Into the Storm
Page 1
Into the Storm
Surviving Eden — Episode 3
By
Scott Marcy
Copyright © 2016 Scott A. Marcy
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, 2016; Second Printing 2017
Strange World Survivor Publishing
www.ScottMarcy.net
Table of Contents
Maps
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
Maps
For a large-scale map, please go to ScottMarcy.net.
Chapter 1
President Jack Larson shouldered the world’s burdens, and it withered him. The self-confident man — the candidate with an infectious smile and fatherly wisdom — languished. After winning the presidency, he dulled his pain with a scotch and dreamed of yesterday when he held Gloria in his arms. Without her, he needed a crutch to endure the greedy bankers, the entitled rich, the indifferent senators, and the anguished poor.
Air Force One possessed every accommodation one might ask or desire, even heated toilet seats, a gift from the Japanese Ambassador. At his call, the staff fought for the privilege to serve him: what more could he ask? The one thing he desired most, dreamed of every night, and longed for every day was to hold Gloria. A terrorist attack in Mobley, Kansas, took her from him, so his arms would be forever empty.
He peered through the amber liquid in his glass and swirled the ice. It was 9 AM, and the staff noticed. He set down the drink and rubbed his face with both hands. When he and Gloria dreamed of this moment, they never scripted this. The press compared him to President Kennedy: young, handsome, and tragic.
Turbulence jarred the jet and tinkled the ice in the glass. It was the first on this flight, so he noticed. He rose up to his feet and stretched. His eyes fell upon a simple manila folder labeled “The Mobley Report,” stamped top secret, eyes only.
The worn, curled edges, and coffee ring stains testified to its use. He read it so many times that he memorized every line and the details of every photo, yet he continually returned to it. He picked the folder and flipped it open. The last photo of Gloria at a campaign rally lay on top. He touched the image and recalled the aroma of her perfume, the softness of her caress, and the brightness of her eyes.
The paper report may have been old fashioned, but it was the safest way to store top-secret information. He thumbed through the photos of the charred remains, taking note of each one. The incendiary used by the attackers failed to show up on any scientific tests. The Air Force report concluded that an unknown aircraft firebombed the town and left no survivors.
The door opened, and Israel Kahn, head of his Secret Service detail, stood in the doorway. “The captain says that we hit a patch of rough weather. You better buckle up, just to be safe.”
Jack closed the folder and placed it in his top desk drawer. “I think I’ll go up to the flight deck and see what this rough weather looks like.” The president took one last swig from his drink and straightened his clothes. “How do I look?”
“Like a man who has nothing to prove,” Israel said.
Jack smirked. When Rachael appeared behind Israel, he said to her, “I’m a politician. I’m only as good as my last photo op. Get Lou. I want some shots of Captain Douglas advising me. I want the storm through the cockpit window as a backdrop.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” She flicked a red lock over her shoulder and sent a text to Lou, the White House photographer. “The president wants you to meet him in the cockpit.”
Jack put on his best smile and exited his private office. Air Force crewman snapped to attention and saluted as he passed. He returned a lazy salute and winked at Alicia, a female flight attendant. Her cheeks grew bright red, and she smoothed her skirt. With the vigor of a young man, he jogged up the spiral stairs and entered the cockpit.
A dazzling array of gauges, colored lights, and computer consoles surrounded him. The flight crew sat up straight and busied themselves. Another blast of turbulence shook the massive jet. He squatted down behind Captain Douglas and searched the skies. Rolling black clouds lined with brilliant silver light stretched across the sky. Flashes of lightning and rolling thunder surrounded the craft like a besieging army.
“You should be in your seat and strapped in,” the captain said.
“Even God couldn’t crash this jet,” Jack said and patted the captain on the shoulder. The declaration sounded profane and prophetic, and if he could have taken them back, he would have. As it was, his words lingered, words which historians would debate for centuries. He dismissed it as morose thinking, and smiled for the camera.
A flashlight illumined them when Lou took a photo. The president pointed at the clouds, and Lou took another picture. Jack said, “I’ve never seen clouds like those. It’s more like rolling darkness.”
Captain Douglas glanced at the copilot. “Yes, sir. We were just commenting on that. We’ve lost touch with … well … everyone. Everyone is offline. Even systems that should be failure proof are disconnected.” He glanced at Lou and then at the president. He whispered, “Jack, this is serious. I need you to get you strapped in. We’re in for a rough ride.”
“What’s that?” said the copilot. A moment later, an energized ball of pure white shot through the cockpit windshield and engulfed him. Frozen like a photograph, he remained hunched forward, straining against the harness, his mouth agape and eyes wide. The next moment, the copilot vanished, and the blast threw the president against the fuselage.
Israel leaped to the president’s side and helped him stand. “Get the doctor. Are you okay Mr. President?”
“Look,” Jack said and pointed at the windshield. Outside the aircraft, a ball of light exploded, and the copilot reappeared. He tumbled in a wild frenzy, white shirt and blue trousers contrasted the black sky, and he fell into the storm — screaming and thrashing. “That’s not possible.” Another blast threw the president against the fuselage.
“We need to get you to safety.” Israel grabbed the president’s right arm and dragged him from the cockpit. Agents surrounded the president as they ushered him down to the main deck. “Let’s get him to the capsule.”
The lights blinked and the power failed. Ball lightning shot through the fuselage and popped, temporarily blinding them. A terrified seagull emerged from the ball of plasma: squawked, flapped its wings, flying through the cabin, trying to escape. A beam shot through the craft and engulfed the flight attendant. Alicia arched her back, froze mid-scream, and then disappeared.
Captain Douglas fought to control the massive aircraft. The flight systems blinked, and the stick went dead. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force One. We are losing power, and all of our instruments are dead.” The compass spun in a wild dance and then the screen shattered. A point of light appeared before them. It surged and grew into a massive ball of light, a large pearl in the sky, swirling with a rainbow of light. The captain fought to change course, but the stick failed to respond. He grimaced and shouted, “We’re flying into it!”
Chapter 2
Captain Douglas gritted hi
s teeth and fought to control of Air Force One. The massive jet groaned as the brilliant ball of light drew them toward it. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Air Force One. It just appeared in the sky. Huge, light, we have no flight controls, and we are flying into —” The transmission cut out, cutting him off from ground control.
In the belly of the aircraft, the secret service hurried the president to one of four capsules. A light burst above their heads and Alicia landed on their heads, knocking them to the flight deck. Recovering his wits, Israel scrambled to his feet and pulled the president from the tangled pile. Alicia floundered atop the men, disoriented and screaming.
“We’re out of time,” Israel said and grabbed the red door handle. When he yanked, the lock released and shoved the president into one of four capsules. “We need to get you strapped in.”
“We should contact ground control,” Jack said. “The plane might make it.”
The storm roared, and the aircraft shuddered. Israel shouted to be heard above the storm, “We have to act now; even a minute could be too late.” He slammed the door shut and locked it. He grabbed the red release handle and yanked it. The hatch opened, and frigid air rushed into the cabin. A moment later, the capsule dropped through the hole. The various indicator lights illuminated, and the emergency beacon activated. The president was safe. Israel rubbed his chin and searched for his next move. “We have three more capsules. Let’s fill them.”
A female secret service agent ushered the Secretary of the Treasury, Hedy Cloud through the belly of the aircraft. Israel grabbed her right arm and shoved her into a capsule. “We need to get you out of here,” he said as he strapped her into the seat.
“Wait, what’s going —“ Hedy started to say but the door slammed shut and cut her off. Israel pulled the lever and the capsule plummeted through a hole beneath it.
“I insist on knowing what’s happening,” Secretary of State John Burns bellowed.
“No time,” Israel said and slammed the hatch close. He pulled the red release lever and the capsule plummeted through a hole. When an agent ushered FBI Director Selwyn Briggs toward a capsule, Israel held the door open and said, “Get him into it.”
As they strapped him into the chair, Selwyn said, “I should stay and —“ Israel slammed the hatch closed and pulled the lever. After it dropped, he said, “We need to get up to the flight deck.”
The jet bucked and tossed Captain Douglas around in the cockpit. “HOLD ON! We’re going into that thing.” They slammed into it and everything stopped. Bathed in brilliant white light, he swam, formless and at peace, in an eternal sea. For a moment, he touched the universe, and the universe touched him.
The jet burst from the ball and screamed through the canyon. The captain sucked in a gasp as if bursting up from deep water. His eyes went wide, and his heart skipped a beat: a mountain appeared. He twisted the control yolk and pulled back. The wings of the giant aircraft groaned, turned, and lifted the nose.
When a bridge appeared to his right, Captain Douglas twisted the yolk to the left. Dwarves scrambled off the bridge and ran for either side. A single dwarf flopped down onto the bridge and covered his head. The jet rushed over him with a great roar, and he held on to keep the jet wash from blowing him to his death.
The rim of Flattop Mountain rushed at Captain Douglas at 632 mph (Mach. 0.92). “Come on,” he groaned and pulled back on the yolk. “Get up, you stupid machine.” The nose lifted, but multiple warning lights flashed, and warning buzzers erupted.
“STALL, STALL, STALL,” cried the automated system. The aircraft lifted over the rim but began to dip. Just as it cleared the mountain, Air Force One descended and swept down the opposite side of the mountain. “WIND SHEER, WIND SHEER, WIND SHEER,” it cried.
“We’re going in,” he shouted and slammed down the wheel control. The aircraft rushed toward the Great Salt Flats, and the engines flamed out, a moment later the fire extinguishing systems activated and snuffed out the flames. The captain dumped the fuel and braced himself for the crash. At the last second, a gust of wind lifted the wings and raised the nose of the great ship. The aircraft hit the salt hard and skidded. When the tires ripped off, the naked struts plowed through the salt bed, slowing their speed. The airship twisted sideways, groaned, and skidded to a stop.
“What the hell,” Captain Douglas whispered. He turned to speak to his copilot, but the empty seat reminded him of Jim Parish’s fate: the storm, the ball of light, and the screams. He rubbed his face and then released the harness. “Any landing you can walk away from is a good one.”
Israel grabbed the release lever to the front hatch and slammed it down. After he shoved it open, he pulled the pin on the emergency ramp and gas canisters inflated it. The yellow ramp engorged and appeared like a large yellow banana. Using his hand as a visor, he surveyed the Great Salt Flats. They stretched out before him like a vast white table, and where they ended, the Barrier Mountains began. Above the mountains, he saw two moons. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He waved Alicia to his side and asked, “Do you see two moons?”
“Yeah, and what is that?” She pointed high on the horizon. A large purple planet circled by a ring loomed above them. “Where did that come from?”
Israel said, “It has to be some sort of atmospheric trick.” However, his eyes assured him that what he saw was accurate. “Where the hell are we?”
Chapter 3
(Two Days Earlier)
Everyone has to work, even elves, and Alex Dubois worked for “Sam’s Caravans.” Although the other elves were generous and welcomed her into their homes, she wanted her own home and future in Treetop City — that required silver. Sam paid a generous wage, and he paid a share of the profits to loyal employees. In every way she considered, it was a choice opportunity. Then why did her soul feel so heavy?
The trail allowed her time to think, perhaps too much. Her memory wandered back to Earth when she was both human and male. That life seemed like a dream, one that faded upon waking on Eden. She shifted in the saddle and the emptiness between her thighs reminded her of the transition, so she tried to distract herself, recalling the faces of lovers, family, and friends. However, these sepia memories filled her with melancholy, so she fixed her eyes on the trail and brushed aside the unpleasant thoughts.
To her left, lay the snow-capped peaks of the Barrier Mountains. They formed a straight line from north to south, having peaks so high and valleys so low that they presented an implacable barrier to travelers. Fraught with enemies, these mountains claimed the lives of most that dared to scale them. Beyond these mountains, the Merchant River provided an ample waterway, but pirates, robber barons, and high shipping cost forced merchants to seek other means of transport. To her right lay fifty miles of more salt, and when that ended, the marshlands and rivers began. As a result, most goods traveled east of the mountains and straight up the Great Salt Flats — “The Hard Way.” Set in the middle of the Flats, nourished by a single river, Refuge City served as a nexus point for all travelers. Their caravan drove north to this city, and after a rest, it would trudge north to Midway City, the central point of the Wolf’s Head Peninsula.
The sun never seemed so hot or the air so cold. Stripped off moisture by the Barrier Mountains, the westward winds blasted the flats and lashed those upon them, making every step come with a price. The ceaseless winds threatened to topple the wagons, making exposed flesh raw and exhausted both horses and drivers. They plodded across the salt bed, baked as hard as concrete, which made their joints ache.
The caravan leaned into the wind and struggled onward. Everyone kept their gaze fixed upon the island of stone, Refuge City. Those gray walls promised food, water, and rest. However, it was only a temporary respite; the trail never stopped, and neither did work.
The caravan weaved around islands of coral. Long dead, gray as a headstone, rough as a rasp, and without comfort, these islands dotted the flats. Alex tried to imagine an ancient sea, but it was beyond her. She navigated around these natural
obstructions, cognizant their enemies might hide within them and traveled a crooked path to the outer city.
When they swept around a large coral island, they encountered corpses, stripped naked and stretched out. Were they criminals or victims? No one knew, and no one stopped. The Flats offered no place to bury the dead, and the moisture-less salt preserved corpses for centuries. These mummified bodies might have perished a hundred years ago or yesterday.