Just Pray

1.

It was the hottest day of the year... if you could call it that.

The door hissed open, and Elton stepped out. He waited for the steam to clear, revealing the thermometer: –3 degrees.

He wasn’t sweating, but it beat the alternative.

Ten years underground. Ten grueling years.

Locked away from temperatures cold enough to wipe out a third of the population.

Elton was what they called Groundhogs—glorified meteorologists.

The only ones allowed above the surface. Once a day, they checked—waited—observed the Earth’s skin.

The underworld called them heroes.

Science was all that mattered to Elton. Science was predictable, proven—a controlled understanding.

Every day, they returned with reports that were rarely considered news-breaking.

Disappointment would be a luxury—by now, it was simply expected.

But today, the unexpected. A day of promise. Improvement.

Elton held up his wrist and pushed the down arrow on his regulator.

I don’t need it this warm.

The airtight suit cooled.

He stepped forward.

The ground crunched beneath his bulky, brown boots.

He looked through the glass of his rounded mask. Wind swept crystals across the hardened sea of snow.

What was once Ohio was now a complete abyss.

Elton’s head snapped to his left, the sound of his heart crescendoed.

In the whistles of the wind spoke a voice all too familiar.

A voice too painful to be reminded of. Sickening.

“What is it, friend?” Talin stepped in front of him, meeting his gaze through glass helmets.

Elton’s blue eyes blinked back. A bead of sweat dropped from the top of his brown hair to the tip of his scarred nose. He shook his head.

“It’s just the wind.”

He pressed the down arrow on his regulator once more, tempted to remove the entire suit.

“Well… I’d say this is a step up from negative three hundred degrees, no?” Talin said, opening a large black crate of equipment.

Only the wind spoke for a few seconds, the voice still occupying Elton’s thoughts like a guest with an overstayed welcome.

“Uh, yeah… I think so,” Elton responded inadvertently.

Talin pulled a large device from the crate, shaped like a tube. “Shall we?” he asked.

Elton nodded, his anxious side giving off a severe persona of unenthusiasm.

Trekking a barren land of ice wasn’t a simple thing. Most landmarks were hidden or destroyed, and the unexpected shift in weather patterns always posed risks.

Miles of ground covered. Talin checked an advanced GPS every step of the way, avoiding all previous test sites.

Something was strange about this place. Something was… familiar.

Like a dog looking for the right place to piss, Talin searched the snow for a fresh sample plot.

Elton eyed dunes of snow, the sun harshly reflecting off them. Out of the corner of his eye, a twinkle—not ice, not snow—something undeniably shiny. The glow, almost blinding. The brightness seemed to almost warm his face.

Strange, Elton thought. He walked toward it, his eyes never leaving the subject. Its brightness dulled as he came closer—as if it wanted to be found without being overbearing.

The object became visible, and Elton stopped a couple of steps back.

Elton’s face twisted in discomfort. What lay at his feet was grim. No—grim was too light a description. Devastating.

Elton knelt down. He slowly unwound the golden necklace from the gloved, frozen hand protruding from the ice.

Her hand.

Her crucifix necklace.

His cross to carry.

2.

“I wish you would listen!” Cat’s voice cracked.

Elton kept packing. Being a scientist sometimes felt like a side job compared to fielding his wife’s constant warnings.

“Science alone won’t fix what’s coming! What’s already happening!”

“No? Tell me—what will?” His voice came out sharper than he meant.

She hesitated, brown eyes fixed on his. “You already know what I’m going to say.”

“What, God?” Elton shoved a wad of underwear into the suitcase. “God is going to fix this?” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “He’s going to save us all?”

Cat’s shoulders sagged. “Elton—”

“Just like He saved Jamie, right?” He turned to face her, the words cutting before he could stop them. “He’s gonna save the world, but He couldn’t even save our daughter.”

Silence.

Cat clutched her gold crucifix, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Elton pointed toward the ceiling. “While God stands by and watches us suffer, I’ll be doing what He doesn’t—saving the world.”

“Sometimes living doesn’t always mean we’re saved,” Cat whispered.

Elton turned back to his suitcase and zipped it shut.

A voice echoed through the comms: “Colony 62, please board the vehicles. Colony 62, please board the vehicles.”

He glanced at the number tattooed on his hand. “That’s us.”

They stepped out of their cramped quarters into the main hall of the shelter. The massive, insulated warehouse could have held several commercial airliners—magnificent, yet bleak.

Members of their colony stood in line to board treaded buses built for the tundra. Elton and Cat joined them without a word.

“Step up, please,” said a large man hidden behind a white thermal suit.

Elton held out his hand for scanning. The man’s device beeped, and they moved on.

Inside, the bus was warm. Soft red lights glowed overhead, the hum of the engine blending with the low murmur of passengers.

A mother and her five-year-old son were the last to board. The driver climbed into his seat, pressing an orange button to seal the door with a hiss.

“Welcome aboard,” he said, his tone brisk and authoritative. “It’s an hour to the base site. If there’s an emergency, press the red button above your head. Only press it if it’s an emergency—the vehicle will stop automatically and remain stopped for a full minute, forcing me to resolve the issue. Heavy hailstorms are forecast to start about an hour after we’re supposed to arrive. Delays could cause serious problems. Please cooperate so we can get there safely. Thank you.”

A large garage door rumbled open, and the vehicle crawled into the snow.

The sky was pure black. The ground, barely visible in the faint lights, was a white sheet stretching to the horizon.

Elton sat in silence. Cat’s words still rang in his head—not with sympathy, but with frustration. Frustration at God. Frustration at her faith. Frustration at the cold, endless dark.

He glanced sideways. Cat stared out the window, torn between two forces she loved—her husband and her God. She looked toward the heavens, but the clouds smothered the stars.

The ride’s rhythm coaxed Elton into sleep.

In his dream: spring. Green fields. Snowmelt rushing down from peaks. A warm sun. Thousands of smiling faces surrounded him, thanking him.

“Why are you thanking me?” he asked.

An elbow jabbed his ribs. He jolted awake.

Cat’s face was pale as she pointed to the window.

A baseball-sized hailstone slammed into the glass, rattling it hard enough to make passengers gasp.

The driver’s voice came over the comm: “It appears the storm’s started earlier than expected, but please remain calm. We’re approaching a canyon that’ll provide some protection. For now, trust the bulletproof windows.”

The comm clicked off.

Cat closed her eyes, breathing shallow.

“You okay?” Elton asked.

She nodded, but a couple of hailstones quickly became hundreds, drumming against the bus in a deafening rhythm.

The aisles filled as people scrambled away from the windows. Elton pulled Cat close, shielding her. She whispered a prayer into his chest.

At the front, the young boy writhed in his mother’s arms.

“Stop it. You must sit down,” she pleaded.

“No!” He reached for the red button.

Elton lunged. “No, stop!”

The boy pressed it anyway.

The bus groaned to a halt.

The driver barked through the comm, “Everyone, stay calm!” But panic drowned him out.

A hailstone the size of a bowling ball slammed through the glass, nearly striking a man across from Elton.

“Hey! You said this glass was bulletproof!” the man shouted, pointing to the driver.

“Put on your masks! Get down!” the driver ordered, waiting out the minute before he could restart.

Then a massive hailstone slammed into the right tread. Metal screamed.

Elton pushed to the front. “What is it?”

“The right track’s busted!” the driver said. He dug out tools and a thick heated hail cloak. “Put this on—it’ll melt most of what hits you.”

Elton put on the coat and met the driver outside, who was already under the bus with a jack. “Push when I tell you!”

They strained together until the tread popped back into place.

When Elton straightened, Cat was there—no cloak, snow in her hair.

“You can’t be out here! Get back inside!” he shouted.

“I want to help!”

The wind roared, snow mixing with ice.

The bus engine roared too—but from behind them. The driver’s head snapped around.

“They’re leaving,” he said flatly.

Elton turned in time to see the doors slam.

The treads churned, and the bus vanished into the white without slowing.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Only screams from the wind.

“We need to move!” the driver shouted, pointing toward the canyon wall in the distance. “We can get under the overhang!”

They fought against the wind, each step a battle. Ice pelted their visors hard enough to rattle teeth.

Elton looked over his shoulder—Cat was slowing. And the storm only quickened.

“Come on!” he yelled, forcing his way back toward her.

She was fumbling at her coat collar, gloved fingers digging for something underneath. “Take this—”

“I don’t need anything!” he barked, his voice sharp with the same anger that had followed them out of their room.

Her hand came up, something small glinting faintly in her palm, but before she could press it into his glove, a violent gust slammed between them.

“Cat!” He lunged, but the white swallowed her whole.

“Elton!” Her voice was faint, drowned by the wind.

He turned in every direction—only snow and ice.

The driver’s grip closed on his arm, dragging him toward the canyon. “If you don’t move, you die too!”

Elton let himself be pulled toward the canyon, still scanning the storm, knowing it wouldn’t matter.

3.

Elton sat on the edge of his bunk, the crucifix dangling from his fingers. The engraving pressed into his thumb like it had been waiting there for years.

Just pray.

The words rang in his head, loud as the water pumps outside the door—pumps straining over nearly dry reservoirs. The surface snow could have saved them, but every sample came back poisoned with nuclear particulates. The very weapons designed to heal the atmosphere were killing the land.

And now, there was only one left.

The final nuclear device. Their last chance to shift the climate enough to melt the ice and end the storms.

Its name—almost a joke—was painted in bold black on its casing: Hail Mary.

Elton slipped the necklace into his pocket and stepped into the corridor.

The commons was full. Dozens of colonists stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on the battered television bolted to the wall. The feed showed a lonely stretch of the surface—flat white, broken only by the dark silhouette of the Hail Mary, its warhead angled toward the horizon.

Talin glanced back at Elton. “They’re arming it now.”

On-screen, a figure in a hazard suit finished setting the timed charge, then retreated toward the waiting transport.

“Two minutes to detonation.”

The timer in the corner ticked down. People held their breath.

0:00.

Nothing happened.

The digital readout switched to red: FAILURE.

Shouts erupted—anger, panic, despair. A woman sobbed. Someone slammed a fist against the wall.

“That’s it,” Talin muttered. “We’re out of options.”

Elton turned from the noise, slipping into the corridor. His hand found the crucifix in his pocket.

“This is stupid,” he whispered, but the words didn’t carry much weight anymore.

He closed his fist around it.

“God… if you’re listening… if she was right…” He stopped. “I don’t have anything left. So if you can do something—now would be the time.”

He sat there in the quiet, listening to the hum of the ventilation fans.

Then the ground shook above him.

Elton rose and walked back to the commons. On-screen, the Hail Mary was gone, replaced by a massive bloom of light rolling over the horizon. The shockwave rippled the clouds above. Instrument readings on the side of the display spiked.

“What happened?” Elton asked.

“No idea,” Talin said. “Charge just… went off. Ten minutes late, but it went.”

The room erupted with relief. Elton didn’t join them. His hand stayed in his pocket, thumb pressed into the words.

4.

Digging was the easy part. Saying goodbye—again—was the hardest.

The memories. The regrets. The pain.

Fashioned from two wooden sticks, a crude but well-earned crucifix stood over Cat’s grave. He laid her necklace across it, the chain glinting faintly in the sun.

Elton removed his helmet, drawing in the rich, earthy air. It felt heavier than oxygen—like something he hadn’t breathed in over a decade.

He turned from the grave. Behind him stretched a beauty he thought the world had forgotten. The ground slushed beneath his boots, patches of green pushing through the muddy surface. Snowmelt ran in rivulets, stitching tiny creeks across the thawing earth.

Then came the wind—warm, steady. It carried a voice he had tried for years to bury. A voice of pain. Of regret.

But now… it spoke differently. Softer. Steadier.

Just pray.

He froze, eyes closing against the sound. His hand lingered on the crucifix, feeling its cool metal one last time.

For the first time in ten years, he smiled.

To Elton, science had always been everything—the air he breathed, the ground beneath his feet, the only source worth giving credit.

But as he looked out across the reborn land, he couldn’t help but whisper—

“I guess there are some things even science can’t explain.”