Irritated, Bret answered, “Yes.”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
“Not long.” He shifted his eyes to Darius. “If women become scarce, would you have a problem sharing her?” He gave a twitch of his head to Bret.
“Nope, not at all.” Darius said.
Bret’s mouth dropped opened.
Colin interjected, “As you know, Mr. Winslow, in desperate times, when women are few, a good husband should always be willing to share his wife. Professor Cobb knows this. He wants to share Bret.” He winked. “Trust me.”
Before Bret could say anything in her shock, Winslow spoke, “Okay then. I’ll invest that and some more if you need it. Only I want a guaranteed seat on this spacecraft.”
Colin winked. “You got it.”
“How long will the journey take?”
“Depends on conditions.”
“Very well.” Winslow backed up his wheelchair. “Contact me in two days; resources will be set up for you.”
“Thank you,” Colin said then hurriedly escorted Darius and Bret from the office. He beckoned their silence until they were out of the house and en route to the car.
“A spaceship?” Bret asked insulted. “You allowed that man to think he was going on a spaceship.”
Darius answered, “More than likely he thinks he’s going to another planet.”
“I’d guess that,” Colin added. “Especially with the oxygen questions. He may have seen the same movie.”
“Wait.” Bret interrupted. “You can’t let him think he’s going on a spaceship.”
“Why not?” Colin asked.
“He’s not.”
Colin fluttered his lips. “He may not live through the cold process up here.”
“And if he does?” Bret asked.
“Well, we’ll knock him out with Thorazine; he’ll never know he wasn’t on a spaceship. We’ll tell him leaving the atmosphere did that to him.’
“You two are wrong,” Bret said. “First saying you’ll share, then allowing him to believe he’s going to space. All for eight million dollars.”
“That’s right.” Darius commented. “Eight million. We need that. You need that. Hell, I’ll tell him we’re going in a time machine if it means getting the money. Because we’re not lying about the end result. The outcome for all of us will be the same, and that’s what matters. Surviving.”
THE BLAIN REPORT
June 9th …
“The Humane Society and other animal lovers gathered around with glee when the Coast Guard arrived. The reports of the strange oceanic find spread like wildfire, and anyone who wanted to be a witness to this arrival flocked to the Hudson Bay. The excitement began yesterday when the Coast Guard reported finding a life raft with six kittens floating aimlessly seventy miles offshore of New York. A bag of food, one blanket, no water. Experts are saying these kittens may have been floating at sea for up to two weeks. How they survived is nothing less than a miracle. The New York Humane Society is already reporting an outpouring of adoption requests for these fine feline sailors. It’s a story with a happy ending, and after the week of bizarre occurrences this reporter has seen, it is a welcome change. Blain Davis, CNS News.”
12. READINESS
June 11th …
It wasn’t a twenty-four-hour government station, although Virginia wanted to increase monitoring to ‘round the clock’. She didn’t have the manpower, and unless she herself moved all her belongings and gave up her husband and children, it would never be ‘round the clock’.
But she arrived early, as she always did, just after five, never away for longer than seven hours. Her six-year-old daughter was curled up sleeping on the small couch in the computer room, while Virginia, alone with her coffee, pulled up the night’s images. Usually it was uneventful, and any changes noted were slight and an indication something was about to turn. Nothing ever that alarming; after all she had left there at midnight.
The five a.m. images clicked in seven second intervals as Virginia scanned them visually. Four images, three a.m., Virginia hit ‘stop’.
“Oh, my God.” After a few clicks, the images of the sun zoomed in, and Virginia manipulated the color. “This can’t be right.” She went back an image, then skipped ahead. ‘It is.” Blindly, she reached for the phone and dialed. “Did I wake you? Sorry. Anyhow, go to your station,” she said. “I want you to look at your images, and I’m sending you the ones I have.”
A pause.
“Darius, I need you to confirm. I know…I know this isn’t your specialty, but it doesn’t have to be if I’m correct. What do I need you to confirm?” Virginia sighed out. “Whether I’m wrong, or whether we’re really in trouble.”
***
The Krispy Kreme was a safe house, unlike the Burger King, where Chuck couldn’t order his Whopper without feeling it. He started to notice when he stopped for a latte. He could feel it when he paused at his office; by the time he picked up his early meal, he was positive.
Even though he looked he couldn’t confirm it, so he decided to play decoy.
There was a Wal-Mart located outside of town, and Chuck, after parking, went inside. He made a maze of his movements, until finally he arrived at his destination.
Women’s lingerie.
It was between the padded bra rack and underwear rack when Chuck’s suspicions were confirmed. Acting as if he didn’t see him, Chuck slipped by the girdles, and reached out his hand, grabbing his shirt.
“Hey. Hey.” Blain pulled away.
“Why are you following me?”
“Following you?” Blain chuckled. “Does it look like I’m following you?’
“Yes.”
Blain fluttered his lips. “Please don’t flatter yourself. In fact,” he straightened his clothes. “I was going to comment on what a coincidence this was.”
“Coincidence?”
“Yes, that we’re at the same Wal-Mart.”
Chuck scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. I was buying something for myself.”
“I see. It makes sense.” Chuck folded his arms. “Of course you would come to a Wal-Mart way out of your way. Where else could you purchase women’s underwear without drawing attention to the Big CNS reporter?”
“Shit.” Blain quickly looked around.
“Cut the bull. You’re following me. Why?”
Blain sighed out. “You’re getting either really expert tips or psychic tips. Either way, you have the scoop I want.”
“Sorry. Bret not talking?”
“No. Look, I can make a deal. You tell me and I’ll do something for you.”
Chuck laughed. “What could you possibly have that I want?”
“A chance at CNS.”
Chuck shook his head.
“You don’t want to be on CNS.”
“Do I have the face for it? “ Chuck asked sarcastically.
“Well, yeah, you…no.” Blain shook his head. “But don’t you want to claim credit of writing for them.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Surely the exposure.…”
This made Chuck pause. “Exposure.”
“Yeah, national.”
Thinking that the national exposure wouldn’t be a bad idea when it came time to get the truth out, Chuck nodded. “I will think about . . .” he stopped when his phone rang. “Hold on.” He answered it. “Hey . . . , What’s up?”
Pause.
“When?” Chuck asked. “Can I ask why?” he nodded. “Not a problem. Call me then. Yeah, I’m on my way.” He hung up.
“Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact,” Chuck smiled. “I am. See ya.” Chuck took off.
Blain did follow, as best as he could but just as assurance, he placed a phone call to Bret.
***
Darius looked more like a NASA engineer rather than the college professor he was. Earpiece in his ear, he spoke not only on the phone, but to Colin as well—who also had an ear pi
ece.
“S5.” Darius said as he looked at the image on the screen. It was of Earth and a red spot lingered like a cloud above a small section of the US. “Got my image?”
“Yes,” Virginia answered.
“Four a.m. Next . . . . ” Darius clicked. “Five. Next . . . six. “See the changes?”
“It increased.”
“Exactly.”
Colin’s finger pointed to the screen. “What is this one here?”
“Seven a.m. S3.” Darius answered. “It increased up until nine a.m. when it peaked. But…it only peaked for seven minutes, and hit an S5, over this area of Missouri and Kansas. It’s leveling now.”
Colin nodded. “But what about at S4?”
Darius nodded. “Some problems. It’ll look more like food poisoning.”
Virginia asked. “Did you let the airlines know?”
Darius laughed. “You kidding me? When you showed me this I immediately went to them. They got a warning from NASA. But it’s nothing major.”
“Nothing major?” Virginia barked, “S5 is nothing major?”
“Ah,” Colin interjected. “It wouldn’t appear to be nothing major if they were looking like we are looking. Correct? And they aren’t. We’re searching for it. They are merely doing their jobs.”
Virginia exhaled over the line. “So it’s a wait to see if you’re correct.”
“Oh, I’m right.” Darius said. “When I noticed the area increasing more than the others, I immediately contacted the FAA. Luckily Colin knows someone there. Three flights went through the area at the time it peaked. I have Chuck arriving right before one of those planes do. In fact…I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone is feeling it now. It’s a minor version of Africa. We’re just lucky it stopped at S5.”
Virginia asked, “What was Africa?”
“The solar scale only goes up to S5. If it went higher, I’d say an S10.”
“Whoa.” Colin commented, “And look at the time. I have to meet Bret.” He lifted a folder. “Good luck. Keep me posted.” After removing the ear piece he began his farewell.
“Oh, Colin?” Darius called out. “Don’t give Bret details about this. OK?”
“Why?” Colin asked.
“Because she’ll tell that reporter. Chuck wants an exclusive.” He got agreement, watched Colin leave then returned to the computer screens. “Speaking of Chuck,” he said to himself and Virginia. “Where are you?”
***
“Quit following me!” Chuck barked, walking at a quick pace through the main terminal of Philadelphia’s airport.
“You’re rushing. You speeded all the way here; I almost lost you.” Blain said.
“Too bad.” Chuck turned and kept on walking.
“Are you leaving the country?”
“Does it look like I’m leaving anywhere? No.” Chuck moved fast, and made it as far as security would let him. “You lost your camera man.”
“I let him go. I figured I could follow you.…”
“A-ha!” Chuck pointed. “You are.”
“OK, I am. I’m ready.” He lifted the camera.
“You are unreal.” Chuck pulled out his identification and walked to the security desk. “Charles Wright, Johnstown Journal. I have media clearance.”
The security man skimmed the page. “I’m not seeing . . . hey . . . .” He smiled brightly and snapped his finger. “Ain’t you Blain Davis?”
“Yes, I am.” Blain answered bashfully.
“Sign here, gentleman. But I need to check that ID again,” He said to Chuck.
After a grumble, Chuck complied.
“See.” Blain pestered as they walked though to the main terminal. “I’m good for something.”
“You have that camera linked up to the network?”
“All it’s gonna take is a phone call. I figure, I’ll shoot my footage, then do my story.”
“What story?” Chuck asked.
“The one you’re rushing to get to.”
“I am not rushing to get to . . .” Chuck’s words were interrupted when a barrage of medical people barreled past him.
A siren blared from a security cart, and three of them zoomed down the hall of the airport.
Chuck took off running.
Sure enough, Gate 47B, the one where he was supposed to be. It was swamped with police, airport security, and medical personal. Through the windows, Chuck could see ambulances pulled up to the plane.
A woman was moving people back from the gate, and Chuck approached her. “Chuck Wright, reporter, what’s going on with Flight 766?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to say.
Chuck tried another, while Blain filmed the hysteria.
A policeman.
“Sir, Chuck Wright with the Johnstown . . . .”
“Out of my way.” He scolded.
Chuck jumped back and made yet another attempt. His mouth wasn’t even open when an official in a suit barked out, “Someone get this reporter out of here!”
“Fuck,” Chuck stepped back.
“May I?” Blain asked.
“May you what?”
“Here, hold this.” He handed Chuck the camera. “Just press this button and . . . .”
“I know how to use this. Who am I filming?”
“All this and . . . .” Blain grinned. “Me.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a remote microphone and earpiece. He hooked it to his ear, checked the remote connection with the camera and stood straight. “Ready?”
“I’m not filming you. Forget it.” Chuck snapped.
“Wanna story?” Blain asked. “Yes or no. We can scoop this.”
“Ha.” Chuck shook his head. His body was a billiard for those scurrying about. “You think you’re all that. Mr. CNS reporter. No one’s gonna talk. Not yet.”
“They will to me.”
“You think?” Chuck asked.
“Wanna bet?”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ll bet you strike out.”
Cocky, Blain said, “And if I don’t, we work together on this. Because I have a gut feeling something big is gonna happen with this world, and you know what that is.”
“I’m a Johnstown reporter.”
“With some mighty influential friends. Deal?”
“Deal.”
They shook.
“Give me a second,” Blain pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “It’s me.” He turned his body and mumbled the conversation. “Thanks.” He hung up and faced Chuck. “Ready?” Blain asked.
Chuck lifted the camera. “You’re on.”
Blain smiled.
THE BLAIN REPORT
“This is Blain Davis, coming to you live from Philadelphia International Airport, where a distressed plane has just landed. Emergency crews have gathered in hordes, and ambulances in incredible numbers are racing to the runway. As you can see pandemonium has gripped the airport, and this reporter along with Chuck Wright, Johnstown Tribune, were on site when it all went down. With me now is FAA administrator, Harold Evens. Harold, what’s the situation?”
“Right now we’re not sure. Emergency personnel are removing passengers from the plane.”
“What’s going on?’
“Seven minutes prior to landing we received a distress call from the pilot aboard 766. His description of the situation was patchy. All we know now is there are cases of severe vomiting, diarrhea, and delirium.”
“Could it have been food poisoning?”
“Negative on that there, Blain. We’ve ruled that out. There are unconfirmed reports of skin lesions.”
“Could it be gas? A terrorist attack of some sort?”
“We cannot determine that at this time.”
“Any confirmed deaths or only illnesses?”
“We’ve not received word of deaths; we don’t believe it is that severe. However there are reports of unresponsiveness.”
“Thank you.”
Harold backed off.
“That was Harold Evens, FAA. Now, Sam, w
e are told that there are some one hundred and fifty-three people aboard that plane. What their individual conditions are remain to be seen, and pending notification of family, all names are being with held. The cause at this time is unknown, and the question of the hour is, what happened on board flight 766? More later.”
Pause.
“Blain Davis, with Chuck Wright, CNS news. Back to you, Sam.”
13. Cold Truth
Bret bit her nails, and sat like a child, knees close watching the television. The phone was to her ear. “I’m seeing this, Virginia. This is amazing.”
“It’s fucked up.” Jesse commented on his way through the living room. “Fuckin’ terrorists.”
“It wasn’t a terror attack, asshole.” Bret said then returned to her call. “Sorry. So Darius saw this coming?”
From the kitchen, Jesse mumbled. “Fuckin’ Darius.”
Bret ignored him. “What’s Colin’s take? Yes, he’s coming over later. He called this morning. I suppose he forgot that I worked all night. He said he and Darius were finishing up on a small proposal. Do you know what that is?”
“Not really, they said they had one for me too.” Virginia said.
“Strange. He wanted to know what would be a good time to stop by.” Bret dropped her voice to a whisper and covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “He asked when Jesse would be home. I figure he wants to avoid my husband.”
“Why are you whispering?” Jesse yelled from the kitchen.
“Why are you eavesdropping? Go out or something; geez. Anyhow . . . .” Bret continued. “I was specific. Jesse’s doing night road work and . . . .” Her head cocked when the doorbell rang. “Hold on.” She walked to the front door. “Let me call you back. Colin’s here. Man.”
“Who’s at the . . . .” Jesse paused. “Door.”
Bret exhaled as she let Colin into her home. Jesse and Colin had never met face to face.
“Uh, Jesse, Colin. Colin, Jesse,” she introduced.
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