Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(67)

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure the government knows.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Here. In Tunisia, in Camp Seven, outside Kebili. A team from Homeland Security came to our house in the middle of the night and woke me up and showed me your message. I wrote you back—”

“I saw it.”

“You did? Good, I didn’t know. I was so scared, but I knew if you said I had to do it, I had to do it. David didn’t want to leave at first. The kids were frightened. But we left that night. We were among the first settlers here. I’ve heard stories from the people who arrived after. Horrible stories. Heartbreaking stories.”

Madison’s eyes well up with tears. “You saved us, Emma. Me, Owen, Adeline, David—we might be dead without you. I love you so much, big sister.”





Seeing Madison is the best medicine I’ve received while being in the hospital. And I’m getting no shortage of medications.

The physical therapist comes three times a day. I exercise in the bed and then get up and walk. Those excursions around the unit give me a glimpse into what’s going on. The hospital was recently built, with prefabricated panels, but despite that, it’s worn and dirty in places. The other patients seem to be critically ill, most with physical trauma injuries. My guess is they were injured during their journey here to Tunisia or in the war to secure the area.

I’m almost constantly exhausted. But when James comes to visit I feel a surge of energy. We play cards and talk, he reads a book until I fall asleep, and I’m sad when I wake up in the middle of the night and he’s gone.

One morning, I wake to find him there, waiting for me, and I can tell something is wrong.

He stands and smiles awkwardly. “Listen, I need to take a trip. I won’t be gone long. Maybe a few days.”

“Oh?” I suddenly feel nervous about him leaving. I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be. I try to make my voice casual. “Okay.”

“There’s someone I need to check on.” James turns his back to me. “Someone I made a promise to.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. Could there be someone else in his life? I realize then that there’s so much I still don’t know about him.

“Can I help?”

“No,” he says quickly. “It’s something I have to do alone.”





Chapter 36





James





When I leave the hospital, I drive to the barracks where my brother, his wife, and children are housed. I stand outside and wait, knowing that I’m not going to go in, that they don’t want to see me. But I want to see them. If only to know that they’re okay.

Everyone in the evacuation camps has to work. That’s the deal. The United States and its allies evacuate you, give you a new home, and food, clothing, and shelter from the Long Winter—and you have to work. In some ways, this new world has become a classless society. Everyone works together to survive. At least, everyone in the same alliance.

The door to the barracks swings open, and people pour out into the morning sun wearing thick clothes, heads down, trudging to their jobs. In the procession, I pick out my brother, talking to another tall man beside him, both smiling. That’s Alex for you: always one to adapt. Never one to begrudge his fate. He’ll do well here. I’m glad. And I’m glad I saw him.

But I can’t linger here. I have a trip to make. A very important one.





When I made my request to Fowler, he questioned me at length. The kind of resources I asked for are hard to come by: a plane capable of crossing the Atlantic and landing anywhere and a team capable of excavating deep beneath the snow.

But he said yes. I know he had to make some calls and trade some favors, which are the only real currency left in the world.

The Air Force cargo plane is a noisy, vibrating behemoth that reminds me of a whale flying through the air. I try to sleep during the flight, but I can’t. I keep thinking about Emma, wondering how she’s doing, whether her five laps around the unit yesterday will be six or seven today or whether she’ll regress as she did two days ago. Doing what she’s doing—starting over, learning to walk again and being so weak and frail—would be hard for anyone. It’s especially hard for her, because she’s so strong. And so proud. But I’m proud of her. For enduring it with so much courage and poise and determination. I wonder if I could.

The Air Force colonel commanding the mission walks into the cargo hold and points at the headset. I pull it on and listen.

“We’re on approach, Dr. Sinclair.”

I look out the window at the frozen ground below, the white expanse with no end. There was no satellite footage to go on, but I was optimistic that we might at least see the top of the house. No such luck. It’s buried.





On the ground, we use sonar to locate the house, and the Marines begin digging. The white sheet cracks like an egg as they tunnel into it, their breath coming out in white wisps of heat.

This location, just outside San Francisco, looks like Siberia now: ice and dim sunlight as far as the eye can see. A gust of wind catches me, cutting right through my parka, right down to my bones. I shiver and try to bear it.

The hole is growing bigger. It’s not a shaft straight down, but rather a tunnel leading to the house’s front door. The ice hasn’t collapsed the residence. That’s good news. It gives me hope.