Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(8)

He paces the room, scanning it, seeing what I already know: no other doors, no windows, no way out. Only a couple of small vents in the ceiling. And unlike what one sees in the movies, these are not big enough for inmates to crawl through.

The rioter’s voice is smooth and unbothered when he replies over the radio.

“We also don’t want any further loss of life. We just want a chance to survive. In case you haven’t noticed, winter is coming. We don’t want out. We just want to be left alone. There aren’t many of us left. Enough to farm the prison land and provide for ourselves—that’s about all. And all we’re asking is that you seal us in this prison. Lock the doors and throw away the key. Use AI drones to kill anybody who breaches the perimeter. We don’t want out. We just want to survive.”

This guy must be the leader of the entire riot. And he’s pretty smart. That’s probably bad for my life expectancy.

He eyes Pedro. “We have one of your guards.” He holds the radio out toward Pedro. “Tell them your name.”

Pedro spits on the radio.

An inmate with blood on his chest and a club in his hand rears back.

“Pedro, do what he says!” I yell. The other inmates stop and eye us both. “Tell them. They’ll get it out of you. This is all going to be okay.”

The leader cocks his head and stares at me. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he speaks. “Yeah, that’s right, Pedro. It’s all going to be okay. Go ahead.”

I nod at Pedro. Through gritted teeth, he says his name and position.

The leader continues when he’s done. “If you withdraw your troops from the prison and meet our demands, we’ll return Pedro Alvarez safe and sound. He’ll walk right out of here, and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

The guardsman responds. “We’ll evacuate the prison, but I can’t authorize the rest of what you’re asking for. I’ll have to ask. Give us some time.”

“Well, we’re not going anywhere. And neither is Pedro if those demands aren’t met.”

The riot leader releases the radio button and studies me. “Who are you?”

“The guy who does the laundry.”

“And hides in the laundry.”

“When called for.”

He breaks into a smile, but his associates are not amused.

One holds an improvised knife toward me. “He’s a snitch, Carl. I say we gut him right now.”

Technically, I haven’t snitched, only aided our imprisoners, who, frankly, I consider to have the moral high ground here, at least in the case of Pedro Alvarez. Now isn’t the time to split hairs though.

The leader—Carl—seems to agree.

“Finey, you can gut him or do whatever you want with him—after this is over.”





Chapter 7





Emma





There are things that stick in my mind. The Christmas morning when I was six, when a brand-new bicycle with training wheels stood by the tree. The day Adeline was born. And Owen. And the day I boarded the Soyuz capsule atop a rocket that would carry me into space.

Space was always my dream. At some point, it also became the reason I had delayed so many things in my life. Marriage. Children. Settling down.

Now it has turned into a nightmare.

But the sight of the capsule rushing toward me right now is one of the moments I’ll remember forever. I’m overflowing with joy. Someone down there sent it—for me. To save me. In a world fighting for survival, they launched a capsule into space to save one life.

That says something about the human race.

The capsule unfurls its small solar array, like a bird extending black wings. It maneuvers with thrusters, puffs of white air blossoming from its sides as it slows and moves closer. I recognize the logo on the side. It’s a private space contractor. This capsule would have been launched in three weeks, to bring a new three-person crew to replace half the crew on the station, including me. They launched it early.

I know the specs, studied them at length. It’s a dual-purpose crew and cargo capsule with room for seven of us. And tons of supplies. From top to bottom, it has a nose cone (now gone), a pressurized section for crew, a service section (unpressurized), a heat shield for reentry, and on the bottom, an unpressurized cargo hold that detaches before reentry. That’s all great, except for one problem: I don’t have a working docking port or berthing mechanism.

The capsule turns its nose toward me, as if it had read my thoughts. The capsule’s berthing mechanism opens. I expect the atmosphere inside to rush out, blowing the capsule backward. But the puff of air that escapes is a gentle push. They depressurized the crew cabin before launch. Smart.

The open mouth of the capsule seems to stare at me, the black of space behind it, as we both orbit the Earth. The ISS was flying at over seventeen thousand miles per hour. We’re likely doing less now. The capsule is matching the velocity of my decaying orbit, but it has to use its thrusters to stay in place, and even that’s a losing battle, like a hummingbird trying to be utterly still. It’s impossible.

What’s their plan? I’m expecting something to extend from the capsule that I can grab on to and pull myself in. A tether. A rope. I’d accept a licorice stick at this point. Anything to get me inside.

But nothing comes.