Solar Reboot

by Matthew D. Hunt

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  SOLAR REBOOT

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  SOLAR REBOOT

  By

  Matthew D. Hunt

  Copyright © 2017 by Matthew D. Hunt

  Edited By: Garrett Robinson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  Characters, events, callsigns and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to locations, events, Callsigns or people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Visit SolarRebootTheBook.com for more information

  DEDICATION

  There are many people I’d like to dedicate this book to, but the two that stand out most are Tony Todd for inspiring and encouraging me in the first place; also to the late Richard Hatch for not only inspiring me but encouraging me, patiently answering questions when I had them, and making me think and reach beyond what I thought were my limits. Richard asked for nothing other than honesty and friendship, and gave that in return tenfold. I hope in my future endeavors that I can do the same for others.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  This book was originally a spec for a miniseries or TV show, which I am still considering. But overall, it is just supposed to be an enjoyable read. The science in it is not perfect, the locations in it are not perfect, the people in it are not perfect, but they’re perfect enough for me, and for my story. I enjoyed writing in detail about all of my characters, trying to ensure they were not two-dimensional or uninteresting, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. One other thing that I’ve added to this book, which I have not seen in many, is to give the reader and general public a small glimpse of what life is like living with Type 1 Diabetes. My son, now 10 years old, has had it for eight years, and if you’d like to find out more about it, please look up information at JDRF.org. Once again I thank you and I do hope you enjoy reading this book.

  Sincerely,

  Matthew D. Hunt

  CHAPTER 1

  Scientists would have said it was still spring, that summer wouldn’t come for almost another three weeks. Climatologists said there was no sharp dividing line, that the change of seasons was a gradual transition that humans gave name to for the sake of their own convenience.

  But stuck in the back of a taxi cab in Manhattan, Alex Robinson thought the dividing line seemed much sharper, and that it had come last night. He and Piper had landed in JFK to a smattering of spring rain, the chilly, misty kind that didn’t soak so much as it seeped through clothing. They’d made their way to the hotel with short tempers and all possible speed, and gone to bed expecting more of the same when they awoke. But morning had brought shining sun and a clear blue sky, and down on the streets it felt like the pavement had heated them from below just as much as the sun from above. Now the voices on the cab radio were blathering on about highs in the mid-eighties, and more of the same all week.

  “How’s your pump?” said Alex as the weatherman gave way to some story about a celebrity scandal.

  “It’s fine, Dad.” Technically Piper had her seatbelt on, but from the way she lay sideways across the back seat, her feet in between them and her head wedged firmly between the window and the pages of an issue of Seventeen, Alex didn’t think the restraint provided much protection. Fortunately, traffic was at a standstill.

  “I told you you couldn’t read that magazine for another five years.”

  “And Mom told you that I could read it if I want, and to stop bugging me.”

  “Your spares are in your backpack?”

  “You think I carry extra issues of Seventeen?”

  “Your spare meds.”

  She sighed, abandoning the magazine as a futile effort and dropping it on her chest. “The pump has enough to go for three days. I just changed it, you know that!”

  “But you brought your spares.”

  “I don’t need them.”

  “But you brought them.”

  “Yes, Dad. They’re in my backpack, along with two extra magazines.”

  “I knew it.”

  She smirked and kicked him, shoving the magazine into her bag in favor of her phone.

  “That’s much better. Now I can pretend you’re reading something educational.”

  “I’m checking Twitter.”

  “Don’t ruin the dream.”

  “Nicki Minaj got the flu and had to cancel a concert.”

  “No father has ever been prouder.”

  She glared at him over the top of the screen. He held his hands up in surrender and let her browse, her eyes soon glazing over from the information dump. His attention went back out the window, squinting whenever the sun managed to poke its way out from between the skyscrapers. The sky was a strange shade of blue—too much red in it, closer to purple. Alex wanted to attribute it to city smog, but he’d been to New York plenty and had never seen that color. It bothered him. But then, according to Piper, most things did.

  He knew he could never live in New York. Before a month was out he’d go insane from the people and the claustrophobic press of the architecture. But it certainly had its appeal as a place to visit, if for no other reason than it was the polar opposite of the forest.

  Or maybe it was just a different kind of forest. Here the wild animals were the desperate poor who’d managed to get their hands on a weapon, and the rangers were men in blue who carried handcuffs and pistols. Just like back home, some of the rangers were more trouble than the animals, and just like back home, the animals weren’t too dangerous if you knew what you were doing. But step into either environment without knowing the lay of the land, and you could end up dead real quick.

  —scientists at NASA are now reporting that the solar flare is much larger than they had anticipated—

  Alex’s mind snapped back to the radio in an instant. He leaned forward, gripping the back of the seat in front of him. The cabbie looked over out of the corner of his eye, but Alex ignored him.

  —and may in fact be the largest such event on record. Though telescopes first picked up the flare a few days ago, estimates of its size were, in NASA’s own words, grossly in error.

  “Excuse me, the radio—” said Alex.

  “You want music?” said the cabbie. He leaned over and punched one of the numbered stations. The speakers blared the latest Top 40 single from some artist Alex didn’t know.

  “Ooh, I love this song. Could you please turn it up?” said Piper, sitting up in her seat.

&n
bsp; Alex leaned back, looking out the window again. The sky was too red. Almost purple.

  * * *

  The whistle shrilled, blasting in the attendees’ ears off the concrete walls of the gym, and the girls hit the water. Alex winced as the other parents around him erupted into screams. No couch-borne football fan watching the Super Bowl ever cheered louder than a parent at a swim meet. He took a breath.

  “Go Piper! Come on!”

  He had to join in, not because he thought it did any good—the girls were underwater, they couldn’t even hear their parental groupies—but because if he didn’t, everyone saw him as the only jerk in the bleachers who wasn’t cheering for his little girl. But as the swimmers neared the end of the first length and made their turns, the crowd settled down. Alex sank into his chair to think.

  Something was bothering him, an errant thought tugging at the coattails of his mind, and it wouldn’t go away no matter how much he tried to dismiss it. More than a decade in the woods had taught him that when a feeling like that stuck around, you listened. But often, as now, there wasn’t much to listen to—just a sensation, like a sense of something standing just behind you, and you couldn’t turn fast enough to get a good look at it.

  “Which one is yours?”

  Alex blinked, startled, and looked over. It was one of the moms. She was one seat over from Alex, but took his look as an invitation and scooted into the chair next to his.

  “I’m Jackie. My daughter’s Elizabeth, in lane three.”

  “Alex,” he said. After a second, he realized he should offer his hand, and did. “I’m Piper’s dad. Lane … uh … six.”

  Jackie flashed a dazzling smile with too-white teeth. “Ooh, she’s winning!”

  His heart sank as he realized she was right. He hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, she’s been training really hard.”

  “They all work so hard at it, but y’know, there can only be one winner.”

  She leaned back in her chair, resting an elbow on the armrest between them. Alex caught the whiff of something herbal in her hair, completing the picture painted by her upscale clothes and accent. Professional mom, probably from the mid-west, with a spouse rich enough to let her spend the money on the family however she liked. He hoped her smile wasn’t hiding anything more. Too many parents saw these out-of-state swim meets as an opportunity to meet other unhappily married adults and use their hotel rooms for what they were really designed for. And since most of their husbands were white-collar business types, they tended to gravitate toward Alex as something refreshingly different and rugged.

  “So what do you do?” said Jackie.

  Alex shifted imperceptibly in his seat, sliding away from her. “I’m a forest ranger.”

  Her jaw dropped at what was clearly the most fascinating thing she’d ever heard. “No. Way. Like, full-on? Yogi bear style?”

  He forced a polite smile. “Yogi wasn’t the ranger, but you’ve got the idea.” Who uses ‘full-on’ and ‘style’ like that anymore?

  “That’s got to be so interesting. How do you even get into that? I mean, it’s not like they send recruiters around to colleges looking for rangers, do they? Or wait … do they? Where are you even from?” She said it with the air of someone who’s just realized they never knew this vital detail about a lifelong friend.

  “Seattle area. Oh, shoot, text from the wife. Give me a minute.”

  She smiled and leaned away. Hopefully that meant she got the hint. Alex pulled up his phone, hoping Jackie didn’t notice the screen had no notifications on it, and tapped at the keys.

  Rescue me. Soccer mom being too friendly. Bad touch. I need an adult.

  No response for a long moment. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Jackie looking at him while trying not to look like she was doing it. So he angled the screen ever so slightly away from her, and then typed and deleted random words a few times so it would look like he was still texting. Finally, salvation came in a blue text box from Cameron.

  I know a guy in New York. Real black-ops type. It’s better if you don’t know too much more.

  No sniper rifles though, okay? I don’t need the cover-up like last time, Alex typed back with a grin.

  I get results. The rest is up to you.

  He barely suppressed a guffaw, then gave Jackie an apologetic smile. It was a calculated move. Nothing like seeing a man giggle as he texted his wife to douse the romantic spark of a potential affair.

  How’s it going??

  Did you just double-question-mark me? Alex teased.

  Don’t make this a thing.

  Either it was a typo or an error, Cam. One question mark is acceptable. Three isn’t orthodox, but colloquially established. Two is an abomination, Alex quipped.

  You made it a thing. I am going back to work.

  WAIT! I regret! Hey, did you hear about this solar flare? Alex asked.

  Nothing came back for a very long minute. Alex immediately regretted sending it, but he’d been desperate to keep the conversation going. Jackie’s hand had been edging back toward the armrest, almost as if it had a mind of its own.

  I can safely say I did not. And I’m guessing you’re worried.

  Worried? Me? Never.

  Alex. I can safely say we’ve never even used the words “solar flare” in all our years of marriage. Is something wrong, or is this one of your things?

  To be fair, my things are often things that are also wrong.

  I wouldn’t say often.

  Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s just one of my things, Alex texted back, trying not to worry her.

  You promise?

  I’ll call you later. Race is almost over.

  He mashed the power button and shoved the phone into his pocket. The swimmers were on the last lap. “Go Piper! Whoo!” he shouted, feeling like a pep rally cheerleader. The girls hit the edge of the pool, Piper in a close second place. The whistles blew, making him wince again, and he shuffled through the bleachers toward the stairs down. He’d completely forgotten Jackie, and didn’t see her disgruntled huff as she went the other direction.

  * * *

  He called Cameron later, from the hotel room, while Piper was in the bathroom doing her level best to get the chlorine out of her hair. It was never a completely successful operation, but Piper was religious about it.

  Ten rings in, Cameron still hadn’t picked up. He waited. In the hospital, there could be a ton of reasons she couldn’t get the call, one of which might well be that her hands were currently covered with another person’s blood. It didn’t help to be impatient.

  Finally the line clicked. “Hey.”

  Her tone of voice was one Alex knew well. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  “A bunch. Most recently, a dead guy on the table.”

  “Christ. I’m sorry, Cam.”

  “It happens. At least it wasn’t anyone’s fault here. So how’s astrology treating you?”

  “Astronomy. Astrology is horoscopes.”

  “Sweetie.”

  “Sorry. It’s nothing. Probably. Did you hear about it?”

  “I googled it after your text. News is saying it’s no big deal.”

  “Scientists are saying something else.”

  “Well, if you can believe them.”

  “I’m really sorry, Cam.”

  “Please just … don’t talk about it, okay? I should probably get back. Turns out there’s a ton of paperwork surrounding corpses.”

  The water shut off, and a second later Piper walked into the room. Alex cursed inwardly. “Actually, I was hoping you could do one thing for me tonight after work.”

  “I want to do precisely zero things after work tonight, unless those things are bottles of wine or taking out my frustration on your nubile body. One of those isn’t an option.”

  “Please, Cam. Humor me. Or, don’t humor me. Just, please.”

  “What?”

  Alex eyed Piper, who was brushing her hair with the studious look of someone who was eavesdropping and tr
ying not to be seen doing it. “Pick up some flats of water, and some canned food. And some extra meds for Piper.”

  “Canned food.”

  “The best stuff. Name-brand only. Go wild. Treat yourself.”

  “More canned food than we already have.”

  “And extra insulin for Piper.”

  “Once again, I feel the need to bring up wine as the only thing I was planning on tonight.”

  “Please, Cam. I know it’s annoying, just … please.” He tried to will his sense of urgency through the phone without letting it come out in his voice. Piper was smart—brilliant, actually. No way he could completely slip this under her radar, but there was no reason to freak her out. He hoped.

  After a long and pregnant pause, he heard the resigned sigh he was looking for. “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When you get back, I’m going to wreck you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. So much so that I stepped the flight up to tomorrow morning.”

  “What?”

  “What?” said Piper, head snapping around to glare at him.

  “Red-eye flight. We’ll be there in the early afternoon. Don’t worry about picking us up, we’ll take a cab.”

  “Dad!” said Piper, anger turning to pleading in an instant.

  “Alex, are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. An Oscar-worthy performance. “I just can’t wait to see you. Okay, I have to explain myself to a pissed off pre-teen. Love you. Bye.”

  “Love you.”

  He hung up. Piper immediately turned to face him from her bed.

  “Dad, we were going to go sight-seeing tomorrow.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but we’re going to fly back early.”

  “Why?”

  He paused. How to explain to her? What words could describe his growing itch, a sense that he didn’t even totally understand himself?

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No it isn’t! I wanted to see New York.”

  “We’re going to come back plenty of times, Piper. I swear, next time we’ll block out a whole week to go around and see stuff. The Empire State Statue. The Building of Liberty.”