Winter World (The Long Winter #1)(93)

You can tell who the government has marked as vital personnel: those essential to the Sparta Mission. Emma, Fowler, his wife, and I look tired but well-fed. Alex, Abby, Madison, and David are all gaunt, skin ashy, almost gray. They’re sluggish in their movements and even in conversation, as if focusing is an effort.

Some things can only be understood after you’ve experienced them. Total war—that’s the word that comes to my mind tonight. I’ve read the phrase before, mostly in reference to the Second World War. But I’ve never understood it until now. This is what total war looks like. It claims lives on the battlefield but it doesn’t end there—it reaches beyond and digs its claws into those you love. It’s all consuming. And it’s heartbreaking.

We managed to procure some extra rations for tonight’s dinner. The AU probably figures it’s akin to a last meal for Emma and me. It might be one of the last for all of us. As such, the adults take our time eating. I imagine it’s a force of will for Abby, Alex, Madison, and David. The kids, as usual, wolf down their rations in a race to see who can be the first to ask to be excused from the table to go play. Jack wins the race and the others aren’t far behind him, leaving the table for the living room. I wish they could play outside. Or even at the rec center, but the expense to heat the cavernous space is far too great.

The adults try to keep the mood upbeat, but it’s a losing battle. We all know that this may be the last time we ever see each other, and I think we all want to cling to this moment, savor every bit of it, as we did with the rations. Finally, Fowler and his wife rise to leave, and when they’re gone, the men and women separate, Emma, Madison, and Abby at one end of the table, David, Alex, and me at the other.

“How many ships will there be?” David asks.

The answer isn’t public information. I doubt David or Alex will tell anybody or that it would even matter at this point, but there’s no reason to take a chance.

“Quite a few. Backups, and backups for the backups.”

A kid starts crying and an accusation of a stolen toy echoes in the habitat. Abby stands, but David beats her to it, waving her off and rushing over, his stern voice carrying. “Give it back. That’s not yours.”

Quietly, Alex asks, “You scared?”

“Yeah.”

My relationship with Alex has grown into something I cherish. We’re not like we were before—close brothers who joked often and were always there for each other. He’s still guarded around me. But he cares. It’s a sort of clinical detachment, the way a person cares for someone when they think that person might hurt them, and they’re scared to get too close but can’t stay away. I understand that now. I feel much the same way about my new crew.

“Is Oscar going?”

“Yeah,” I reply, not making eye contact.

“What did you tell them about him?”

“That he’s my assistant and that I’ll need him in the robotics lab on my ship. That was good enough for the committee overseeing the crew selection.”

“Abby says that Emma’s going too.”

I look down the table at Emma, who’s smiling as she tells a story that’s cracking up Abby and Madison.

“She is. That’s what scares me the most.”

For a while, we sit quietly, watching the kids play with reckless abandon. They’re like a beacon of hope—proof that things really will be all right. Kids are more adaptive than we give them credit for. That’s why our species has survived and thrived for so long. I tell myself that these kids will mostly forget all about this—if we do get through it. I hope I’m right. The adults, well, I’m not sure any of us will ever be the same. But the future isn’t about us.





After dinner, Emma and I lie in bed, both staring at the ceiling, too tired to read. After a while, she leans over, kisses me on the head, whispers good night, and says more forcefully, “Light off.”

I’m left in the dim glow of my bedside lamp. This close to the launch, I can’t help second-guessing myself. About the ships. About the mission itself. And about one very important decision I made.

“Can I ask you something?”

She rolls over to face me. “Of course.”

“Will you consider staying here?”

She sits up. “We’ve been over this. I have to go.”

“If the mission…if we’re not successful, you would live longer down here. You’d have more time with your family.”

“Going on the mission is about more than adding hours or days or weeks to my life. It’s about our future. It’s about my crew from the ISS. The entity killed them. It was my job to protect them. And I failed. I haven’t talked about it, but I’ve carried that burden—all the way to that solar cell, all the way back to Earth, and every day since we returned.”

“Destroying whatever’s out there won’t rid you of that burden.”

“Maybe. But I have to try. It’s not only the ISS, it’s the Pax too. It’s Harry, and Grigory, and Min, and Lina, and Izumi, and even Charlotte, even as stubborn as she could be. I miss all of them. We have family here, people we love. But we had a family up there too. And I had a family on the ISS. I’ve lost too many people to let it go. You’re not going without me.”

I exhale, knowing the discussion is over. It was worth another try.