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Prehistoric Survival | Book 1 | Doomed City

Page 4

by Sander, K. G.


  Kevin

  Kevin Gochek absolutely and unequivocally hated flying domestic. The airlines were subpar, the prices exorbitant, and there was no such thing as business class. It was Plus Economy. And that was shit compared to the European business class.

  It was probably comparable to the worst seats when flying European.

  Kevin repositioned himself in the uncomfortably small chair and flipped the page of the large binder he was reading.

  This manuscript was dreadful. He’d agreed to read, “How to Become Happy, a Medical Guide for the Impossible,” for a coworker as a first read. It was terrible, and had Kevin doubting whether he wanted the author, Dr. Blaine Freeman, to come over for dinner next month.

  Blaine was a bore in real life.

  His writing was worse.

  Kevin’s eyes swam as he hit another paragraph containing the word “happiness” six times.

  “Drink off the drink cart?” The lovely flight attendant asked him.

  Too relieved at the offer of alcohol to care about the interruption, he looked at her and smiled, “Double gin and tonic.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” the bubbly brunette said, feigning disappointment. “I can’t serve doubles on a domestic flight.”

  Too tired to argue, Kevin said, “Sure. A single is fine.” Add this to the list of why domestic flights were the worst.

  “I’ll take a gin and tonic too please,” his seatmate, a red-haired woman in her thirties piped from beside him.

  Kevin had barely noticed her; she was so engrossed in her book she’d hardly acknowledged him.

  That was a lie. As soon as Kevin had noticed the “Oprah’s Book of the Month” sticker on her hardcover, he’d inwardly scoffed and made a mental note to not engage the woman in conversation.

  The flight attendant smiled and got them their drinks. As soon as she walked away, the red head winked at him and poured her tiny bottle of gin into his cup.

  Surprised, Kevin turned, “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

  “I know,” she said, shrugging and returning her focus to her novel, “But a single gin is a travesty.”

  Kevin snorted and took a sip of his fresh drink. The gin was bad, the tonic warm, but hey, it was a double.

  “I’m Sarah-Lynn,” the red-head added. “A man shouldn’t accept a drink from a stranger.”

  “Learn that from a book?” Kevin almost kept the cynicism out of his voice.

  Sarah-Lynn raised an eyebrow and turned the page, keeping her face neutral, “No. Actually, my father used to say that.”

  Kevin nodded, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “How did you know he was dead?”

  “You emphasized used to. Sorry, I can’t help it. It annoys my husband to no end when I do that.”

  Kevin dropped the “I’m gay” part of the conversation early and nonchalantly. He’d learned early in life that it was better for everyone if they just knew about it. Then he could get the bigotry or hate over with and stop talking to them altogether if they judged him.

  Jacob called it “protecting his heart.” Kevin always countered with “saves me from wasting conversation.”

  Sarah-Lynn didn’t twitch and turned her page.

  “So,” Kevin said, feeling a need to break the silence. “What are you flying to Saskatoon for?”

  “Flying home,” Sarah-Lynn said. She gently placed her book in front of her, marking her spot with a bookmark.

  “Ah. Vacation?”

  “Something like that. You?” Sarah-Lynn was hiding her annoyance at his conversation well, but Kevin could still see it breaking through to the surface. This made him even more uncomfortable. He was the one who was interrupted. He did not bother someone who was reading. But he couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m coming home from a speaking engagement.”

  “Well, aren’t you fancy,” she kept her book closed in front of her, curly hair bouncing with some mild turbulence.

  Kevin stared at her awkwardly. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was this thirty-year-old making him, an award-winning psychologist and novelist, uncomfortable?

  “What’s bothering you?” Sarah-Lynn asked, eyeing him over her warm tonic sans gin.

  “I’m bothering you. I’m not used to that.”

  She laughed like glitter. “Trust me, I’m used to making people uncomfortable. What problem are you having with your husband?”

  Kevin gaped at her, and she smiled. “You’re not the only one who is good at reading people.” She tapped the book in front of her and Kevin couldn’t help but look at the hardcover again.

  Her hand was covering the title, but the author name jumped out at him: BESTSELLING AUTHOR DR. SARAH-LYNN FREEMONT.

  Kevin blushed. Dr. Sarah-Lynn Freemont had been the keynote speaker of the conference he’d spoken at. Suddenly embarrassed by his ten in the morning time slot, Kevin couldn’t find any words.

  “It’s alright,” she said, “Most don’t expect someone so young.”

  “Your thoughts on attachment theory and their implications in later trauma from your latest paper are phenomenal,” Kevin breathed. He couldn’t believe that he was looking at a woman in her mid-thirties who’d doubled his lifetime success.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I like your thoughts on bonding in your latest paper, Dr. Gochek. I was intrigued at your proposition that a male bonding with only males could lead to a masculinity problem in the future.”

  Kevin blushed. Of course, she’d known who he was.

  “Don’t worry,” Sarah-Lynn said, “I don’t know many by their faces either. I’ve just always been a fan of your work.” She looked at her book, a flush rushing to her cheeks. “I know it’s weird, reading my own book. It’s the first copy from the publisher. They have me go through it to make sure there are no problems.”

  Kevin nodded and drank the rest of his drink in one gulp. “That’s the new one, then?”

  “Yes, should be out in a few months. So we have about 3 hours until we land. What’s the problem with your husband?”

  As if on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Careful to not draw attention, he pulled it out and placed it on the tray in front of him. He shouldn’t have it on, but Kevin hated being disconnected from the world.

  A text from Jacob.

  Kevin opened it and read, anger bubbling inside while he did. Furiously, he typed a reply.

  A calm hand touched his, and he looked up, meeting Sarah-Lynn’s gaze.

  “Not over text,” she whispered.

  Kevin couldn’t even be mad at the unwanted physical contact.

  She smiled gently, “We have three hours. And it doesn’t take a psychologist to see that you need to talk to someone.”

  Kevin put the phone down, took a deep breath.

  And he started talking.

  Part II

  Launch

  Chapter Eight

  Jake

  BEEEEEP.

  Jake laid on the horn of his pickup truck as a car cut him off, merging onto Circle Drive.

  “Asshole,” he yelled through the closed window at an oblivious man as he careened around the beige sedan in the left lane.

  A quick check of the clock showed 11:30 AM. He was so late. And he hated being late. But Murphy’s Law stated that he would forget his truck keys in his office. Then that brown nose Kura would come and ask him for his opinion on a case.

  A straightforward case at that. Of course, the John had killed the prostitute. It was a tale as old as time, and it wasn’t rocket science. But Kura needed the “ear just so I missed nothing,” making it an hour before Jake left his office.

  Only to forget his keys… once again.

  Fucking classic.

  He drove his truck hard, revving the engine as he passed another sedan, this time in the right lane.

  Assholes needed to learn how to drive.

  There was no way he was making the University before Maggie left for the remote station. Hell, she was probably on her way ther
e now. She could have only stalled so long before her student figured out what was going on.

  So, here’s the decision. Does he head straight for the remote station or swing by the University first, just to be sure? Even if he caught Maggie at the remote station, she probably wouldn’t want to talk to him there. The student wouldn’t want to either.

  Making a last-minute decision, he figured he would meet them at the remote station. He could pull Maggie then the student aside, posing as a journalist. Maggie would go along with it; she was smart enough.

  As much as Jake hated being late, he couldn’t let an asshole professor get away with trying to rape a TA.

  Not in his town.

  Jake mulled it over as he pulled a tin of chewing tobacco out of his pants pocket. Time for one more dip before he saw Kevin again.

  Kevin had thought he quit chew over three years ago.

  Just another thing they hadn’t talked about that was coming between them.

  As if Kevin had booked another speaking conference for Jake’s upcoming holidays. It was like he didn’t want to spend time with him.

  His head muddled, his hands busy with the tin, he didn’t see another sedan pull out in front of him until it was too late.

  “Shi-”

  Jake slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel to the left, trying in vain to miss the compact car in front of him. His truck smashed into the back of the sedan with a thundering bang that made Jake’s head scream. His truck was lifted onto two wheels and the momentum took him; it rolled a half dozen times, sending Jake’s stomach for a loop with it.

  Glass shattered. Metal screeched as it hit the pavement. An odd whooshing noise joined the fray. Jacob could only let the momentum take the truck. There was nothing to do but rag doll in the front seat, stunned as it happened.

  Jake had been to plenty of car accidents. Many horrendous ones. But he’d never been involved in one.

  Finally, after ages or seconds, he couldn’t be sure as time was moving slowly and speeding up at the same time, he stopped rolling. The truck landing precariously on its roof.

  Still conscious, he did a quick assessment of his body.

  Still restrained. Good.

  The airbags went off, which was probably why he wasn’t dead.

  His hands were still gripping the steering wheel. He forced himself to peel them away.

  A slow hiss in the window beside him. Turning his head to look, he smiled at the fact that his neck wasn’t broken. The side airbag deflated slowly.

  Holy shit.

  He’d rolled how many times and he was still alive? Hell, he could still move everything.

  A chuckle left him, a sign of the coming shock and hysteria.

  A horn sounded.

  Jacob Porter looked up through the shattered side window just in time to see the Semi-truck hurtle into the wreckage.

  Jacob Porter died at the scene, aged 41. The decorated Saskatoon Police Service Sergeant would never get his funeral.

  Chapter Nine

  Maggie

  Maggie tapped the top of her steering wheel impatiently.

  “I know you hate being late,” Lindsay piped up nervously from the front seat. “But we will make it on time.” The student gave her a sidelong glance but refused to ask her what had taken Maggie so long to leave.

  Maggie had been stalling for Jake. Her brother-in-law was never late. He hated it. She was the only one with an anxiety disorder at the supper table whenever he came over. But make Jacob Porter late and he would lose his mind.

  Of all the days he decided he wouldn’t be there on time.

  Maggie had stalled Lindsay, making her run two more final algorithms through Greg2. They’d all run fine. As far as the math was concerned, this supercollider would perform without a hitch. An electron will be fired around the city of Saskatoon, close to the speed of light. Then, using magnets, the electron will be guided to hit a Carbon-11 radioisotope. This impact would cause a massive release of energy as the nucleus of the Carbon-11 is destroyed. Well, massive in chemistry terms. Really, it would just be a blip on the monitor.

  And harnessing the energy would prove to be a whole unique problem.

  But Maggie couldn’t think of that right now. She had to trust the math. The math said it would work.

  “There’s another protest going on,” Lindsay said to her, head in her phone.

  “Oh?” Maggie asked, pulling over to the right of Circle Drive to let an Ambulance going lights and sirens pass her on the left.

  A quick look at the clock in her SUV said 11:37.

  “Yeah, they are by the secondary remote station in the South.”

  “They got the wrong station, then,” Maggie said.

  Fuck.

  Traffic ground to a halt. Signaling to the right, she tried to follow the traffic ahead of her to the right lane.

  “Let me in!” She cursed at a compact sedan beside her. The driver, oblivious to everything around him, hummed along to the music in the car.

  Maggie could tell he was humming. His head bopped to the semblance of music coming through the speakers of her car.

  “They are still saying it’s going to cause a black hole and kill the world,” Lindsay muttered, scrolling through an article.

  “Well, if the one in Sweden didn’t. Ha! Ass,” Maggie said as she maneuvered her car into the right lane.

  Flashing lights of multiple Police vehicles, Fire trucks and Ambulances reached her on the left as traffic inched through on the right.

  “I’m surprised they are letting traffic through,” Maggie said, craning her neck to look at what was happening on the highway ahead of her.

  “I’m watching it on the news,” Lindsay said, “They closed it at the University turn off. They must just be letting traffic that was left over through.”

  They crept along, Maggie doing her best to not be annoyed at the delay. A police presence like this most likely meant that someone had died. And recently. Broken glass and plastic littered the triple lane highway. With a Semi in front of her, it was hard to see what was going on.

  A sick instinct inside her told her to look. That she needed to see what had happened to someone else. That she needed to relish the fact that it hadn’t happened to her or her family. Maggie tried to shake the need, but it permeated every thought she had.

  The debris started getting closer and closer together. As the traffic turtled along, they made a slight left in the road, giving Maggie enough room from the Semi in front of her to see.

  It was carnage. It looked like a Semi had driven over a vehicle. She couldn’t even identify if the vehicle was a car, a truck, a van… it could be anything, reduced to twisted metal and busted glass. Maggie’s stomach dropped when she saw the Firefighters using the jaws of life on the wreckage beneath the Semi.

  Someone was still trapped inside.

  A Police Officer soberly laid a white sheet above where the Firefighters were working.

  But not before Maggie saw a hand extending from the wreckage.

  “Dr. Knight?”

  Lindsay’s voice pulled her back from the accident. The Semi was a ways in front of her and traffic was opening up. Maggie was holding traffic up by staring.

  Cursing her curiosity, Maggie drove faster and easily caught up to the Semi, leaving the wreckage and the person under the white sheet behind as they turned off Circle Drive to Warman Road.

  “What else does the news say about the protest?” Maggie asked, trying to pass off her rubbernecking as a moment stolen for collegiate thought.

  “It goes into the protests that were held in Geneva before their supercollider went online,” Lindsay said, scrolling. “It also details the job creation the collider made for Saskatoon over the last five years.” Lindsay smiled at her, “CTV is definitely on our side. They’re spinning it in our direction, glossing over the protests to list all the positives. Listen to this… Dr. Knight and her team are responsible for the creation of over one thousand jobs in the last five years
as the massive undertaking was moved from Alberta to Saskatchewan. A move entirely because of Dr. Knight campaigning that the size of Saskatoon was ideal compared to that of Edmonton or Calgary. The 150 kilometers of concrete and metal piping, sometimes as deep as 200 meters below the surface, along with the speed that this project came to fruition, led to about 200 million dollars back into the Saskatoon economy. Along with an additional 300 million to Saskatchewan itself. The Saskatoon Supercollider Project has rocketed Saskatoon to the top of the scientific community.”

  “A gross oversimplification of the project,” Maggie muttered, but inwardly she was pleased that at least CTV seemed to support her life’s work.

  “It says who among the elite scientists are booked to come in the next few months once it’s up and running.”

  “Anything about it dwarfing Geneva’s?”

  “No,” Lindsay said. “It says that it’s ‘by far the biggest in the world,’ but it doesn’t say how much bigger.”

  Maggie knew she shouldn’t get lost in what others were saying about this project. That they had built in five years what had taken the international community ten to build wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Nor that it was the largest collider by over one hundred kilometres.

  The leaps they were going to make in particle physics were going to be huge. If this thing worked today.

  Maggie followed Warman Road to a small grid after the industrial section of the city. A right turn and the remote station was only one hundred meters off the road. Disguised as a water pump. No one should know about this location. The large “viewing station” was South of the City where the protesters and news outlets should be. Giving her and the team of fifteen a chance to run it and spin the results before the news was told.

  The plan was working. Maggie pulled into the parking lot of the remote station. One of fifteen stations along the collider. The other scientists had arrived by bus this morning. As they did every morning.

  Maggie picked at an already too short fingernail.

 

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