Final Days: Colony

by Jasper T. Scott

  Copyright © 2020 Jasper T Scott and Nathan Hystad

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Art by Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Edited by: Scarlett R. Algee

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book wouldn’t be the same without all of the amazing people who helped to bring it together. We’d like to thank Scarlett Algee and Christen Hystad for doing such an amazing job with the editing and to Dani J. Caile with his hawk eyes that caught whatever they did not. A big thanks goes out to Tom Edwards for creating such a fantastic cover, and to Steve Beaulieu for the typography. Finally, we’d like to thank all of our advance readers: Gaylon Overton, Raymond Burt, William Dellaway, Lisa Garber, Dave Topan, George Goedecke, Harry Huyler, Karl Keip, Gwen Collins, Davis Shellabarger, Bob Sirrine, B. Allen Thobois, Dara McLain, and Wade Whitaker. We are in your debt!

  Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  GET THE SEQUEL FOR FREE

  MORE FROM NATHAN HYSTAD

  MORE FROM JASPER T. SCOTT

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ONE

  Andrew

  Andrew Miller watched the oil rig list sharply as a massive wave hit. His daughter Val slid down screaming, her nails snapping off as she scrabbled for purchase on the wet, glistening asphalt of the landing pad.

  “Dad!”

  “Hang on!” he said, even as he ran along the sloping surface of the oil rig, desperate to catch up with her before she could sail over the edge to the icy water below. How high up were they? Five stories? Ten? She wouldn’t survive that drop.

  Andrew was almost there, running along the forty-degree slope far faster than gravity could drag his daughter across the rain-slicked blacktop. Val was sobbing, reaching for him with bloodied fingers.

  He reached back, mere inches separating their hands, the edge of the oil rig quickly approaching. He lunged for her, and their hands locked, but their combined momentum carried them over together. The world dropped out from under them, and Val screamed. Wind tore at their clothes and hair, flash-freezing them. Icy black water came racing up fast.

  “Feet first and point your toes!” Andrew shouted, even as he grabbed his daughter and struggled to orient both of them so that they wouldn’t break every bone in their bodies on impact.

  Val kept screaming. Andrew followed her gaze to the water. “Hold your—!”

  WHUP!

  Andrew woke up with a gasp. The air was cold, crisp—astringent. He felt like wet mud, his whole body a giant bruise. Did someone pull them out of the water?

  Memories trickled back. No... It was just a dream. They hadn’t sailed over the edge of the rig. They’d made it inside. Relief surged within him, filling his lungs with air.

  An alarm began blaring, deep and shrill at the same time. Red lights strobed through the darkness. Something was wrong.

  “Val!” He sat up. BANG. The metal frame of the bunk reverberated against his skull. The explosion of pain centered him, narrowed his focus.

  “Dad, what’s happening?” Val replied from the bunk above his.

  He swung his legs over the side of his mattress, bare feet touching the cold metal floor. His mind raced, eyes darting around for threats. Lewis Hound’s refuge was built into the oil rig, but it also extended far below the surface, with the bulk of the facility constructed below the waterline. Maybe they’d sprung a leak.

  “We need to get out of here,” Andrew said, even as Val jumped down in front of him.

  And then the alarm cut off, and a familiar voice filled the air: Lewis Hound’s voice. “Attention all personnel, please do not leave your rooms. Follow the flashing light strips to the nearest emergency station and unfold it from the deck or wall. Once deployed, lie still and buckle your safety harness. You have five minutes. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. You have five minutes to buckle in at the nearest emergency station.”

  The alarm returned as soon as the message ended.

  “What the hell?” Andrew muttered, his heart slamming in his chest as he cast about. “What emergency stations?!”

  “There!” Val pointed to the source of the flashing red lights: arrow-shaped strips along the floor. The arrows were flashing toward empty sections of wall to either side of the door. Andrew slid off the lower bunk and ran over. He found a curving handhold about halfway up, set into one of the panels nearest to the floor. Black and yellow hazard tape covered that panel, along with several paragraphs of practically indecipherable text that he’d never bothered to read. He didn’t have time now.

  Reaching into the handhold, he pulled. The panel came away from the wall, extending out to the floor, anchored by thick folding metal arms. Attached to the rear of the panel was a padded orange cushion. Several sets of thick black buckles and straps were clipped over it.

  Andrew spent a few seconds trying to understand the purpose of this so-called emergency station before unbuckling the belts and gesturing hurriedly for Val to come over. ”Lie down,” he said.

  Val’s blue eyes were huge, staring into the coffin-sized space that the emergency station had folded out of. “What’s it for?”

  “The hell if I know! Just lie down!”

  This time she did as she was told, and Andrew hurried to strap her in—under her arms rather than over, so she could unbuckle herself if she needed to. He pulled the tabs to make sure they weren’t too loose.

  “Ow! Dad!”

  “Sorry,” he muttered, and slackened the last restraint.

  The deck began to shiver ominously under his feet. Whatever was happening, he was running out of time. Andrew whirled around, searching for another station like this one.

  “Over there!” Val pointed past him, a shaking finger aimed at the opposite wall, by the head of their bunks. Flashing red arrows pointed to another panel with a handhold, right beneath a thick window with rounded edges whose only view was of ink-black water.

  Andrew ran across the room, covering the space in a few quick strides. He pulled out the wall panel, revealing yet another orange bed with straps and folding metal arms.

  He lay down ju
st as the shuddering sensation coming through the deck became a full-on earthquake. We’re in the middle of the damn ocean! Andrew thought. We wouldn’t feel a quake on the water, would we?

  “Maybe it’s another tsunami?” he suggested as he began fumbling with his restraints. He clipped the first one around his chest and pulled the tab to tighten it.

  “No,” Val replied. “That wouldn’t—”

  The shuddering grew much more violent, now joined by a loud roaring sound. Andrew had a bad feeling that was the sound of the whole damn facility being torn in two. But if that was the case, then why the hell would Hound want them all to secure themselves to these miniature Murphy beds? They should be running up the nearest stairwell to the life rafts.

  The roaring reached a crescendo, and then his skull hit the mattress with a loud smack. His guts clenched up, and his eyes felt like they were drilling deeper sockets. It was an effort just to keep breathing.

  Andrew became dimly aware of Val screaming. He tried to lift his arms, but they were pinned; his legs, too. He turned his head to look at Val, but even that was a struggle.

  “Are you okay?” he gritted out.

  “No!”

  His heart raced as he fought to catch his breath. The roaring sound was deafening. Whatever was happening, he was about to have a heart attack because of it. The mattress wasn’t nearly thick enough. Andrew could feel it compressing into a pancake under him. It felt like there was an elephant sitting on his chest.

  Time dragged, each second like a minute. But then the sensation eased, and he found that he could move more freely.

  “Our acceleration is dropping!” Val said.

  “Acceleration? What are you talking about?”

  “What do you think this is? We’re pinned to the floor!”

  Shit, she’s right, he thought. “How the hell is that possible?”

  “How, I don’t know,” Val replied, “but the direction of thrust is coming from below us, and the facility is perpendicular to Earth, so that means we’re going up!”

  “Up?” Andrew’s heart was back to hammering. “Then this is...” He trailed off, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of a massive underwater facility somehow going airborne. Was the oil rig still attached to it? He snorted at the thought. No, the rig must have been somehow ancillary to the facility itself.

  Val was staring open-mouthed at him.

  “What?” The roaring sound had all but faded now, and the elephant sitting on his chest felt more like a squirrel.

  “You have to see this,” Val whispered.

  Andrew released the strap across his chest, and planted his arms behind him to prop himself up. The movement was ill-timed. The sensation of acceleration vanished altogether, along with the comforting weight of gravity, and he went drifting free with a startled shout. His arms and legs flailed as he did the backstroke in the air. Drifting up to eye level with the viewport, Andrew saw what had shocked his daughter.

  Earth lay far below, adrift in a black ocean of space. The combination of weightlessness and looking down upon Earth from orbit induced a sudden wash of vertigo that left him choking on stomach acid as his gorge rose.

  And yet, the fact that they’d somehow just launched into orbit wasn’t the most shocking part of all this. What disturbed him the most was that the Earth was a charred and glowing ember: clogged with thick black clouds, and peppered with bright orange splotches that were massive fires raging out of control.

  Humanity’s cradle was on fire.

  * * *

  Val

  Val felt sick upon seeing the devastation below. Earth looked like an over-roasted marshmallow. Thankfully, her dad floated up and blocked the view before it could traumatize her further.

  Val spent a moment trying to settle her churning stomach. It reminded her of that moment on a rollercoaster right before plunging down a steep section of the tracks. That same feeling, but never-ending—freefall, with her stomach leaping into her throat. She wondered if she would get used to it, or if she’d end up vomiting her guts out every twenty minutes.

  Swallowing hard, she pushed her thoughts in a different direction. How did they make it to space? No, better yet, why were they in space? If Lewis Hound’s refuge was actually a spaceship, then where was he taking them?

  Lifting her head, Val glanced around the room. Flashing red light strips were still pointing the way to the room’s two emergency stations. Her dad was pushing off the walls and ceiling, trying desperately to plant his feet on the deck, but each time he did, he bounced away again, cursing like a trucker. Val felt a smile tugging at her lips as she watched him.

  And then the flashing red lights vanished, and the overhead fixtures returned to full brightness. A muffled roar sounded somewhere deep inside the ship, and the familiar sensation of gravity returned. Her dad let out a shout just before landing with a thud and a belated groan.

  “Damn it!” he roared, smacking the deck with his palms.

  “Are you okay?” Val asked as she fumbled to release the straps holding her to the emergency station.

  “Yeah, I’ll be—”

  A voice crackled through overhead speakers, cutting him off. It was Hound again. “Attention all personnel, we have attained orbit and gravity has now been restored with our forward acceleration. As such, feel free to unbuckle from your emergency stations.”

  He went on: “I’m sure that you have many questions. Rest assured, they’ll be answered soon. Please join us for breakfast and an important announcement in the ship’s mess halls. I will explain what is happening and where we are going. The meeting commences in twenty minutes. See you soon.”

  Val finished unstrapping, and sat up to stare open-mouthed at her father. He stared grumpily in return, wincing and rubbing the small of his back as he pushed off the deck.

  “Where do you think we’re going?” she asked.

  “The hell if I know, but Hound better have a good explanation for this. I didn’t sign up to go live in an inflatable tent on Mars. I don’t care how bad it is on Earth right now, it’s ten times worse over there. May as well pitch a tent in Antarctica. Actually, that’s still better—at least you can breathe the air and there’s plenty of water. Even fish to eat. Shit. I’m gonna kill that idiot.”

  Val nodded along with that, her brow tense with confusion. Her dad was right. If Mars was where they were headed, Hound was going to get them all killed. But where else could they possibly go that would be any better? Titan? Enceladus? Europa? Those moons were inhospitable wastelands, assuming they could even reach one of them.

  “I guess we’ll find out soon,” she decided.

  “Yeah.” Her dad walked over and held out a hand. She grabbed it, and he yanked her to her feet.

  “No time to shower?” Val asked.

  Her dad shook his head. “No. Hound said twenty minutes. We’re down to eighteen, and you need at least an hour to shower.”

  Val planted hands on her hips. “Ha ha. I do not take that long.”

  Her dad grinned. “Come on, let’s go.”

  TWO

  Val

  After a short ride down the elevators, Val sat with her father in the mess hall on level thirty, surrounded by other passengers in matching white jumpsuits. The lines at the serving counter were long, but breakfast was ready-made and already served into identical portions. All they had to do was pick up their meal tray and find a place to sit. Val sat staring at her meal. Orange juice in a sealed, reusable flask, scrambled eggs, and toast with three slices of bacon and a fruit cup. She picked at the food with her fork, listening to the hubbub of several hundred people all discussing the same things at once.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Roland said.

  Val glanced up to see the computer hacker shaking a slice of bacon at them like an extension of his index finger. His shaggy brown hair and patchy beard gave him a wild look, accentuated by bloodshot brown eyes.

  “How did we go from underwater to orbit? This place is what—almost a hun
dred floors? You have any idea how much energy it must have taken to shoot us up here?”

  Val’s dad snorted. “You’re asking the wrong question: not how—why. I don’t care what kind of cutting-edge technology Hound used to fly us into space. I care about the reason behind it. Earth is paradise compared to our other options at the moment.” He glanced behind him, as if expecting one of the blue suits—the guys in charge—to be standing there quietly, listening to his objections. Finding no one there, he continued his rant in a quieter voice: “We need to turn this thing around before it’s too late.”

  “You’re assuming that we can turn it around,” Kendra, the FBI agent, put in. Val looked to her. “How do you land a spaceship the size of the Empire State Building?” A long blonde ponytail wagged vigorously as the woman shook her head. Her hazel eyes pinched into worried slits. “For all we know, Hound is planning for us to stay up here in orbit like some kind of giant space station.”

  “I don’t think so,” Val said. “We’re accelerating. So that means we’re going somewhere.”

  “She’s right,” Roland added.

  “Which brings me to my point,” Andrew said. “We need to bring this shit show back down to Earth.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Val turned to see Kendra’s sister approaching the table. Carrie. Brown hair where Kendra’s was blonde. Blue eyes to her hazel. They didn’t look at all like sisters.

  “Just peachy,” Andrew said through a thin smile.

  An old woman at the far end of the table turned around with a lopsided grin. It was Reverend Shelley Morris from Eureka. She was short and stocky, with long white hair and disturbingly pale blue eyes. “If by peachy you mean grumbling and ungrateful, then yes, I believe we’re all peachy.”

  “Shut it,” Andrew said, shaking his fork at her.

  The reverend had seemed harmless enough when they’d wound up trapped with her in that hospital in Eureka, but then she’d tried to steal their helicopter at gunpoint. Ever since then, none of them trusted the woman.

  “I don’t take orders from heathens,” the reverend replied. Smiling sweetly at Carrie, she added, “He’s been talking about a mutiny against our savior.”