The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval

by Jason Kristopher

  Nigel Mackey, delegate from the UK, raised his hand. “I’m a vegetarian. And I’m not the only one here. None of us are sick, so why should we worry? Clearly, there’s enough protein for us to survive, so I don’t see the problem.”

  Jennifer leaned back on the folding table and looked at the delegate. “Sure, there’s enough for you and the others. Lemme guess, you eat extra beans or veggies, right?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Now imagine every one of the 1,132 people we’ve got on this base eating that way. Better yet, let’s ask the expert.” She turned to Hacker, sitting off to one side. “Can you grow that much food, Reuben? If we turned everyone on the base into vegetarians?”

  The question didn’t even faze the portly biologist; he’d known this was coming. “Simple answer? No.” There was another round of murmurs, but he just spoke up, his voice cutting through the noise. “There’s not enough equipment. Hydroponics or aeroponics is the only way to grow anything out here, and aeroponics requires specialized equipment—high-pressure pumps, reservoirs, injection manifolds… Given an unlimited supply of equipment, I could grow an unlimited supply of fruits and beans and vegetables, enough to satisfy even the hungriest of us. We just don’t have the materials.”

  “What if we scavenge the other bases? Go through them again?” asked Mackey. Hopeful murmurs rose from the rest.

  Jennifer answered, “Those bases were picked clean in the move to McMurdo. Even if we could send scavenging parties out, which we can’t, they wouldn’t find anything. We did that on purpose, so we’d never have to go back. You were there, Nigel.” She looked around at the others. “You all were.”

  The mood turned dark and somber.

  “Fortunately,” Jennifer said, her voice quiet, “I have a plan. Major Shaw, if you please?”

  Shaw stood from one side, gesturing to the back of the room and the technician manning the audio-visual equipment as he moved to join his wife at the front of the room. The screen behind them lit with a picture of a very large airplane.

  “Many of you know what this is, but some of you are seeing this for the first time,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “This is a C-5M Super Galaxy, one of the largest aircraft in the world. This one, specifically, is my C-5M Super Galaxy.” He motioned to the technician once more and the screen changed to show a picture of the major in front of the plane, discussing something with a mechanic working on the plane. The date on the photo was clear, showing that it was taken earlier that day. “This is the very plane I arrived here on four years ago. On that day, I unknowingly brought in the very last of the supplies McMurdo would be receiving. Now, we’re going to be using it for a very different purpose. Jen?”

  “What we propose to do is fly the C-5 to Christchurch, with a select team of people. We’ll assess the situation on the ground, see how safe it is, if at all. If we determine that it’s not safe to return yet, we’ll locate necessary supplies, refuel the plane, and come back. Then we’ll try again in a few years.”

  “Perdóneme, señor,” said Arturo Onevás, head of the Argentinians. “But if you go, and something happens…”

  Shaw crossed his arms and shrugged. “Everyone here will be trapped.”

  The noise had only seemed loud before; now it was tremendous, with delegates jumping out of their chairs and shouting. Shaw looked over at Jennifer, but she just shrugged. “Just wait,” she said.

  He nodded and, as she had suggested, eventually the delegates realized that neither of the two at the front of the room were saying anything. Glancing at each other nervously, they took their seats again and waited.

  “You done?” asked Shaw. “Cause here’s the God’s honest, folks: you’re already trapped. You have been since Z-Day. We all have. The only way out of here is on that plane, and we can’t all fit, and we can’t make multiple trips unless—guess what—we can find more fuel at Christchurch. So what we’re going to do is send a scouting party, an expeditionary party, if you like. We’re going to establish a beachhead, if there’s anything resembling safety there. And then we’ll come back for you.”

  He stood and began pacing, a habit he’d picked up from his wife. “But there are no guarantees here. Hell, there’s no guarantee we’ll even make it there, much less make it back.

  “You haven’t even heard the best part of it yet,” he said with a grim chuckle. “We found out why there’s been no word from the outside for six months. Sabrina?”

  Sabrina Tanner stood from her chair at the side of the room and motioned to the technician at the back. A graphic display of the Earth and several satellites appeared. “These are the communication satellites in orbit—the ones we know of, at any rate. All of our bases used these to connect to the outside world.”

  She pointed to one of the satellites, positioned directly over the South Pole. The satellite flashed green. “That one is McMurdo’s primary commsat. It’s in geosynchronous—technically, geostationary—orbit, meaning that it stays overhead continuously in relation to us. Through that one, we get transmissions from these other four.” She pointed to four satellites that ringed the Earth at equal distances from each other, positioned further away—half-way to the equator.

  The four additional satellites now began flashing: three green, one red. Sabrina pointed to the red one. “As you can see, this satellite is positioned over the South Pacific. It covers from just east of Australia to about two-thirds of the way to South America.”

  “Why’s it red?” asked Jack Warner, the delegate from Australia.

  “Because it’s not working. And that’s why we’re not getting any communications from Christchurch. We don’t know why it’s not working, and we can’t fix it from here. And since no one is going to be doing any spacewalking anytime soon, we are cut off.”

  “We can’t use any of the others?” Nigel Mackey asked.

  “No. It’s all about line of sight. We have line of sight to the other satellites, but they don’t have line of sight to Christchurch.”

  “What about communicating with other parts of the world and having them relay messages for us?”

  “We’re not hearing anything from the rest of the world. It’s all gone dark, guys.”

  The mood of the room darkened. No one spoke.

  “Not that we would be hearing much from Christchurch, either,” Sabrina said, “but I’d rather have the lines open than not.”

  After a moment, Nigel asked, “What about American defense satellites? The ones put up by our military? Can we communicate through them?”

  “The details—especially locations—of those satellites are some of the most closely guarded state secrets, sir,” Jennifer answered. “Even if we knew where they were and we could get line-of-sight on them, we couldn’t access them, since we don’t have the correct codes and protocols. Any other questions?”

  When there were none, Shaw moved forward. “Thanks, Sabrina. So, now you know about the commsat. What this means is that once our plane leaves radio range of McMurdo, it will be out of contact completely, until and unless it returns. And shortwave radio is out—some sort of electromagnetic interference from solar activity—plus it’s too power-hungry to use all the time. We’ll be on our own.”

  “‘We’ ll be’?” Warner asked.

  Jennifer felt her mouth tighten. She had had this argument with Shaw several times, and she’d lost every time. She refused to leave the group that she had made herself responsible for, and Shaw insisted that it was too risky to try to train anyone else to take his place. But this was the first time the rest of them were hearing this.

  Shaw sighed. “Yes, we. No one else here is qualified to fly that plane but me, Fraser, and Evans. Even with three of us, it’ll be a challenge.” He looked out at the assembled delegates. “I’ll be taking some of my people who came in with me on the plane, and some volunteers to help secure a foothold if it’s safe, or to help load the plane if it isn’t. Twenty-five people plus crew, max. It will help me a great deal if you can provide a list
of people you’d recommend from each of your groups. Military service, current or former, will be of particular value.” He didn’t look at Jennifer.

  When no argument came from the rest of the group, Jennifer knew she’d lost the argument for good. She felt her heart breaking.

  Warner spoke up again. “I noticed that you don’t seem to be asking us for our permission for this little jaunt.”

  Jennifer took a deep breath, refusing to let her emotions show. “You’re right, Jack, we’re not,” she said. “Because, frankly, it’s not your plane. And any people who go are volunteers. And because, regardless of how we feel about it personally, it has to be done. So go talk to your people. See who might help us out. The plane leaves in two weeks.”

  Without another word, she turned and left the room.

  Three weeks later, Shaw stood next to his wife, contemplating the white stretch of ice in front of him. “I know they haven’t built it in a few years, but the boys did a great job with the runway, don’t you think?” Soon, the big plane behind him would be rolling down it, hopefully to return to ferry everyone to the mainland, starting with her.

  Of course, whether he would still be married at that point was another matter. Jennifer had barely spoken to him since the meeting with the other delegates, preferring to work long hours at her desk rather than spend time with him before he left. Until last night, that is. Even then, she hadn’t said a word. The memory heated his cheeks and he smiled, reaching down to take her hand in his. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t pull away.

  The noise from the C-5’s engines was growing louder, and as he turned to look, he could see the last few pallets of the gear they’d be taking with them being loaded, and the last volunteers straggling up the ramp.

  Suddenly, he was nearly thrown off his feet as Jennifer threw herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

  “Dammit, Bill,” she said. “I am so furious with you! And I am going to miss you so much!” She was half-laughing and maybe half-crying, and he found himself laughing, too, relieved that he wasn’t going to leave with her still angry.

  “I know,” he said, hugging her back just as hard. “I’m going to miss you, too, Jen.” She laughed again and wiped a tear from her cheek with her glove before it could freeze there. “Let’s go, you rotten bastard.” Both grinning, they got into the idling Jeep, and she drove them over to the plane. The cargo ramp had been closed, but the side hatch was still open.

  Standing at the bottom of the boarding ladder, he kissed her, gently at first and then with more passion as he remembered the night before. After a moment, she broke away and looked at him.

  “I want one thing very clear, Major Bill Shaw.”

  “And what’s that, Area Director?”

  “You are ordered to come back to me. Whatever you have to do, you are not to die out there. Clear?”

  At that moment, he felt like he could’ve walked on water if she ordered it. “Yes, ma’am!”

  She laughed. “Good! Now get out of here and save all our lives.”

  He looked back once from the hatch, and waved. She waved back, smiling despite whatever she was feeling inside. You and me both, he thought. You and me both.

  He closed the hatch, sealing it tight, climbing the ladder and stowing his bag. Stepping onto the flight deck, he got a strong sense of deja vu. Evans and Fraser were both there, Fraser looking quite different with a full beard and a ring on his finger. Despite his protestations, he, too, had been married since their arrival.

  “Well boys, let’s do this. Start the pre-flight, Mr. Evans. I’m going to go check on our passengers.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  As he looked back into the passenger compartment, Shaw waved at the few folks he knew. Several soldiers, or former soldiers, some techies, an engineer or three… everything you needed for an expeditionary force.

  “How you feelin’, sir?” asked Charlie Keith, the plane’s loadmaster. “About the mission, I mean.”

  “Well, son, I think we’ll be fine. We’ll save our folks, or die trying.”

  Later, he would come to regret those words.

  Chapter Five

  AEGIS Bunker One

  Only seven of the ten bunkers had checked in for the quarterly conference call. Bounced off of several defense satellites that were, at least for the moment, still in orbit, the calls were meant to keep the bunkers organized and informed about the changing situation in various parts of what they still euphemistically called the United States. Unfortunately, it seemed that not all of the bunkers had decided to keep up with the schedule.

  Christ, I thought. It’s only four years in. We’ve got sixteen years left—eleven minimum—and the bunkers are dropping like flies. At this rate, we’ll be on our own before we’re halfway through. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the negativity. I glanced over at Kim, and could see she must be having similar thoughts. Her frown as the ‘roll call’ was read was all I needed to see to confirm my suspicions.

  “So that’s it, then,” said Governor Gates, folding her hands on the table in front of her and gazing around the room at her senior staff. “We’ve got seven bunkers, out of ten. Since Vice President Marnes has yet to grace us with his presence from Bunker Five, I’ll take the lead on this call, unless anyone has any objections.”

  When no one spoke, Gates continued. “Has anyone heard from Bunker Nine recently?”

  A strong male voice came on the line. “Malcolm Dagger here, ma’am. Bunker Four. We had a brief transmission from Bunker Nine about three months ago.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dagger. If I might ask, where is Governor Yarborough?”

  “He’s… ah… indisposed at the moment, ma’am. He asked me to fill in for him today.”

  I looked over at Kim and found her looking back at me. She shook her head in answer to my questioning eyebrow. Neither of us had ever thought particularly well of Malcolm, and this made my skin crawl. Something else was going on there, but now was not the time to bring it up, apparently.

  “Very well, Mr. Dagger. What can you tell us about Bunker Nine?”

  “It was a very strange message, ma’am. Garbled and full of static, and they were nearly incoherent. We never could figure out what they were trying to say.”

  “Garbled? And why static? Didn’t it come through the commsat?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Our techs analyzed it here, and they’re fairly certain that whatever was causing the problems was on Bunker Nine’s end. Almost like they’d fumbled the settings for the transmission or something.”

  “I see. And what about the message itself?”

  “I don’t think… well, ma’am, I don’t think they were quite ‘all there,’ if you know what I mean. The guy was ranting about ‘ghosts’ and ‘spirits in the night’ and all sorts of strange things. Some of our people heard what sounded like screams in the background, and crying. Then it just cut off.”

  “Did you try to get them back?”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course we did. There was no answer. No response on any frequency we tried.”

  “What about a rescue mission?” asked one of the department heads. “Send someone over, see what’s wrong?”

  Governor Gates looked thoughtful. “Dagger, are you closest?”

  A new voice came on the line “Actually, we are, Madam Governor. This is Governor Simms, Bunker Ten. But we can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bad weather, I’m afraid. It’s storm season here in the Carolinas, and the winds are blowing something fierce right now. We’re tracking a possible hurricane coming up the coast, so a rescue mission from us is out of the question. Hell, I wouldn’t want to have any of our birds in the air at all, much less going that far. And that’s just the weather. Last time we did a recon flight we nearly had one of our helos shot down by a SAM, of all things. Guess some of the militia are still around.”

  Gates looked over at Kim and I. “Believe me, Governor, I know exactly what you mean. Well, Malcolm, do you think you ca
n get someone out there to look into this?”

  “I’ll work up a plan. I can’t promise that we’ll bring back anything useful, but we can at least take a look.”

  “Good. What about Bunker Six? Anyone heard anything?” She turned to her aide, Daniel, who spoke up.

  “No further word has come from Bunker Six, ma’am. The latest information we have is what our own Bravo team brought back from their recon mission a year ago. The bunker does appear to have been abandoned.”

  I thought back to the shocking news we’d received back then. Everything had been fine, until suddenly it wasn’t. No word, no emergency message, no nothing. Just silence. When Bravo Team arrived, they found only walkers and an open bunker door. Some of the walkers had Bunker Six insignia on their uniforms.

  Something awful had happened under Mount Whitney, and no one was left to tell the tale.

  There was silence on the line as each of the bunkers on the call kept their thoughts to themselves, until the silence was broken by a click and a sudden cough.

  “This is Chief of Staff Hughes. Please hold for the president.”

  Shock was evident in the room as everyone looked up, thrust out of their doldrums by the surprise. I leaned over and whispered to Kim. “President? Since when?”

  She shrugged and whispered back. “Maybe he just got tired of waiting?”

  “This is President Marnes,” came the thin, reedy voice of the man I detested. Most people disliked him for his politics, but in my case, I simply thought he was the slimiest piece of human trash to crawl out of the gutter since… well, since Henry Gardner. Not in an evil way, just… well, like a used car salesman you just can’t shake. He’d been in the pocket of the Secretary of Defense and Gardner himself in the months leading up to Z-Day. “Is everyone present and accounted for?”