The Earth flooded.

The waters receded.

We awoke in the space ark.

We are clones.

We are humanity.

This is our story.

These words echo in my mind and press upon my shoulders. It's my responsibility to teach them to our future children so they will know the truth. Because the truth makes you free, no matter how vile the threat and no matter how violently the foundations shake.

As tremors rattle through the medical examination room, vibrating cabinets and dampening spirits, my hands tremble when I consider the gravity of this moment. I clutch a syringe with the attached vacuum tube, in the middle of drawing blood from my wife's arm for the drone to analyze. This quake was mild. Others have shaken us to where I thought the earth would split open, but more than anything, I worry about her womb and the unborn within. Previous tests have come back good, but the unknown torments me, especially when I remember the original Eve miscarried in the third trimester.

But my Eve won't, I tell myself.

After bandaging her arm below the elbow, I insert the tube into a compartment on the rear of the drone. Jinx lives in the habitat's computer system, his AI flowing from one end to the other, and possessing the sphere-shaped robot when needed. With streamlined jets beneath his undercarriage, he hovers in place, a steady whoosh buffeting the lab floor, like a fan running nonstop. I feel the air displacement on the fine hair of my arms.

Eve glares at me and swallows hard, her chin up, emphasizing the gulp as it slides down her throat. I suspect her concern lies with the earthquake and not the medical exam Jinx had guided me through. The tremors have grown more frequent and intense as the days have gone by. They started after we returned to the surface following our harrowing visit to the space ark. Eve was six weeks along, but now she's six months pregnant, nearing the last stretch before delivery.

Besides the tremors, what astonishes me is how swelled her abdomen has become with three months to go. It shouldn't surprise me since she's carrying twins. A girl and a boy. Autumn for the girl. We chose the same name of the original Eve's miscarried child—we couldn't help ourselves. And... well, we don't have a boy's name yet. We'll have to settle on something soon.

"It's getting worse, Noah." Her irises remind me of forests ablaze within the whites of her eyes, while her tone of voice and grave demeanor stills me in the moment. Her pitch rises as she speaks. "The way the hab sits across the river like a bridge, I can imagine the banks shaking so hard we fall in and get swallowed whole."

"It's the same ole, same ole. The ground has been rumbling for months. Given, the frequency and intensity have kicked up. That much is obvious, but..." I frown and feel a deep tenseness in my gut. "The hab dropping into the river? You don't think that could happen, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

I consider this and shrug. "After all we've been through, I admit, nothing would surprise me."

"So, what do we do?"

"Well, we don't need to jump to conclusions." I struggle to hold a straight face, fighting the doubt creeping into my expression. It presses against the back of my cheeks and eyes, desperate to escape. "So, we'll continue to monitor the seismic activity and decide what to do based on science, not fear." I turn, wondering if the creak in my voice betrays me. "Right, Jinx?"

When he remains silent, I remember when Cain and Jezebel hacked into the habitat and took control of our resident AI. They turned Jinx against us and used him to force us onto their rocket ship for a trip to the orbiting space ark. That's where Abraham, our overseer and the only other human we know who exists, reset his directives before sending us back to Earth.

Jinx swivels my way. "The uptick in tremors warrants a thorough investigation. The caldera lake sits on top of the largest magma chamber. It's pressurizing the super volcano. The science suggests it's a matter of when, not if."

"Thanks for the optimism," I say.

Eve's cheeks redden. "I just wish we could enjoy a little solitude while raising a family."

"What would be the fun of that?" I offer her a tight grin.

She ignores me. "What's the verdict, Jinx?"

"Your vitals are stable. Blood pressure and sugar levels are normal. Iron levels are sufficient. No deficiencies. The prenatal vitamins are performing well, along with a healthy diet of chicken and vegetables."

"Good thing we got the Animal Barn up and running," I say.

Eve scoots off the edge of the exam bench. "Good thing I got the Animal Barn up and running."

"I helped, a little."

She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart while giving me a smile that's all in the cheeks. "I have a cow to milk so we can have some with our breakfast, and you have a wall to build to keep our family safe." She shoos me with her hand. "So, off you go."

"Don't worry, I'm moving, but first the garden, then the wall." I turn a palm toward the door and Jinx leads the way.

While Eve feeds the small brood of farm animals: cows, goats, chickens, and pigs, all under six months old but full grown thanks to the artificial wombs, I tend to the garden in the habitat's rear section, which comprises vegetables like corn, potatoes, squash, and tomatoes. The morning sun shines through the polycarbonate roof, bathing the crops in a warm glow as I turn on the overhead sprinklers. The water droplets run down the leaves and stalks, soaking into the dirt. A retractable floor makes this possible by exposing the earth and giving us access to the ground beneath.

As I watch water drip off the leaves of the cornstalks, distracted by the thoughts of all we've been through and all that we're trying to accomplish, a powerful tremor rocks the habitat and throws me off balance. I scramble to stay upright, but the quake continues, shaking the overhead sprinkler pipes, dousing me with its redirected spray. When the earth stops shuddering, I stand there, hunched over in a daze, panting, lost in a swirl of thoughts.

Jinx hovers over to me. "That was the strongest earthquake to date. Six-point-eight magnitude."

As I wipe the water from my face, Eve hurries toward the garden area. From the open doorway separating the front and rear of the hab, I watch her speed-walk the length of the corridor between the Animal Barn enclosures.

When she reaches me, out of breath, her eyes dart from Jinx to me. "That was the worst one yet. What are we going to do?"

My heart flutters in my chest as I try to rein in my nerves and make sense of it all. "I don't know."

Her mouth flies open.

"Well..." I want to remain strong, but I feel like I'm failing. Finally, I get it together and spit out a coherent sentence. "There have been daily earthquakes for over a month. For all we know, that might be it today."

"Despite my previous analysis," Jinx says, "his observation is logical."

"But that's two in just a few minutes." Eve takes a deep breath and frowns. Her momentary pause suggests she's waiting for me to make sense of it all, I suppose because the original Noah was a planetary scientist before the flood. I never experienced that life, but the memory downloads from the Knowledge of Good and Evil make it feel like I lived it firsthand.

"Jinx," I say. "Has Abraham said anything about today's tremors?"

Eve smirks. "Yes. I'd love to hear what the eye in the sky has to say."

The drone faces her. "He has yet to offer any updates from his perspective on today's events, but I will relay your concern and continue to monitor the seismic activity."

Knowing Jinx is on top of things, my anxiety calms, and my heart rate subsides. I cup the side of Eve's arms and kiss her forehead. After a long moment, I draw back to look at her, running a finger through her scarlet hair, trying to portray strength. "We should get back to work. We need to keep ourselves busy. You have the animals and I have a wall to build."

She sighs and nods her acceptance.

For reassurance, I squeeze her arms one more time and give her a hug, gaining as much strength from her embrace as she does from mine.

After she leaves the garden area, Jinx follows me over the catwalk spanning the habitat's built-in canal system. Down another stretch of catwalk, the Yellowstone River rushes under the middle section of the hab, exposed by the retractable floor.

We press on and enter the exit corridor leading to the door I built from heavy timbers. When Cain and Jezebel hunted us the first time, he blasted his way inside, leaving the original hatch damaged beyond repair. So, with Jinx's help, I put together a replacement thick enough to keep out the vile wolves. It's useless against an adult rhino-bear, but their bodies are too big to fit through the doorway.

Outside, with screws fabricated from the 3D printer and a battery-powered screw gun, I climb a wooden ladder up to a beam that runs perpendicular to the ground. It's set in the middle of the perimeter wall. It's a support beam meant for strength, connecting to a vertical post on each side. I hope it's strong enough to keep a rhino-bear out, but I have my doubts.

With a saw blade extending from the base of his sphere, Jinx cuts a timber, and then, with another arm, raises it into position for me to secure it with a screw. The wall stretches from the riverbank, curving out in a semicircle around the habitat. I'm not even halfway through. As I work, even with the autumn temperatures, sweat beads on my brow and threatens my eyes.

I ask Jinx for the next timber, and a second after the words spill from my mouth, the ground trembles, swaying my ladder. It grows more intense, stronger than the last earthquake, and much longer.

The ladder swings out from under me. I grab for the middle support beam, but miss it and crash to the ground, landing on my side, my elbow and shoulder absorbing most of the impact.

The trees at the forest's edge shudder like a giant hand shakes their trunks. A roar vibrates in my ears as I shove to my feet and stumble toward the habitat, the ground threatening to topple me with each step.

As the shaking lessens, it leaves me disoriented and off balance. But there's still a distant roar in my ears. I think it's the remnants of the earthquake, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse movement. Something big. A juvenile rhino-bear—as large as an adult grizzly—charging toward me.

But the creature blazes past me, and then I realize why.

A vile wolf, its head eye level with me, chases after it. Or maybe it's just the next in line? A few seconds later, the rest of the pack rushes by me.

The wolves and the juvenile bear veer away from the river, the wall channeling them back toward the forest. As the creatures storm away, an adult rhino-bear emerges from the tree line, gray fur and all, as big as a car with a three-foot-long primary horn. The bear crashes into the lead wolf, bull-rushing over it, redirecting the stampede back toward me.

As I stare at the onslaught of wolves and bears, transfixed, Jinx hooks an arm around me and shoves me toward the habitat. I open the door and stumble inside as the drone slides the bolt locks into place. Heaving for air, I collapse in a heap as I try to make sense of it all. Nothing like this has ever happened before, and as I consider the implications, a dreadful feeling settles in my chest, a fear that these unfortunate events could spell our doom.