PROJECT ARMAGEDDON
A Novel
Michael Stephens
Project Armageddon © 2019 by Michael Stephens. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and interactions are products of the author’s creativity and imagination, or if real, used purely fictitiously. Where real-life figures appear, the situations, incidents, thoughts, interactions, events, and dialogs concerning those figures are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of this work.
Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV®
Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™
Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Printed in the United States of America
First U.S Paperback Printing: December 2019
ISBN-13 9781710952100
Joelle— Always!
Prologue
The teenage girl watched her father carefully cradle her mother’s frail head in his hands. She saw him stare deeply into her eyes as tears dripped from his and onto her cheek and slowly rolled down her pale white skin.
She watched her father struggle to keep his composure as he swallowed his emotions down the best he could. He manipulated his face between the hoses, tubes, and other medical equipment that was attached. He bent over.
The girl saw her father gently kiss her mother’s lips. He held his lips tightly to hers as tears rolled off his face onto hers. Their kiss broke free as he compassionately laid her head on the pillow. He tenderly rubbed his finger across her lips as if to softly rub their kiss into her lips. She heard her father speak to her mother.
“I’m sorry I failed you.”
The young teen rubbed the tears from her eyes as she saw her mother raise her hand. The frail woman rubbed the cheek of the man that held her close. She labored to breathe in a deep breath.
“I love you.”
The last reaming breath left her mouth. Her eyes closed, her head and neck went limp and turned as her hand fell from his cheek. The heart monitor droned a long continuous beep until the hospice nurse quickly stifled the noise.
A large lump grew in the girl’s throat. Her arms clutched around herself, which made her realize she was shivering uncontrollably. She rushed to her mother’s bed and clutched her torso and blankets.
“No!” She screamed.
The teen buried her face into clutched blankets that surrounded her mother’s stomach. Vigorously, she swayed her head from side to side as she screamed into the blanket.
“No. You can’t go,” she said with syncopated syllables between her fits of hyperventilation.
Her father gently pulled his daughter away from her mother by the shoulders.
“No,” she said as her nosed dripped. She slammed both her hands into her father’s chest. “Get away from me. Go away!” She shoved him hard to create separation and quickly returned to the safety of her mother’s bedside.
The tightness grew in her throat, and her stomach lurched from the sudden onset of nausea. Her trembling increased, and her breathing labored through more waves of hyperventilation as she repeated: “You can’t leave me.”
Her father tried to comfort her, but she was reluctant to accept his aid. She faced him, her nostrils flared. She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. She glared at him as she heard the pounding fill her ears that matched the rhythm and pace of her racing heart.
“You let this happen. It’s your fault. How could you? How could you let this happen,” she yelled as she directed her clenched fists into mallets that pounded her father’s chest.
She continued to take out her wide range of emotions on her father’s chest while he wrestled with her to cease her assault. He knelt—eye level with his daughter. It was not the red puffy eyes, snot dripping from her nose, or her bangs plastered against her face with a mixture of sweat and tears that were indications of her anguish. No. He held her tight by the shoulders. He stared deep into her eyes and could see the hurt, the pain, the rage, and the ultimate sadness that was engulfing his little girl. At that moment, he felt like he had failed her as well.
His voice quivered as he spoke. He was doing everything to keep his composure in front of his baby girl.
“That thing that took Mommy.” He paused, fighting back the loss of his wife and the source of disappointment to his little girl. “I’m going to kill it. I promise you.”
Part One
Chapter 1
Abbie pulled her green medical scrub shirt over her head and down to her waist. She tightened the drawstring on her matching pants, securing them tightly around her waist with a bow knot. She glanced into the mirror that hung on her locker door. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest with highlights.
“And that, Abigail, is just one of many reasons why you’re single,” she scolded to her reflection.
She quickly ran a brush through her long brunette hair, twisted it into a ponytail, and secured it with an elastic hair tie that was around her wrist. She threw the brush into her locker and took another quick glimpse in the mirror. She wrinkled her face in response to her reflection. She shrugged and closed the locker.
The Oncology Department at County Regional Medical Center or CRMC was one of the leading cancer centers in the city, well respected and well-funded. When Abbie was not at the University, she was at the hospital, making her usual rounds.
“Lauren, you need to take your anti-nausea medicine,” said the young nurse who barely looked old enough to drive.
“I constantly feel like tossing my cookies, and you want me to swallow a goddamn horse pill,” complained Lauren Richards, a regular on the seventh floor.
“Another G-D out of you, Lu Lu, and I am going to ask Dr. Bennett to move you to the next size up,” said Abbie as she entered the room.
“Abbie!” Lauren’s peaked face rushed with color and formed a wide smile.
“You hear me, Mama,” followed up Abbie.
“I’m sorry, Abbie,” said Lauren. She was genuinely apologetic.
“What do we do?”
Lauren’s eyes looked at the ceiling. “Lord, I apologize.” She turned her attention to Abbie. “I’m sorry, Abbie, really, those things are huge. They can gag a maggot on a gut truck.”
Abbie snickered as she approached Lauren, who lay in her bed with lines and tubes attached to various parts of her body running to multiple machines that whirred and beeped. Abbie held out her arms to give Lauren a hug. “What the heck does that mean?”
“Not a clue,” said Lauren. “Must be the drugs.”
Abbie laughed. “You’re a pistol today.” They hugged. “You’re not on the good stuff and won’t be because you’re going to kick this thing’s ass,” she gave Lauren a parental glare, “and take your medicine.”
Abbie held out her hand to the young nurse, inviting her to handover Lauren’s medicine. She did. Abbie handed the small container to Lauren.
Lauren threw a small tantrum with the muscles in her face before accepting the container. “Can’t you get me something different. Easier to swallow, like last time?” she asked.
“Cancer researcher. Not doctor.” answered Abbie. She leaned toward the young nurse and whispered, “Can you ask Dr. Bennett to consider giving her anti-nausea in IV form?”
“Sure.” The young nurse smiled and thanked Abbie before exiting the room.
Ab
bie poured water into a cup and handed it to Lauren. “Come on, mama, ain’t nothing but a thing.” She smiled her typical smile. That was Abbie’s secret weapon. Her bright, beautiful smile that could get any patient to comply, regardless of the discomfort that came with it.
“Get these down and maybe later will do some tequila shots.” Abbie joked.
Lauren let out a small laugh and did what she was told. She held out the empty pill cup towards Abbie.
“Was that so hard?” Abbie took the cup and gave Lauren another hug. “You gotta keep the stress low. Don’t let those pills get you all worked up.”
“I know, Abbie,”
“I gotta say hi to everyone else,” said Abbie. She tucked Lauren into her bed and inconspicuously removed a tuft of her hair that fell out of her scalp. “I’ll be back, and we’ll get that card game going. Okay?”
Lauren nodded. Her face showed she was tired but at the same time happy to see Abbie.
“Why don’t you take a nap. I’ll be back,” added Abbie.
“Not too long, okay?”
Abbie smiled and nodded. She gave Lauren a peck on the forehead and entered the hallway.
Abbie stopped by several other rooms and greeted her usual patients. Every one of them perked up when she stepped into the room. She was refreshingly positive. Ten minutes with Abbie seemed like it lasted thirty.
Abbie stopped at the nurses’ station to see if they needed her to help with anything. A young black boy in his early teens, Joey, rolled his wheelchair up to her and tugged on her scrubs.
Abbie responded to the tug on her shirt by looking down.
“There’s my man,” said Abbie. She squatted down and gave Joey a friendly hug. She looked at his bald head.
“Oh no, you got that sexy bald man head?” She smiled. “Do I need to remind all your nurses that you’re taken. They better keep their hands off you.”
Joey’s white teeth shined through his big smile. His dark skin hid his blushing cheeks, but it was evident by his behavior that Abbie embarrassed him… a little. Joey was one of the first patients she started visiting. He was ten when they first met.
Joey’s smile faded quickly. He rubbed his bald head. “The last of it finally fell out.”
“That’s okay,” comforted Abbie. “You look just like Denzel Washington.”
Joey crinkled his face. “Who?”
Abbie leaned down. “He’s an actor. A very handsome man.”
“Does he got no hair.”
Abbie smiled big. “Especially when he has no hair.”
Joey’s embarrassment returned. He turned to hide his face. He regained his composure and pulled a piece of folded paper from the pocket of his robe. He handed it to Abbie. “This is for you.”
“For me? What is it?” Abbie took the paper from his hand.
“Open it.”
Abbie did as Joey instructed. The paper was folded so that it would open like a book.
“Is this a card for me?” she asked.
Joey nodded.
“Did you make it?”
His white teeth peeked out in a big smile as he continued to nod.
“Thank you,” said Abbie. She read the front, “To Abbie.”
She opened the creme colored construction paper. Inside the card was an adorable crayon picture of a boy lying in a bed with a girl sitting next to him holding a book.”
“Is this you?” asked Abbie as she pointed to the boy in bed.
Joey nodded. “This is you,” he said, his fingertip landing on the girl holding the book.
“It is? That’s cute.” Abbie read the words on the right-hand page, “Thank you for reading me Harry Potter,” followed by several hand-drawn hearts. Abbie’s heart melted as it was her turned to blush. Joey’s gesture warmed her inner-being. She glowed.
“Do you like it?”
“Joey, I love it.” Answered Abbie. “Can I keep this?”
“Yea,” he answered, “but not that one.”
Abbie looked surprised. “There’s another one?”
“Not yet,” said Joey, “I have to make it.”
“Why can’t I keep this one?
“Because I won’t have hair in the new one.”
Joey and Abbie exchanged smiles.
“You’re right. I want the new one.” Abbie handed the card back to Joey.
“Just like Demzel Washington?” He smiled.
“Absolutely.”
Chapter 2
Abbie hurried down the sparsely populated university hallway. She turned the corner, scurried another fifty feet, and quick-walked another ten feet. She cautiously and quietly opened the door, snuck in the classroom, and quietly let the door close behind her.
She ducked low and crept, heel-to-toe, from the entrance to the first available seat at the extreme back of the classroom.
The older man at the lectern was not fooled. While continuing his lecture on viruses, his eyes clearly caught Abbie entering the back of the classroom. He gave a disgruntled look to Abbie without the slightest hiccup in his thoughts or lecture. Abbie showed no sign that she recognized his disapproving gaze.
“That’s all for today,” said Dr. Talbot as he circled to the front of his lectern.
The hush of the room quickly transitioned to the ambient sounds of students gathering their belongings.
“Remember,” he projected loudly, “I need thesis topics no later than the end of the week.” Dr. Talbot returned to the lectern to gather his notes. He exchanged small conversations with several students before he closed his folder and headed toward the back of the room.
Dr. Talbot approached Abbie as the last few students exited his classroom. It was just the two of them.
“I hope you don’t take all your classes this seriously,” he said. “Sneaking in at the very end?”
“Nope,” replied Abbie. “Just this one.”
Dr. Talbot scoffed at her answer. “I should give you an F.”
Abbie fired back. “Two problems with that. One, I already took this class and aced it.”
“And two?” he asked.
“Two, if you gave me an F, I would have to take back that ‘Dad of the Year’ award I made you in sixth grade.” Abbie looked up and smiled warmly.
“You aced it because you had a good teacher…” He returned her smile.
“I aced it because I had a good teacher… and a great dad.”
“You win,” surrendered Dr. Talbot. Abbie stood, and he met her for a long loving hug. “How ya doing, baby?”
Abbie closed her eyes as she squeezed him tight. “Okay. And you?”
Anthony Talbot interrupted the hug with his daughter. He looked at her with an arm on each of her shoulders in a consoling manner. His voice carried empathy. “Just Okay?”
“Yea, Daddy. Probably just tired. You know.” Abbie’s body language dismissed her dad’s concern. But the tone of her voice contradicted her body language.
“Still volunteering at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how you do that, sweetie. You have your studies, your research, and then you spend how many hours at that hospital?”
“Too many.” Abbie dropped eye contact with her father.
“It’s that lady you met. What’s her name?”
“Lauren, but I call her Lu Lu.”
“She lets you?”
“What’s wrong with Lu Lu?”
“It’s a name for a Panda, not a human.”
Abbie laughed, “Daddy.” She pushed him.
“There’s my smile,” he said with a big grin that made his dimples show, and the cheeks puff out slightly with intensely visible reddish-like color at their peaks due to the white whiskers from his beard.
Abbie’s laughter died quickly. Her face went melancholy. “She reminds me of Mom,” she said plainly, her voice lacked any of the joy that she shared not more than a second ago.
Dr. Talbot inherited Abbie’s disposition. His cheerfulness went away quickly and left him with
a grief-stricken gaze at his daughter. His eyes were kind but showed clear evidence of pain. “It’s been ten years since we lost her, sweetie,” he said, his voice cracking on the last few syllables. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss your mom.”
Abbie and her father shared a moment of silence to reminisce. Miranda Talbot was an incredible wife and even a better mom. Her family loved her very much. She was fierce and relentlessly brave those last few months before the cancer won. The loss remained painful for Abbie and her father.
Dr. Talbot shook free from his doldrums. He gently jolted his daughter out of hers as well.
“Which is why,” he caught the tear at the corner of his eye before it ran down his cheek. “You need to have more of a social life. You know, interact with the opposite sex. The years I lost doing research on the damn thing that killed her rather than spending time with her… you can see where that got me.”
Abbie’s dad did more than break her from her doldrums. She laughed. “Social life” That’s funny. Does Facebook or Twitter count?” she said sarcastically.
Her father said nothing. He simply gave her the parental stare he always gave her when he found her answers unacceptable.
“Don’t do that look. No one wants to date someone that thinks genetics and viruses are completely normal dinner conversations.”
“They’re not?” asked Dr. Talbot. He could only hold a stern look for a few seconds before he laughed.
“Apparently not in the real world,” Abbie answered. “My last date described me as socially awkward.”
Dr. Talbot was appalled. “He did not!”
She nodded.
Dr. Talbot shooed away the notion of Abbie being socially awkward with his hand. “No matter. He was an asshole.” He smiled cutely at his daughter.
That smile was Abbie’s kryptonite, her weakness. It warmed her and made her feel safe. She hugged her dad tighter than before. “I love you, Daddy.”
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