Faulted

by Jacqueline Druga

SIXTEEN

  The White House – Washington, D.C.

  FLASHBACK - 24 HOURS EARLIER … Pre-Impact

  There are presidents that are destined for greatness. Destined to have history remember them as political figures who made a positive difference in the life of those they served. There are presidents who fail, where history would remember them as those whose actions where harmful, useless and damaging. Those presidents were remembered for the good and the bad, students would instantly recognize their faces.

  Then there were those like President Parker Wesley. Who seemingly would never make a mark on history, good or bad. Their faces, their names, buried beneath the one who were well known. Their names and presidency, a head scratcher to school children.

  Parker believed he wanted to be president of the United States. He served as the youngest mayor of the city of Akron, on a whim, he joined the race. After killing it during the debates, there was no stopping the forty-four year old, single, handsome man.

  He was motivated by the enthusiasm of the would-be voters, he rode the train of success, but two weeks prior to the elections he decided it wasn’t for him.

  He tried to pull out of the race, suggesting he give his nomination to the candidate of his party that came in second. But he was talked out of it, and decided to believe the polls that predicted he’d lose in a landslide loss.

  He didn’t.

  He headed into office with the mindset that he would simply follow the footsteps and policies of his two-term predecessor, even though he was of a different party.

  Lay low.

  Get out.

  Be the president no one would remember.

  He had no idea he would be the last president of the United States.

  Parker skated by. His cabinet handled almost everything and in the two years he had remaining, he looked forward to the elections, having announced he wouldn’t run again.

  He wasn’t about to kill himself on the job, either. Not to say he didn’t take it seriously, he did, but he wasn’t out to change the world like so many before.

  Parker wasn’t expecting the world to change drastically on its own.

  Unlike other presidents who enjoyed golf, Parker had two different hobbies. Building things and poker.

  He’d head down to the local casino inconspicuously driving a Chevy Spark, sandwiched between a Subaru and minivan carrying a security detail. They pulled to the back and made their way to a private poker room. It wasn’t high stakes, it was enough for him to be mindless, have a drink and smoke some cigars then hit his THC pen without being judged.

  That was where he was when it all began.

  Three times in his entire life of playing poker Parker was dealt a natural royal flush. The third and final time, poker face in full force, Parker had to fold when the his Chief of Staff came barreling in with the Secret Service, and without saying more than, ‘you need to come with us’, Parker was whisked away.

  He didn’t even get to drive his own Chevy Spark.

  “Charles, what’s happening?” Parker asked as soon as they were in the back of the SUV.

  “Probably be easier to show you.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t pull a man from a natural royal flush and not explain why?”

  “I understand. That glorious meteor shower that everyone’s been talking about?”

  “Yes?”

  “Apparently the rocks coming off that asteroid belt aren’t as small as we were led to believe.”

  “That means what?” Parker asked.

  “It’s not good.”

  “Explain not good.”

  “Instead of basketball size there are car size pieces that pretty much break apart as they enter. NASA is now confirming these objects range in size from one hundred feet to six hundred, massive. Most of them the same size as the one that flattened the area in Siberia in 1908.”

  “Jesus. How many will impact earth? Two or three?”

  “Yes.”

  Parker nodded.

  “Hundreds.”

  “What? My God.”

  “For the next forty-eight hours they will rain down.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere. It’s a crap shoot.”

  “How, Charles? How did we not see this coming? How did we not know their sizes?”

  Charles shrugged. “Right now, Air Force One is being prepped to go. We need to get you inland in case of any Atlantic hits.”

  “Where to?”

  “Cheyenne Mountain.”

  “Do our people think that’s safe?” Parker asked.

  “Our safest option,” Charles answered. “Nowhere is really safe.”

  Air Force One

  Nineteen Hours Earlier… Impact

  For as many times as Parker had been on the Air Force One, he had never really been in the command room during a crisis. He visited during drills, but never really paid much attention and spoke only to say, ‘great job’

  He watched the airmen monitoring controls, military leaders barking out commands.

  “Sir,” an airman approached him. “We’re preparing for landing. You may want to take your seat.”

  “Sure, thank you,” Parker said and turned to leave.

  “Sir,” Charles called out. “We just lost the space station.”

  “What does that mean? They lost communications?” Parker asked. “Are they …”

  “Gone,” Charles said. “Struck. Destroyed. Gone. The first of the rocks started making impact.”

  “Do we have a better idea where?”

  “Fortunately it looks as if a good part of the first group is aiming for the Atlantic. Then as time ticks, the hits move west. From what they told me, it would be like spinning a globe slowly while you shoot darts at it, this trail of meteorites or super bolides is long. Thousands of miles.”

  “Dart guns, spinning globes. These are the analogies of our top minds?” Parker asked.

  Charles lifted his shoulder and held out his hands in a ‘who knows’ manner, then simply responded, “Does it matter?”

  “The Atlantic,” Parker said. “What about those people on the shore?”

  “There was not enough time to evacuate. We weren’t sure where they would land.”

  “How?” Parked asked with edge. “How in God’s name do we not have this information? Why is this a surprise? Someone had to of known.”

  “I’m sure some amateur star gazer may have thought it. But we didn’t know it,” Charles added. “NORAD or Cheyenne may have more information. We’ll be landing …”

  A bright blinding flash filled the plane, silencing everyone. Before the light faded, the plane jolted violently sending Parker up and back. That one jolt turned into several and the plane swayed drastically to the right as it quickly descended in altitude.

  Parker was barely on his feet when he was grabbed and escorted to a seat. An oxygen mask dropped, he grabbed onto it as he was aided and strapped in.

  The noise level of the struggling plane increased. His head spun, things happened so fast he didn’t have time to process fear.

  Charles took the seat next to him, placing on his belt.

  “Are we going to crash?” Parker asked.

  “I don’t know,” Charles replied. “Let’s hope not.”

  Parker turned his head and looked out the window. He saw a huge fireball in the distance as the plane moved closer and closer to the ground.

  The skilled pilot was able to guide the plane to an emergency landing, but not without sacrifice. He rested it on a highway not far from the mountain, veering off the pavement to avoid stopped cars. The landing gear failed and the plane bounced as it rolled belly down across the rough terrain

  Moments before the plane came to a stop it spun and rolled.

  Parker found himself face down near a window. There was a coffee carafe and cups by his head.

  His forehead hurt and burned, he brought his fingers to his head feeling wetness. Blood.

  “Everyone okay?” he called out.

&
nbsp; He heard a cough.

  “Charles, that you?”

  “I think I broke my ribs,” Charles said. “Otherwise I’m fine.”

  “That was close.” Parker stumbled as he stood. “It landed close.” He tried to look around for Charles, unable to see him. Then the bright sun burst through when an emergency door opened.

  “President Wesley, sir,” a soldier called out. “We need to get you off the plane.”

  Parker was worried about the others, as they escorted him through the wreckage, he looked around and he saw the bodies of those who didn’t move, some bleeding, some struggling to get up.

  He was worried, how injured were they? Did he really need to be a priority when he was able bodied? Could he help?

  But all everyone seemed concerned with was getting him from the plane and quickly into the jeep that arrived within minutes. He was hustled into the vehicle and whisked away without Charles.

  He was the president. They needed to get him to safety. All Parker could wonder was, with all that was going on, did it really matter who he was? Being the president and having all the bells and whistles didn’t mean anything at that moment. It didn’t stop the plane from crashing and it certainly didn’t stop the rocks hurling in from space.

  SEVENTEEN

  PRESENT

  Los Angeles, California

  When CJ was thirteen years old his parents moved to a rural area outside of the city. His father had landed a principal’s position in the local school. Near their home was a large local farm, the fields of which spanned across the two lane, main road.

  He remembered going to the store of that farm with his mother and watching the workers being carted across the fields. A pick-up truck towed a large open trailer, similar to ones landscapers used. Only that trailer carried workers, tired and sweaty, transporting them after a long day’s work.

  He thought of those days as he sat in a trailer just like that, and like the farmworkers he was dirty and exhausted.

  At least he got to stop.

  He and Mindy had made it about three miles when the truck pulled over and picked them up. There were others in the back, sitting alongside lawnmowers and other equipment.

  Mindy hadn’t said much since they left Dallas. He figured she was tired and things were catching up to her. She rested her head against his shoulder, fell asleep, still holding her phone.

  Crammed and crowded, uncomfortable or not, it was a ride and CJ was grateful for that.

  The longer they were in the truck, the smoother the ride. There was less destruction, and cars moved about the debris strewn streets, more people were not at the mercy of trying to find a ride.

  When they were offered a ride the driver told them he would get them and the others to the Convention Center. There they could get a ride needed to higher ground. He himself had family and friends he had to get, and he needed the room in the truck.

  CJ was fine with that. He hated to leave the area, hated running to the proverbial hills. He knew, though, he couldn’t go back.

  His best shot of finding his family was to get to civilization and areas untouched by the disaster, because he was confident that his father, if alive, would get Carter out of the danger zone.

  Once they arrived and disembarked from the back of the truck, CJ realized that not only finding his father was going to be a task, but getting a ride to higher ground would be like finding the Holy Grail.

  The entire area around the Convention Center was crammed packed with people. Shoulder to shoulder, arguing and angry. There were perhaps a dozen vehicles parked and people fought violently to get on one of them. They shoved and fought, screaming at each other, while children cried.

  There was no way he and Mindy were going to get on one of the few transports, unless more showed up.

  He didn’t know when the wave would arrive, but he was sure that it would be there long before everyone was evacuated.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Mindy said.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “How are we supposed to get out of here?” Mindy asked. “I mean, there are too many people and not enough vehicles.”

  “We’re just going to have to …” CJ’s eyes widened. “Wait.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  “No, I mean, wait … wait.” He looked around. “Dallas.”

  “We’re in Los Angeles.”

  “I know that. I mean ... Dallas and his father. They said it was the third truck they had, right?”

  Mindy nodded.

  “Downtown is largely unscathed. If Dallas and his father can find a truck in the rubble, we can find something around here.”

  “How?”

  “Charlton Heston.”

  “Who?”

  CJ waved out his hand. “Never mind. Just know he was an actor, in a post apocalypse movie that took place right here in LA. When he needed a new car, he just grabbed one from a dealership.”

  “Wait.” Mindy gasped. “There’s a whole bunch of them a few blocks away.”

  “Exactly. There has to be at least enough gas in the tanks for a test drive, which means enough gas to get us to higher ground.”

  “Can we get the keys?” she asked.

  “Probably a lot faster than getting on a bus.” He took her hand. “Let’s go.” They were already at the edge of the hoard of people, and CJ led her quickly away from the lot of the convention center to the street.

  He was moving so determined and fast that he stepped toward the street and stopped just before a bus laid on its horn and then slammed on its brakes nearly hitting them.

  It was close.

  Too close.

  Catching his breath and frazzled, CJ reacted by yelling out, ‘Hey’, slamming his hand into the side of the stopped bus. Just as he stepped back to keep moving, he looked up and froze.

  Guy and Carter sat three rows from the front on the gray prison bus that was used to transport them. Because of Carter, and his age, they were first to board in the evacuation to higher ground. Ruben was seated in the row in front of them, next to an elderly woman who had to be at least eighty.

  Ruben hadn’t said much since the bus arrived, still torn and shaken by Roger’s death. He stared forward barely responding to the conversation the woman tried to have with him.

  It was perfect seating, though. While Carter slept Guy was able to listen to the radio chatter between the bus driver and whoever it was he communicated with.

  ‘We have about nine spots,’ the driver said over the radio shortly after they left.

  ‘Roger that, if you can pick up that would work. We can notify the convention center.’

  ‘I prefer not to. I have a lot of elderly and children on board. I’d like to continue to Elysian.”

  “That would be a negative. Elysian is scratched. Pick up as many as you can and continue west. Sixty is clear, low traffic, continue that route to San Bernardino. Refuel at the airport and radio back for directives”

  “Roger that. Can I ask why?”

  “We’ll have more details once you are clear of Los Angeles.”

  San Bernardino? Guy wasn’t knowledgeable of the area, but he was certain that was a lot farther than they needed to go to clear the wave. If indeed, that was why they were moving inland.

  He supposed he’d find out, either when they got there or by listening to the radio talk. Either way, they were safe.

  He had a view through the windshield by leaning into the aisle, and Guy was happy to see that Downtown Los Angeles suffered minimal damage. The quake was nearer to the coast and those in the city were more than likely able to move out on their own if they followed the evacuation order.

  He reached up and tapped Ruben on the shoulder. “Everything looks good out here. We’ll be able to contact our families soon.”

  Ruben just nodded.

  Guy was pleased. His apocalyptic visions and fears were put to ease when he saw unscathed buildings. To him they had seen the worst of it, been through the worst and soon would get hel
p. The rest of the world had to be alright.

  He turned to Carter who stared out the window. “See?” he said to the boy. “Everything is okay. We’ll be out of this soon, we can get in touch with your mom and find your father.”

  As soon as he said that the bus jolted hard and Guy flew forward catching himself before he slammed into the seat in front of him.

  “Sorry,” the bus driver called out. “Jesus, look at this crowd.”

  Guy leaned in toward the aisle again to see. People blocked the road, banged on the bus and screamed to get on it.

  The bus driver picked up the radio. “This is Evac seventeen. Change of plans. There is no way we can stop. Too many people. I can’t risk those on the bus.”

  “Roger that seventeen, proceed to evacuation route.”

  Guy sat back and relaxed. He felt the bus inch forward and begin to turn.

  “Dad.” Carter said softly, then lifted the volume of his voice. “Dad!”

  Guy turned quickly in the seat.

  Carter faced the window fully, his hands flush against the glass as he screamed out.

  Guy looked. CJ stood on the side of the road with Mindy and Guy smiled. His son was alive.

  “Stop the bus!” Guy yelled. “Stop the bus. My son is out there.”

  “I can’t do that,” the driver replied. “There’s too many out there. They’ll rush the bus.”

  “But my son …”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The bus started to turn.

  Guy jumped toward the window. His fingers fiddled with the slide locks excitedly, pushing them outward to lower the window.

  He dropped the window as the bus inched away and Guy stuck his head out the window.

  CJ saw him. He knew he son saw him.

  “He won’t stop!” Guy yelled. “San Bernardino airport. We’re headed there!”

  “Dad!” Carter poked his head out the window next to Guy. “Daddy!”

  CJ waved and ran toward the bus. “I’ll meet you there. Wait for me. I’ll meet you … there.”

  The bus pulled further away, and Guy watched his son until he couldn’t see him anymore.

  He sat down and embraced Carter. “He made it. He made it.”