Emily had to admit, the look of hurt on his face was good. He actually believes what he said, she thought. She shook her head at him in complete disbelief.
“Wow! Just wow.”
Rhiannon threw her arms around Emily’s waist, sinking her head deeper into her shoulder as she sobbed. Emily could feel the dampness of Rhia’s tears seeping through the material of her sweater.
Jacob took a deep breath, composing himself, then spoke. His voice was level and clear, free of any hint of anger. “Yes, you’re somewhat right. I did want you to come and rescue me, but it was an added benefit. I have enough food here to last me a year, probably a lot longer. But most of all I wanted to help you, Emily. You were the only person I knew for certain was still alive, and I wanted to save you. I didn’t make anything else up. Everything I told you about traveling north was true. You’ve seen that for yourself. I did not lie to you about any of that.”
Emily bent in and kissed the crying girl on the forehead. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” she said, not sure if she was trying to convince Rhiannon or herself. What was she supposed to believe? There was no doubt that he was not lying about the cold holding back the spread of the alien infestation, but everything else had the thin veneer of pretense to it. How was she supposed to trust him? Where was she supposed to go? Where could she go? God! She thought she had left all the pain and stress behind her when they’d stepped onto the island. Instead, she was handed a whole new package of BS.
“You had me riding a fucking bike here, Jacob,” she whispered, her voice heavy with disappointment as the anger began to seep away, replaced by a feeling of emptiness.
Jacob pushed his wheelchair closer to the two girls. “Look,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know I screwed up by not telling you, and I am truly sorry. But you’re here now. You are safe, and I know we can make a go of this. We can figure it all out. I promise you.”
Emily had, at least until today, always considered herself a good judge of character. It was something she had honed over the course of her career as a journalist, an essential tool that had served her well. She looked up from Rhiannon and met Jacob’s eyes. There was no cruelty there. No deceit. Fear? Yes. Regret? Maybe.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
From somewhere else in the building a buzzing hissing sound filtered through the still air. It sounded like the static that flowed between AM radio stations. The buzzing became louder, then dropped away, then returned a little stronger as the static finally resolved into a garbled human voice.
“This is ZzzZZZzz HM ZzzzzzZZzzzz ZzzzZZZzzzz. Do yo zzZzzZZzz me?”
All three occupants of the room looked up. A look of stunned disbelief crossed over Jacob’s face, and Emily was sure her own face had the same look of astonishment.
It was a man’s voice but Emily could only make out the occasional word through the buzz of the interference.
“Who’s that?” asked Rhiannon, wiping away the tears and snot from her face with the back of her hands. As if in answer to her question, there was another burst of static, then the man’s voice boomed loud and clear down the hallway.
“This is Captain Edward Constantine of her Majesty’s Royal Navy submarine HMS Vengeance. Do you read me?”
Emily continued to stare at Jacob, unsure of whether she should trust him or just shoot him. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke.
“Show me where your radio room is.”
From her perch, high above the world, Commander Mulligan watched as the blanket of red closed over all but the tiniest sliver of North America.
The warning she had issued to the survivors on the planet’s surface regarding the storm’s destructive potential had been greatly underestimated, she had come to realize. That storm had been only the forerunner of something much larger. Something far more awesome.
Over the past six days she had witnessed more and more storms form over the earth’s major landmasses, seething pools of blood that swirled and flowed across continents and seas. She had watched them gestate; growing from tiny spots of red before gradually expanding, reaching out with crimson feelers to find and merge with other systems, each growing in size and ferocity with every orbit the ISS made around the earth.
She had managed to count eight of these massive storms, each one at least a thousand miles across, before, like their earlier incarnations, they, too, had begun searching out and connecting with each other. A continual barrage of lightning, each bolt hundreds of miles in length, exploded silently across the anvil of the planet, illuminating the storms from within like some grand light show.
Over the course of days, each storm found the other, and when they touched they fused into a single, massive superstorm, which in turn gradually expanded to blanket the world in a swirling pall of vermilion cloud.
That storm had grown exponentially in ferocity and size until it blotted out everything but two small cones of blue over each of the planet’s poles.
And what would emerge from that chaos below her? she wondered. Who could say? She was certain, though, that if the red curtain was ever lifted, the world it revealed would be a very different place from what any of them had known. A small part of her welcomed the fact that she would never set foot on her planet again.
Fiona wondered how Emily had fared. Had they made it? She would never meet the woman, but she had sounded strong, had struck her as a more than capable individual. If anyone could have made that incredible journey, she believed it would have been Emily. Still, the silence she had met with each time she tried to reestablish contact with Jacob had been disconcerting.
It did not bode well for the tiny group of survivors.
“God help them,” she whispered to the invisible world beneath her.
Far, far below the station, a dark-red cataract within the storm raged over what had once been Alberta, Canada.
“God help them all.”
My thanks to everyone involved in helping to make this second book a reality. In no particular order, they are: David Pomerico and his 47North team members who do such a fine job of finding and eliminating my spelling and grammatical errors (of which there are a lot!), promoting my books, and catering to my every whim and desire.
A very special mention goes to my developmental editor Jeff VanderMeer, whose patience in the face of my frustration was inexhaustible(ish). Much appreciated.
I would also like to thank the Tucker Sno-Cat Corporation for sending me photos of the interior of the Sno-Cat vehicle featured in this book. I really want to try one of those things out someday.
And the good people of Coldfoot, Alaska who gave me guidance on the layout of their camp, despite the fact that I killed them all off in the book. That’s going above and beyond the call, in my opinion.
To my wife, and biggest fan, Karen. Thank you, love.
And last, but most definitely not least, I would like to thank you, my readers. I cannot tell you how amazing it is to receive your emails and tweets telling me how much you enjoy reading Emily’s story. Keep ‘em coming.
Thank you.
Photograph © Paul Jones, 2011
A native of Cardiff, Wales, Paul Antony Jones now resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. He has worked as a newspaper reporter and commercial copywriter, but his passion is penning fiction. A self-described science geek, he’s a voracious reader of scientific periodicals, as well as a fan of things mysterious, unknown, and fringe-related. That fascination inspired his first novel, Extinction Point, and its first sequel, Extinction Point: Exodus. Emily Baxter’s adventures will continue in future installments of the series. Join the author’s mailing list at DisturbedUniverse.com.
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