"Any suggestions?" I asked, entering the ATLAS cabin. Hunter was silent, staring out the porthole, his face immobile as if trying to find answers in the black clouds of soot. Larson sat with his eyes closed, pressing his hands to his stomach, his face contorted in pain.
"We need a good sleep, and then we'll see," Hunter replied, turning away from the porthole. He headed to the cargo hold and soon returned with a bottle of whiskey. "Two or three sips each, no more," he said, uncorking the bottle.
I shook my head, feeling this wasn't the time.
"Drink if you want, but I'll keep watch," I said firmly.
Hunter shrugged, poured a glass, and handed it to Larson.
"The stomach pain will disappear right away," he assured him.
Larson downed it in one gulp, grimaced, and silently turned to face the cabin wall. He seemed to fall asleep instantly, his body going limp in the seat. Hunter raised his glass, looking at us.
"To your health!" he said, addressing everyone, and after drinking, pressed a button on the chair's armrest. With a soft hum, it transformed into a comfortable sleeping berth.
The girls, having eaten, returned to the cabin and took their seats, clearly intending to sleep again, not knowing what else to do. ATLAS hung above the planet, its six electric motors, powered by hydrogen fuel cells, emitting a soft hum. The screens on the central control panel glowed, displaying Alice's data on the machine's condition and the air outside. Everything happening seemed like a horrific, unbelievable dream. The sun was sinking toward the east, and darkness gradually enveloped the sky, where stars began to appear.
I turned on the cabin light, trying to dispel the sense of unreality, and apparently dozed off, exhausted by fear and grief. But something alarming woke me. I jumped up, my gaze fixed on the screen, where flashing red letters read: "SOS! SOS! SOS! US strategic submarine SSN-774 has lost contact with shore command. Respond! Respond!"
I approached Hunter and touched his shoulder. He startled awake, his eyes immediately going to the screen.
"Thank God, someone else is alive," he said, stretching in his chair. "They're probably far out. Give them our coordinates, but don't say anything else."
I entered the data into Alice's computer, and only then noticed Larson wasn't in the cabin. Remembering he had gone to the cargo hold after the whiskey, I rushed there.
In the cargo hold, I found Larson curled up behind the table, head lowered. He was frozen, like a statue.
"James!" I cried in horror. "What's wrong?"
I tried to lift his head, but upon touching him, I realized he was dead. His body was already stiff, his skin cold. Grief washed over me like a wave, and I broke down sobbing, realizing how few of us remained.
My screams woke the girls. Emily, seeing her uncle, screamed, her face distorted in pain. She threw herself at him, and she began to hysterically sob. Hunter and I tried to calm her, but words were useless. Emily, who hadn't yet recovered from the thought of her parents' possible death, had now lost her last family member; she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. After waiting for her to quiet down a bit, Hunter carefully led her to the passenger cabin. She curled up in a far seat, completely withdrawn, her eyes empty.
Hunter returned and sank heavily into the seat next to me.
"A lethal dose of radiation," he said quietly. "When you were already at the hangar entrance, under its protection, I couldn't get the pickup truck off his legs. It was too heavy. And at that moment, the flash blinded us."
He fell silent, his face expressing weariness and guilt.
"Now it's my turn," he added, and his voice trembled.
"No, no, no!" I cried, feeling panic tighten my chest. "I can't be left alone! It's not fair! The girls are with us... I can't handle it!"
Hunter remained impassive, turned away, as if not hearing my words. Weariness and grief, it seemed, had taken their toll, and I didn't even notice as I fell asleep—or maybe I only thought I slept.
When the sun's rays lit up the cabin, I got up and looked out the porthole. Through gaps in the thick clouds of soot, I saw the half-destroyed peaks of Las Vegas skyscrapers jutting out like bone fragments.
"Vegas... That's Vegas," I whispered.
Hunter jumped up immediately.
"Radiation levels are still high, it seems," he said, as if talking to himself. "But there's a point in descending a bit to see with our own eyes what happened there."
He approached the control panel, and ATLAS began descending rapidly, though we didn't feel the movement thanks to the stabilization system. When the machine entered a dense cloud, the instrument numbers jumped. Alice displayed data: "Carbon dioxide concentration: 25%. Carbon monoxide: 18%. Group 'B' toxins: 10%. Lethal hazard."
Hunter tapped the screen with his finger.
"High concentrations of carbon dioxide and toxins," he said. "Other impurities appear in small doses, sometimes disappearing."
He lowered ATLAS further. From an altitude of five thousand meters, the picture of destruction became clear. Las Vegas, once glittering with lights, was dead. Skyscrapers had become twisted skeletons, their glass spread like melted wax. The streets were covered in a layer of ash and soot, which strong winds scattered, creating a gray haze. Parks and casinos had vanished in the fire, their charred remains barely discernible. Lightning darted over the city, clouds billowed, changing from black to gray, sometimes turning into blood-red shreds like wounds in the sky. The waters of canals and reservoirs had evaporated, leaving dry cracks covered in ash.
"A depressing picture," Hunter said sorrowfully.
"Did everything really burn?" I said, activating the zoom on the video lens. At maximum magnification, it became visible how the wind swirled ash and soot, lifting them into the air like ghosts of the destroyed city.
"What should we do?" I reminded Hunter of his suggestion to go down to the ground.
"We'll risk it!" he snapped out of it, his tone brooking no argument. "On one condition. I've absorbed a lethal dose of radiation. Only I will go out."
I wanted to object, but he didn't let me get a word in.
"If something happens to me, you will take ATLAS to where we were born and grew up. Bury James and check if any of my parents survived. But remember: if it's the same there as here, come back. In the desert, there are vast empty spaces where there were almost no explosions and less radiation. You'll find shelter there more easily than in densely populated areas. Everything you've seen, everything you've learned, you must describe and preserve. This must be left for future generations. This is my last request, my order!"
His insistent desire to leave a trace surprised me. He didn't know if there would be life on the planet, if anyone could ever read these records, but he seemed to want to give me a purpose that would give meaning to my days. I looked at him, feeling the weight of his words settle on my shoulders, and didn't know how to respond.