by Bobby Akart
Did I miss a hurricane forecast? Wait a minute, it’s only April. What the hell?
For ten minutes he traversed the parking lot in search of an open space, along with dozens of other cars. Finally, like several pickup trucks, Pop opted to pull his pony onto the grassy median between the shopping center and the highway. He grabbed his Publix shopping totes and headed toward the store. What he found astonished him.
People were pushing and shoving to get inside. There were no shopping carts to be found. Pop followed a large heavyset man, using him like a running back might follow his fullback, to force his way through the glass doors, where the chaos roared.
The cashiers were overwhelmed. There were no baggers as people shoved their purchases into pockets, suitcases, and beach totes. He made his way to the right, toward the bakery, produce and deli counter, only to find the refrigerated shelves empty. A young man was trying to unload boxes of Chiquita bananas, only to be knocked to the side by the crowd. Shoppers, rather than grabbing a bunch, were attempting to tote whole cases in their arms. That was because there was nothing else to buy.
Pop approached the disheveled young man and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir. To be honest, I wanted to quit after yesterday, but my folks told me I needed to work because the store manager promised first dibs on meat that came in today’s delivery. Only, the delivery never showed up.”
An argument broke out behind them, and Pop pushed the young man to the side where organic vegetables were usually on full display, except for today.
“This started yesterday?” asked Pop.
“Well, really Friday night right at closing time. I guess the reality of the rocket ship blowing up frightened people. The next thing you know, they came to the store and began buying up all the bottled water and batteries. You know, the usual stuff we run out of when a hurricane is on the way.”
“I’ve seen it before, but …” Pop hesitated as another scuffle broke out as one of the women in the bakery brought out a tray of baked bread and several men fought over it. “This is ridiculous.”
“Yes, sir. There was a line of a hundred people standing at the door when we opened yesterday morning. By early afternoon, virtually everything edible in the store had been cleared out. It was totally insane. Late yesterday afternoon, when the truck arrived from our Lakeland distribution center, people rushed through our stockroom and tried to grab case packs of canned goods. They got angry when our managers told them the products weren’t for sale until they’d been scanned into the inventory system. It almost caused a riot.”
The sound of breaking glass and two women cursing one another could be heard over the uproar concerning the bananas. Pop subconsciously pulled his grocery totes and opened them, confirming they were empty, and imagined they would likely stay that way. He wasn’t prepared to do battle with the crazed shoppers.
Just the day before, he’d gone into Apalach to pick up a few things from the Gulfside IGA. Nothing had appeared out of the ordinary as he made his purchases of primarily baking-related items.
“Good luck, sir,” the young man said as he began to walk away. Then he added, “You’ll be able to catch it on the news tonight, probably. ABC 27 sent a crew over a little while ago, and the mob didn’t disappoint them. A fight broke out in the parking lot over a shopping cart full of soda. Can you believe it?”
Pop shook his head, but not in disbelief. He’d heard the stories of economic and societal collapse coming out of Venezuela for the past decade. As the socialist regime tried to hold on to power, propped up by the Russians and the Chinese, the people suffered. Empty grocery shelves and emaciated children were the norm in a nation that was once the wealthiest in South America. Pop just never imagined it could happen in America, albeit for different reasons.
He didn’t hesitate, immediately turning and bulling his way through the throngs of would-be shoppers trying to force themselves into the store. If this melee was about to hit the news, then he only had one chance to stock up before the quiet little town of Apalachicola would react.
Chapter 14
Sunday, April 15
CBS Broadcast Studios
New York, NY
“Jackie, don’t be nervous.” Sparky Newsome tried to encourage his friend to relax. “I mean, I know how you feel, but once you start talking, it’s easy. Just tell the truth about what happened and, most importantly, keep your answers short. If you go on and on, then Jack will have to interrupt you, and it throws you off track. You know?”
Jackie Holcombe had experienced the worst side of the way the American government was capable of treating innocent citizens when, in the name of national security, they cast aside the Constitution and civil liberties. Sadly, over the last half century in America, national security had been used as an excuse to operate in the shadows, allowing actions to be taken that were hidden from public view. Jackie was a victim of this trend, but now she was bravely going to tell her story.
Jack Young, the CNN national correspondent whom Sparky had contacted first the day Jackie was abducted, entered the green room to speak with his interview subjects. “Okay, it’s almost go-time. Let me reiterate, there’s a reason we don’t like to rehearse these types of interviews. Our viewers aren’t interested in staged Q and A’s. They want to hear the truth and will smell a ruse in a heartbeat.”
Jackie grimaced and then managed a smile. She appeared embarrassed. “Jack, I’m afraid I’ll start crying as I retell what happened.”
Young nodded reassuringly. “Then, by all means, cry. Let out the raw emotions that naturally resulted from the ordeal you’ve been through. People need to know you were being diligent, concerned you’d be labeled a fearmonger if you were wrong. You were never given the chance to share your findings, you know, that started with a hunch by that deceased young man.”
“Okay,” said Jackie with a slight sniffle.
Sparky patted his old friend on the shoulder and reminded her of a day from their childhood. Do you remember when you had to quit Briarwood Academy because your dad lost his job? You thought that was the end of the world.”
Jackie chuckled. “Yeah, I felt like such a jerk because I made fun of you for going to public school, and here I was, the new kid, slummin’ it at Washington-Wilkes High School just like you.”
“And we came out just fine, didn’t we? You became interested in the stars, met the love of your life, and now you’re famous. You just never know what will come out of a seemingly crappy turn in life.”
Jackie smiled and turned her attention to one of the production assistants entering the green room.
“Mr. Young, they’re ready for all of you now.”
“Okay, guys, it’s showtime. Remember, Jackie, keep it real. Sparky, you’re an old hand at this now. How many interviews have you given in the last week? Seven?”
“This will make eleven,” he replied. “They say I’m a natural, but my wife says that I ham it up too much for the camera. Honestly, I just keep saying the same thing over and over again, so it’s become kinda routine.”
“The truth can be mundane at times,” said Young. “But in a story like this, it never gets boring. Come on.”
Young followed the PA, with his two guests in tow. Following a brief stop at hair and make-up, the two ordinary citizens, now famous because of the discovery of IM86, settled into director’s chairs across from Young.
Minutes later, the interview was in full swing.
“Now, Miz Holcombe, you had taken the time to check and recheck your findings. Do you regret not coming forward sooner?”
Jackie hesitated because she had second-guessed herself repeatedly since the night she found Nate Phillips’s computer and the video recording. “Jack, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just fate that I happened to see the obscure streak of light in the background of Comet Oort’s long tail. I don’t know. But I had to make sure before I went public. You know, the media.” She paused and smiled at Sparky, then to her host. “The media doesn’t alw
ays treat someone respectfully when they make a claim like this one. You know, tinfoil-hat-wearing conspiracist and all that.”
Young furrowed his brow. “What happened the next day?”
“Well, Sparky was pretty insistent that we contact the appropriate authorities, which, for me, was the Minor Planet Center at Cambridge. I insisted on speaking with someone in charge and got the head of the MPC, which really shocked me. After I provided her everything I knew, and sent the email with all of my findings, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Then what happened?” asked Young.
“To be honest, it frightened me so bad that I thought I’d been swatted,” replied Jackie. Swatting was a harassment tactic whereby someone would deceive 911 emergency operators that a hostage situation or bomb threat or active-shooter scenario existed at an individual’s address, resulting in a heavily armed SWAT team descending upon the premises. At times, the homeowner had been fatally injured as a result of the heinous practice.
“Did they announce who they were?” asked Young.
“No. No knock. No warning. Only the kicking in of my front door. Within seconds, I was pulled off my sofa and thrown to the floor. I was handcuffed and threatened to stay quiet. The entire ordeal took less than a minute. They jerked me off the floor and threw me in the back of a van. It was just like you might see in the movies.”
“Then what?”
“I was blindfolded and gagged. I couldn’t stop crying and began to hyperventilate. I kicked and tried to beg them to let me breathe, but the driver and the passenger ignored me. I kinda lost track of time, but I’m guessin’ it was an hour later when the van came to a stop and I was dragged into a helicopter.”
Young shook his head and provided the camera an appropriate look of disgust. “At some point, you were allowed to speak, correct?”
“Yes, only for a moment, while on the helicopter. They didn’t ask me about the comet or the asteroid. They didn’t seem to care about any of that.”
“What did they want to know?” asked Young.
“Who I’d told about the asteroid. At first, I lied because, um, I’d only talked to two people, Sparky and my husband. I was worried for them both, so I told them nobody. I was still blindfolded and really scared, especially when a man with a deep voice began screaming at me. He said he had my phone and saw that I’d placed two phone calls. He read the numbers off and confirmed they were Sparky and my husband from the address book. That’s when I fessed up.”
Young studied his notes and looked toward Sparky. First, he turned back to Jackie. “What happened to your husband?”
“Well, my husband is a truck driver, and he’d come back from being on the road,” she began. She glanced over at Sparky, and tears welled up in her eyes. “He, um, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay, Miz Holcombe.” Young waved to a production assistant, who already had a box of Kleenex at the ready to provide to Jackie in case she broke down.
Jackie lost all sense of decorum and blew her nose, a common human act that was rarely seen on live television. She regained her composure somewhat and continued. “Anyway, he came home and found our place torn apart by the same people who took me away. He was concerned and called Sparky after trying several other friends of ours. During their conversation, Sparky’s phone went dead, and James freaked out. He drove down to the Taliaferro County Sheriff’s Office and started to get suspicious because they wouldn’t take his missing person report. When they really stonewalled him, well, he has a bit of a temper and, um, kinda lost it on ’em. They locked him up and refused to allow him a phone call for a day and a half. Then, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, they let him go. He had to walk home from Crawfordville in the dark, not having any more answers than he did when they locked him up.”
Young allowed a dramatic pause and turned to the camera. “When we return, we’ll show you what happened when 60 Minutes correspondents attempted to get an on-camera interview with the sheriff in this rural Georgia county, as well as the response I got when I confronted the head of the FBI field office in Atlanta about the treatment of Miz Holcombe and Mr. Newsome.”
Sparky reached over and patted Jackie on the arm, who’d begun to cry again. “Hey, hey, you did great. It’s all over now.”
“No, it’s not over. Other networks want to talk to me, too. Sparky, I don’t know if I can. I break down every time. I was so scared.”
“Listen, Jackie. I don’t know what’s gonna happen with this asteroid. I do know our stories need to be told so people are aware of what’s happening. The most important thing for you and me to do now is get back home to the people who love us, and plan on how we’re going to prepare for what’s headed our way.”
Young had walked away, and the production assistant allowed the two guests to linger a little longer on the famous set. “Sparky, you do understand that if the Russians don’t succeed, and whatever NASA has planned as backup doesn’t, we’re all toast.”
Sparky laughed. “Yeah, I know. Mary and I have reconciled ourselves to that. I’ll be honest, I was never into that whole preparedness thing. Beans, Band-Aids, bullets, you know, the doomsday prepper stuff. I’ve really changed my opinion. As soon as I cashed the check CBS gave me last Monday, Mary and I scooted around town buying up supplies. Heck, we made more trips to Walmart in Thomson than I care to admit. We decided to fight like hell to survive.”
Jackie dropped her chin to her chest. “I wish I could get James on board with something like that. He’s like c’est la vie. You know, whatever happens, happens. I didn’t want to fight with him because he was like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand.”
“So do it anyway. I mean, buy some food, bottled water, and maybe a bunch of medical supplies. Do you guys have a gun?”
Jackie laughed. “Come on, Sparky. Everybody back home has at least one gun.”
Sparky smiled and shrugged. He hadn’t until all of this came about.
Jackie continued. “You know, James is kinda in denial. Would you believe he took a trip to the West Coast this morning? He’s gonna be gone a week.”
Sparky stood as he sensed the production team needed them to wrap up their conversation. “Okay, maybe that’s a good thing. You know, you’ll miss him and everything, but while he’s gone, you can get ready. On our flight back to Augusta, I’ll tell you what I learned from a fella in town who’s into that stuff.”
Chapter 15
Sunday, April 15
Johnson Space Center
Houston, Texas
The usually unflappable Gunner Fox arrived at the Johnson Space Center mentally exhausted. He prided himself upon being unmoved by excitement, always possessing a stoical approach to the cards dealt him in life. After Heather, some said he’d become jaded. Others wondered if he’d ever return to his amiable self. Today, his mind was a ball of mush following his whirlwind trip to Fort Belvoir and, later, Wallops Island. He was ready to hit the sack and start fresh in the morning.
A car met him at the gate, and two friendly members of the NASA security team drove him to Building 9, the home of the astronaut training center and the technologically advanced Space Vehicle Mockup Facility.
He recalled Heather telling him about the famed building that had become such an important part of NASA’s operations. Since 1980, every astronaut had walked the floors of Building 9, where astronauts trained and engineers developed the next generation of space-exploration vehicles.
Within Building 9, located in the heart of the NASA Johnson Space Center, the astronauts studied in full-size classrooms that resembled a variety of space vehicles, from the original shuttles to the latest in experimental spacecraft like the Starhopper.
For the moment, all normal operations within Building 9—involving training for future missions, or the construction of space vehicle mockups—had been halted. The facility had been cleared for just one purpose—training Gunner and the team of astronauts who’d make the second attempt to protect Earth fr
om the planet-killing asteroid, IM86.
“Major, you’ve been assigned one of six housing units within Building 9 at the request of your assigned training officer. Most likely, you’ll spend ninety percent of your time here, I’m told.”
Gunner nodded as he exited the car and followed the two security personnel into the building. “Can you tell me the name of this training officer?”
“I’m sorry, sir. That’s not up to us. Once you get settled in, take a shower, and have a meal, an orientation officer will reach out to you and give you an idea of your schedule.”
Gunner shrugged and walked through the desolate building. It was late on Sunday night, and he suspected any last-minute arrangements for tomorrow’s training sessions had already been made.
“What about clothes? As you can tell, I packed light.” Gunner held his hands out to his sides, reminding his escorts that he didn’t have any luggage. He waited for an answer as they approached a security desk guarding a set of steel doors.
“Sir, we’re going to hand you off now. This gentleman will be able to assist you further. Good luck, sir.”
Good luck? I’ll need more than luck, but I won’t turn it down if it comes my way.
“Sir,” began the desk guard, “welcome to Building 9.”
“Thanks. Um, where is everybody?” Gunner looked around again at the dimly lit complex of offices and classrooms.
“It’s been a busy forty-eight hours, sir, in preparation for tomorrow. You’re the last to arrive.”
Gunner appeared confused. “I am? I mean, there are others?”
“Yes, sir. You are one of six bunking at Building 9. Two senior officers are located at other residential housing units here at the JSC.”
“Okay.” Gunner stretched out the word as he glanced around again. “Say, do you have any clothes hanging around here? You know, maybe one of those cool white jumpsuits with the NASA logo on it?”