by AR Shaw
He swallowed hard but smiled at her. “Yes” was all he could say.
On his way out, he opened the kids’ bedroom door and found Louna in one twin bed against the wall, her breathing louder than normal but steady. A vaporizer kept the air cool and moist. Ben lay in the other bed, sleeping soundly as well. These were his kids now. Listening intently for their cadence in breath, if for nothing more than to reassure himself, as any father would, that they were fine. They were safe.
Closing the door softly behind him, he left the apartment, and as soon as he stepped out into the hallway, he heard the newest residents a few doors down. There were less cries now, but one in particular sounded different from the others. It wasn’t a cry of a baby distressed and in need of a changed diaper or in need of its mother. No, this baby made him want to run, to fight off whatever ailed him or her.
His pace quickening, he opened the door to find Yeager standing there, bouncing a baby back and forth.
“What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.
Grimly, Yeager shook his head. “We don’t know.” Yeager was sweating and looked exhausted.
Bishop reached for the baby. “Let me take him for a minute.”
It was as if Yeager were passing an atomic bomb his way. He couldn’t wait to give the child to someone else. As he did, Yeager’s arms fell heavy to his side.
“I…I don’t know. I’ve done everything I can think of. The lady who passed him to me said he’d cried all night. I’ve changed him. I’ve tried to feed him. He just won’t stop.”
Bishop bounced the baby up and down; he didn’t have much experience with infants, but he’d try anything. There was something about that piercing cry that just wasn’t right.
“You’d think he’d tire himself out.”
Yeager crossed his arms behind his head while shaking it. Bishop had never seen the kid look more unnerved.
“Alyssa should be here in another hour. I didn’t want to wake her, but there’s got to be something wrong with him.”
“Hmm…” Bishop thought as he weighed all the options. There was just nothing that he knew to do to make the situation any better. Meanwhile, he had another load of children coming in. “Well, when she does, let’s see if we can separate him from the rest. The crying isn’t going to help the others settle down.” He took a look back at Yeager; he hated to do it, but he had to hand him back over. “I’m sorry, buddy, I’ve got to get ready for the next load.”
And as he said that, Yeager nodded grimly but accepted the upset baby and then heard several more people enter the room. A few ladies gathered around Yeager in concern. Bishop backed out of the room and continued up to the communications room.
When he arrived, Cassie waited.
“Morrow came through.”
He’d never seen her smile, let alone give him a positive statement the second he walked into the office. It was a refreshing turn of events.
“What’s Walt’s ETA?”
“The orphan Osprey?”
“Uh…I don’t like that term. They’re not orphans. Not yet, anyway. Let’s not jinx things.”
“Right…they should be here in twenty minutes or so.”
“Great. How’s the perimeter?”
“Good,” she said. “We had a sighting of a hunting party earlier. We sent someone out to check, and they were fine. We brought them a little ammo as a greeting.”
Nodding, he said, “Okay, let’s not overdue it, though. Weather conditions?”
She spread her arms over the monitors in front of her. “It’s an ice age. Walt is the best pilot we could have in any condition, but even he isn’t immune to this weather. The Osprey is going to need maintenance. We have to have some downtime. We can’t afford an accident.”
“Tell that to the parents back in Idaho. Any news from Morrow’s people about finding more pilots and planes?”
“Not yet. That means a trip to Denver and sacrifice for them. We may have to sweeten the pot for that.”
He looked at the outside monitors: the snow continued to deepen, the wind continued to blow, and the temperatures continued to drop. There was no way they could do this with one flying vehicle. They would need more planes, pilots, and petrol first—all to move a town underground.
38
“Why?” Austin asked him, bewildered.
“Why did you have to kill her? We were all set to hold a hearing today.”
Sitting in the conference room, Jax didn’t feel much like explaining his actions to anyone, yet he sat in the chair receiving admonishment. Part of him realized he did it because he was prevented from doing it all those years ago. Prevented from taking out the human meat eater then…this time he wasn’t going to let anyone else get away with it. He’d let her get the jump on him that morning, but he got lucky when she was caught. Never again. In his mind cannibals were not humans…rather, abominations; they didn’t have rights. Instead, they were to be shot on sight.
“A hearing? I’m not going to sit here and explain myself. Her execution was inevitable. And should have happened sooner when I caught her. If there’s a good reason for execution, cannibalism is it. Don’t get all liberal on me. You were going to have her executed anyway.”
Austin ran both his hands through his blond hair, giving him a mad-scientist effect. “Yes…well, of course, but not this way. The trial was in hand. We needed the public to see the hearings. We needed them to trust the process.”
“No,” Jax said.
“No? You don’t get to say no.”
“Yes, I do.” Jax stood. “No! I don’t let people eat children or anyone else. You see that, you end it—right then. No wasting time on a damn hearing.” He stormed out of the room. The kid was good, but he’d never get this until he saw it for himself. And, truthfully, he’d never wish that nightmare on anyone.
That was hell to him…the drool dripping from the father’s lips replayed over and over in his nightmares…that was the hell he lived every time he closed his eyes at night.
There was nothing more to do than keep sending over the residents who wanted to leave. He had to keep his focus on that until the last of them were there, and then he would decide his own fate. He still wasn’t sure what that was.
Walt would return in another day if the Osprey held up. They still had a good supply of fuel and a few people out looking for more. The problem was the weather; their original nemesis was getting worse each day. The temperature hovered somewhere in the below-fifties range, and yet the wind chill, always a squishy numerator, was yet well south of that number. At some point weeks ago, they stopped caring. There was always a difference between twenties and thirties, below zero and negative twenty, but beyond that it was just damn cold, and negative fifty range might as well mean negative seventy and beyond because there was no discernable difference. And the wind chill just made that even more nonsensical. If you went outside, you took your life in your own hands. If you walked five feet away from a doorway and into the blowing snow, you might as well kiss your arse good-bye too. Everyone had a lead line now if they left the building. There were even lead lines coming from the town and to the hotel for those who still resided out there.
As for Jax, he made his way to the lower portion of the garage. As he passed the guard, he waved. He still didn’t want to remain around the others and preferred the company of the animals to that of humans, so that’s where he stayed since leaving the building, not putting one’s life in danger any longer. As he walked into his makeshift shelter, where both the horses stood cold but buffeted by the wind, he sat down on a cot. When he was ready to drift off to sleep, Jet tiptoed over to him and snuggled beside him. “Where’ve you been?” he mumbled. No longer could he even hear a screaming voice outside due to the wind. It didn’t matter, though; he still heard the ones in his head. The mother screaming out for her children. The horrible shrill kept him awake often throughout the night.
39
After unloading yet another planeload of precious cargo, the idea o
f the magnitude they were facing was beginning to dawn on Bishop. They’d taken in more of the desperate Deer Trail residents, and still they had room underground without having to opened another pod. The weather for the residents up upon terra firma was beginning to shift to truly unlivable.
“There’s no way round this, Bishop,” Walt said. “We’ve just entered a new kind of challenge. Yes, I can fly, but for how long? It’s rough going up and coming down. If we’re going to do more, we need more planes before this becomes impossible. I don’t know what’s in store, but I’m beginning to think this is continuing to get worse, not better, anytime soon. What are your plans?”
Bishop rubbed his face. “I don’t know. Morrow is coming in soon. I’ll ask if he’s had any progress on finding more planes.”
“He’s going to want the residents moved in. I can’t say I blame him either. They’re dying out there.”
“We can’t let them in until we know how much room we’re going to have left after we move everyone here from Coeur d’Alene,” Bishop said in all seriousness.
Walt was silent for a time. “How do we choose who lives and who dies? What makes their lives more valuable than the others? I’m not trying to tell you what to do; it’s just a point to ponder.”
“Yeah, thanks, man. That really helps,” Bishop said as Walt went out once again to make a return flight. He felt the guilt; that wasn’t the issue, but he had an obligation to those he left behind first.
Once Walt lifted off, another work crew set out to keep the area in front of the bunker cleared. It was a round-the-clock job by firelight as it was in Coeur d’Alene. The men always left bundled up, each of them employing a new tactic to remain unfrozen than the time before. It was an endeavor in futility, though. By the time they returned, they were dealing with the painful pins-and-needles thawing effects, and then the next group headed out with new shovels and dry gear.
40
While drinking instant coffee, of which they were running out, Austin held the warm ceramic cup in his hand, staring out the thick glass of the lobby window. He was drowsy. The night was long, and he slept very little due to the whistling wind and worries of the next day. It seemed the wind itself had taken new form. It was even more relentless than before. He’d never encountered weather like this. No one alive now ever had. You couldn’t see more than three feet in front of you, and that was only at high noon.
The snow continued to pile up, and they were having a hard time keeping a tunneled path between the hotel doors and a clearing on the ice. It was a constant effort of men with shovels around the clock. Once one work crew was frozen through, they came in to thaw out as another headed back out. They’d used snow blowers in the early days, which they now thought foolish since they’d used up much more fuel than they’d ever hope to find again. The term “limited supply” had become a new meaning for them all. That meant…no, the resupply truck wasn’t coming in another week; no, there would be no more fuel soon; no, you can’t use it for anything other than what they would deem an emergency in the future.
That meant only for generator usage for medical purposes or to light an immediate fire so the Osprey could land, and even then that was it. That fuel was gone, and there would be no more to replace what was used.
A lot of words had new meanings. Money, for instance, was worthless now. Only supplies mattered. Only what kept you alive. Food, for instance, was now the currency. Those who could hunt for it were much more valuable than any lawyer or software designer. Those who knew how to preserve it were also in high need. Those people earned their positions now; people who seemed to be highly paid and skilled workers were now just eaters rather than feeders.
He found it interesting how things had changed so quickly. The haves and the have-nots had switched places. Out of both groups, it was those who contemplated more, who thought ahead and didn’t complain much, who were more well-adjusted to these times. They were the ones comforting those who seemed to unravel as soon as the power went out.
More than society adjusting, Austin was worried now about a new change. Where the weather had suddenly turned against them, bringing on what seemed like a relentless cold snap, it was taking a turn for even worse. It had just dawned on him that they had not even seen the sun in more than a week now. Conditions were worsening, and the temperature was dropping even more. With that bleak news, he headed for his morning meeting with Jax in the conference room.
He found him already seated and staring off into the white.
“The next group is holding sixteen-year-olds and toddlers up to the age of three years old,” Austin said as Jax remained silent.
Austin wasn’t sure what to do when he was like this….which was most of the time, lately. Since the execution of the cannibal, he hadn’t spoken much at all, and that was a marked downturn from his usually silent self.
“Is that…is that okay with you, Jax? Anything to add? Do you think we’re on track?”
He’d been staring off into space for a time and hadn’t even really acknowledged Austin when he came into the conference room.
Now he just nodded, but at least he cut the mile-long stare and cut his eyes down to the carpeted ground.
“What’d you say?” Austin ventured, thinking he may have mumbled something.
“I said yes; I’d say we’re on track, if that’s what you want to call it. On track for extinction, that is. Let’s make sure we have enough avgas for the next load behind this one. Has the group who went north to the regional airstrip found anything?”
“Actually, yes…I got a radio report this morning. They said they found a smaller aircraft. A two-seater.”
“Does us no good….”
“That’s what I told them. Not to bother, but they did find more avefuel, and they loaded it on sleds to bring back the way we planned.”
“What I mean is, we’re too late. The Osprey may be able to get the weakest among us, the youngest children over faster…but not for long. The ice storms, the wind…it’s worsening quicker every day. What we need to do now is send the parents of these children—these families—south by land.”
Austin met Jax’s gaze. What he was suggesting meant sure death for many.
“That’s a fifteen-hour drive by highway in the best of conditions. I know because I’ve driven it myself once or twice from here before the ice age hit us.”
Jax shook his head. “There will be no more best days, best scenarios. So it took you two days driving time; now it will take two weeks, and some will die on the way. Not unlike some died on the way in the pioneer days of the wagon trains west. Only they weren’t dealing with a sudden Grand Minimum, Maunder Minimum…damn ice age. No, they had territorial Indians, snakes, sickness, starvation, and the lack of water.” Jax thrust his hand toward the window. “Just look out there. You see it, don’t you? We’re screwed. We’re too late.” He sighed and leaned down quickly into his chair like a sullen child. “There’s no flying through that. The next group…that’s it. If we try it again, they’ll all die. We can’t keep asking Walt to risk his life. It doesn’t matter how good a pilot he is…No one gets that lucky.”
Austin had to agree. “So an ice age wagon train then?”
“That, or we’re all permanent popsicles anyway. At least we got most of the babies out.”
41
“This is the last one. At least until the weather clears up a little. I’m taking too many chances. Over.”
Bishop keyed in the mic, “I hear you, Walt; just make it back safe, over.”
“I’ll do my best, out.”
And that was it. That was the end of their conversation. Bishop continued to replay Walt’s voice over and over in his mind. He’d have to tell Alyssa soon. She was going to hit him. She’d probably wail on him for a time. Hell, she might even shoot him, and then he wasn’t sure if she walked around armed. He hadn’t noticed. Most of them did. It was the kind of thing you stopped noticing after a while. Telling her that her husband was missing and possibly dead
with thirty toddlers and a handful of teens in an ice-age blizzard was not going to go down well.
Yet they were talking about Walt. Could he really be dead? Surely he managed to bring the Osprey down somewhere safe. He had to. The fact that all the children aboard were possibly dead too churned his stomach.
“Here she is,” Cassie said as Alyssa walked into the communications office. Cassie walked away immediately, her eyes wide.
“He’s not dead,” she said it matter-of-factly. “I know these things. Walt is not dead. If he had to land, he did. You have no communications with him? Static? Nothing?”
Clearing his throat, he said, “Alyssa, I don’t know. No, the radio’s down. No one answers. Which isn’t unusual.” He then added as caution, “But he should have landed several hours ago.”
Standing there, her hands to her sides, she stared at him blankly, her mouth a thin line. “So he landed somewhere. The conditions were too bad. He’ll make it. I know him…if he thought they were going down, he would have keyed the mic five times. That was his signal. He would have sent the signal.”
“What you mean is, he would have said good-bye?” Bishop asked, looking her dead in the eyes as they watered up. “Sometimes there isn’t time, Alyssa. It happens.”
She wiped away the moisture in an angry swipe. “He’s not dead. He landed. He’ll be here.” And with that she stormed away.
Looking at him dismayed, Cassie said, “Why’d you do that? Why not give her hope?”
Bishop took a deep breath and spoke softly so that no one heard his words. He still didn’t want to believe it himself. “Because he keyed the mic five times…about an hour and half into the flight.”
When he looked up, Cassie’s mouth remained slack-jawed.
Sliding a pen through his finders, flipping it again and again, Bishop said, “Still, that doesn’t mean he’s dead. It means there was trouble and that he’s on the ground. Dead or alive, it means he’s on the ground.”