Snows of Darkness
by Scot Noel & James Verran

Bill removed the audio phone of the crystal radio from his ear and tossed it onto the rumpled bed. The news had not been good, at least no better than it had been for weeks. There would be no break in the cold, and the forecast was for snow with freshening northerly winds. A quick parting of the heavy, thermal drapes showed Bill all he needed to know. The morning sun had already been obscured by a blanket of close, gray clouds, and if he were to make it out at all today, he would have to move soon.

From downstairs came the sound of the kids preparing breakfast. No aroma of eggs, toast, or brewing coffee greeted him on the stairs, just the humming of the microwave as it thawed yeast cakes and heated synthetic milk. Bill was grateful for the sound, for it confirmed they had power. Not every morning greeted their bellies with the warmth of food.

At the bottom of the stairs Bill paused. He was so tired, it was as if the anniversary meant nothing, and yet he was sure it meant everything. Today brought back all the memories of radiance, of things as simple as sun on sidewalk and the smell of grass, of freshly mown lawns, things that were at last curling up in the corners of his mind to die.

It was Rachel, his oldest surviving offspring, who greeted him with the surprise: a flower. The small carnation turned in her hand, as bright and perfect as a rose. Her smile betrayed none of the expense and effort, least of all the risk that had gone into acquiring it. Her younger brothers stopped their preparations about the table to watch Bill's reaction. The three-year old, his orphaned grandchild, knew nothing more than to pound the table with a spoon.

“For mom,” said Rachel, the fingers of her free hand fretting at a patch-worn blouse. “You'd better hurry.” Her eyes flashed with command as she said the words, handing over the flower. Then, as she turned away to take charge of the youngsters about the table, Bill could almost see the set of his wife's shoulders in the maturing young woman. Certainly her voice echoed the confidence of a time before the great cloud had enveloped Earth. Bill said thank you, a bit too forcefully, and pressed his lips into a smile.

Outside gunfire fell from the sky like winter thunder, but no one seemed surprised. A second later, helicopter blades beat oppressively near the house, and as the overhead patrol moved on, the gunfire moved with it, sounding out in fitful spurts.

“Gator,” said one of the young boys with a smile. “Puzzled him up good, I bet.”

It was a drawn out and careful process for Bill to fit into and inflate his walking suit, but the gauge rose and settled in at one and a half atmospheres; no leaks to repair this time. He had eaten while he dressed, and at the last, Rachel helped him on with his helmet. She was about to apply a thin film of cosmolete to the line of stitches marking an old repair, but he caught her hand.

“It's all right,” he said. “Don't waste it. The bedroom window needs a coat, or we'll soon have dust creeping in at the corners. My suit will do fine today. Let's go.”

“Don't forget this,” Rachel said, already strapping the pistol belt around his waist.

“No, mustn't forget that,” Bill agreed sadly. He said the words carefully, his throat tightening. The weight of the gun seemed greater than oxygen re-breather, armor, and helmet combined.

The makeshift airlock in the old hallway hissed and released, opening onto a one time sun deck, and from there down into the icy streets and snow cut channels of the town. Bill looked and waved, catching his daughter's determined and unworried eye. With thick, gloved hands, he raised the carnation in salute and turned to go.

Dust. It was only dust, but a dust three eternities and a dozen ages in travel across the stars. At points it proved thinner than smoke, and in others joined in roiling columns solid as stone. It moved in rivers above the Earth. Each mote seemed to have a motive of its own, and together they became a vast and purposeful will.

The cloud had entered the solar system at an angle to the plane of the ecliptic, following a course unnatural to tides of gravity and the winds of light. The first swift tendrils of the cloud splashed carelessly across the far side of the moon before any attention was given. Soon after, the size of the great, dark haze became apparent, something rivaling the tails of a thousand comets, but drawn into limbed and coiling shapes. As men watched, the limbs reached out from a murky, nearly featureless center to test the winds of Earth.

As the dust reached down through the stratosphere to become a breath upon the plains and across the surface of the sea, the first of the infection moved into outbreak and then plague. The forests died and were reborn. The great seas gave up their whales and other monsters of the deep. And of the panic in the cities, there is little that can be said that is not easily imagined.

That the cloud fouled Earth's weather, that it darkened the seasons by its presence and brought an endless winter beneath its vast mantle, these things are beyond dispute. But what was the origin of the thing, its purpose?

Bill walked without feeling the weight of his legs. It might have been easier had he been able to blot out the past, or like his younger children, remember so little of it. What he did remember, he remembered with the clarity of sunlight, so clearly, it made his vision blur behind a mask of tears. From the beginning they had had no chance. From the beginning, Bill knew that better than anyone.

Up until he deserted, taking his family south, cross country, away from the failing labs, the panicked campus, and the chaotic streets, Bill had been in the lead, a key mind in one of the many teams investigating the cloud. He, and those with him, knew everything about nano-machines, and therefore more than a little about the alien dust enveloping Earth.
 

Continued on Next Page

Return to Top

Download Stories

If you enjoyed this story, visit our Library Page to read more.

Copyright Info

All content of this website is protected by copyright.

You are not permitted to  redistribute wholesale, resale, or claim as your own any stories or artwork displayed on this website.

This is a welcoming place and goes by the rules of family,  friendship, and good faith. 

If you have a comment, complaint, question, or request, please Contact Us.