The Solar War (The Long Winter Book 2)

by A. G. Riddle

  As I stare at those kids, I turn a single question over in my mind: How can I save them?

  I agreed to Arthur’s deal, but I’d break my word in a second if it would save every one of them. Our species is truly at a fork in the road: we leave Earth or we stay. But is staying a viable option when no solar output is reaching Earth?

  To me, the most glaring challenge is food. Power is second on my mind and the two are linked.

  Before the impact, Camp Seven was powered by solar panels on top of the habitats—habitats that now lie in ruins, their solar panels shattered and useless. For the moment, we’ve taken the panels from the CENTCOM bunker and spread them across the ground above. They’re collecting energy, and it’s enough for now, but I expect solar output to keep falling, and with it, our power supply—and with that, our source of heat. Without power, we freeze to death. Without power, we also can’t grow food.

  I’ve considered other methods of generating power. Geothermal is the best choice, but we don’t have the equipment required to build a plant. Or the time.

  Wind is my next choice. We could cobble together some mills and likely generate the power we need. The problem is obvious: the ever-worsening winter is going to drastically change the global climate. Our windmills could be buried in ice and even if they aren’t, wind patterns could be significantly altered. I don’t have the expertise to even begin to predict what will happen.

  That leaves water power: tidal, wave, and hydroelectric. Each would take significant effort to build. It also carries the same risk as wind: the changing planet might render our power generation useless. I expect the seas to recede. Lakes to freeze. And rivers to run dry or change course. Placing the equipment would be a roll of the dice.

  Again, without power, we can’t stay warm and we can’t grow food. We can solve the food problem in the short term. We can hunt—some animals survived the Long Winter, but they will be less lucky this time. In short, they’ll be gone soon. Sea life is probably our most reliable food source, but this time, the Long Winter will claim them too.

  Even if I could solve the power issue, and even if we manage to build some kind of self-sustaining colony underground, we’d always be vulnerable to the harvester. I take him at his word: if we’re still on Earth when the last sunset occurs, he’ll strike. He could wipe us from the planet with ease.

  As I see it, we have a single option: leave Earth.

  Survival down that path is far from certain. Arthur could double-cross us. Frankly, I rather expect it. And we might not even make it off Earth before the Long Winter overtakes us.

  I also wonder if I can even convince the world to accept the plan. Leaving Earth? I’m sure some will never agree to it. Maybe even some of the leadership.

  Another risk exists no matter what path we take. Our population. We’ve taken a count. There are 174 survivors from Camp Seven. Yesterday, when we’d finished evacuating the Citadel, I asked Izumi if that was a large enough genetic pool to restart the human race. Her answer was short and vague and chilling: “Not comfortably. Maybe not at all.”

  So that problem is where I’ve started. To put it simply: we need more people. We need to reunite the human race.

  I’ve added a solar panel to the top of the surveillance drones, enabling them to recharge while they fly. They’ll be able to fly longer-range missions to look for life signs in the other camps. They’ll also land periodically and unload small radios and wireless data repeaters. That will enable us to establish a daisy-chain voice and data network. I considered the fact that Arthur might be able to access the wireless data network, but for now, it’s only connected to the small drones. They don’t have any offensive capability. Having real-time video is essential, and in my view, worth the risk. I hope I’m right.

  I’ve dispatched drones to the other fifteen camps of the Atlantic Union. Survivors are our top priority, but we’re also looking for food and solar panels. Camp Seven lies at the center of the Atlantic Union; the other camps spread out in every direction. The drones will have to fly slower to conserve energy. They may even have to land to recharge. In any event, they should reach the nearest camps tomorrow, and the farthest ones the following day. We’ll get video and infrared readings as well as radio traffic. That data will be a verdict on our survival.

  It’s growing colder outside by the day. Snow is starting to pile up, covering the heaps of rubble, transforming them into rolling white dunes that hide the horror of what happened here.

  The leadership team hasn’t met since we evacuated the bunker. The truth is, Fowler, Emma, Charlotte, and Min need time to recover from their malnutrition and injuries. All of us need time to think through Arthur’s ultimatum and what to do now. It’s the biggest decision the human race has ever made.

  Time. That’s the other precious resource we’re running out of. Whatever path we choose, we must hurry now.

  I exit the situation room and begin snaking through the sea of cubicles covering the bunker’s open space. The rope lines and bedsheet dividers are closed now, the sounds and smells suffocating, nearly two hundred people packed in a space about the size of a high school gymnasium.

  I stop outside Alex and Abby’s cubicle. My nephew Jack is watching a tablet, holding it up so his sister can see, sharing the headphones, one earbud in each of their ears.

  I duck past the sheet and stop when I realize Alex is asleep. Abby is sitting up, clutching a blanket to her chest. She puts a hand to Alex’s arm and shakes it. “Alex.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, but my brother’s eyes open instantly, and he sits up.

  “Hi,” he says quietly.

  “How are you guys doing?”

  “Just glad to be out of that bunker.” Alex glances theatrically. “And… in this bunker.”

  I laugh quietly. “This bunker is a lot easier to get out of.”

  “Yeah. I like that part.” Alex motions to Jack and Sarah. “Should they be using their tablets? I figure we’re low on power with the habitats gone.”

  “We’re okay. Right now, we can generate more power than we can store, so it’s use it or lose it.”

  “For the moment.”

  “Correct.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  I study my brother’s slender face, sunken eyes, and skinny arms. “For the moment, just get better.”

  “Then what? Are we…”

  “We’re working on a plan. Hopefully we’ll be going out to search for survivors in the other camps.”

  He nods, the words seeming to encourage him. “Good.”

  In my own cubicle, I find Allie sleeping, and Emma sitting up, staring at a tablet, a pile of empty MRE cartons and bags lying in a pile, all scraped clean.

  I lie down and snuggle close to Allie. It’s the best feeling in the world. A few days before, I thought I’d never hold her again. It’s funny how we’re most thankful for the things we almost lose.

  “What’re you looking at?” I whisper.

  “Ship specs for the carriers. Latest progress reports.”

  I squint at her, silently asking why.

  She shrugs. “Trying to figure out how many people the ships might hold.”

  Therein lies another problem: even if we leave Earth, and arrive safely at our new home, can we take enough people to sustain our species? I hadn’t even gotten that far. And what if there are more survivors than we can take? It’s an impossible dilemma.

  Emma and I haven’t talked about which way each of us is leaning on the decision, but I get the impression she favors leaving Earth.

  Emma sets the tablet aside. “I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay,” I say cautiously.

  She exhales and swallows, looking me directly in the eye, her face a mask. “I’m pregnant.”

  I smile, relieved. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Oscar knew. He had access to your medical records.”

  Comprehension dawns on her. “Oh. From when I was doing rehab. He was monito
ring my progress then, and no one bothered to turn the access off.” She pauses, confused. “He told you?”

  “No. Actually, Arthur told me—when he was trying to convince me to take his deal.”

  “Not exactly how I wanted you to find out.”

  “It doesn’t change how happy I am. When did you find out?”

  “I took a test the morning the asteroids hit. I wanted to tell you, but you were… a little preoccupied.”

  I exhale heavily. “With the battle sequence for the three large asteroids. What a waste of time. I got it all wrong.”

  “It’s in the past.” She takes my hand in hers. “Don’t think about. The future is all that matters now. That said, I am sorry I didn’t tell you—”

  I reach up, wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and pull her face close to mine and kiss her, not letting her go until each of us is panting.

  “It’s in the past. The future is all that matters now.”

  She smiles, a tired, somber expression. “And what is our future? What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to be fine. I promise you.”

  “How? I mean… the world is gone. The supercarriers aren’t even close to being finished.”

  “I’ll figure it out. We’re going to be all right.”

  Chapter 32

  Emma

  Sleep.

  I’ve finally gotten sleep, here, in the most unlikely place: a cramped refugee camp in a bunker next to the crumbled CENTCOM headquarters. It isn’t the accommodations that have delivered this blissful night of respite. It’s the weight off my shoulders. I have told James my secret. Like me, he’s overjoyed and terrified. It’s not just the secret; it’s the fact that we’re once again all together—above ground. Well, sort of above ground.

  For the first time in weeks, I wake to find him beside me, sleeping soundly, Allie tucked between us on the blankets piled on the concrete floor. In the early morning hours, it’s still dark here in the CENTCOM bunker. Our little cubicle is enclosed by white sheets hanging from ropes crisscrossing the open space. A row of LED lights hangs in the corridor beyond the sheets, glowing softly.

  My body aches, but I’ve felt worse. I should take a pain pill, but I can’t. Won’t. For the sake of the child growing inside of me.

  Allie’s left arm and leg are draped over me, as if trying to prevent me from going anywhere without her. Gently, I peel her from me and push up from the pallet, my arms creaking and popping like miniature firecrackers.

  I wince, hoping… but James stirs and opens his eyes. He peers over at Allie, smiles, and kisses her sleeping face as he gets to his feet and offers me a hand up.

  I prop open the sheet to our cubicle. Across the corridor, the sheet to Madison’s cubicle is peeled back as well. She’s sitting up knitting. Her husband and children are sleeping beside her.

  “Hey,” I whisper, waving my hand to get her attention. “Can you watch Allie?”

  She nods and James and I take one last look back at our daughter before we head out. I lean on my cane as I lumber along. James walks slower on my account, trying to seem casual about it, as if it’s perfectly normal.

  When we reach the small dining area in the corner of the open space, he says quietly, “Sleep okay?”

  “Best in a while.”

  “We don’t have coffee, but there are AU Army stim pills.”

  “Pass.” I motion to my abdomen. “Who knows what they put in those things. Better safe than sorry.”

  He heats a couple of MREs and sets them on the table.

  “I spoke with Fowler briefly. He told me what you did down there.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “You kept those people alive.”

  I shake my head as I quickly swallow a bite of the pancakes. “Far from it. I nearly got people killed in those tunnels.”

  “You gave them hope, Emma. That’s something they needed. And you stepped up and took care of them even though I know you had to be scared. That’s bravery.”

  I feel my cheeks flush with heat. Right now I feel as shy as I was in middle school. “Just did what I could. And for the record, it was really, really scary for a while. I thought I would never see you again.”

  “Same here. We were digging and I thought maybe we could get there but our rate of descent never got any faster, and we kept falling farther and farther behind the schedule I’d set out. I thought if we hit an air pocket or if we somehow uncovered the elevator shaft we would have a chance. Then we just ran out of time.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  We spend the rest of the meal in silence. I’m pondering what might have been, how things could have turned out differently. Maybe he is too.

  James clears the table and his tone is serious when he returns. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

  “Sounds foreboding.”

  “It’s not. Well, not really. You’re aware that there are more kids than adult survivors?”

  “Right.”

  “Well…”

  “Yes.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “My answer is yes—if you want us to adopt a child. Or two.”

  He exhales, as if a weight has been lifted. “I know you and I are going to be busy, but I think we should share the load with the other parents.”

  “How does this work?”

  “I guess we’ll get into that when the team meets, but I think Charlotte’s the best person to handle the assignments.”

  “I agree. She’s perfect for it.”

  “However, there’s a kid Grigory and I rescued when we were first out here. Sam Eastman. He’s a couple of years older than Allie. I think he’s a good fit for us.”

  “So when do we meet Sam?”

  “Right now, if you’re up for it.”

  “I am.”

  The whole bunker seems to be waking up now, people shuffling into the dining area, most just taking their food back to their cubicles.

  James and I make our way through the narrow corridors to a large open space where at least forty kids are lying in rows, thick army blankets beneath them, padding the hard-concrete floor. Most are still sleeping; a few are sitting up gazing at tablets, some crying quietly. I count seven with casts on their arms and legs. A lot of these kids are the survivors James and Grigory found after they reached the surface.

  Charlotte sits in the corner, a tablet propped on her knees. Her face is gaunt, eyes sunken with heavy bags beneath them. I nod to her, and she manages a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s not just the lack of food. The situation with the children saddens her—but there’s nowhere else she’d rather be than with them.

  James walks down the row and stops at one of the boys playing on a tablet. A small plastic spaceship rests on the blanket beside him.

  James squats down so that he’s at the child’s eye level. He speaks slowly, voice even. “Hi, Sam. My name’s James. Do you remember me?”

  The boy lets the tablet fall forward, and studies James for a second. Finally, he nods.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  The boy nods again.

  James motions to me. “This is my wife Emma.”

  He glances at me quickly and forces a tentative smile. I walk closer and, even though the pain is nearly overwhelming, I squat down, coming to rest next to James.

  “Hi, Sam,” I whisper. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  James slows his voice even more. “Sam, how would you like to come over to our place for a while?”

  The boy glances up and down the row, looking confused. He still hasn’t said a word. He must be terrified here, so young and all alone.

  “I know you have a lot of questions. We’ll talk about anything else you want to talk about.” James points to the small plastic spaceship. “And I tell you what, we’ll show you pictures and videos of a real spaceship. In orbit. Would you like that?”

  Sam breaks eye contact with James and glances down.

  James hold
s out a hand. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Sam eyes the offered hand for a long moment, then reaches out his own tiny hand, grabbing his tablet and spaceship with the other.

  He walks with a limp slightly worse than mine. James stands tall and strong in the middle of us. We make quite a trio, a patchwork family, beaten down by circumstances, but far from out.

  We stop at the dining area and grab a few MREs. Sam’s small hand clings to James all the way back to our cubicle, which is now empty. A bolt of fear runs through me. I pop my head into Madison’s cubicle and exhale heavily when I see Allie playing with Owen and Adeline.

  To Madison, I say, “Can she stay for a bit?”

  She waves me off. “Of course.”

  In our cubicle, Sam settles in and glances around, still seeming unsure. I lower myself down beside him as James holds out two MRE packs.

  “What’s it going to be, Sam? Apple maple oatmeal or filled french toast?”

  He points to the oatmeal.

  “Excellent choice.”

  Sam barely pauses as he wolfs down the meal.

  I lean closer, ready to tell him to slow down, but James catches my attention with a quick swipe of his head, silently telling me to hold off and give the boy his space. He’s right of course. Now isn’t the time to point out that he’s doing something wrong. We need to be building this child up.

  James hands me the tablet. “As promised, Emma is going to show you a real spaceship.”

  I bring up the latest video of the ISS and the supercarriers and start playing it.

  Sam’s eyes grow wide. But still, he doesn’t speak.

  James points up. “That ship is up there, right now, Sam. We built it. See that small thing in between the two ships? That’s the new International Space Station. There was one just like it before. Well, almost like it.” He motions to me. “And Emma used to work on it.” James raises his eyebrows. “In fact, she was the commander. She was in charge of everyone and all the experiments.”