By Garrison Scott
©2017
For David.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Five Years Ago. The Karoo, South Africa.
In South Africa, just outside of the small town of Sutherland, Dr. David Kim was in full out panic mode at his station at the South African Astronomical Observatory. At the time, the Observatory was home to one of the world’s largest telescopes and although the tourists made their wayin and out of the facility quite frequently, there was real work being done there.
At that early hour, however, Dr. Kim was alone, which was a good thing. A very good thing, in fact. For on that particular morning Dr. Kim could be found furiously rubbing his forehead and mumbling to himself as he broke into a drenching sweat. He continuously looked back and forth from his tablet computer to the monitor attached to the large telescope next to him.
“Christ.”
After checking and rechecking his data by tapping, scrolling and swiping at his tablet Kim could no longer deny the reality of the situation.
He made his way to a messy desk nearby and started digging around the loose papers and haphazardly tossed file folders on top of it. Within a few minutes he found what he was looking for – a faded and dog-eared business card with the NASA logo front and center.
He picked up the phone and punched in the numbers from the card and waited. After a few rings a sleepy voice on the other end answered.
“It’s 2:00 a.m. this better be good.”
“James Garrison? This is Dave Kim from the SAAO. I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, but there’s a problem with ‘XF11.”
James Garrison propped himself up in his bed at the mention of ‘XF11.
1997XF11 (the official name) happened to be a rather large and rather fast moving asteroid. Discovered in 1997, ‘XF11 was predicted to make an extremely close pass of the Earth in late 2028. To get a phone call in the middle of the night regarding this asteroid in particular could not mean anything good.
“What kind of problem?”
“Its trajectory has changed. The new path has it on a collision course with Earth.”
ONE
Outside her window, the town of Great Neck, Long Island was the very definition of chaos.
Skyler Campbell stood in her kitchen and shook her head in disbelief as she looked out at the bedlam consuming her neighborhood. A neighborhood that had once hosted block parties and garage sales, where everyone knew each other, where everyone looked out for one another. A neighborhood where she personally had sold lemonade to passersby no more than ten years ago. This very same neighborhood, with these very same neighbors, was now an astonishing display of lawlessness, rioting and mayhem. And selfishness, she thought to herself, something she should have expected, but didn’t.
Mr. Kensington, who had always given out full-sized candy bars at Halloween, was in a fistfight with Mr. Chu whose kids Skyler had babysat — seemingly over a parking spot. Mrs. Callahan, the president of the Rotary club, was standing in the middle of the street shrieking at nothing in particular. Not one person cared enough to find out why. Other people were also doing their best to turn a blind eye to their neighbors and friends. They had more important things to be concerned about. They were all busy packing their vehicles with every material possession that would fit. Big screen TVs, stereo systems, game consoles, desktop computers and monitors, clothes, appliances. It was funny to see what some people thought they needed to take with them when the world was coming to an end.
It had been five years since scientists had discovered that 1997XF11 was no longer going to be just “a close call.” Five years since her grandfather had come to pick her up from her freshman year homecoming game with a dark look on his face. Everything changed for her five years ago. But that wasn’t the case for everyone.
The mainstream media, countless politicians and late night television personalities had all downplayed the asteroid’s impending arrival at first. The terms “tin foil hat” and “conspiracy theorists” were tossed around ad nauseam. Jokes were made and people were targeted for their beliefs. Sometimes it was just a few posts on social media that cost them their jobs, sometimes there was physical violence. Skyler wasn’t sure why it seemed like their mission was to downplay all things ‘XF11, perhaps it started as a well-meaning and meticulously orchestrated campaign to stave off a worldwide panic. Perhaps they were all just ill-informed.
Whichever the reason, the downplay worked.
A majority of the world’s population chose to believe the rhetoric and as a result they were nowhere near prepared for what was coming. Exhibit A was happening right outside of Skyler’s window. Exhibit B, was happening everywhere else.
Eventually the press and the politicians began to amend their narrative.
Well, yes, it’s coming but —
•it’ll fly right past us like every other asteroid does.
•it’ll be a “close call” that may effect the oceans’ tides, but not significantly.
•it’s most likely unnecessary but out of an abundance of caution the UN has put together a special council to investigate ‘XF11.
•our governments are working together to send missiles into space to head off the asteroid and destroy it before it even gets close to Earth.
That last narrative, the one with the missiles, that one went on for roughly 18 months. Turns out it’s extremely hard to blow up something that is flying at 280,000 miles per hour. They tried. Three times they tried, never with the proper results.
Six months ago the script flipped entirely — without apologies to everyone who tried to give them ample warning — the main stream media, the politicians, the late night television personalities all got into the survival business. Hawking high priced products, giving camera time to people who were more interested in selling merchandise than they were giving good and sound survival advice. But they did it in an entertaining way, and even in the shadow of certain doom, ratings mattered above everything else.
In the middle of it all, there had been a presidential election. Somewhere between “Close Call” and “Abundance of Caution” America elected her newest president. General Randall Jefferson had been an amazing candidate. A medal of honor winner and a four star general, he was humble, handsome, quick witted and seemingly of, by and for the people. His campaign slogan “Isn’t it time we had another Jefferson in the White House?” resonated with both sides and he was swept into office by an overwhelming majority of votes.
Neither Skyler nor her grandfather had voted in the election. 'XF11 and survival were their priorities, to them it didn’t matter who was in the White House.
She sighed and adjusted her gaze in the window and focused on her own reflection. She wrinkled her nose in disapproval and tried to tame down the wisps of blond hair that were escaping her ponytail holder.
God my hair just never behaves, she thought to herself and then shook her head. Who cares
what you look like? Incoming asteroid remember, Sky?
Behind her she heard her grandfather enter the kitchen.
“Good morning, darlin’. Happy Bunker Day.”
Her grandfather, Everett Campbell, was a hero to Skyler, her brother Bryce and countless others. A decorated member and eventual commander of Delta Force who retired from the Army early to raise Bryce and Skyler when they lost their mother to cancer more than 10 years ago.
She turned from the window and gave him a weak smile. “You were right, Grampa.”
“About what this time?”
She turned back toward the window. “That this was going to bring out the worst in nearly everybody.”
“Things not getting any better outside I take it.”
Skyler shook her head. “No, some of them are at each others’ throats. Others are packing their cars with flatscreens and Playstations because those will absolutely help their chances of survival when the grid is down and there’s no electricity for months. Dumbasses.”
Everett walked up behind Skyler and took a look at the scene playing out in the street for himself. “No time like the present I guess.”
“Yeah, except maybe the last few years we’ve all had to prepare for this.” She paused for a moment as she looked out the window. “I wonder where they even think they’re going?”
Everett shook his head.
“Well, according to this,” he raised the newspaper up and shook it, “they are heading for the city, but I don’t suppose they’ll get very far. The Expressway is bound to be jammed.”
Skyler sighed and turned away from the window. “This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a traffic jam on the L.I.E.”
Everett made his way to the kitchen table with his last morning paper while Skyler headed for the coffee maker.
“Coffee, Grampa?”
“That sounds good to me.”
“There’s coffee in the bunker, right?” Skyler knew the answer to her question. Of all the creature comforts she could do without during an apocalypse, coffee was not one of them. This bit of teasing had become part of their morning routine.
“You ask me that every day.”
“I know. I just want to be sure.”
“There is no coffee in the bunker. We didn’t have enough room.”
“Grampa!”
Everett chuckled. “Ok, ok. Yes. Coffee. A lot of coffee.”
“Thank you.” She grinned at him. “I swear that’s the last time I’ll ask.”
“You’ll see soon enough for yourself. Now, do you mind if I put on the radio, angel?”
“Bryce coming on soon?”
“Should be.”
Everett reached over to the old fire engine red Bakelite tabletop radio and switched it on. That old radio had sat on that kitchen table for as long as Skyler could remember. If she had to guess, she would say it was at least 70 years old. It was in remarkably good shape for an antique.
Or maybe that’s why it was in good shape. A simple design, one speaker, a few knobs, an antenna with some wires and tubes hidden under its bright red exterior. No computer chips, no software, no bluetooth, no internet, nothing modern about it at all. The original plug and play.
Out of its one speaker came the voice of Jesse Jones. Politicians and reporters often referred to him disdainfully as “a crackpot,” but thanks to him, millions of his listeners were prepared for what was coming. He had had someone on the inside of NASA who gave him the lowdown on ‘XF11, and he had spent the last five years trying his best to convince people that it really was coming. Less than 24 hours before the asteroid was due to hurl it’s way to Earth, Jones was still fighting the good fight, broadcasting and warning anyone who would listen about the havoc that would be wreaked by 1997XF11.
“Think about it folks. 5 miles high, 5 miles wide and coming at us at 280 thousand miles an hour. Common sense tells us that nuking this thing out of the sky so close to the Earth’s atmosphere will not end well for any of us. This is serious. Coming into the studio now I have my good friend, more like a brother really, Bryce Campbell, who is going to give you all some last minute advice on what you can do to save yourself and your families when the time comes.”
Bryce Campbell had followed in his grandfather’s footsteps. He'd joined the army and was tapped for Delta Force after his first tour of duty in the Middle East.
Because each branch of the military valued its members, they had not gone along with the politicians and the media's narratives. Six months ago they gave all of their people leave to prepare for' 'XF11. This was the catalyst for the change of narrative by the media and the politicians in Washington. When military members came home and let their families know why they got leave there was no way to bury the truth any longer. The narrative shift was swift but maintained a casual tone.
Even the newspaper Everett was reading had that same tone. “Don't Panic!” admonished the cover in big bold type. Beneath it was an artist's rendition of nuclear missiles successfully! breaking up the asteroid. That there even was a newspaper delivered to the house this morning — like it was any other morning — told Skyler how seriously many were still not taking 'XF11.
Skyler brought two freshly brewed mugs of hot coffee over to the kitchen table. She sat down with her grandfather and continued to listen to the broadcast.
“Bryce, the countdown clock has begun. In just a few hours from now the US will launch nuclear missiles into the sky to try and break this thing up before it enters our atmosphere. The results will surely be catastrophic. So what do you recommend people do to prepare for the apocalyptic events that will most definitely follow?”
“Jesse, thanks for having me on. First and foremost, stop everything and get underground NOW. Don’t have a bunker? All major airports have reinforced underground levels, as do all military bases. These places were paid for with your tax dollars. Go there, force your way in. This is not the time to be shy.”
“That’s great advice people,” Jesse agreed. “How about your loved ones Bryce? Are they safe and sound somewhere?”
“They are absolutely safe. My grandfather and my sister will be riding out ‘XF11 in an old Cold War era bunker on Long Island.”
Everett put down the paper and took one last gulp of his coffee.
“Maybe that’s our cue, angel.”
TWO
Dick Ross was not happy. Truth be told, Dick Ross was rarely happy. But today, today he was furious. An asteroid was heading his way, the kid was crying, his wife had that look on her face, again, and his Great Neck, Long Island neighborhood was a parking lot.
People were packing their cars, parked haphazardly, double-parked in some instances. How the hell was he supposed to get out of here in his mini van — I can't believe I drive a God Damned minivan! — filled with crap, his wife and his kid?
So yeah, Dick Ross was not happy.
He thought he had done a fine job fitting all of their shit in the back of the vehicle. He had used every last inch of free space available. Why couldn't Karen see how great of a job he'd done? And Oh my God why was that kid still crying?
“Alissa, stop your crying!” He had wanted to sound stern, but instead of a bark it came out more like an unhinged screech. Dick started to count to ten and tried to breathe more slowly. This was not the time for one of his "episodes."
While Dick and Karen were outside the minivan's hatch, little Alissa sat in her car seat in the back of the vehicle with one hand tightly gripping a half eaten cherry lollipop and the other placed with her palm against the car window. The four year old tried to stifle her sobs but it was impossible. Her attention was focused on the large white pit bull sitting on the curb next to the Ross’ vehicle.
“Dick,” Karen touched his arm gently. “We can’t leave Buddy behind. We need to make room for him in the car.”
Dick jerked his arm violently away from Karen. He was seething and answered her through gritted teeth. “I've already packed the car and determined we don’t have roo
m for the damn dog. He’s not coming. That’s it. Get in the car Karen and shut your mouth. And get the kid under control. We need to get the hell out of here, now!”
Dick slammed the back hatch of the mini van shut and jumped into the driver’s side of the vehicle. When she didn't follow he lowered the passenger side window so she could hear him.
“Karen, I’m not kidding, get in this car right now. Leave the dog. We can get another one after.”
Through her fresh round of tears Alissa sobbed, “Mommy, I don’t want another one. I want Buddy!”
Karen Ross was torn. Nothing was more important to her than her daughter and her daughter’s happiness. Buddy was part of the family as far as she was concerned. The dog had been Alissa’s friend and protector since the day she was born. Leaving him on the curb to die went against everything she believed in. If she grabbed Alissa out of the car there was no telling what Dick would do. He was crazed right now. He was close to a complete meltdown and that wouldn’t be safe for anyone. It never was.
“Karen. Get. In. The. Car.” Dick was livid. Why were they being held up because of the damn dog? “If you don’t get in the car right now I’m leaving without you.” Dick revved the engine for effect.
Karen leaned down and kissed the dog's forehead while fighting back tears.
“Buddy, you be a good boy. Go find a place to hide. Alissa and I love you very much, but you have to stay behind. I’m so sorry, boy.” Buddy understood the words good boy and Alissa which caused him to thump his tail happily, but when Karen told him to stay he vocalized his objection with a heartbreaking whine.
Once again Dick revved the engine. Karen gave Buddy a last pat on the head and got into the minivan. Alissa continued crying as Dick pulled away from the curb.
The road was completely blocked in all directions with parked cars. It seemed that everyone in the neighborhood was packing their vehicles and preparing to leave for safer ground.
Frustrated by the situation Dick drove up and over the curb and on to the lawns of his neighbors — recklessly driving through yards trying to put distance between himself and the neighborhood.
Plagued (Book 1): The Girl Who Chased The Shadows Page 1