The running stops; the voices die down. I wait, listening for clues about what’s going on. The silence is somehow more unnerving.
A figure emerges in the doorway to the infirmary, dressed in army fatigues, a headlamp on his forehead. The beam of light rakes across the med bays like a lighthouse.
The figure takes a step toward me and then another and another, urgently, pushing past the white curtain that partially encloses my bay, his headlamp shining directly in my eyes. Based on the build, I think it’s a man. He reaches out and grabs Allie, and I lunge forward, my rail-thin arms grabbing hold of his arms, fingernails digging into him.
“Da!” Allie yells out as she throws her arms around him.
“James?”
“I’m here.”
Relief washes over me, as if his words are healing me. The ache in my body disappears. The hunger vanishes.
I hold a hand up and blot out the headlamp.
“Oh. Sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes move over me, pain and concern behind them. “What happened, Emma? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It doesn’t matter now. Just tell me we’re getting out of here.”
“We’re getting out of here. Right now.”
Chapter 31
James
My daughter has never felt so small and fragile in my arms. She’s thin, eyes slightly sunken, but she’s alive. That’s all that matters.
I carry her out of the infirmary and through the hall. The Citadel is swarming with people now, a mix of survivors from the surface and the few AU troops down here that seem to still have some strength.
Izumi has set up a makeshift hospital in the mess hall. She’s giving everyone a cursory exam, making sure they don’t need immediate treatment.
In the basement, at the tank in the water treatment plant, I lean over and gently lower Allie into the waiting drone.
She clings to me, fingernails digging into my arms.
“Da!” she s
creams. “Da!”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetie,” I whisper as I bring her back to my chest. She’s sobbing now.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m not, darling. I’m right behind you.”
“Don’t leave!”
“This is going to be fun. You’re going to take a ride in this car. It’s sort of like our car. Just cooler.” I turn so she can see it. “Check it out. I helped build it.”
“Mom…”
“Mom’s right behind you too. Now be brave and get inside, okay? A lot of people are waiting. Can you do that?”
The crying subsides but she’s shaking as I lower her into the device, lip quivering as she stares up at me, an unspoken accusation on her face: How could you, Da?
I can’t take it. I know I should stay down here and help Izumi, but I just can’t. My heart can’t take putting my starving, frightened daughter in this contraption alone. I step into the drone, placing Allie in my lap. “Okay. Let’s go.”
She’s still shaking. “Da… no.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I reach forward and tap the return button on the inside of the drone. I hug her tight as the drone jerks into motion and rolls into the shaft.
The next day, I’m standing in the situation room in the CENTCOM bunker, leaning against the door frame, trying to wrap my head around our situation.
The bunker is packed with people lying on cots and piles of blankets on the floor. Space heaters dot the large open space beating back the cold that presses in harder each second of every day. Most of the children are watching tablets. The adults are simply resting and eating, trying to recover from their time in the Citadel.
We’re all together now. That’s the good news. But I fear the true challenge has just begun. We have problems big and small. Some tug at my mind, unsolvable; others weigh on my heart. Most notably, the fact that there are more kids than adults here. Many of these kids have lost their parents. There’s nothing I can do about that. Ever. We’ll have to start assigning foster families soon. For now, the kids without families are grouped by age and assigned to a chaperone. Their section of the bunker looks like a massive sleepover, kids snuggled in next to each other, some playing, others crying, not many sleeping.
