People stuck in the mayhem were growing desperate. And the CNN crew found half a dozen cars with dead bodies in them. People whose hope had run out.
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Hannah had watched the turmoil unfold on television until she couldn’t stomach any more. She went looking for Mark, and found him in his makeshift television studio.
“Hi Baby. Whatcha doing?”
“Just changing out one of the external drives. I’ve been recording CNN non stop for these last few days. Some day, this may be the only surviving record of what happened, and I want to save it so future generations can understand it and learn from it.”
“It’s just all so heartbreaking. So… overwhelming.”
“I know, honey. Just try to stay busy. Keep your mind occupied by other things. And stay away from that damn TV.”
“I know I should. But every time I walk by, it just grabs my attention and I have trouble breaking free.”
“Hey, I have something that’ll get your mind off the TV for a bit.”
He took her hand and pulled her forward. “Come with me.” He said.
Hannah giggled. She liked surprises, and she enjoyed making love with her husband any time of day. So she naturally assumed that she was in for an afternoon interlude in their RV.
But that wasn’t what Mark had in mind.
Not at all.
When Hannah rose for breakfast that morning, Mark told her to go on without him. He said he’d follow shortly, and asked her to guard his tray until he arrived.
Hannah had thought nothing of it. He had been working very hard, after all, sealing the mine and insulating the main passageway. So if he wanted to grab an extra half hour of sleep, he was certainly entitled to it.
But Mark hadn’t been sleeping. And when Hannah walked into the bedroom at the back of their RV, she was mesmerized by what she saw. Her mouth dropped, and her eyes began to tear.
She hugged Mark and held him tight.
“Wow!” She said in utter amazement. “How on earth… I mean where did you get that?”
She couldn’t take her eyes off the twelve foot square poster that Mark had hung across the ceiling, and halfway down both walls. It was a poster of the Milky Way, and the heavens beyond it. Besides Mark, Hannah’s only other love.
“Do you like it?” He asked.
“Oh, Baby, I love it! And I love you! You are so awesome!”
“It’s made of vinyl so it won’t tear. I got it from a company that makes advertisements for billboards. This way we can lay in bed at night and look at the stars, like we used to do in the back yard. I know it’s not quite as good as the real thing, but it’ll do until we can see the real stars again.”
“Oh, Baby,” she said, “it’s perfect! And so are you! I love it. It’s so sharp and clear, and it’s so… huge!”
“Yes, I know, you tell me that all the time.” Mark teased. “Oh, are you talking about the poster?”
She giggled and punched his arm. “Maybe, maybe not. Just what are you talking about?”
The couple spent the next two hours making love under the stars, then took a long nap in each other’s arms. When they finally emerged from the RV, Hannah was tempted to find Sarah and the children and show them what Mark had done for her.
Then she thought better of it. She decided that it would remain their own personal secret. Their sanctuary. Looking at the heavens late at night had always relaxed them and given them an opportunity to reflect upon things. The past, the future. Whatever happened to be troubling them at the time.
She hoped that the stars above their bed would continue to give them that same refuge for the time they were in the mine. No, she’d just keep this a secret for only herself to enjoy. Herself and her wonderful husband.
As she walked back to the recreation area she felt the baby kick. Apparently their afternoon interlude had gotten him all riled up. She held her stomach and smiled.
Then she looked down at him and told him “You, little sir, are going to love your daddy so, so much. He is the most incredible man, and he will be an awesome daddy to you too. He will give you the world.
“But for now, my little man, you just settle down and rest. It’s not your time. Not just yet.”
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JAN 12, 2016 3 DAYS UNTIL IMPACT
President Sanders was on the television again, giving his daily pep talk. Most people in America didn’t believe him any more, although they desperately wanted to.
He’d stopped taking reporters’ questions several days before. Instead, he merely read from a prepared statement, which seldom sounded much different from the previous day’s statement, then turned on his heels and left the room.
Some of the more skeptical in the audience wondered if there were even reporters present any more. The camera always kept a tight fix of the President’s face and upper torso, standing at a podium with the Presidential seal on it. Didn’t even show him entering or leaving the room any more. He might as well have been in a TV studio in his hidden bunker, the skeptics said.
And they were right, of course. But for every skeptic there were a lot of others who wanted so desperately to believe that their President was telling them the truth. That the earth would be spared the wrath of Saris 7. That desperate hope was all they had left.
“I have been on the phone with the Chinese Premier within the last half hour.” Sanders said.
“Their rocket is ready. The final preparations are being made. After fueling is completed this afternoon, the warhead will be armed. Tomorrow, at exactly 2:05 p.m. eastern standard time, the rocket will blast off from its launch pad, and will rendezvous with Saris 7 fourteen hours later.
“The detonation will be timed as Saris 7 flies past, and will catch the meteorite’s leading edge, which will cause it to buckle slightly and will throw it off course. Our scientists expect to it head away from earth until it stabilizes, then to assume a new orbit several hundreds of thousands of miles father away from us.
“Once the rocket is launched, my office will broadcast status updates every fifteen minutes until detonation, then will switch to live coverage as they track Saris 7 heading away from the earth.”
It sounded believable, of course. That was mainly due to the circumstances, and that fact that there was no press present to ask the tough questions. Like why no reporters were allowed into China to see the rocket for themselves. And why the Chinese government hadn’t released any video, or even photographs, of the rocket and the preparations they were making to it
Or even the names of the American scientists and military experts who had supposedly gone to China to help. Thus far no one in the States had come forward to say that their relatives or loved ones were on the team working on the project. Absolutely no one.
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Twelve miles northwest of the mine, on Interstate 10, Marty Hankins sat in a booth at the Trucker’s Paradise truck Stop, drinking black coffee from a Texas Tech University mug. Across the table from him sat Scott Burley, whose surname described him perfectly.
Scott was finishing up what had been a double stack of pancakes with maple syrup.
“I sure hope the world doesn’t end.” Scott said. “Unless they have these pancakes in heaven. Then it wouldn’t be so bad.”
Marty countered “Whatever they have in heaven, it’s a damn safe bet that you’ll never see it.”
The pair was waiting for Tina and Joe Koslowski to join them. The husband and wife driving team was due in from Albuquerque with a load of lumber, and should be pulling into the yard any minute. It had taken them longer than planned because they had to avoid the I-10 traffic jam by heading east on I-20, then heading south on a state highway.
Marty wasn’t happy about the necessary detour. They had a lot of planning to do, and time was growing short.
For days now, the 60 acre lot behind the truck stop had been filling up with dropped trailers. It started with just a few truckers who distrusted President Sanders and the government in general dropping their tra
ilers in the back of the lot and heading for home. They knew they’d make better time without a trailer to drag, and get better fuel mileage in case fuel became hard to find. And if the world was going to end, by God, they’d rather be at home with the family than stuck on a highway four states away.
The rows of trucks increased day by day. Lenny, the lot man, was making a fortune. A fortune he might never be able to use. But he was an optimistic soul and was a believer who was convinced that Sanders would stop Saris 7 and save them all.
Lenny promised to look after the trailers for a few dollars each per day. Just in case the meteorite didn’t hit and the truckers wanted to return for their loads. He’d keep an eye on them. Refill the reefer unit tanks when they ran dry. And as each day went by, the wads of twenties in Lenny’s pockets got fatter and fatter.
Just north of the truck lot was a huge hay field. At least it was in the spring and summer. This time of year it was just a big, flat piece of land with nothing on it, separated from the truck lot by three strands of barbed wire.
Three days before, Marty had visited with the farmer who owned the hayfield. His farmhouse was just out of sight, just over the horizon to the north.
The farmer had been suspicious, and had met Marty with a shotgun. After all, these were desperate times, and when somebody just drives unannounced onto your property with the front half of a semi, it tends to make the hairs stand up.
But the two had something in common, in that they both hated President Sanders and thought he was full of crap.
The farmer was busy prepping his farm to hold out for a seven year winter.
Marty had plans of his own, but needed to rent a big piece of land to do it.
So the pair struck a deal.
If the meteorite struck, and the sky grew dark, Marty would hook up to a trailer- any trailer of the farmer’s choice, and would haul it onto the farmer’s property. He’d park it behind the barn, out of sight of anyone from the truck stop or the highway. And the farmer and his family could crack it open and see what their 53 foot long grab bag contained.
And if that happened, the farmer would in turn allow Marty to use his hayfield. Shoot, with a seven year winter, it wouldn’t be of any use to him anyway.
The farmer had crawled into Marty’s truck and cruised the back lot of the truck stop. Shopping for trucks, as it were. Marty explained that there was no way to tell what was in each truck, because the drivers had taken the manifests with them.
But there were certain clues. Those trucks which had a numbered metal seal on the rear door had something in them. Those which had no seal were empty, and were headed somewhere for a load at the time they were dropped.
Also, Marty said, if the farmer was looking for food, he’d want to choose one with a cooler unit mounted on the front of the trailer. After all, nuts and bolts didn’t need to be kept cold. But steaks did.
The farmer used the tips Marty gave him and selected a red trailer as his own. The two stepped out of the cab together to ensure the cooler unit was on and running, and Marty checked the fuel level on the small diesel tank below it. It had plenty of fuel left to run the unit until the sky went black.
The two shook hands, and Marty took the farmer back to his farmhouse, where the man joyfully told his wife and family what had just transpired. They had fully expected to freeze or starve to death at some point in the next seven years. But when Marty drove away, and the four of them- the farmer, his wife, and his two teenaged daughters- waved at him, they viewed him not as a trucker. But rather as their savior.
Marty had relayed this story to Scott Burley the day before. Then he gave Burley the five cent explanation of what he planned to use the hayfield for. He didn’t get too specific because, first of all, Burley had a mouth as big as his gut. And secondly, because he didn’t want to have to run it down twice.
So he’d wait until his long-time friends Tina and Joe rolled in and explain it to all of them at once.
In the meantime, he’d sit here and finish up his scrambled eggs and toast.
Marty’s cell phone rang as he finished up the last bite. It was Tina, calling to tell him they’d just pulled into the yard and were at the pumps, topping off their tanks. They’d be at the restaurant in ten minutes.
Marty said he’d order them each a plate of pancakes and eggs. He might as well spend the money left in his wallet, he reasoned. It damn sure wouldn’t be any good in a couple of days.
After they’d parked their rig, Tina and Joe came in and joined the pair. Two minutes later, a tired waitress named Cathy brought them their breakfast, and they dug in while Marty laid out his grand scheme.
“After the thing hits, the sky’s supposed to get dark and hide the sun. Then it’s supposed to get very cold.”
They all knew this, of course. It’s all that was on the TV for days.
Marty went on. “After that happens, I consider all these abandoned loads in the yard out back as fair game. I mean, the drivers sure aren’t coming back to get them. The companies who own them will be dying off like everybody else. They won’t care about them. So as far as I’m concerned, they’re free for the taking.
“I’ve been talking to Lenny, the yard guy. He talked to some of the drivers when they dropped the loads. He knows what’s in some of them. There’s one back there that’s full of mattresses. Another one is full of propane tanks. And another one full of camping gear and winter wear for America Outdoors. And there’s at least forty or fifty with mounted reefers running. That means food. A boatload of it.”
Marty took a napkin and a pen and began to sketch out a rough draft of what he wanted their camp to look like.
“We’ll take the first twelve trailers and line them up with the back doors facing south. We’ll put them so close together that they’re damn near touching. That’ll keep nosy people from trying to walk into our camp.
“Then we’ll take twelve more and use them to build a south wall. We’ll back them in, close together again, only these doors will face to the north. We’ll put four trailers on the west end and four trailers on the east end. And we’ll park all four of our rigs in the middle
“I saw a truck full of lumber on row three of the lot. It has four pallets of half inch plywood and a whole bunch of two by fours. We can drag whatever we need over to the camp by stacking it on our bobtails. Then we can use it to surround our camp, so that nobody can crawl under the trailers to get to us. It’ll also keep the blowing snow and some of the cold out.
“There’s a flatbed on row four that’s carrying some kind of industrial equipment. Looks like a huge generator. It’s covered with heavy duty tarps we can use, and he’s got four more tarps rolled up and strapped to the front of the trailer.
“We can use those tarps to cover the camp, and cut holes in them for our exhaust pipes. That way we can sleep in our rigs at night, and when it’s too cold to be outside.
“There are two tankers full of diesel fuel in the yard, side by side in row six. We’ll drag both of them to the field just north of our camp. We can run a line from the tankers into the camp to keep our side tanks full.
“I took my rig over to the Walmart in Kerrville yesterday. I bought three microwaves, in case the ones in our rigs give out. I also got a propane grill, and forty bags of charcoal. They probably thought I was nuts, but the lady in front of me bought two shopping carts full of canned cat food. I guess they’ve seen a lot of weird stuff the last few weeks.
“We’ll use the propane to cook our food, and the charcoal as a backup if the propane runs out. If the charcoal runs out too, we can burn diesel in a drum.
“I got a bunch of other stuff too. Hammers and nails, lots of gloves. Some walkie talkies and batteries. Even got some rechargeable batteries and chargers too. And lots of ammunition.”
Marty, like most truckers, was well armed and willing and able to defend himself. A year ago, all he had to worry about was an occasional hijacker who might try to steal his rig. Now he might have to shoot someone desperat
e for food. But he’d do it if he had to.
Tina chose this moment to be a devil’s advocate. “So what if it never happens? What if Sanders isn’t full of crap after all and they divert Saris 7?”
Marty smiled and said “Walmart has a refund policy. That’s why I saved the receipts.”
Joe asked “So what then? What if we survive until the earth gets warm again? Do we just go from truck to truck, living off whatever we can find?”
Marty had an answer for that too.
“No, about a year ago I delivered a load of steel sheets to a construction site on Highway 83. Maybe ten or twelve miles from here. They wouldn’t tell me what they were building, but it looked like a hotel, and it had greenhouses and barns. But the best thing about it was they were building this huge fence around it. I figure we can go there, try our hand at farming, and just come out occasionally to find a couple of food trailers and drag them back.
“And because of that big fence, it’ll be easy to defend if anybody ever tries to take it away from us.”
-54-
Harvey Unwin, Anthony Pacheco, and Tom Mize were directed to fly into Washington’s Reagan Airport via different routes. Their handler at the State Department didn’t want them attracting a lot of undue attention, and the media had indeed been watching them closely.
So Unwin and his family each packed two suitcases full of clothing and personal items, just as they were instructed to do. And they went to Washington via Boston’s Logan Airport.
An hour after their arrival from Boston, The Unwins met the Pachecos’ flight from LaGuardia. Tom Mize, his wife and two kids arrived ten minutes later from Atlanta Hartsfield.
The families claimed their baggage and, just as they were instructed, took three rental cars to a squat parking garage at Arlington National Cemetery, just across the Potomac from the Lincoln Memorial. They were to then take their baggage and wait on the sidewalk until a large white van came by at 11:20 a.m. to pick them up. Next to a street light stamped “ARL 604” at its base.
Final Dawn: Escape From Armageddon Page 18