by A. G. Riddle
She waits, then picks up the satellite phone and checks it. It’s unlikely we’ll get a response, but we have to try.
I point to the radio handset. “You mind?”
“No. Please,” she says, handing it to me.
“Harry, can you give us a status update?”
“Hey, James, status is about the same. It’s really slow.”
“Is the hydraulic hammer helping?”
“A little.”
The door to the situation room lies open, and nearby, I hear a rhythmic tapping coming from the only troop carrier left in the bunker. We kept it down here for one reason: to serve as a prison for Arthur.
I listen for a moment, parsing the tapping. It’s Morse code. Two four-letter words: tick tock.
I set the radio down and walk over to the troop carrier and open the rear door. It only cracks a few inches—the chain holding it shut ensures it can’t open enough for Arthur to slip out. He shuffles over to the opening and peers down at me.
“They’re running out of time, James.” He pauses. “You can’t save them with the excavator. In fact, what you’re doing right now could destabilize the Citadel. Probably do more harm than good. You might even kill someone. Let me help you.”
“How would you help us? I’m not sending you back to the Citadel. For all I know, you could slaughter everyone down there. I’m not letting you near my family.”
“Think about it, James. I am the most advanced entity you will ever encounter. I have the collective knowledge of millions of years of civilization. I’ve witnessed inventions you can’t even imagine, mastered sciences and technologies that would seem like magic to you. I could reach that bunker a hundred different ways.”
“Name one.”
“We don’t have time for a future robotics seminar. Suffice it to say that from the primitive items here in this CENTCOM facility I could fashion a machine that would bore down to the Citadel and provide an escape passage. Easily. Within two days. I would stay above ground, of course, so that you can keep a close eye on me.” He smiles condescendingly.
“The rock—”
“Is too hard below the impact crater. Yes, I know that. It’s almost as hard as that thick skull of yours.” Arthur pauses to let the insult dig in. “I wouldn’t bore at the impact crater,” he continues. “I’d move over to a point above the backup water tube, drill down to it, and seal off the tube toward the aquifer.”
“Even if you did, the tube would still be filled with water all the way to the Citadel’s basement.”
“Simple. The boring machine would evaporate it. We’re the grid, James. We can boil water.”
“How do I know you won’t just build a machine that kills all of us? That would accomplish your conservation of energy, wouldn’t it?”
“A fair point. But consider this: if I were going to do that, I would’ve started the minute I took over Oscar’s body. I would’ve just left that habitat and never said a word to you. Even if I kill everyone in Camp Seven and start making my way around the world, some always survive. Underground. Or below the sea. Or somewhere else. It happens in ninety-seven point six percent of cases. And, statistically speaking, the likelihood is that someone will crawl out sooner or later and launch a nuke or two at my solar cells, and I’ll be playing exterminator again. I meant what I said: I’ll help you leave this planet if you agree to my terms.”
He stares at me. “Consider the fact that I voluntarily stepped into this troop carrier for you to imprison me when I could’ve killed you, Grigory, and Izumi, and all of your survivors. Enough talk, James. Agree to my terms, or I will kill every last human on this planet.”
I slam the door closed. I’m tired of him threatening us. Tired of him manipulating me.
“They’re starving, James!” he shouts through the door. “Stop being a fool.”
The radio on the control table beeps once, and a man’s voice sounds over the line: Wyatt, one of the crew searching for trapped survivors. “Base, team one, we’ve got another survivor. She’s lost a lot of blood. ETA five minutes.”
Izumi grabs the radio. “We’ll be ready.”
There’s no way to separate the sound from the survivors; they hear every word.
Across the sheet-separated cubicles, some of the survivors sit up, anxious to see someone else coming in, probably hoping it’s someone they know, their mother, father, brother, sister, or friend. For them, waiting for the survivor to arrive must be excruciating. It’s been like this for days, a roller coaster of hope and disappointment, mixed with the joy that one more person has survived this.
I scrub my hands again, preparing for the patient to arrive, Arthur’s words haunting my thoughts.
Izumi’s hands move like a flash over the woman’s leg wound. But we’re too late. She’s lost too much blood. The screen next to the gurney flashes red as the pulse rate ticks down to zero.
Ten minutes after the patient flatlines, Izumi is still working.
“It’s over, Izumi.”
She ignores me for another five minutes. Then she takes her gloves off with a snap, drops them, and walks over to the wall and presses her back into it and slides down to the floor. She pulls her legs to her chest and just stares straight ahead, eyes glassy, face looking older and more tired than I’ve ever seen her.
“Get some rest, Izumi. I’ll finish up.”
She rises and staggers out of the operating room, over to the situation room, where Wyatt and Ricardo are chewing on protein bars, chasing it with bottled water.
I watch through the window. They can tell from her face that we lost the patient. From past experience, I know these guys will be asking themselves whether things could have turned out differently if they had only dug a little faster or driven a little faster.
Izumi says the words we’ve been saying a lot over the past couple of days: “There was nothing we could do for her. Even if you had gotten here sooner.”
We’re all running out of time. I wonder if we’re not like this patient—if it’s already too late for us.
Chapter 26
Emma
We have five days left.
Some of the adults don’t leave the bunk rooms now.
Children are scared.
I’m scared.
At our meeting in the kitchen this morning, Fowler simply said, “Any updates?”
No one said a word. And then we just left and went back to doing what we were doing. For me, that’s nothing.
I’m trying, and failing, not to think about the facts of our situation. And especially not about Angela Stevens.
About four hours after she entered the water tube, Stevens gave the five tugs on the line that signaled that she had made it to the aquifer.
The line has been slack since. She never signaled that she had made it to the top of the aquifer.
I’ve held out hope that maybe the line got severed somehow. Or perhaps she had to disconnect it to reach the passage to the surface. But as the days have passed, she hasn’t returned, and there has been no activity on the line.
At this point, it’s a certainty: Stevens is dead.
I can’t stop thinking about her. About her courage and sacrifice.
That always makes me think of James, and I wonder where he is, and why he hasn’t returned.
In the sub-basement, it’s not just Angela Stevens who’s absent from the group. Many of the adults have stopped coming. Today’s session is about faith—the power of it. And its dark side.
That’s what we’re missing: faith. Belief that things will turn around. I had hoped this group and these sessions would give that to people. It did—for a time. But that time has passed. We need something else now.
When the session is over and everyone is filing out, I get Fowler’s attention and ask him to stay behind.
“What’s up?” he asks, his voice soft in the dark, cavernous space. The LED lights shine up to the low ceiling all around us, the concrete pillar casting shadows.
“They’re losin
g hope.”
Fowler’s face is gaunt, his forehead more creased than when he arrived here, making him look older. He breaks eye contact and simply nods. “I know.”
“We need to do something.”
“What can we do, Emma?”
“We can dig.”
“Dig?”
“In the emergency tunnel. It’s a long shot, but who knows, maybe we can get out. And if we do, we can help James and the rest of his team.”
“Digging entails physical exertion. We’re all half zombies.”
“There are still enough of us healthy enough to dig. I don’t know if there will be in a week. Which is all the more reason to do it. These people need something to believe in. They need to know there’s a chance—that we’re doing something that could work.”
He stares into the darkness, not making eye contact.
“Lawrence.”
His eyes snap back to me, as if realizing I’m still here. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll… talk to Earls.”
I place a hand on his arm. “I’ll do it, Lawrence. Just get some rest. I’ll take care of this.”
I feel like a coal miner.
Eleven of us—nine army soldiers, Min, and I—are cramped in the escape tunnel, digging, our headlamps lighting our way.
It was damp and cold when we started this afternoon. It’s like a sauna now.
The soldiers take turns digging. Three of them excavate and pass the rock away from the cave-in while the others rest. In the cleared sections, Min and I try to protect the passage from falling rock. We’re using tables from the mess hall, elevating them to the tunnel ceiling to keep debris from the breaches from falling down.
We’re making progress, but not enough. I sense it. But what else can we do?
At the end of the day, I shower the dirt and grime off my body, my last bit of my strength washing down the drain with it.
I probably shouldn’t be helping in the tunnels. I should be resting—for the baby’s sake. But if we don’t get out of here, it won’t matter.
Each day, our digging slows down. But we keep going. The makeshift pickaxes and shovels beat out an anthem, clinking away, unsynchronized, the sound of our last desperate attempt to escape.
I sit in the dark tunnel, sweat dripping from my hair, wishing that something, anything would simply go our way. That something would turn around. The clinking at the end of the tunnel stops. I hear it then: rumbling. The ground beneath me shakes.
My mind is too exhausted to understand what it is at first. Comprehension comes slowly, like a muddy pool of water slowly clearing, revealing what’s at the bottom.
Soot and dust from the ceiling pour out from around the tables.
It’s an earthquake.
Or another asteroid strike.
Voices call out in the tunnel. I push up, but my legs fail me. They’ve gone to sleep. I grab the makeshift cane I fashioned from a table leg and finally get to my feet.
The metal tunnel walls groan like a beast being tortured as it twists and cracks.
At the end of the passage, the headlamps go out.
Why?
Why would they go out?
Near me, the metal pipe screeches and splits open, spewing pieces of rock down on one of the soldiers, cracking his lamp.
Yes. That’s why they’re going out—they’re being crushed.
I look up just in time to see the metal above me parting, rock falling down on me.
Chapter 27
James
The sun is setting when I reach the crater. I stand at the precipice and stare at the massive excavator and bulldozer and the piles of rocks beside them, like miniature mountains in the middle of a dustbowl.
We’ll never make it to the Citadel. Arthur is right about that. The bunker is too far below us, and the earth between us and it simply too hard to excavate.
I know it, but in the back of my mind is the knowledge that if I make the wrong call, it’s not just us here in the Atlantic Union that will perish. It’s everyone. The entire human race. It’s an impossible decision to make.
From the excavator’s cab, Harry spots me. His voice calls over the radio, “James. That you?”
“It’s me.”
“Everything okay?”
“Sure. Just checking on you guys. Need anything?”
“Yeah, any way we can get cable TV in this thing?”
I can’t help but smile. “I’ll add it to the list.”
“Good. And we’re getting paid overtime, right?”
“Plus hazard pay. How’s the rock? Getting any easier?”
“Not really.”
There’s only one decision to make: we’ll dig until we’re out of time. Then, if I have to, I’ll take Arthur’s deal.
Chapter 28
Emma
I awake to a bright light shining down and pain pounding in my head. It’s not just my head. My whole body aches. Every time I move, waves of hurt wash over me.
I squint, trying to blot out the light.
“Emma,” a soft voice says.
A hand grips my arm, setting off a sharp pain. I grit my teeth and reel away.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
I crack my eyelids, peeking against the blinding light.
Madison peers down at me, tears streaking down her face. Her cheekbones protrude, eyes are sunken, as if her skull is too big for her body. I haven’t seen her this gaunt since James and I left for Ceres. My heart breaks all over again.
“How long…” I croak.
“It doesn’t matter,” Madison says.
The aching behind my eyes recedes enough for me to look around the room. It’s the small infirmary off the bathrooms. Curtains are pulled across the other bays. Who’s in there? The army soldiers that were trying to clear the escape tunnel? Others?
Madison leaves and returns with an MRE, already heated.
“I don’t want it.”
“Emma, you have to.”
She stares at me, an expression telling me this is not negotiable.
I dig into the meal, trying and failing to chew slowly, feeling grateful for the food and guilty that someone else isn’t eating it, the two emotions pulling me apart. I stop chewing long enough to swallow a painkiller and chase it with water. There are two more pills on the metal tray, but I leave them there. I want a clear head.
“Where’s Allie? Is she—”
“She’s fine. A little worried. Confused. All the kids are.” Madison touches my arm lightly. “I’ll go get her.”
The next few minutes stretch on like hours. I can’t wait to see my daughter, and I’m terrified to see her. If she’s as thin as Madison, I know I won’t be able to hold it together. But I have to, for her sake. If I’m strong, it will give her strength. If she senses the fear in me, she’ll be terrified.
I sit up in the bed, run a hand through my hair, and take a deep breath. The curtain flies back and Allie bounds toward the bed, reaching up for me, clawing at the sheets, trying and failing to climb up. I twist, holding my hands out. Shockwaves of pain overtake me. I close my eyes and suddenly Allie is in the bed, throwing her arms around me, head buried in my chest.
Against my will, a tear wells in my eye, and falls into her hair. She’s okay. My daughter is healthy. Slightly skinnier than she was the day we came to the Citadel, about like she might look after recovering from a stomach bug. But she’s fine, and knowing that overwhelms me for a brief moment.
My next thought is for the child growing inside of me. Did the fetus survive the cave-in? And my malnutrition? I need to find a health analyzer and run a pregnancy test. I have to know if my unborn child is healthy—even if the truth crushes me harder than the stone in the tunnel.
Allie nearly whines her question: “Mommy, why gone?”
“I was at work, sweetie. I’m sorry I’ve been gone.”
“Sick?”
She’s more perceptive than I give her credit for. “No, darling. I just had a boo-boo. I’m fine.”
“Go home?”
“We will.”
“Now.”
“Soon, sweetie. We’ll go home soon.”
Allie settles into the bed beside me, warm as a heater, clinging to me, perhaps afraid I’ll disappear again.
Madison departs when Alex and Abby arrive. They’re skinny too, each forcing a smile like Madison, dodging my questions about what’s happened while I was unconscious.
Min visits next, his head bandaged, arm in a sling. I glance down, verifying that Allie is sleeping soundly. It’s either her naptime or bedtime.
“What happened?” I whisper. “An earthquake?”
“Maybe. But it felt more localized.”
“Another asteroid impact?”
“No. Or probably not anything in close proximity. It was probably the ground under the impact crater settling.” He pauses a moment. “I saw you fall, tried to get there as quick as I could.”
“Thanks, Min.”
Fowler stops by next, concern on his face, his skin ashen.
“Any word from James?” I whisper.
Fowler’s gaze drifts to the floor as he shakes his head.
“Maybe the passage out of the aquifer collapsed,” I offer, unsure what to say, fear welling inside of me.
“Maybe. It would explain why Oscar hasn’t returned. Even if something has happened to James and his team, Oscar should have been back.”
I can feel my mind spinning out of control as I think about our situation, about the fact that James hasn’t returned and that we are truly out of options down here. Fowler seems to read my expression.
“Remember your lesson from a few days ago, Emma. Recognize your fear. Master it, or it will master you.”
I awake before Allie, and for a while, I just lie there, hoping she’ll sleep longer.
Finally, she stirs, reaching a small hand up to her eyelids and rubbing them. She looks around confused, as if she were expecting to be home again. But she’ll never be home again. That home is gone.