Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(70)

“Well, as someone who has also been a research assistant to James, let me just say, you have your work cut out for you—keeping up with him.”

Oscar merely turns his gaze to James, who says, “You’re my partner, Emma. Not my assistant.”

“Okay, partner, I’m ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“A great reason to stop talking about it.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, grip the walking cane, and stand, legs trembling. “I’m leaving. I don’t need your permission. I could, however, use your help.”

He smiles and shakes his head ruefully. “You are a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a begrudging, ‘Oh, all right.’”

“I’ll take it.”





It’s slow going outside the hospital. Every step is an act of will. Raising and planting my legs is like slogging through a mud pit. That’s what Earth gravity feels like to me now: sticky and weighty and inescapable.

The ground is sandy with scattered snow flurries. It’s a mix of brown and white that I can’t help but think is beautiful. Through my hospital window, I’ve watched it snow almost every day, but the sun melts it away. I wonder when it will start sticking, when ice will take hold here and try to bury us.

My dream has always been to establish a new colony on a new world. Camp Seven is a lot like that. This world, this Earth, is almost alien, with all-new characteristics. But I’m too sick to participate. That pains me. I desperately want to find a way to contribute. It’s in my nature, and it makes me happy.

It’s chilly out, but it’s not Siberia frigid, more like New York City in winter. A cold wind cuts through me, and James pulls me close, his arm around my parka as I balance on the walking cane.

The roads aren’t paved, just hard-packed sand. Most of the buildings are domes of white material with black solar cells on top, almost like a colony of emperor penguins lying in the desert, sunning themselves as the snow flurries fall and blow around them. In the center of the camp there’s a cluster of more permanent buildings made from modular, hard plastic walls: the hospital, the CENTCOM military headquarters, the government administration building, and a large structure named Olympus that houses NASA, NOAA, and what’s left of several scientific organizations.

There are also massive factories dotting the perimeter of the camp and even larger warehouses and greenhouses farther out. The warehouses are full of food which will last for a while and the greenhouses will pick up some of the slack when those stores run out. But they won’t produce enough to feed the entire camp. If solar output doesn’t normalize soon, our fate will be to slowly starve.

Most of the factories process the crops from the greenhouses and churn out the items the camp needs. One of the factories is focused on building the next fleet of ships that will launch to space. That mission hasn’t been planned yet, but the construction on the ships has already begun. There’s a sense here of time running out, of wanting to be prepared when—or if—we go back out there.

Military vehicles zip by us, scattering snow by the side of the road, along with electric cars no bigger than golf carts. It’s quaint in a strange kind of way, like a post-apocalyptic frontier town.

James’s habitat is two blocks from the hospital. He asks if he can go get an electric car to ferry me there, but I decline. I want to walk—to prove to him that I can, but more than that, to feel the sun on my face. It’s a dull, hazy version of the star I remember, but it’s the only sun we have, and it’s what we’re fighting for.

I have to stop to catch my breath twice, and another time to let the throbbing in my hips subside. I lean on the cane and wait for it to pass. A part of me thinks this embarrasses James, but I know him better than that. He walks beside me, his hand gripping my bicep, Oscar on the other side ready to grab me if my legs fail.

I’m panting by the time I reach the white dome. There’s a small anteroom that keeps the heat in and blasts us with warm air as we enter.

The interior of the dome surprises me. It’s fresh and new and surprisingly well decorated, like a high-end condo. There are even imitation hardwood floors that click like plastic as I walk across them. The space is open concept, with a well-sized living area and an adjoining kitchen with a dining table in the middle and no island. Radiant heaters glow on three walls, and I can feel the warmth as I pass by one. The living area is dotted with thick area rugs and furnished with a couch and two club chairs. There are no windows but several large, thin video screens display the view outside. They’re high resolution, the images good enough to trick anyone just glancing at them.

There are five open doorways. Three lead to bedrooms, one to a full bathroom, and another to what looks like a small office nook that’s covered in papers.

I like it. Very much. It instantly feels like home, a place where I could be happy. A place where James and I could be happy.

James leads me over to the couch, and I plop down, happy to get the weight off my weary bones.

“Fowler arranged the accommodations. Made me take a three-bedroom.”

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

“There’s more.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Your sister and her family live in one of the barracks close by. I’ve spoken with Fowler. He can get them moved to a habitat similar to this one. You could live with them if you want.”