by Tom Abrahams
“Yeah,” said Reggie, shoving one of the boxes back into place. “All accounted for.”
Rick climbed over two boxes and stepped on a third to reach the edge of the hole. He reached up and grabbed the soft ground, pulling himself up and out of the hole. Then he reached down into the grave and helped Reggie to the surface.
He brushed the dirt from his shirt and pants and found Kenny standing on the other side of the graves, closest to the cluster of trees where they’d hidden hours earlier. Rick smiled at his son. It wasn’t until he reached the trees that he realized Mumphrey wasn’t there and that his son was crying. The women were crying too.
He spun around and looked at Reggie. “Where’s Mumphrey?”
Reggie looked past Rick at the others, then bowed his head. “He didn’t make it.”
A thick lump swelled in Rick’s already pained throat. “What do you mean? Where is he?”
Reggie nodded toward the graves. “He’s in his casket. He must have passed while we were waiting.”
Rick moved past Reggie to the edge of the twin holes. “Which one?” he asked without turning back. When nobody answered, he asked more forcefully. “Which. One?”
“Top box,” he said. “Hole on the right. Next to Karen.”
Rick spun around. “What?”
“Karen’s body is there too. We accidentally found her. We were looking for you.”
The sour taste of bile rose in Rick’s throat. His stomach turned. His vision blurred and he dropped to his knees. It was too much.
“Dad?” Kenny said timidly. His hand touched Rick’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Rick sank onto his heels. He dug his hands into the dirt, grabbing handfuls of it. He nodded, but he couldn’t muster the words to reassure his son he was, indeed, okay.
“I said goodbye to her,” Kenny said. “I said a prayer. I said one for Mr. Mumphrey too.”
Rick reached up toward his own shoulder and put his hand on Kenny’s. His son was so strong, stronger than he’d thought.
“You’re a good son,” Rick whispered through the choke in his throat. “Such a good son. Your mom loved you more than anything.”
Kenny let go of his father and moved to his side. He squatted beside him and leaned on him. “I know. She loved you too.”
Rick couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They streamed from his eyes, mixing with the sweat that still dripped from his brow. His body shuddered and he looked at his son.
“I loved her too,” he managed.
“I don’t mean to be a jerk,” said Reggie, standing behind them at the edge of the graves, “but we should get going. If they’re looking this way, they could probably see us. It’s still an hour until dark.”
Rick puffed his cheeks and exhaled loudly. He nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “There’ll be time for mourning later. Plenty of time.”
Kenny stood and offered his dad a hand. Rick took it and wrapped his arm around his son’s shoulder. Together they led the somber group into the woods and relative freedom.
Once they’d cleared the trees and were farther south of the camp, they traveled east away from the setting sun. Nobody spoke as they walked. For Rick it was a silent eulogy for Mumphrey. The man he’d only known a week was as close a friend he had in this new world. They’d survived a fringe cult, criminal truckers, fake highway troopers, violent gas station attendants, and an assault on their new home. Now he was gone.
He’d taken the beating meant for someone else. Mumphrey hadn’t decided to fight the power, hadn’t carried a gun. He’d benevolently accompanied anyone who would have him join their party, a lonely man looking for acceptance and companionship. It wasn’t his fault Gus had resisted with violence.
Rick had so many questions he’d never thought to ask as he trudged toward the ATV he and Kenny had left at Williamson County Gin.
What had happened to Mumphrey’s family? Why had he lost his home? What was his vocation? Where was he born? How old was he? Rick hadn’t bothered to find out those things and now it was too late. Memories of the old man’s smile, his funny walk, and his familiar, repetitive language flashed in Rick’s mind.
He thought Mumphrey might be better off in the ground. He’d gotten the better end of the deal. They were only a week into an apocalyptic series of events and society was already in a shambles, accelerated unnecessarily by a government intent on killing off people it believed were superfluous. Things would only get more difficult as the days and weeks became months and years. Mumphrey wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. He was at peace.
“Rest well, friend,” Rick mumbled as they turned north.
“What?” asked Kenny.
Rick looked over at his son. “Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking about Mumphrey.”
“He was a nice man,” said Kenny. “He made me laugh.”
“He was funny, wasn’t he?”
“Like I said,” Kenny said, effecting his best Mumphrey impersonation, “he made me laugh.”
Rick laughed. “Very funny.”
“How close are we?” asked Candace. She was limping. “My blisters are asking.”
Rick spun on his heel and walked backwards as he answered Candace. She and Lana were walking together, with Reggie bringing up the rear.
“A couple more blocks,” said Rick. “Then we’re at the ATV. From there, I can hop on and hurry back to the truck, or we can all walk to the truck.”
“I’m good with waiting for you while you get the truck,” said Candace.
“Why did you leave them in different places?” asked Reggie.
“Safety precaution,” Rick answered. “We figured it was better to have more options. Leaving the ATV in a different place gave us flexibility. Just in case.”
Reggie nodded. “Makes sense. By the way, Rick, I have to hand it to you.”
“What?”
“That whole coffin thing was pretty brilliant,” Reggie admitted. “I had my doubts, but it worked. I honestly thought we were stuck in that place. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Rick said. “I had my doubts too.”
“You could have left us there. You didn’t have to come back for us. You barely know us.”
Rick shook his head. “I couldn’t leave you. I have enough trouble living with myself. If I’d let you stay in the camp, it’d be even worse.”
“You know, this whole thing is like an alternate universe,” said Reggie. “The government imprisoning citizens and imposing martial law is straight out of a bad movie.”
“I remember reading this book,” said Rick. “It was called The Perseid Collapse by a guy named Konkoly. I don’t want to give it away, but the power went out and society collapsed fast. Things got violent. I read the reviews on Amazon. I remember some people said the bad stuff happened too fast, that there was no way everything would go to hell in a handbasket within days. I thought they were wrong then. I know they’re wrong now.”
Reggie lowered his voice and turned his head toward Rick. “I overheard a couple of the soldiers talking about population control,” he said. “One of them was saying he’d heard the whole idea of the camps was to induce the accelerated spread of disease. He said the faster people died off, the faster they could go to some underground bunker for protection.”
Rick swallowed. It hurt to talk. “Bunker?” he asked. “Where?”
“I don’t know; he didn’t say. I wasn’t supposed to hear any of it.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Rick said, “I’m quickly learning that truth is stranger than fiction. If that Konkoly wrote a story like what’s really happening now, nobody would believe it.”
“I still don’t believe it,” said Reggie.
“I think we turn right here,” Kenny called back to his dad.
“You’re correct,” said Rick. “One more block and we’re there.”
Five minutes later they were in the parking lot for Williamson County Gin and Rick and Kenny were on the ATV, heading for the truck. They promised the
others they’d be back within ten to fifteen minutes.
The air had dipped from cool to cold. The chill was aggravated by the ATV’s speed as Rick powered toward the truck. Soon enough, they’d be back at Gus’s ranch. They’d be safe. They’d have food and water. And if they set up their security the right way, the group would be good to go for the long haul. At least those were the thoughts filling Rick’s head until Nikki interrupted them.
Nikki.
Rick actively tried to push her from his mind, but she kept sneaking back inside. He still missed her. He’d promised her they’d be together again. That meant that as much as Rick would have preferred for Gus’s ranch to be his final destination, he knew that likely wasn’t the case. Sooner or later, and probably sooner rather than later, he’d have to go get her. Then, and only then, would he be good for the long haul.
CHAPTER 19
MISSION ELAPSED TIME
75 DAYS, 20 HOURS, 17 MINUTES, 04 SECONDS
DENVER, COLORADO
Clayton’s shoulders were on fire. His fingers were cramped, his thighs thick with exhaustion. He shouldered sweat from his brow and pulled himself another rung higher. The higher he climbed, the more he could see his surroundings. The only available light was from what must have been a skylight at the surface.
“You still with me?” asked Bert. The Australian security expert was leading the trio up the narrow pit ladder that ran the length of the elevator’s mechanical access shaft. Clayton was two rungs below Bert’s feet. Chandra trailed them both.
“I’m hanging in there,” said Clayton. “This would be a lot easier in microgravity.”
Clayton tightened his hold on the rungs and looked down between the ladder and his body. Chandra was struggling.
“My hands are too sweaty,” said Chandra. “They keep slipping.”
“Use your arms,” said Clayton. “Use the crook of your arms to give your hands a break. Loop them around the outside of the ladder like this.”
Clayton demonstrated the move, letting go with one hand and wrapping his arm around the side rail. He shifted his weight to compensate for the maneuver and tucked his chin to watch Chandra imitate him.
“That helps,” Chandra puffed. “Thanks.”
Clayton looked skyward. Bert was moving steadily higher. To Clayton, he seemed indefatigable with no apparent dip in energy or pace. They’d started climbing ten minutes ago and had to be getting close to the top level. “How much more do we have to go?” Clayton asked. He was embarrassed by the question, asking it like a bored seven-year-old in the back of a station wagon on a road trip.
“A couple of minutes,” Bert called down. “We passed level two just now.”
There were stencils on the walls, indicating the relevant level. Clayton had noticed the marking for floors four and three. He’d missed two. That was good. As bad as Chandra looked, Clayton was certain he felt worse. In addition to the pulsing ache in his injured leg and the ambient headache that remained from dehydration, his lower back was sparking with jolts of pain. If he stopped to think about all of the things he’d put his body through since the power went out on the ISS, he’d collapse. It was too much to consider. It was better to focus on pushing through the various discomforts of the moment and power through to the top of the ladder, he figured.
He unlooped his arm from the side rail and reached for the next rung, pushing himself up using his good leg and then pulling with his opposite arm. Push with his leg; pull with his arm. Push. Pull. Push. Pull.
“There’s no machine room at the top,” said Bert, talking over his shoulder to the two men below him. “It’s got an integrated machine plate structure at the top of this space.”
Clayton climbed another narrow rung. “What does that mean for us?”
“It means the controller, the mechanism that actually controls the lift, has its own space off to the side of the access shaft,” Bert said. “There’s a door up there to the right. It’ll give us entry into the controller space. There’s a door on the other side of the space. That’s how we get out of here.”
Clayton held his position on the pit ladder and leaned back. Ten feet above Bert on a wall to the left of the ladder, there was a metal panel. It looked like an electrical access, but large enough to climb through. He drew himself flat against the ladder and restarted the climb. Push. Pull. Push. Pull.
Bert drew even with the panel and called down, “It’s just a bit out of my reach. I’m gonna have to slide off here a bit and try to catch the latch.”
Clayton kept moving until he was two rungs from Bert’s feet. He looked through his armpit to the darkness below. Chandra was eight or ten rungs beneath him.
“C’mon, Vihaan,” Clayton urged. “You’re almost there. A few more and you’ve got it.” He turned his head to look back toward Bert’s progress when he caught a dark flash in his peripheral vision and felt a heavy slap against the side of his face. Stunned and dizzied, he lost his grip, slipping before falling from the ladder.
For Clayton it happened in slow motion, each instant drawn out as if he were watching the end of his life frame by frame. He didn’t scream or grunt or call for help. He fell silently for that moment. Vihaan gasped. Bert yelled his name. Clayton considered the irony of gravity being his cause of death. His body fell to the left, twisting nearly perpendicular to the ladder until his right ankle hooked at the joint between the side rail and a rung. The side of his face and right shoulder scraped against the adjacent concrete wall of the shaft, slowing his fall long enough for him to instinctively reach out and grab for something, anything.
He was barely past perpendicular when his right hand caught and held a rounded conduit fixed to the wall. He reached with his left and planted it firmly on the concrete to brace himself. He was stuck for the moment, but he couldn’t hold the position long. His shoulders couldn’t support him for more than a minute. His sweaty hands were slipping.
“It was my boot. Hang on!” screamed Bert. “I’m coming down.”
Clayton closed his eyes. He couldn’t stare into the darkness, into the danger that threatened to kill him. It was the blackness of space without the beauty or endless possibilities. He twitched when he felt a hand around the ankle caught on the ladder.
“I’m right below you,” said Chandra. “I’ve got this leg. Can you swing the other up and toward me?”
“No,” Clayton said, his face half-pressed against the wall. If he shifted his weight at all, he was convinced he’d fall. He was teetering. He was screwed.
“What can I do?” asked Chandra, his voice echoing off the walls. “I’ve got your ankle, your leg. What do I do?”
Clayton had no advice. He couldn’t engineer his way out of this. He couldn’t do anything but acutely sense his hands losing their hold, the skin rippling against the concrete as they infinitesimally inched lower and lower. A muscle in the side of his neck seized. Sweat dripped into his shuttered eyes. His groin ached from the awkward split of his legs. He grunted and tried to firm his position but was stuck. Another hand gripped the back of his leg.
“Move lower, Vihaan,” said Bert. “I’ve got his leg. Lower yourself.”
There was a clanging behind him, the sound of Chandra clambering lower on the ladder and Bert repositioning himself. Clayton tried to count the number of times he’d been this close to death in the last week. He couldn’t remember the number.
“All right, Clayton,” said Bert, “I’ve got one leg. I’ve got it pretty tight here. I’m going to need you to push yourself free of the wall when I say so.”
“That’s not gonna work,” Clayton said. “I’m too heavy. My momentum will be too much. You’ll lose your grip.”
“When you let go,” said Bert, “your other leg will fall toward me. The rest of your body will run right into Vihaan. We’ll catch you.”
Vihaan’s voice was barbed with fear. “Wait, what? He’ll knock all of us off the ladder. The ladder is too small.”
“This is the only way,” said Bert. “We
don’t have time to think of something safer. If we all fall, we all fall.”
Clayton started to argue, but a wave of calm washed over him. He was okay with falling. He couldn’t ask two more people to risk their lives for his. He opened his eyes, staring into the beckoning blackness below.
“You can’t do that,” he said, the anxiety having left his voice. “Leave me. Let go. Get out of here. Don’t risk yourself for me.”
One, or both, of the men responded. Clayton wasn’t listening. He was saying goodbye to Jackie, to Marie, to Chris. He was apologizing, thanking them, asking for forgiveness. He was praying for their safety in a new, uneven world.
While Bert and Chandra argued, Clayton took a deep breath. He pressed his fingertips onto the wall, released his hold on the conduit, and pushed himself free.
He kept his eyes open and watched the blackness rush toward him. He could feel the sudden breeze chill the sweat on his face as he swung downward. His heart leapt and he lost his breath. This was it. He was dying, offering himself to the heavens in exchange for the safety of two others.
And then he wasn’t.
“Mother—” Bert grunted as he let go of one of Clayton’s legs and grabbed onto the other, pulling it to his chest.
Clayton’s momentum swung wildly in the instant before he crashed into Chandra. Chandra huffed and cried out from the impact but managed to hold onto Clayton’s torso. The scientist slipped to one side, but held his balance, and the astronaut’s journey came to a halting end.
“Sheesh,” said Chandra. “You could have given us a warning.”
Clayton’s body was upside down, his back to the ladder. He reached to his side and grabbed a side rail with one hand. His other was wrapped around Chandra’s torso. The blood rushed to his head and his temples throbbed.
“Hang on,” said Bert. “I’m pulling you up. Relax your legs.”
Taking Bert’s direction, Clayton relaxed. His body surged upward and he clung to Chandra. There was pressure on the front of one foot and then the other. There was weight on his injured leg he hadn’t previously felt.
