As soon as ATLAS broke free from the hangar and gained altitude, Hunter, without wasting time, rushed to the control panel. His fingers quickly found the "seal" button, and with a soft hiss, the cabin was isolated from the outside world. Next, he activated the "SOS" system, hoping to send a distress signal. The air purification system built into ATLAS started automatically, filling the cabin with the soft hum of filters. I watched the screen where "Alice" displayed real-time data on the machine's condition. As I've said, ATLAS was an experimental model, created with operation in extreme conditions in mind. Its hull, reinforced with layers of thin lead film between the outer skin and the cabin, provided radiation protection—a precaution the designers had included, mindful of Chernobyl and other disasters where unprepared equipment became useless in contaminated zones.
Suddenly, the screen flashed with an alarming red light.
"Warning! Warning!" the alert displayed. "Toxic substances detected outside: carbon monoxide 22%, radioactive dust 15%, dioxins 10%, hydrogen chloride 7%, Group 'B' toxins (including cyanides) 12%. Lethal hazard! Lethal hazard! Lethal hazard!"
"What is this?!"
Hunter, frantically switching ATLAS's systems, shot me a look full of grim certainty.
"You still haven't figured it out?" he said, and his words hung in the air like a sentence.
I didn't dare say it out loud: nuclear war.
The word I had banished from my thoughts now seemed the only explanation. My heart pounded as if trying to escape my chest, and a whirlwind of fragmented knowledge about the consequences of a nuclear strike spun in my head.
"Try the mobile comms," I said, clinging to the hope that it was a mistake.
Hunter took out his communicator, but its screen remained dead.
"No cellular, no internet, the 'SOS' system doesn't work," his reply was cold and grim. He moved to a porthole and looked down at Earth, where clouds, lit by orange flame, burst and swirled like giant balloons filled with hot air.
I approached the panel and requested a diagnostic from Alice. A faint hope still flickered in my soul that maybe the sensors were malfunctioning.
"Operational, operational, operational," came her terse responses, confirming the sensors were working flawlessly.
"Yeeeah," Hunter drawled gloomily, turning away from the porthole. "We only survived because the massive concrete superstructure of the hangar shielded us from the blasts."
ATLAS continued to gain altitude, its hydrogen fuel cells working at maximum output, allowing it to climb higher than conventional aircraft. Through the panoramic cabin portholes, I could see clouds below heating up, swelling, and bursting, obeying violent air currents. Where the fire raged more intensely, they rose above twelve kilometers, forming black vortices mixed with soot and ash. Far beyond the horizon, where, presumably, a downpour had begun, lightning flashed, and thunder reached us even through ATLAS's sealed hull.
"And what happens next?" I asked, unable to look away from this apocalyptic sight.
"For now, we climb as high as possible," Hunter replied, approaching Alice's control panel. "The biosphere heats up at this altitude, but everything will change soon."
Larson, lying in a seat, suddenly spoke up, his voice weak but confident:
"It's just as scientists predicted. The solar energy that the atmosphere used to absorb is now being reflected back into space. The clouds of dust and soot are blocking the sun's rays from reaching Earth."
I tried to recall what I knew about climatic laws. One stated that the amount of solar energy absorbed by the atmosphere and Earth's surface, on average, equals the heat the planet radiates into space. But now, with this shroud of soot, everything was changing.
"And where will the heat the planet emits go?" I asked Larson, hoping he could explain more clearly.
"For sunlight, the atmosphere is a window, but for thermal radiation, it's a blanket," he replied, but his words only confused me.
I remembered that at the World Congress on Environmental Protection, many world-renowned experts claimed that ozone levels were decreasing everywhere in the atmosphere, ominous holes had formed in its layer, the Earth was heating up, and the so-called greenhouse effect had appeared. As a result, the average global temperature had risen by five degrees, and the polar ice caps had begun melting intensively. The waters of the World Ocean had risen significantly above critical levels and threatened to flood many cities. Some countries could become true islands. Where the sea could penetrate river estuaries, huge bays would form, cutting deep into the land. Vast arable and pasture lands would be irretrievably lost. Currently, scientists recorded storms of unprecedented force, rains flooding entire cities. And where moderate rains once fell, a killing drought now reigned—water was catastrophically scarce, especially in the East. But the nuclear catastrophe warned about for decades seemed unthinkable—until this moment.
"If thermal radiation is a blanket, then what about nuclear winter?" I objected to Larson, clinging to logic. "Shouldn't it get colder?"
"Ork, these are strange questions for a well-known scientist," he replied with unexpected sharpness. Larson was speaking to me in such a tone for the first time. "It doesn't happen immediately. Dust and soot block the light, and soon the temperature will drop."
Hunter, still standing by the porthole, turned to me.
"The illumination now is like on a cloudy evening," he said gloomily. "If this lasts for weeks or months, severe cooling will set in. Well, professor, shall we start writing the history of our planet's demise for future generations?"
His irony, especially the word "professor," spoken with contempt, stung me. I felt the blood rush to my face.
"You don't even know what happened yet, and you're already acting like a cretin," I blurted out, immediately regretting my words. A quarrel at such a moment was unforgivable stupidity.
Hunter looked at me with a cold smirk, as if he hadn't heard the insult.
"What do you think could have happened?" he asked, as if addressing a child.
"An experimental installation with a nuclear core could have exploded at the base. After all, we were building small modular reactors there. Or an accident at one of the intercontinental missile complexes."
"Then why is the 'SOS' system down across the entire planet?" Larson interjected, his voice trembling with pain. "Why is there no cellular service, no internet, no network responding?"
"We're the only ones left," I snapped angrily. "Everyone else is dead! What more do you want!"
"Unfortunately, that seems to be the truth," Hunter said quietly, moving away from the porthole.
Hunter turned to Larson, who was still lying in the seat, pale and weak.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, massaging his temples as if fighting a headache.
"I feel sick," Larson replied, weakly moving a hand over his stomach. "And my legs... I don't think I'll be able to walk anymore."
"I'm dizzy," Hunter added, his voice tired. "We need to check the seals again. Dense clouds are blocking the sun's rays. Possibly ultraviolet radiation."
I listened to myself. My heart was racing, but otherwise, I felt normal. Or so it seemed. "Can I trust my own body, my own mind at such a moment?" I thought, and a chill ran down my spine. If this truly was nuclear war, then below, on Earth, all life was perishing. I imagined destroyed cities, burning forests, people disappearing in flame, and felt fear tightening my throat.
"Down there, everything is probably dying," I said, pointing at the porthole.
"A terrible sight," Hunter shrugged. "And what can we do?"
Larson suddenly bent over in pain, his face contorted.
"Do we have any stomach tablets?" he asked, clutching his abdomen.
Hunter headed to the cargo hold and soon returned with a box of medication.
"We took a lot of medicine, but not the kind needed now," he said with frustration.
I looked out the porthole. Where the Mojave Desert met the horizon, a billowing mass of dust and soot rose, as if driven by invisible fans. It ascended above the clouds and spread, forming a black shroud that covered the sky.
"There it is, that very film, isolating the sun's rays," Larson said, pointing at the dark mass.
"We'll have to go higher," Hunter decided, returning to the control panel. He entered a new altitude, and ATLAS, obeying Alice, began climbing even higher into the thin layers of the atmosphere, where pressure dropped and the air grew colder.
I glanced at the analog watch on my wrist—half past twelve. My stomach tightened with hunger despite all the horror.
"My nerves have made me hungry," I said, trying to relieve the tension. "Anyone else want to join?"
Emily and Keila, sitting in the corner of the cabin, were silent, their faces pale, eyes full of tears. Hunter and Larson didn't respond either. I headed to the cargo hold, where a small table and a microwave for heating food stood. Opening the freezer door, I saw how much food Hunter had prepared. How had he anticipated this? After all, we were going for a week, ten days at most, and Hunter alone had brought what seemed like over a ton of just meat and canned meat. Besides that, there was jerky, two sacks of grains and flour, a sack of sugar, and in the passenger cabin—cookies, chocolate, and full backpacks and crates of ammunition for our rifles.
"Did he know something?" I asked myself, chewing a piece of jerky with hardtack. "Nonsense! He would have definitely told me!"
I began to recall what we had talked about before leaving, how Hunter had behaved. I remembered facts I'd noticed but hadn't questioned, knowing Hunter wouldn't give an explanation anyway. The stockpiled mountains of meat, frozen, jerky with long shelf lives. All kinds of canned goods, several sets of warm clothes for each, heated tents, thousands of rounds of ammunition.
I had noticed these details but hadn't paid them much mind, attributing them to his military habit of being prepared for anything. But now, in the light of the catastrophe, his actions looked different.
Returning to the cabin, I sat next to Hunter, who was gazing out the porthole, his face tense.
"Listen, Hunter," I began, trying to catch his gaze. "I have a suspicion that you knew about this... war... Hmm... catastrophe in advance."
His face tightened, his eyes widening in surprise.
"You've gone crazy! Of course not!"