by Tom Abrahams
MISSION ELAPSED TIME
73 DAYS, 10 HOURS, 17 MINUTES, 03 SECONDS
10,000 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL
Clayton stopped to catch his breath. He’d been walking for hours, dragging the bodies of his crewmates across ice-packed snow. He bent over at his waist, then stood up straight and tossed his head back toward the sky. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried stretching his back.
He found the sun and figured it was close to midday, though he couldn’t be sure. The haze in the sky made it difficult to place the sun exactly where it hung. Exhaling, he looked at the horizon and the ridge to which he was heading. It looked to him like the ocean’s horizon. The closer he got to it, the farther it appeared to be. The only things confirming his progress were the rocky peaks rising on either side of the ridge. They grew as he moved south, the parallel striations that wrapped them more and more evident the closer he got.
With each step, Clayton struggled incrementally more to lift the other foot. The cold was stiffening and bitter. Behind him, there was a seat-wide trail that marked his irregular path toward the ridge. He adjusted the cord at his waist, trying to alleviate the increasingly raw spots irritating his skin.
Clayton took a deep breath, the dry air stinging his nostrils and chest, and made another push forward. He’d trained for this, after all.
Well, not exactly this, but close enough. He’d endured three days and two nights of winter survival training in frosty negative fifteen degree temperatures. It was a mandatory training, which the Russians had told Clayton would test his courage, self-discipline, perseverance, and patience. They’d been right.
The first night, as heavy snow fell, Clayton, Ben, and Boris had manufactured a shelter out of fallen tree branches and husks. The fire they’d built had kept them comfortable, if not warm, through the ridiculous cold.
The second night, they’d used the parachute from the mock Soyuz to construct a large teepee. It was much warmer than the shelter. On the third day, they’d simulated an injury. Boris “broke his leg” and they’d had to immobilize it using scraps of cloth and sticks before carrying the Russian to a rescue area some distance from their camp.
Clayton had questioned the training, thinking it excessive. Even for an engineer whose mind worked everything in redundancy, spending so much time in harmfully low temperatures for the purposes of contingency was a bit much. What were the chances they’d land miles off course in the middle of the inhospitable Kazakh Steppe? Now, stuck in a frozen Neverland, dragging two bodies, he understood.
He dug deeper. The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and back strained with every lunge closer to the ridge. They kept him moving until he reached the point at which he could see beyond the ridge and the sprawling white landscape below. What he saw was at once awe-inspiring, daunting, and magical.
Ahead of him was a steep drop and then a gradual slope of ice that stretched a mile or more. To his right and left were the edges of the steep, rocky edged peaks rising on either side of the slope. Those edges framed what looked like a flattened bowl. At the ends of the peaks and lining either side of the wide, icy sheet were grayish piles of silt. He looked over his shoulder and then straight ahead, taking a moment to soak in his surroundings.
He’d landed the Soyuz in the middle of an ice field, and in front of him were the leading edges of three or four Alpine glaciers. Draining from each of the peaks, carving their way through the rock and forming U-shaped bowls, were smaller glaciers. They appeared to have separated at some point from the large central sheet of ice that ran the length of the slope in front of him. His eyes followed the central glacier to its end. Far beyond the leading edge of the ice, he could see a road. On the other side of the road was a large red chalet with an adjacent long flat-roofed building. There was no traffic on the road, and as far as he could tell, there were no vehicles parked around the buildings.
Standing on the edge of the ridge, he could see the eons of work the glacier had performed. He could also tell it was much smaller than it must have been in the past. It was shrinking. That was a good thing. It meant he had less ice to travel across.
Despite the lack of movement around the chalet, Clayton knew that was his destination. He’d climb down the embankment, which wasn’t as steep as it had first appeared, and then cross the glacier. First, though, he disconnected himself from his crewmates and pulled out his Yaesu radio. He keyed the transmit button.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday. Calling any station anywhere. Calling any station anywhere,” he said. “This is Kilo Delta Five X-ray Mike X-ray. Calling any station anywhere. Please reply. Over.”
Nothing.
Clayton scanned the horizon and a stiff wind whipped his face. He pressed the radio close to his ear. Still nothing.
“This is KD5XMX,” he said. “Is anyone out there?”
The radio crackled. “This is VA6CXX,” came a voice on the other end. “Victor Alpha Six Charlie X-ray X-ray. I hear you, KD5XMX.”
Clayton gasped and fumbled to key a response. “VA6CXX, I copy. What is your location?”
“Hello, KD5XMX,” replied the voice, which carried the weight and rasp of a seasoned man. “I’m in Red Deer, Alberta. You?”
Alberta. Canada?
Clayton’s mind started fishing for what he remembered about HAM transmission and reception. He clutched the radio with his gloved hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “Somewhere up north. Somewhere cold.”
“Okay,” said the man. “That’s interesting. Are you okay? Were you in an accident Do you remember your name?”
Clayton smirked. He knew how it must sound, not knowing where he was. He sniffed and wiped the crusty snot frozen to the edges of his nostrils.
“I’m okay,” he said. “My name is Clayton Shepard. I-I-I don’t know my location yet.”
“Got it, Clayton Shepard,” the radio crackled. “My name is Steve Kremer. Can you describe where you are? Maybe I can help. I’m working with a directional antenna. You can’t be too far from me.”
Clayton looked at his surroundings: the hazy pinkish sky, the endless sea of white snow behind him and over both shoulders, the pair of rocky, ice-carved peaks to either side, the glacier in front. He hit the transmit button and described it in detail as best he could.
“Huh,” said Steve Kremer, “you’re right. You are pretty far north. How’d you end up in the middle of an ice field?”
Clayton looked back at Ben and Boris, their frozen faces staring up at the sky, their rigid bodies strapped to their Soyuz command seats. How much did he want to tell Steve Kremer from Alberta?
“I fell from the sky,” he said. “Crash landed here after the storm.”
“Oh, great,” said Steve. “No wonder you’re lost. If I were you, I’d make it to that chalet you mentioned and go from there.”
“Do you have power?” Clayton asked. “What’s it like where you are?”
“No regular power. I’m running off of batteries,” said Steve. “Most everything electronic is fried. I’m a bit of a planner, myself, so I stored some of my radios in EMP-proof bags. You know what an EMP is, Clayton?”
“Yes,” said Clayton. “An electromagnetic pulse.”
“Right,” said Steve. “I’ve got a couple functioning radios. I have an old truck that works. My newer Toyota is toast, though. It’s a shame. I paid a lot of money for it. Only a year old.”
A gust of wind hit Clayton in the face and he spun away from it. “Have you heard any news about how widespread the power outages are? Is there any news?”
“My televisions aren’t working,” said Steve. “But I’ve gotten a few HAMs on the radio. They’ve all said they’re SOL too. Nobody’s got power. At least it’s cold out. I can keep my beer buried in the snow outside.”
Clayton looked at the Yaesu’s battery indicator. He had a quarter of the life left. “Steve, my battery’s low. I gotta save it. I’ll call you on this frequency when I get to the chalet. That okay?”
“Of course,” said Steve. “Be ca
reful, Clayton. Let me know if I can help.”
Clayton thanked him and turned off the radio. He stuffed it back into the pack. His head was starting to ache. He licked his dry, cracked lips. Despite the incredible cold, Clayton knew he’d been sweating. He was probably getting dehydrated and the toughest part of the trek was still ahead of him. He found water and emptied the container into his mouth. Then he took one of the snack bags and ripped a hole in it. He didn’t want to take off his gloves, so he held the torn package with both hands, tilted back his head, and shook the salty chips into his mouth a little at a time. The salt would help him retain water and the chips would provide a quick burst of carbohydrate-fueled energy. He’d eat again when he started to feel a sugar crash coming.
He packed away the trash and readied himself for the initial descent. He’d weave his way like someone using a wheelchair ramp. He imagined it would take him a lot longer, but it would be much safer than trying to drop straight down with Ben and Boris attached to him.
He considered unleashing them and lowering them down the ridge. It was too far and he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to manage their mass without creating some sort of pulley. By the time he constructed a simple machine, he could be halfway down the longer path.
Clayton jerked the men free of the snow. He took a difficult, thigh-burning step forward and gathered his momentum. He reminded himself that every step brought him closer to the chalet, closer to figuring out where exactly he was, and closer to Jackie and the kids.
“All right, Jackie,” he said aloud, trying to occupy his mind as he worked his way along the ridge. “You were right. You win.” He chuckled. “You correctly predicted that something would go wrong. Of course, not even you could have foreseen this.”
Jackie had told him something would happen. She’d dreamt it. She’d awoken from a nightmare, drenched in sweat and barely able to catch her breath. A scream had jarred Clayton from his sleep. He’d rolled over and put his hand on her clammy face, trying to comfort her.
“Is it the change?” he’d asked.
“Screw you,” she’d said, apparently not in the mood for his humor. “No. I dreamt about you in space.”
Clayton had been only weeks from his mission. He’d known she’d been growing increasingly concerned as the launch date drew near. He’d sat up in bed next to her, turned on the bedside lamp, and stuffed a pillow behind his back.
“Sorry,” he’d said. “Just trying to be funny. Lay it on me.” He had taken her hand and coaxed her onto his lap. She’d eased onto his body and he could see the glimmer of a tear at the corner of her eye. He’d run his fingers through her hair at her temple. The pulse in her neck had thumped against his body.
Jackie had taken a deep breath and exhaled as if she were blowing out candles on a cake. “It was so real,” she’d said softly. “Like I was on the ISS with you, but I wasn’t really there. I was floating, hovering above you. I could see and hear everything.”
He hadn’t said anything, but he’d gently thumbed the tear from her eye. His eyes had been adjusting to the light in the room, but he had seen her skin was pale. She’d been frightened. He’d taken her hand and squeezed it. She’d rubbed the back of his thumb with hers.
“You were alone,” she’d said. “There was nobody else there. In my mind, I was asking why you were by yourself, but you acted like it was fine, like you were supposed to be up there alone. I followed you from one part of the space station to the next, you were tinkering with computers and checking systems. You were going about your day. No big deal.”
Clayton had listened intently. She’d been rubbing his thumb with more intensity as she spoke. He’d been certain she wasn’t aware of it.
“Then you moved to the, what’s it called?” she’d asked. “The spot where you can look down at the Earth?”
“The cupola.”
“The cupola,” she’d said. “Yes. You were there and you looked down at Earth and something spooked you. I don’t know what it was. You were panicked. I wanted to ask you what was wrong, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t really there. I knew enough in the dream that I knew I wasn’t there. You were alone.”
Clayton had squeezed her hand and let go. He’d run his fingers along her arm, tickling her skin.
“You started moving through the station as fast as you could. You tried hitting keys on computers and nothing was working the way it should. Then you called Mission Control. You told them you had to evacuate. You said there was an emergency you could see from the…”
“Cupola.”
“From the cupola.” The rhythm of her speech was faster as she told the story. “You said you needed to get back to Earth. They told you it was impossible, that you couldn’t come home.”
She’d moved from his lap and looked up at him, her glassy eyes wide with fear. Clayton remembered it had been as though she were warning him. She’d seen the dream as a sort of premonition.
“You tried everything you could to find a way off that station and come home,” she’d said, the tears welling in her saucer eyes. “You couldn’t get home. You were stuck up there. I knew you were stuck, but I couldn’t help you. You were alone.”
Jackie’s chest had begun to heave and Clayton had wrapped his arms around her. He’d considered a thousand different things to say, a million reasons why that could never happen. He hadn’t spoken any of them. He’d held her and swayed gently for the better part of a half hour.
They’d finally gone back to sleep, spooning, her hands holding his arm tightly against her chest. When they’d awakened the next morning, there’d been an uneasiness between them. There hadn’t been any tension or anger, but something had been different. That dream, or premonition, had hung in the air between them for those final three weeks. Clayton wished they’d talked about it. He wished he’d done a lot of things differently.
Clayton neared the western edge of the ridge and made a wide turn back to the east, careful not to get caught in the cord that held his crewmates to his body. He was putting most of his weight on his lower leg, so heading back to the east was good. It eased the pressure on his left leg for the time being. It did not, however, ease the guilt that threatened to consume him as he forced himself past the exhaustion. He needed to make it to the chalet before nightfall. He took another step, pulled with his shoulders and back until he felt the tension on the cord ease, and then stepped with his other foot. He looked up and over his shoulder at the bright watercolor sun blob that was sinking in the sky.
He was running out of time until darkness fell again. He didn’t want to spend another night in the snow, not with the bone-shaking cold, and not with the wolves. Especially not with the wolves.
“C’mon, Shepard,” he said to himself, gritting his teeth with another painful step eastward. “You survived space. This is nothing.” He hoped saying it aloud would convince him it was true.
CHAPTER 11
SUNDAY, JANUARY 26, 2020, 12:23 PM CST
CLEAR LAKE, TEXAS
Justin thumbed open the warm can of beer and guzzled it. He pulled the can from his mouth and belched loudly.
“You’re disgusting,” said his girlfriend, Wanda. “That’s no example for our baby.”
Justin took another swig and burped more loudly. “And?”
“Tell me what happened. You’ve been an ass since you got back.”
Justin shook his head and slurped the can empty. He crumpled it in his hand and slapped it onto the laminate countertop. “Nothing happened,” he grumbled. “We just didn’t get what we went to go get.”
“Why not? Something must have happened.”
Justin looked past his girlfriend and into the living room. His boys were sitting around grumbling.
She slapped his chest. “I’m talking to you, Justin.”
His eyes darted back to her. “Fine,” he whined. “We rolled into a house and got some good stuff. Good things for you and the baby. Then the homeowner snuck up on us. Packing. Nearly killed us.”
Wanda’s eyes narrowed with concern. She crossed her arms on her chest and stepped up to him, looking up at him intently to gain his full attention. “You broke into a house and the homeowner was there?”
Justin nodded. He tried to avoid her glare but couldn’t.
“How could you do that?” she said. “How could you not know the man was home?”
He shrugged.
“It wasn’t a man.” Palero appeared in the doorway, his jaw bruised and swollen. He lisped when he spoke. “It was a lady.”
Wanda frowned, the disapproval and disappointment leaking from the downturned corners of her pout. She narrowed her eyes and then rolled them. Justin tensed. As much of an alpha dog as he could be, his woman was the one with the bite.
“You know you have responsibilities, right?” she asked rhetorically. “You can’t be stupid, Justin. You gotta be smart about it. Take your time. Scope it out.”
Justin laughed at her. “Yeah?” he sneered. “If you’re so smart, tell me what you’d do.”
She pushed past him and swung her hips into the family room. She stopped next to the table sporting what was left of their haul and motioned to it with her hands like a game show model. “We’ve got stuff,” she said. “We’re good for a couple of days, easy. There’s no rush yet. You need to take your time, Justin. Scout it out. Find a place where nobody’s home. That shouldn’t be tough.”
Justin eyed Palero and took a couple of steps toward her. “Okay then,” he said. “Where would you do this scouting?”
She shrugged. “Easy.”
Justin rubbed his head, the stubble grating against his calloused palms. He looked back at Palero, who shook his head with his lips pressed tight and raised his hands in surrender. He didn’t like his woman showing him up in front of the boys. He motioned at her with his chin. “Tell me, then,” he said. “Explain this easy plan you have.”
“The neighborhood I was in last night,” she said. “Those people have so much stuff they were giving it away. All we had to do was ask.”
