Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(80)

I’m exhausted when I get home. As I enter the anteroom that blasts me with warm air, I hear Emma’s voice inside, talking with someone, a woman.

“The doctors say I simply won’t regain the bone density I’ve lost. My recovery is plateaued.”

“Have you told James?”

“No.”

I’m inclined to leave again, to give her privacy, but I know that voice—the person she’s talking to. It seems impossible.

My curiosity overwhelms me.

I push into the habitat. My nephew, Jack, is sitting in our makeshift living room-rehab center. A young girl, a toddler, sits beside him. I’ve never met her in person before, but I know it’s my niece, Sarah. The two of them are playing on their tablets, not a care in the world. It’s a beautiful sight after a long day.

Emma gets up from the table when she sees me. Abby turns. I expect to see a scowl on her face, but her expression is blank.

I walk over slowly, not sure what to say. Emma saves me.

“James, Abby came by and brought the kids. She thought you might like to see them.”

Only then do the kids realize I’m there. Jack tosses his tablet aside and runs over to me.

“Uncle James!”

He practically bowls me over. I hug him as tightly as I think his little body can stand. It’s the best feeling I’ve had in a long time. I’ve wondered what their parents told them about what happened to me. About my long absence. Whatever it was, it hasn’t affected how he feels about me.

Sarah wanders over to me cautiously, eyeing her brother. He reaches out an arm and pulls her into us.

“This is Sarah. She can’t talk real well yet, but she can run.”

I shake her hand and say, in mock seriousness, “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am. And don’t worry, talking is overrated. Running is all that matters right now.”

A shy smile spreads across her face, and her big, adorable cheeks flush with red. She reminds me a lot of Abby.

I can’t help but look around, searching for my brother. There’s no one in the bathroom. No one in my office. He’s not here.

We visit for an hour. I really want to tell them the tale of the first contact mission. I admit: it’s to brag. It’s to make them think I’m important or cool or just interesting. Or maybe it’s to let them know that I’m more than a convicted criminal. That I’m a good person.

When Jack asks what my job is in the camp, I simply say that I’ve been working for the government. Emma plays it up, says that I’m working on projects to save the human race and that I may have already saved us once. Abby seems to have heard this before, or some version of it. She doesn’t look surprised. But Jack reacts as I hoped.

When they’re leaving, Abby instructs Jack to take Sarah and wait in the anteroom by the front door.

To me, her voice low, she says, “I asked Alex if he wanted to come today. He said no.”

I wait, not sure what to say.

“I’m glad you got to see the kids,” Abby continues, sounding conflicted. “Alex and I haven’t told them anything about what happened. We don’t intend to. When they’re old enough, we’ll tell them. And they can decide for themselves what sort of relationship they want to have with you.”

I nod.

“I came by because I felt like you would want to see them.”

“I do.”

“And that you deserve to see them.”

I wait silently, sensing there’s more.

“And also, because we’ve been offered the chance to move into the habitat next door.”

That surprises me. “Really?”

“It would be…” Abby hesitates. “Quite an improvement from where we are now.”

“I see.” What is she asking me? It strikes me then. “Don’t worry. If Alex doesn’t want to see me, I won’t make an issue of it. I won’t come over, or confront him if I see him, or approach any of you if he’s with you.”

Abby nods slowly, the stress draining away from her. I think she dreaded this conversation.

I change the subject. “Abby, I’m so glad you all stopped by. You’re welcome any time.”





Chapter 41





Emma





Perhaps the strangest thing about living here in Camp Seven, and Tunisia, is that there are no seasons. I realize that many parts of the world don’t have well-defined seasons, but this is something else altogether. Here almost every day feels like the last—overcast, with snow flurries. Each week it gets a little colder and the sun fades a little more, as if we’re living under a light being gradually turned off. People hunker down in their cramped barracks or cozy habitats and stay warm at night and march to work in the dim morning light, snow flurries surrounding them like fireflies swarming. The days start to feel the same: work, sleep, repeat. There’s a sense of urgency here, a shared feeling that we’re running out of time.

No one here is working harder than James Sinclair. In the past month, he has thrown himself into work on the new ship design. After some debate, James and the team have named the fleet Sparta. I’m told that the rejected names were Alamo and Verdun. Why they spend so much time on these names is a mystery to me, but it seems important to them. Of course I’d heard the name Sparta, but I never knew the history, which involves a small band of Greek warriors holding off a Persian invasion a long, long time ago. James thinks it will be symbolic for everyone. If the symbolism ups the mission success, I’m for it—we need all the help we can get.