by J. L. ROBB
As he drifted off, the words of Jeff’s prayer became slower and more faint; and he entered the world of dreams. Subconsciously his thoughts surrounded and captured Chuck’s final statement of the evening:
“The dark comet headed to Earth is from the Kuiper belt, and the blip is from the Oort cloud. Like the warming climate, these are God-made, not man-made. It is the beginning of Yahweh’s wrath.”
Jeff’s new NIV Study Bible adorned his nightstand, Gideon still in the closet. The NIV was a gift from Melissa. He dreamed about the Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud; and in his dream, he was surprised that Hutz the Putz would know anything about those. Then his dream changed as his sleep deepened and entered a world of darkness and gloom.
The next morning, Melissa met Kara for lunch at The Divide in Duluth. Kara had a friend with her and introduced Lynn.
“Oh, you must be Lynn Tomay, the Earthquake Lady?”
Melissa recognized the attractive woman from her beautiful, chestnut hair. She had seen her in pictures from Haiti, passing out light bulbs to small children, children who were the couriers for their still sick and injured parents, a people that so much of the world had forgotten quickly, at least in Melissa’s mind. Obviously not everyone, she knew, thinking about all the free light bulbs and the volunteers.
“Yep, the Earthquake Lady would be me.”
Lynn was often referred to as Earthquake Lady by many of her friends and peers. She was in Haiti at the time of the January 2010 quake. The time was approaching happy hour at her hotel when the earthquake-monster shook its gnarly head. Two weeks and many aftershocks later, nearly 250,000 human beings were dead; and the screams of the amputees could be heard through the darkness when all was quiet. There had been no anesthesia or pain medication, just rum.
“When are you going back to Haiti?”
“Soon,” Kara replied, a crumb of The Divide’s famous spinach-eggplant quiche lingering on her lower left lip. Melissa reached over, napkin in hand. “That is, depending on Soufriére Hills. She’s rumbling like never before, and the French military is evacuating everyone on the island. Seismologists think the next eruption could be the largest in Montserrat’s history.”
The lunch was brief, everyone busy with all the stuff going on. The massive space object did not come up in their conversation, and the ladies seemed nonplussed by the whole situation. Kara commented on the assistant manager.
“Kara, you’re staring!” The three ladies laughed.
“That guy’s gorgeous. Who is that? I wish I wasn’t so shy, I’d introduce myself. Oh well, I’m leaving for Haiti soon anyway. But check out those buns!”
Kara always seemed to have an excuse not to meet anyone new. She wished Lynn was going to Haiti with her, but Lynn would be heading northwest to Missouri and the New Madrid fault, and then on to Yellowstone National Park. It seemed that Yellowstone was doing some grumbling of its own and numerous dead antelope and deer had been found around the hot springs.
Abe, mostly recovered from his injuries and managing the new Duluth restaurant and nightspot, overheard Kara’s comment and escorted Prince Charming to the table.
“Hey Melissa, I want to introduce you to the assistant manager of The Divide, Scott Johnson; and this is my sister, Joanna. If there’s anything you ladies need, Scott will be happy to take care of you.” Kara blushed, but she enjoyed Scott’s attentiveness.
Joanna told everyone her last name was Berger. Unlike Abe, she had managed to get married, several times. Scott explained how he ended up in Duluth, of all places, a referral from his new friend Chad at Goddard Space Flight Center and an introduction to Abe, the restaurant manager and bartender.
Two days later, Jeffrey, Melissa, Gray, Andi, Abe and Bill celebrated Christmas on Seven Mile Beach, which was really only a five mile beach; but who cared. Christmas on Grand Cayman Island was a beauty that had to be seen, at least once.
Except for Melissa, they all pondered to themselves, silently. Would this be their last Christmas together? Melissa believed the Biblical version of the end; and that version did not indicate that a comet or asteroid was going to wipe out the world, at least not in the beginning of the seven-year Tribulation. She did wonder if the Tribulation had started.
Bill was in great shape, but he was not the Wild Willy Briggs of the past. Age could slow even the best. He briefed Jeff on the new Israeli Spybot’s test flight into several caves in Korengal Valley, undetected. Though the conversations were somewhat garbled, the audio enhancement technology solved that problem. The CIA and Mossad have a pretty good idea what the fish is, and it wasn’t good.
The new version of the USS Trieste made the descent where the K-155 Nerpa disappeared, 33,000 feet to the bottom, not really expecting to find anything. The currents were strong, so wreckage could be anywhere. It was a big place, the Marianas Trench and no trace of the submarine was found.
The Indian government had informed other world powers that the K-155 was not the sub they all thought it to be and explained the mini-ICBM pods carried by the ship and the nuclear-tipped Cruise missile capabilities.
The world’s leaders were cooperating much more closely than ever, all powers equally concerned about the comet, or asteroid. Jeff remembered the comment by Ronald Reagan, in 1987 at the United Nations so many years before:
“In our obsession with antagonisms of the moment, we often forget how much unites all the members of humanity. Perhaps we need some outside, universal threat to make us recognize this common bond. I occasionally think how quickly our differences worldwide would vanish if we were facing an alien threat from outside this world.”
The leaders were not in denial and most prayed that the ship was crumpled on the bottom of the sea, somewhere. If not…
The day after Christmas, Jeff drove Bill to the Owen Roberts International Airport, about a mile outside Georgetown, the capital of Grand Cayman. On the way, they listened to Condi Zimmerman on XM satellite radio, counting down to the New Year and listing all the disasters of 2011. It seemed that people everywhere were talking about December 21, 2012.
The fragrant air of Grand Cayman knew nothing of the worldly travails and was filled with the sweet smells of bougainvillea blooms and other tropical plants, the trees erupting in and umbrella of pink and red.
Before boarding the plane to Atlanta, and then to Tel Aviv, Bill informed Jeff that nearly all scientists consulted do not believe that the whole world has enough nuclear missiles to divert the space object from its course. They would probably, if anything, break it into a few pieces, leaving multiple asteroids headed Earth’s way.
Jeff steered the rental car back to the Cayman Grand, listening to the news, as usual.
“You live in a great country, a free country. Do you know what that means? Yahweh laid a blessing on you and gave you a great nation. It’s not that nation anymore, and he is like a disappointed parent. You have taken the laws of Yahweh and made the bad things good and the good things, bad. You chose not to follow the easiest Commandment of all, the fourth. Why?”
There he was, Hutz the Putz on the radio in Grand Cayman. Jeff briefly wondered if God was trying to tell him something. He had a date with Melissa, and that was all that was really on his mind. Their goodnight kiss last night had been the real thing, and his heart still fluttered. She had almost stayed for the night.
He changed the station on the rental car. The news was scratchy and barely audible, but Jeff heard something about another solar flare that might disrupt electricity. And something about Soufriére Hills.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Twelve hundred miles south of Atlanta, it was another beautiful day on the white, sandy shores of Seven Mile Beach. The perfect blend of tall Island pines and majestic palms provided the shading and hammock support.
With everyone gone except Gray and Andi, Jeff thought he would finally have some quality time with Melissa. He really wanted to talk with her, not that they hadn’t; but he wanted to really talk with her, to let her know that he missed be
ing her best friend. He missed other things too, not just the sex and romance they once experienced, but also the fun times. He tried not to get lost in the sex and romance aspect but found it difficult.
Gray and Andi, in the privacy of their beachfront suite, thought the same as Jeff; that he and Melissa needed some real “alone” time. Melissa had confided in Andi, and then Gray, telling them she had mixed feelings about Jeff. She was afraid to just let go, especially since she still wasn’t certain that Robert wasn’t alive somewhere; but she and Jeff just had this special chemistry, not sexual as much as mental, a chemistry that had not been shared with Robert.
Gray finished his email to Terry Krouch, a good friend and also the founder and director of Autistics Need Sports Too, a non-profit group that was largely supported by the Duluth Civitan Club. The group had a small summer camp located on the banks of Berkeley Lake, just a mile south of Duluth.
“Terry,” the email began, “I have found the perfect jet ski for the kids. Now, before you ask; I know the rules about motor craft on Berkeley Lake; but these aren’t gas powered and no propellers. Andi and I rented two yesterday and are going to rent two in a few minutes and tour the island by water. And get this, they make no noise other than the water cutting the bow.
“As soon as we get back to Atlanta, we want to buy three of these and donate them for the kids, assuming we make it back. Your effort in helping autistic children feel as special as they really are, is awesome. Go to this web site and check this baby out, ecowatercraft.com. Goes 0-30 in three seconds, is big and stable and safe for the kids. Will be back soon, hopefully.” Gray looked out over the crystal-clear waters, hoping that a miracle would spare the world from the approaching cataclysm.
Jeff grabbed the remote to turn off the news when all the power went out. He remembered something about another solar storm headed Earth’s way. He picked up the phone to call the front desk. Also out. He grabbed his satellite phone and heard nothing but static. Satellites are probably being affected, he thought.
In places where the power had not been interrupted, the news went on to state that a major eruption of Soufriére Hills Volcano was imminent. The surrounding islands, the southern United States and the eastern, coastal areas of South America and Mexico should prepare for possible tsunami activity, though at this time, “.. none is expected.”
Jeff left the suite and headed for his dive shop to meet Melissa. The tanks had been filled with compressed air the night before, so the power outage should not interrupt business. He spotted Melissa walking toward the shop, the placid, turquoise Caribbean forming the perfect background for a perfect angel, hammocks swinging in the gentle sea breeze. Jeff’s heart did what it always did when he saw her, it lost a couple of beats and turned a back flip. He hoped it wasn’t obvious.
Melissa’s beach cover-up didn’t cover up all that much, and Jeff found himself having desires that he hadn’t felt for years. He splashed himself in the face with cold water and could’ve sworn he saw a little steam.
“Are we ready?” She gave Jeff a good morning hug, handed him his latté with one raw sugar, winked and turned around. “How do you like my new beach outfit?”
Jeff found it hard to talk with his heart in his mouth and just murmured something, like a blubbering teenage boy on his first date. This day, though it might be one of his last on Earth, was starting off great.
Later in the afternoon Jeff and Melissa finished a shore dive off Seven Mile Beach, their second dive of the trip, and lugged their SCUBA gear to the nearest shady area, a couple of date palms just outside the Cayman Grand. Jeff tired easily and struggled with the gear.
Gray and Andi yelled at them from a few yards out to sea, telling them that they would be back in a while. Jeff and Melissa hadn’t even heard the silky-quiet, electric jet skis. They turned around and waved.
“Ya’ll be good now, you heah?” and they all laughed.
“Did you see them holding hands before they turned around?” Andi was hopeful that they might once again have their traveling companions back.
“You bet I did!” And they truly hoped Jeff and Melissa were as happy as they were, or soon would be.
“What a dive, at least for a shore dive! Hard to believe we saw all those rays just off shore. This has always been my most favorite dive spot, but I don’t recall ever seeing all those rays and small squid.”
Melissa agreed, still a little out of breath. SCUBA equipment was almost weightless in the water but heavy and cumbersome on shore, usually weighing about 60 pounds.
Jeff, when he wasn’t watching the stars, was an avid diver, a hobby retained from his days as a SEAL. Melissa enjoyed diving, but not to the same extent as Jeff and never had. She would prefer to shop. At the time she met Jeff, she didn’t even know what the acronym meant, and asked him.
“I used to watch Sea Hunt when I was a kid, but I never heard what SCUBA stands for?”
“It stands for Self Contained Underwater Buoyancy Apparatus. SCUBA sustains your life while underwater. The BC, or buoyancy compensator, allows you to maintain a specific depth, like a swim bladder in a fish. Keeps you from floating to the surface by counteracting your weight belt.”
“I have no idea what a swim bladder is, Jeff.”
“Swim bladders keep fish from floating to the surface or sinking to the bottom. It’s really an air filled bladder that the fish can vary. Your BC does the same thing. A stabilizer if you will.”
Jeff’s thoughts returned to the moment as they found their place on the beach, gear stored, and they collapsed into two of the three Honduran hammocks, supported by the sturdy pines.
The dive had been uneventful, but that was to be expected with a brief shore dive, except for all the rays. Stingray City was off the North Shore several miles away; and Jeff thought the rays seemed antsy, as well as numerous. That was troubling. When sea life was skittish, there was usually a reason.
“Is there room in there for me?” Jeff opened his eyes. Melissa climbed into the two person hammock and curled up against Jeff as best one could in a hammock; and she fell asleep wrapped securely in his arms.
Before falling asleep Jeff thought about God and how his only prayer in decades seemed to have been answered. Melissa kissed his hand and held it as her back lay against his skin, fitting together like two spoons in Momma’s silverware drawer.
As the mid-afternoon matured into late-afternoon, a thousand miles to the east Soufriére Hills exploded with a fury, a blast that would be heard throughout the Caribbean, once the sound waves traveled the distance at 750 miles per hour.
In just over an hour, the sound would awaken Melissa, a third of the island of Montserrat now resting in the clear Caribbean Sea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“… nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea.” Luke 21:25
Grand Cayman was a beautiful but small island, just 250 miles south of Cuba and 300 miles northwest of Jamaica.
Unique among the Caribbean Islands, the highest peak on Grand Cayman was less than sixty feet. There were actually three islands in the chain: Grand Cayman, Cayman Brac and Little Cayman. Together they comprised less than one hundred square miles of land mass, and Grand Cayman was the largest at seventy-six.
First discovered in 1503 by Christopher Columbus, the islands have no natural rivers or streams, no natural washes into the sea. The earth itself was Mother Nature’s filter and was comprised of limestone and ironstone. This filtering process was what provided the crystal-clear, blue water and what made it one of the most appealing destinations in the western hemisphere. The Cayman Trench was the deepest trench in the Caribbean and kept the beach waters of the British island gentle and quiet.
Jeff visited Grand Cayman numerous times before opening his SCUBA business. On the Island, SCUBA was very competitive. Once known for diving and sea turtles, Cayman had become one of the most desired tourist establishments in the hemisphere.
There never was much surf on Seven Mile
Beach. The Cayman Trench, Jamaican Trench and other deep, underground arteries kept the seas serene.
As they lay curled together in the hammock, Jeff’s thoughts of love and romance far outweighed the sound of surf; and he was daydreaming. They seemed really, really happy, he thought. Just like old times. Maybe.
Grand Cayman Island’s white and sandy Seven Mile Beach was actually only 5.2 miles long but somehow was named Seven Mile Beach. Gotta love the Brits.
The beach, almost flat, was lined with beautiful, majestically tall, Norfolk Island Pines on one side, and the silently lapping, crystal blue sea on the other, the slight sounds of a very tame and sedate surf.
Jeff and Melissa had spent many-a-romantic sunset on Seven Mile Beach over the years, usually shared with their best friends, the Doreys. When the four got together, it was always a hoot. Sometimes, Jeff remembered, his cheek muscles would hurt from laughing so much. However, this day was not bringing laughter and would not be funny. This day promised to be a day of death and destruction on Grand Cayman Island.
That death and destruction would remain unknown to the Chechnyan commander of the K-155 Nerpa nuclear submarine, now just a few hundred miles from the Panama Canal. The sub made slow, steady progress, quietly.
When the evening darkened under the moonless sky, the Nerpa would surface and launch a single nuclear tipped cruise missile, destined for the Pedro Miguel Locks. The detonation would fuse the locks shut, eliminating passage of the U.S. Navy’s Third Fleet from the Pacific Ocean to the Caribbean, thus delaying any access for the San Diego based U.S. Naval Forces.
The 51 mile canal took many years and lives to build, with almost 22,000 deaths during construction, most from malaria and yellow fever, mosquito-borne diseases. It would only take a split-second to destroy it. That destruction would come in a few hours, just before the start of a new and tragic year.