Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(10)

Inside the prison, they lock me in a cell. This is a step down in terms of accommodations; I previously lived in a low-security cubicle, sort of like a dormitory, with two other inmates. But I am, for the moment, still alive. So there’s that.

I lie on the bottom bunk. The knife-wielding guy who threatened me in the laundry stops outside my cell, grinning, a rifle in one hand, a cup of homemade wine in the other. He doesn’t say a word, just glares at me, like I’m an animal in a petting zoo.

I start to thank him for stopping by, but I doubt the joke would come off. Best not to antagonize my captors.

Instead I stare at the bottom of the bunk above me. In a strange twist of fate, I am the last prisoner at Edgefield Federal Correctional Institution, a place I could have easily escaped from. My fellow prisoners will kill me, and if they don’t, the Long Winter will.

Maybe I still haven’t figured out this human nature thing.





Chapter 9





Emma





Imagine playing a game of darts where the stakes are your life. And the dartboard moves. And you’re the dart.

That’s what this is like.

The capsule hangs in space, floating side to side, its thrusters constantly correcting its position.

Jump, the message said.

They want me to untether from ISS and jump into the capsule. I get the logic. They can’t bring the capsule closer; if it collides with the ISS wreckage, it could trap me between the two. I’d be cut in half. Or paralyzed.

One option is to untether from the ISS and push off quickly. Let’s call that the “dart option.” If I miss, I’ll simply float out into space. My compatriots on the ground have positioned the capsule so I’m between it and Earth—so if I miss, at least I won’t burn up in the atmosphere. Still, I’m not okay with that.

I choose the alternative. The non-dart option. Let’s call it the “smart option”—meeting the capsule halfway as opposed to flying out there.

I untether from the ISS wreckage, push off gently, and free-float in space, moving slowly toward the capsule. It’s an unnerving, helpless feeling, like walking on a high wire with no net below.

The capsule inches closer, puffing out white plumes on each side, like a dragon drawing near. The pace of the thruster blasts grows faster. I imagine the person at ground control who’s trying to line this up is sweating bullets right now. I am.

Twenty feet away.

On target.

Fifteen.

I’m veering left.

Ten.

Too wide. Maybe I can grab the rim, pull myself in.

The distance is stretching. I’m going to graze the side.

The thrusters fire, harder than before. The capsule rushes toward me.

Everything happens in a flash. The mouth of the berthing connector engulfs me and I tumble inside the capsule.

I’m lying in the crew compartment, staring at the white padded walls, instruments strapped to it, along with a great big sign with handwritten block letters that reads:

FROM YOUR FRIENDS

ON EARTH

WITH LOVE





I stare at it a moment, and then I start crying. The sobs shake my body. For the first time since the ISS broke up, I think I’m going to live.





Chapter 10





James





That night, they celebrated. It was Edgefield Federal Prison as I’ve never seen it. Music blaring. Inmates drinking, singing, all armed. Some fighting, some gambling over cards and dice. The commissary was cleaned out. Trash covered the floor. These men, some of whom had been incarcerated most of their adult lives, were carefree at last.

By morning, they were all dead.

I knew because it was too quiet. The silence started sometime around twilight. I stayed up, because frankly, I expected it to be my last night on Earth. I wanted to die on my feet. But no one came for me. I guess they figured there would be time enough for that. Luckily for me, they were wrong.

The sun is up now, and from my bunk I can see bodies strewn across the common area below. They weren’t shot, or assaulted. They just keeled over. Whatever killed them hasn’t affected me. At least not yet.

Footsteps echo in the prison, a pitter-patter in the distance that grows into a rumble, and a chorus of harsh voices yelling, “Clear!”

Troops arrive at my cell, wearing rubber gloves and full-body disposable contact gowns. My mind flashes back to when the National Guardsman demonstrated the rifle for Carl and his rioters. He was wearing gloves.

That confirms it: they doused the guns with poison. I’m impressed.

The guard troops step aside for a tall man with close-cropped hair and a navy suit. Federal agent. That’s the first thing that pops into my mind.

“Dr. Sinclair, we’d like to speak with you.”

I stand and shrug. “You’re in luck. I’m just starting my office hours for the day.”

He mutters to the guardsmen, “Bring him.”

They throw a contact gown and rubber gloves into the cell.

Yeah, definitely poison on the guns. They’re scared that some might have been spread across the prison and that I could come into contact with it.

So they want me alive. At least there’s that.