They knew nothing other than that. They weren’t told exactly where the entrance to the bunker was, or what the process would be for getting settled in once they got there.
But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were safe, and so were their families. And those people driving by in their cars, looking with such curiosity at these “tourists” waiting at the sidewalk with their pile of suitcases? Well, screw them all. They’d all be dead in a few days, while these “tourists” would be safe and warm and not having to worry about where their next drink of water would come from.
A cabbie pulled up along the curb and asked if they were waiting for a taxi.
“Nope. We know exactly where we’re going, do you?” Unwin snarled at him. The cabbie gave him a strange look, decided he was crazy, and drove off.
A park police officer pulled up ten minutes later, rolled his window down, and asked if the group needed some assistance. After all, this street didn’t see many travelers with a mountain of suitcases.
Pacheco assured the officer that they were fine.
And they thought they were. Then 11:20 a.m. came and went, with no sign of a large white van.
They tried to be patient, and held off until noon before they started making phone calls. Somebody’s head was going to roll, Pacheco proclaimed. If it weren’t for this bunch, nobody would have known about Saris 7. How dare they be kept waiting!
Pacheco called Thomas Rose, their State Department handler. His cell phone had been disconnected. How odd.
He then called the State Department and asked for Mr. Rose.
A cheerful receptionist said “Why, certainly. Who may I say is calling?”
Pacheco growled “Anthony Pacheco.”
Ten seconds later the receptionist returned. “I’m sorry, sir, Mr. Rose started his vacation this morning and won’t be back for two weeks. May I direct you to someone else?”
Pacheco’s face dropped and he hung up the phone without another word.
And he realized, just as the others realized from the look on his face, that the group had joined the millions of other Americans with no safe place to go.
-55-
Mark lay awake in the RV, and looked at the small bedside alarm clock. It was 2:30 a.m.
He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know exactly why. He’d spent the day hauling plywood and lumber and finishing up the project to insulate the entryway against the cold that was coming. By the time he and Bryan and three other volunteers finished the project, they were all exhausted.
He should be sleeping like a baby.
But he was restless. And he didn’t know why.
He looked at Hannah, sound asleep beside him.
He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He loved watching her sleep. He always had. She looked like an angel.
He noticed her eyelids twitching and knew she was dreaming. Hannah was lucky in that she often had very vivid dreams. She almost always remembered them and could describe them in great detail. Mark couldn’t count the times she’d entertained him by recounting a silly dream she’d had.
Mark, on the other hand, seldom dreamed. When he did, he could only recount bits and pieces. Certainly never enough to tell a story.
Hannah always said that she loved to dream. It was like going to the movies, she’d said, only you didn’t have to pay six dollars for a bag of popcorn.
He so loved this woman. He knew that she trusted him to watch over her, and to keep her and the baby safe. And he would. Now that they made a life together, in the ominous shadow of Saris 7, everything had changed. He couldn’t afford to be carefree Mark anymore. He could have a good time, sure, but things were different now.
From this time forward, every turn they took, every decision they made, could have potentially dreadful consequences.
He decided that’s why he couldn’t sleep. There were just too many questions swimming around in his head. Did they stock enough food? Was forty people too many? What had they forgotten?
Hannah stirred and opened her eyes.
In a sleepy voice she said “Hi Baby. Is everything okay?”
He kissed her on the forehead and said “Go back to sleep, my sweet love. Everything is just fine.”
Hannah went back into her slumber and Mark went back to looking at the ceiling and worrying.
-56-
JAN 14, 2016 1 DAY UNTIL IMPACT
“My fellow Americans, I have great news for you.” President Sanders began. “I have just been informed that the detonation has taken place, and that Saris 7 now appears to be heading away from earth.
“We do not know as yet where the meteorite will go to begin its new orbit, but the crisis has been averted and the danger has now ended.
“On behalf of a grateful nation, I would like to thank the Premier of the Peoples’ Republic of China, Mr. Soo Li. This effort could not have been made without the best and brightest of our scientists from both of our countries. I will be hosting the Premier in Washington in the weeks ahead. I hope he will join me in recognizing this crisis and its aversion as a great new step toward building a new friendship between our two countries.
“This just goes to show that when the great powers of the world work together, they can accomplish great things which benefit all of mankind.
“Friends and neighbors, please. Stop taking to the streets. Stop the riots and looting. Go home to your families. Return to your jobs. The next few days, let’s focus on getting things back to normal. There have been too many deaths, and too much turmoil. There has been too much property destroyed, and too many things stolen from our neighbors.
“Now is the time to heal, and to learn, just how damaging such behavior can be. And just how powerful and helpful we can be to each other whenever we treat each other with respect and with dignity.
“I am told by our key scientists that Saris 7 is no longer a threat. The only threat we face at this juncture is from within.
“Our scientists will be closely monitoring Saris 7 in the days and weeks ahead and will keep you advised. In the meantime, let’s all go home and rebuild our lives. Hug your loved ones, and thank God that we’ve come through this.
“Thank you for your faith, thank you for your resolve. And thank you for being Americans. God bless you all.
Sanders left the podium with a smile from ear to ear.
The networks all cut back to their studios and began repeating the President’s message, then debating ad nauseam exactly what it meant.
In the mine, Sami stood up and cheered. “It’s over!” she said. “They’re all going to live!”
Hannah went to her and held her.
She said “I sure hope so, honey. But let’s stay here just another day and make sure, okay?”
-57-
On the outside, President Sanders’ announcement was met with mixed reviews.
Those who still believed in him, and probably the tooth fairy as well, took him at his word. After all, he was the President of the United States. He wouldn’t possibly lie to his citizens, right?
These people breathed a collective sigh of relief. The most gullible of the bunch started taking down the plywood sheets that covered their windows at night and protected their homes against looters. They stopped running their water faucets all day long, filling up every container they could find.
They even ventured out during the daytime hours again, risking robbery or worse.
To them, the crisis was over.
Social media blew up. One side called the other paranoid, and was in turn called naïve.
Even the talking heads on television couldn’t agree whether the President was telling the truth. The news network which had always opposed him in everything he did continued to do so. The other network, the one which considered him an undeclared god, remained non-committal. They knew that despite the high praise they had constantly heaped upon his every action in the past, that he was flawed. Flawed just like every President that had come before him. They also knew he’d lie to
the American public in a heartbeat. They’d seen him do it many times in the past.
So their refusal to support him wholeheartedly in these last hours before Saris 7 would have crashed down to earth was taken as a big red flag to those who already mistrusted the President.
“See?” They claimed. “Even his own political hacks won’t back him up.”
But as much as it supported their view, the doubters saw no joy in proclaiming themselves right. For their being right, in their minds, was equivalent to being handed a death sentence.
Crimes against persons were going up by leaps and bounds. Not just in the United States, but all over the world. Part of the problem was the lack of police officers on the streets. As many as fifty percent of them were calling in sick in some cities. They were walking a fine line, of course. They wanted to stay on good terms with their departments, just in case Sanders was true to his word and the meteorite never happened.
But if, in their own minds, they were doomed, then they didn’t want to spend their last days protecting the families of other people. They wanted to spend time with their own.
So they called in sick in great numbers. If the world didn’t end, they’d still have their jobs. Probably no credibility, but at least a job.
Many police chiefs adopted a policy of “show up or be fired, even if you are sick.”
It didn’t help much.
The lack of police officers during the day emboldened criminals. At a college in North Carolina, a band of senior boys went on a rampage, going from dorm to dorm, raping and beating female students.
The lone officer left in the campus police department couldn’t leave the station. He had to call in to the city for help, and the city had their own problems.
By the time a single city cop arrived, several hours later, the rapists were long gone. All wore masks and their crimes were conducted in broad daylight. They told their victims that if they were going to die the next day anyway, they might as well enjoy their last hours.
One growled at his victim that he’d had his eyes on her for months. “I’d never have a shot at you otherwise. Now it doesn’t matter. I can just take what I want.”
At night, during the hours when the active duty military and National Guard had control of the streets, chaos also reigned. The difference, of course, was that military members had no option of calling in sick.
Their failure to show meant AWOL charges at best, desertion at worst. Still, many of them chanced it. Some units were reporting absentee rates of thirty percent or more.
Even more scary was the fact that most of the deserters had taken their weapons with them. Some were turning up in the hands of gangbangers who were roaming the streets en masse stealing whatever they could find.
And even well-armed homeowners were no match against machine guns and hand grenades.
-58-
At the Trucker’s Paradise truck stop, Marty Hankins sat in the truckers’ lounge with Scott Burley, and Joe and Tina Koslowski.
They watched Sanders give his speech and scoffed. “What a damn liar.” Marty said. “I hope you and your whole damn family go straight to the pits of hell.”
The lounge, which normally would be standing room only, had only a handful of other patrons. Most were drivers who had dropped their loads in the yard, or on the shoulders of nearby I-10, and were refueling so they could head for home.
And to get them there, they’d buy whatever food and water the truck stop had left. Most shelves were empty, but cans of refried beans and saltine crackers would do in a pinch if nothing else was available.
The four had walked through the yard several times, scouting out the trailers they wanted to steal when the time came. Most of the trailers they selected were from retail giants. They figured there’d be a little bit of everything in them. They’d take whatever they could use from them, and then burn whatever was left to keep warm.
Scott Burley was in seventh heaven when the group stumbled upon a big red trailer marked “KFC” on the side with white letters. It was sealed, its cooler was set at 26 degrees and running, and Burley surmised that it was full of chicken, ready to fry on their propane grill.
“Holy moly, can you imagine how much chicken you can store in fifty three feet of trailer?”
He smiled from ear to ear.
To be sure, that was an awful lot of chicken. But Marty was also thinking in practical terms. Like blankets, and clothing, and fuel. He’d been searching for the kinds of trailers he considered necessary for the survival of the four of them. They wrote down the numbers of the trailers they’d take, and where they were located in the lot. And if the lot man, Lenny, gave them a hard time about taking them, they’d offer to let him join them. A fifth man could always come in handy. Especially if they had to defend their fortress in the hayfield against those who failed to plan for their own survival.
All that was left was the waiting. And to kill some time, Marty and Joe Koslowski decided to take a drive.
They had to take Joe’s rig. Marty had bought so much charcoal at Walmart that his entire sleeper compartment was full. So was the passenger seat and floorboard. He’d spent the previous two nights sleeping sitting up in his driver’s seat.
But that was okay. He knew it would be worth it. Those extra bags of charcoal might keep them alive some day. Or at least keep them warm.
They pulled onto I-10 headed east toward Junction, and were shocked at the number of dropped trailers that lined both sides of the highway. There were easily two hundred on each side, dropped safely on the shoulders of the road, waiting for their drivers to return for them. Or for someone else to make use of what they contained.
They drove by slowly, examining each one. Even though they had already selected the ones they wanted for their camp, it wouldn’t hurt to know where additional supplies might be if they ran short of something.
The pair drove through Junction and exited I-10 where it connected with State Highway 83. Joe pulled into a McDonald’s, where they still had enough workers and food to serve lunch. One burger per customer, though. Apparently their supplies were dwindling like everyone else’s.
The irony, of course, was that they had just passed two fully loaded McDonald’s trailers not ten miles up the road.
With some lunch in their bellies, Joe and Marty proceeded east a few miles to a narrow two lane road. The surveyor’s flags that had once marked it had been removed, but Marty knew this was the same road he’d traveled with that load of steel a year before.
The road was paved, but not lately, and was not a smooth ride. After awhile they came to a fork in the road. Marty wasn’t sure what was down the left fork, and actually couldn’t have cared less. He had his friend Joe take the right fork, where they bounced along another hundred yards and came to a locked gate.
They parked and got out of the truck, walked over to the gate, and looked at the large compound off in the distance.
Marty said “From what I remember, they were building a large hotel or apartment building or something. I also saw barns and greenhouses, and a large septic system.
“If they have well water too, then we can live in there for years. All we have to do is fill it full of trailers, see if we can find some seeds that aren’t too old to grow crops, and we can live the good life.”
Joe noted that the rooftop of the main building was higher than the fence. “That’s good.” He said. Joe was a U.S. Army Ranger in his early years. We can set up a bunker on each corner of the rooftop. If anybody ever tries to break in, we can pick them off easily one at a time as they come over the fence. It’s always good to have the high ground.
“What do those little white signs say?”
Joe pointed to signs that were mounted on the fence, about head high, every twenty five feet or so.
“I don’t know, they were put up long after I was here. And it doesn’t really matter anyway. Whoever owns the property will be long dead when the earth warms up again. As far as I’m concerned it’ll be free for the
taking.”
The pair returned to Joe’s truck and climbed aboard for the return trip to the truck stop.
In the mine, Mark, Bryan and Sami’s father John sat at the security desk, watching the pair from a long range camera mounted on the wind turbine.
John had been a Dallas cop for twenty six years before he retired. He was the logical person to take the Chief of Security job in the mine. He had five volunteers to help him, and Mark and Bryan would both jump in if there was a real threat.
All eight of them were carrying side arms now, and John had positioned seven AR-15 rifles across from the entryway.
The rifles were unloaded, since small kids tend to get curious sometimes. But each of the security staff carried two thirty round magazines with them at all times. If the man at the security station ever sounded the alarm, they’ll all be there within a minute or so, ready to defend their new home against invaders.
Bryan asked “Who do you think they are?”
“Judging from their vehicle,” John said, “I’d guess they are truck drivers who once carried building materials to the construction site. Maybe they’re just looking for a safe place to ride out the cold. But surely they’re smart enough to realize that the empty compound has no food to support them”
Mark added “Well, at least they’re leaving. Let’s just keep a close watch on that camera in case they come back.
But they didn’t come back.
And the next few hours in the mine were somber and relatively uneventful. At least compared to the situation on the outside.
-59-
Time had run out. It was January 15, 2016.
Out of a clear blue sky 400 miles northwest of Shenyang, China, Saris 7 came rumbling in and impacted with earth. In Northwest China, everything instantly went black.
Final Dawn: Escape From Armageddon Page 19