The Solar War (The Long Winter Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  Inside, the younger kids are playing with a robotic dog James made a few years ago. My sister, Madison, and Alex’s wife, Abby, are whispering in the kitchen as I approach them.

  “This looks like gossip.”

  “Maybe it is,” Madison replies, a coy smile on her face.

  “That means it’s definitely gossip.”

  “It’s gossip,” Abby admits. “Rumor is that Izumi and Min are moving in together.”

  “Her place just listed on AtlanticNet as available in forty-five days,” Madison says.

  “She could be moving out of the camp,” I reply, mostly to make conversation.

  “Doubtful,” Madison says. “That group from the Pax is inseparable.” She takes a sip of wine. “But we’re thinking about it.”

  A bolt of fear runs through me. “You and David?”

  “He wants to move to Atlanta. He’s heard that they’re going to start a lottery for farmland—like the old days when the West was settled. He wants to be there, says the entire economy is starting from scratch again and we need to get in now or we’ll miss the boat. It’s like colonial times again.”

  “Alex thinks the same thing. Wants to move to London, says the schools will be better there.” Abby finishes the last of her wine. “But I keep thinking, it’s already freezing there, what if the Winter returns? We’d be evacuating again.”

  “It’s a bad idea,” I say absently.

  “Yeah,” Abby replies. “I think we’ll end up in Atlanta. London is just a flight of fancy for him.”

  “No, I mean it’s a bad idea to leave Camp Seven at all.” They both look at me, waiting for a reason. But I can’t tell them what I know. So I tell them what they already know. “Look, Camp Seven is still the safest place to be. NASA is here. We’ve got a bunker, hardened greenhouses, water supply. It’s better to wait for now.”

  “Do you have gossip?” Madison asks. When I don’t reply, she presses me. “Is the grid back?”

  I bite my lip. “I just think you should wait, okay? Can you trust me?”

  Madison stares at me, silently prompting me, but I don’t say a word.

  Abby sets her glass on the counter. “I’m going to check on the kids. It’s too quiet out there.”

  Madison pours herself another glass of wine and then holds the bottle up. “Wine?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  She narrows her eyes, boring into me as if she can drill down to the secret I’m hiding. Her expression changes, as if her drill has found pay dirt. It’s almost creepy how easily she does that.

  I lead her to the master bedroom and close the door, hoping no one can hear the secret I’m about to share. This feels like middle school all over again.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  She throws her arms around me, splashing a little wine on my back.

  “Is James excited?”

  I hesitate. “He will be.”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  I cock my head to the side. “Not exactly.”

  “Why not… exactly?”

  “I’m waiting for the right time.”

  She stares at me, the drill out again, probing for an answer, but she seems to get nowhere this time.

  “He’s had a lot on his mind recently,” I explain.

  “Such as reasons we shouldn’t leave Camp Seven.”

  “Such as you’re correct.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll talk to David about staying.” She smiles at me. “I’m so happy for you.”

  When everyone’s gone, we put Allie down in her crib. Sometimes when she’s had company over, she puts up a fight. But she’s worn out tonight and is fast asleep within minutes.

  James and I sit in the living room, watching the news on the TV. When a segment about Richard Chandler starts playing, James rolls his eyes and trudges toward the bedroom. Chandler is apparently touring the Atlantic Union, rallying people to move back to their homelands, insisting that the three remaining governments are dictatorships. That guy loves being on TV.

  James is tucked under the covers, eyes closed, when I come to bed.

  I still get the impression something is bothering him. I wish I knew what it was; I wish I could help.

  He opens his eyes when I climb into the creaking bed. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Thanks for having everyone over. I know it was short notice.”

  “Thanks for blowing up those huge asteroids.”

  That elicits a sharp chuckle from him. “There’s no asteroid I wouldn’t blow up for you.”

  “And would you do one more thing for me?”

  “Anything.”

  “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing.”

  “And if it was something, what would it be?”

  James closes his eyes for a long moment. Then, his voice flat, he says, “If it was something, it would be the fact that it was too easy.” He stares at the ceiling. “The grid is smarter than that. Hurling asteroids at us is just… too simple for them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to get some sleep for the first time in two years, and when I wake up in the morning, I’m going to figure out what I can’t get my head around right now.”

  He closes his eyes again, and I scoot close to him and turn out my light.

  I’ll tell him tomorrow.

  I awake to the sound of the bedroom door flying open. I hear footsteps and see a silhouette of a figure moving toward the bed, reaching out, grabbing James forcefully, and shaking him.

  For a brief moment, I’m paralyzed with fear.

  It’s still dark out. The lights in the living room cast a soft glow into the bedroom, too dim to make out the intruder’s identity. The figure shakes James harder and then lifts him up, the strength displayed incredible. James finally startles, grabs the hands holding him, and wrestles against the grip like a fish on a line.

  A wave of nausea rushes over me. I fight not to throw up.

  A voice, clear and calm, rings out in the bedroom.

  “Sir, please. You have to go.”

  Oscar.

  James’s own voice comes out scratchy and soft. “What?”

  “Asteroids. They’re going to make landfall.”

  Chapter 5

  James

  My groggy mind can barely grasp what Oscar is telling me.

  Asteroids.

  Impossible. We destroyed them. And they were months away from Earth.

  He seems to read my confusion.

  “Sir, there’s another group of asteroids. Smaller, in greater quantity. They were hidden from our sensors somehow.”

  I’m awake now. The fog in my mind clears like a cloud blown by a strong wind. “How many?”

  “Seven hundred—”

  “Where are they now?”

  “The outer ring of Centurion drones just spotted them. The leading object is a little over four hundred thousand miles from Earth—”

  I grab Oscar’s shoulders. “Do as I say, and do nothing else, do you understand me, Oscar?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take Allie to the bunker. Go down to the Citadel, and wait for me there. Protect her at all costs. Go. Don’t stop for anyone or anything.”

  Without a word, Oscar turns and races out of the bedroom. A split second later, I hear the nursery door fly open, the handle cracking the hard plastic wall. Allie cries into the night.

  Emma rolls out of the bed and hurries to the master bathroom, where she flips the toilet lid up and empties the contents of her stomach. Truth be told, I want to do the same thing. This could be the end of the entire human race. We have to get to the bunker. Seconds count now.

  I throw open a dresser drawer and toss a long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants at her.

  “The bunker. Right now, Emma. Please. We have to go.”

  She has her eyes shut, swallowing, as if fighting to control her stomach.

  “Emma!”

  She gasps as more vomit comes up. She
hangs her head when it stops, trying to catch her breath.

  I storm into the bathroom, grab the clothes, and slide an arm under her legs, the other across her back, and scoop her up and march out of the bathroom.

  “What are you doing—”

  “Saving your life.”

  Her eyes still closed, shivering, she lurches forward. The vomit sprays across my shirt, but I don’t even flinch. I just keep marching out of the habitat.

  The warm night air seems to jar Emma awake. She puts her arms around me and swallows, gulping deep breaths.

  I’ve felt like this once before: when I pulled her from the wreckage of the ISS. She was weak and sick then, with lingering decompression sickness. But it’s not just our lives at stake now.

  “Allie–” she gasps.

  “Is on her way to the bunker.”

  I pull the autocar’s door open and put Emma and the clothes in the back seat. In the driver seat, I hit the button to activate the car and shout, “Emergency override. Enable manual control.”

  The car beeps, and I shout again: “Disable safety restrictions, authorization code Sinclair seven-four-alpha-nine.”

  The car’s next beep is drowned out by the tires spinning in the sand as the car blasts away from the habitat. The force throws Emma against the backseat. She closes her eyes again and leans forward, head between her knees.

  “James,” she croaks.

  I instruct my phone to call Fowler, and he answers on the first ring.

  “James—”

  “Can the orbital drones protect us?”

  “They’re acquiring targets but hundreds of asteroids are still going to get through.”

  My mouth runs dry. Hundreds of asteroids are going to hit the Earth. The large asteroids were just a diversion. The harvester somehow hid the smaller asteroids from our sensors. We were so focused on the larger threat we just… missed it.

  I missed it. And I knew it. I should have—

  “James, you have to get to the bunker.”

  “We’re on our way.”

  “Call your team. And, James?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s not your fault. Focus on getting to safety. We’ll figure this out after that.”

  Fowler disconnects, and I realize Emma is talking, head still between her knees.

  “Madison?”

  “What?”

  “Call Madison. Please.”

  “Okay.”

  I instruct my phone to call her as I drive like a madman, over a hundred miles per hour through the camp’s hard-packed sandy streets, a trail of brown dust swirling behind. The car’s headlamps and the moon light our way.

  “Madison,” I yell when she answers. “Get to the bunker. Right now. Don’t take anything–”

  “What—”

  “I’m serious. Get to the bunker. There’s going to be an asteroid strike. You’re dead if you don’t get to the bunker. Get David and the kids and go. Go now, Madison.”

  I hang up and tell the phone to call Alex. It beeps once, twice, then a third time and goes to voicemail.

  In the rear-view, I see Emma sit up. She’s white as a sheet, shivering.

  “Was it the food?”

  She closes her eyes and swallows. “It wasn’t the food.”

  “A virus?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She begins pulling the sweatshirt on. It’s warm outside, but it’ll probably be cold in the bunker.

  I instruct the phone to call Abby. Maybe Alex turned his phone off.

  As the phone beeps, the car zooms past the habitats on the periphery of Camp Seven, into the vast expanse of open desert beyond. The bunker is three miles away. I press the accelerator to the max. The wind noise picks up, pressing into the car like a hurricane.

  I curse and slam my hand into the steering wheel when the voicemail picks up. “Abby, if you get this, get out of the camp and to the bunker. Quickly. Asteroids are going to make landfall. The bunker is your only chance of survival. Hurry.”

  In the rear-view, my eyes meet Emma’s. She looks more steady now.

  “Thanks for calling Madison.”

  “Of course.”

  “Can’t get Alex?”

  “Or Abby. Probably turned their phones off.”

  For a brief moment, I consider turning the car around, going to their habitat, and beating on the doors and windows. Oscar said the asteroids were four hundred thousand miles from Earth? But going how fast? And where will they make landfall? I’ve always assumed that the harvester we defeated at Ceres managed to send data back to the grid. That data would have included the locations of Camp Seven and the bunker. My guess is that one or more asteroids will hit the camp directly and that Camp Seven will be one of the first targets hit.

  How much time do I have?

  Much as I want to, I can’t turn around. I’m a father now. I have to be there for Allie. Even if we survive the impact, we face long odds of surviving the aftermath.

  I call the rest of my team. About half answer. I leave messages for the rest. A second later, my phone blares an alarm. They’ve activated the emergency alert system, instructing everyone to get to the bunker.

  Up ahead, the lights of the bunker complex peek over the horizon. I slam on the brakes when we reach the massive warehouse. The autocar skids and Emma braces herself against the backs of the front seats.

  “Let’s go,” I shout to her as I bolt out of the car. I put an arm around her and help her run. Our footsteps echo on the warehouse’s concrete floor as we hobble along. Her bone mass never recovered from her time in space, leaving her with a limp. I hate to do it, but I have to push her. Every second counts.

  With my free hand, I hold my phone up and tell it to dial Alex.

  “Come on, come on,” I mutter as it rings. “Come on...”

  Voicemail.

  Again.

  Surely they heard the alarm. They live two doors down. I should have walked over there and beat on the door. But I didn’t know then that he wouldn’t answer his phone.

  At the entrance to the bunker, a group of Atlantic Union soldiers are wearing full battle gear, rifles at the ready. Two break from the group and march to us. A tall soldier with a colonel’s insignia nods to me. “Dr. Sinclair?”

  “Yes.”

  He motions to the sergeant beside him. “She’ll take you down to the Citadel.”

  I glance at his name patch. “Thank you, Colonel Earls. Are you in charge?”

  “Yes, sir. The flag officers have decided to stay at CENTCOM to direct the evacuation and defensive operations.”

  Earls shouts to a soldier standing by the door, holding a tablet. “Check ’em off the list, Dodson.”

  The list. I realize then that the evacuation isn’t just about how many survive. It’s about who survives. That’s what the troops by the entrance are doing—they’re gatekeepers. And for good reason: the Citadel won’t hold the entire population of Camp Seven. Not even close. The real question is how long can we stay down there. The bunker can only hold so much food—and that food can only support so many people for so long. Those are the variables.

  Someone at Atlantic Union command had to factor those variables when they made the list. They were faced with the impossible task of determining who is vital to our species’ survival. If you ask me what’s the most precious thing the grid has taken from us, I wouldn’t say it’s the billions of lives we’ve lost, or the billions of acres of land, or our homes. I would say it’s the little pieces of humanity it has sheared off along the way. Like this moment, where we have to choose which innocent people have to die so the rest of us can survive.

  At that moment, I have a selfish thought, one I’m ashamed of, but know I have to act on.

  I place a hand on Emma’s back and nudge her toward the door to the elevator. “Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Try Alex again.”

  Emma bites her lip. “The list...”

 
She’s thinking the same thing I am. I turn to the soldier, Dodson, whom the colonel had shouted at. I can’t see his insignia, so I settle for: “Mr. Dodson?”

  He looks up, almost startled.

  “Is there a Madison Thompson and her family on the list?”

  He taps the tablet. “Yes, sir.”

  “All family of critical personnel are on the list, sir,” the sergeant adds.

  I feel a mix of relief and guilt. I can tell Emma feels the same thing.

  I nod toward the entrance to the bunker. “Go ahead. I’ll be right down.”

  “You promise?”

  “Promise. Allie’s down there waiting on us. She’s probably scared. You should go.”

  When Emma’s gone, I dial Alex again.

  When his voicemail picks up, there’s only one thought in my mind: running to that electric car and driving back to town. I lost my brother once because of a mistake I made. I can’t lose him again.

  Chapter 6

  Emma

  The elevator doors open onto an empty room with metal walls that shine under the white LED lights above. The floor is a grid of white plastic tiles, softly glowing, like a dance floor that might light up as I walk across.

  At the end of the room lies a set of double doors painted with large block letters that spell CITADEL.

  A dozen soldiers stand around the door, rifles pointed at the elevator—at me.

  “Emma Sinclair,” the sergeant calls out, voice echoing in the metal room.

  The soldiers don’t flinch.

  “Step forward, ma’am,” one calls out.

  Another types a code into the panel beside the double doors, which open with a pop.

  Beyond the doors, there’s a foyer that’s crowded with more troops. They glance at me before continuing their conversation.

  Warm air washes over me as the doors close behind me, and I try to get my bearings. There are three doorways from the foyer. One to the shared bathrooms, another to the sleeping quarters, and the last door to a mess hall.

  The mess hall has a living area, and everyone seems to be congregated there, sitting on the couches and club chairs and staring at the wall screens. One of the smaller screens is playing a cartoon I recognize: Frontier Girl. Set in the 1800s, it’s about a young girl who moves from the city to the American West with her widowed father. I know it because it’s Allie’s favorite show. She doesn’t fully understand it. I think she just watches it for the horses.