"You've gone crazy! Of course I didn't know!" Hunter almost shouted it, his voice trembling with indignation. He wanted to jump up from his seat, but his gaze fell on Larson lying in the adjacent seat, and he stopped himself. As if justifying himself, he began speaking quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush:
"You know that in 1969, the Treaty of Tlatelolco was signed—banning nuclear weapons in Latin America and the Caribbean. But some time ago, a report landed on my desk: the Russia-China alliance had made a secret deal with several Latin American countries to deploy nuclear missiles on their territory. For years, they've been transporting warheads on Chinese ships disguised as refrigerated vessels, their holds lined with lead film. Because of that, neither our spy satellites nor Atlantic sensors detected any radiation—and we suspected absolutely nothing."
He faltered, exhaling heavily.
"I immediately realized our government wouldn't just let this slide," he got up from his chair, approached the screen where the "SOS" system was blinking, then returned but didn't sit, stopping in front of my seat.
He sank wearily back into his chair, massaging his temples as if trying to ward off a headache or memories.
"I reported this to my boss, but he ordered me to keep quiet... I should have gone higher. Instead, I put in for leave... I had a premonition..."
Hunter waved his hand, and I noticed his eyes glistening with tears.
"Do you have any idea what's down there?" He pointed at the porthole, behind which black clouds of soot billowed. "Mass death, corpses... decaying corpses. And among them—my parents."
Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving wet trails. This strong, hardened soldier, whom I knew as an unyielding warrior, looked broken. I felt my chest tighten with pity. Hunter, always ready for battle, was now just a man who had lost everything.
"Maybe we can still help them?" I said, but my voice sounded uncertain, almost pleading.
"No, no!" Hunter jumped up again, his words sharp. "Our salvation is here, in the sky above the desert! Vast areas aren't built up, except for your base, which they've already destroyed. There are no other targets here. We're only safe here in the air above the desert!"
I disagreed with him. As a senior officer of a secret military base, I had participated in anti-nuclear defense drills. We were assured we'd be warned a week in advance of war, that developments like Alice would be hidden in well-protected bunkers under mountains. But now I understood: no one had time to leave their posts, no one had time to hide. And if a retaliatory strike was launched, it was only thanks to automation. I'm an optimist by nature, and I didn't want to believe that politicians or fanatics could bring the world to this. But the reality burning below left no room for illusions.
Finding nothing to say to Hunter, I decided to distract myself. My thoughts returned to Emily and Keila, who sat in the corner of the cabin, so shocked it seemed they'd fallen asleep from the horror. Approaching them, I noticed they were already awake and whispering quietly, their faces pale but their eyes alive, as if clinging to any opportunity to distract themselves.
"Girls, you must be hungry?" I asked softly. "Come on, I'll feed you."
They hesitantly stood up, exchanging glances, and followed me to the cargo hold, where a small table and microwave stood. I took smoked meat from the refrigerator, opened a can of vegetables, and heated a portion of fried potatoes. Making tea, I set the food before them, and the three of us sat down, trying to create some semblance of normalcy.
"My name is Ork," I said, trying to speak in a paternal tone. "Given the circumstances, we never properly introduced ourselves. Let's do it again. What are your names?"
"My name is Emily Larson," the younger one replied, her voice quiet but firm. "And my friend—Keila."
I noticed Keila kept rubbing her nose and eyes, her movements nervous.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying not to frighten her.
"My nose, face, eyes, hands are stinging," she replied, shyly lowering her gaze as if feeling guilty. "Like I've been rubbed with nettles."
"Has that happened before?" I asked, suspecting these were the first signs of radiation exposure.
Keila glanced at Emily and suddenly grinned mischievously, as if a memory briefly chased away the fear.
"Yeah, last summer," she said. "We argued over a boy and decided whoever ran through the nettles three times first would get to date him."
I couldn't help but smile at their childish naivety, but anxiety didn't leave my soul. Emily was slender, graceful, with blonde hair swept back, a high forehead, and blue eyes that looked serious, like two lakes. Keila, dark-skinned, with long hair falling to her shoulders and brown eyes, radiated an amazing cheerfulness despite everything that had happened. They were almost the same age but so different—one reserved, the other sincere and open.
We ate in silence, and Emily, as if sensing a lack of order in our male company, began helping me.
"Should we put the food back in the fridge?" she asked, pointing at the leftovers.
"Yes," I smiled, grateful for her initiative.
Leaving the girls to clear the table, I returned to the cabin, where Hunter and Larson were waiting. Hunter sat as before, staring out the porthole, while Larson, pale and weak, tried to sit up straighter, but his body trembled with pain.