Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(61)

He looks up at me expectantly. I know that look. It says, Your turn to draw.

I take a card. A suicide king. I toss it on the pile.

“I’m going to slow you down on Earth. You need to move on once we get back.”

He lowers his cards, but doesn’t reveal them. “I’m going to move on. I’m going to start executing the mission I’ve been planning. But first I’m going to get you to the best hospital in the world. I’m going to make sure they’re treating you, and I’m going stay by your bedside until I know you’re going to make a full recovery.”

“James—”

“You can disagree with me. It’s your right. I respect it. You can hate me. You can forbid me from doing it. But that’s what I’m going to do. No matter what.”

He draws a card. Discards quickly and lays his hand on the table. “Knock.”

I tilt my hand, revealing my cards.

He always does the math in his head in a fraction of a second.

“Thirty-five my way.”

I glance at the running score. His victory this round puts him over a hundred. Game over. He wins.





A few nights later, instead of tethering to the wall across from me, James drifts down to the adjacent wall, into the valley between us, and straps in. He stares straight up—out the porthole, at the stars.

I unbuckle myself, drift down, and lie next to him. These stars are what I came up here for. My breath was taken away the first time I saw them. But now all I want to do is get back home.

Gently, he takes my hand in his, just like I reached out for him on the Pax, in the seconds before the artifact struck.

I’ve changed my mind. I’m not in any hurry to get back to Earth.





A week later, we’ve just finished an episode of The X-Files when I turn to him.

“Will you tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“Why were you in prison?”

He shrugs theatrically. “I… might need to revise my previous answer.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it might change how you feel about me.”

“It won’t.”

“It might.”

“I can just look it up on the internet when we get back.”

“Assuming the internet still exists.”

“Yes. Assuming that. But wouldn’t you rather tell me yourself—in your own words?”

“I would.” He breaks eye contact with me. “I will. I’ve never really… talked about what happened with anyone. I need some time.”

“We’ve got time.”

But, as it turns out, not enough.





Seven days before our arrival, I awake to find James hunkered over the main terminal.

He turns, and I can tell instantly something is wrong.

“What happened? An issue with the ship?”

“No. It’s fine.”

He twists, allowing me to see the screen, which shows a picture of Earth. We’ve gotten our first telemetry from the long-range telescope. I see the familiar swath of white clouds, the blue ocean below it, and where the US Eastern Seaboard should be, an expanse of white.

Earth is frozen.





Chapter 34





James





We’re two days away from Earth, and there’s good news and there’s bad news.

The good news is that we haven’t been shot out of the sky. By humans or by aliens trying to harvest our solar energy.

The bad news is there may be no home to return to. We’ve studied the images of Earth (we have telemetry from four full rotations now). Ice covers North America. Europe is buried. There are a few swaths of brown open land in northern Africa. Another in the Middle East. And slightly inland in Australia. We can only see the sunward-facing side of Earth, so we can’t see our world at night, can’t know if lights are still burning down there. Either way, this is a new dark age for humanity.

What are our chances of actually stopping it? I try not to let my pessimism show in front of Emma. She has taken the news hard. I know she’s worried about her sister and her sister’s family. I sense the bond is strong between the two of them. I’m worried about Emma. And my own family. And the rest of the world. I wonder how many are left. It must be agonizing down there, a world running out of habitable land, the ice closing in, the hordes of people fighting to survive. It’s unimaginable.

After we see the images, we try to keep to our routine. It’s important to maintain discipline, for me, and for Emma’s health.

I can’t help stewing over what to do. The situation on Earth definitely necessitates a change in our plans.

It’s ten a.m. (we’re keeping Eastern Standard Time hours), and I’m pulling on the exercise bands. Emma’s pedaling the bike, watching a class lecture from Caltech on adaptive robotics. Harry had the foresight to load all these college lectures for her benefit. She’s used it as a kind of continuing education, and a distraction.

“I think we should contact Earth,” I say, panting from exertion.

She stops pedaling. “Why?”

“We need to know where to land.”

“Canaveral—”