A Dark World: The Complete SpaceMan Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Tom Abrahams

  Clayton clenched his jaw and bit into his cheek to diffuse the pain burning in his leg. His vision blurred for an instant. He refocused in time to see the animal charging at him again. It leapt through the air, mouth open, and Clayton dropped to the snow. Reaching for the command stick he’d stuck into the snow mound he whipped the stick forward at a forty-five-degree angle as the animal landed on him. Clayton winced at the smell of its hot, fetid breath and reflexively jabbed the stick deep into the wolf’s mouth.

  It gagged and yelped and clawed at Clayton as he rolled out from under the animal, stick still in his hand. He drove it deeper into the animal’s throat and it cried out in pain. Struggling against the stick, it shook its head violently until Clayton couldn’t maintain his grasp. On his back, he kicked hard at the wolf, launching it into the fire with his boots.

  The wolf flopped into the flames and howled as it struggled futilely to its feet. It croaked and gasped for air, then gave up with a whimper. The acrid scent of burning hair billowed from the flames and the other wolves howled in unison.

  Clayton grabbed at his wounded leg and scrambled to his feet. Crouching low, he breathlessly pivoted in a full circle. The animals were retreating as the smoke from the burning animal thickened and drifted across the campsite.

  “Get out of here!” Clayton coughed. “Yahhh!” he yelled as if urging on a horse with spurs. The wolves’ ears pricked and they circled in wider arcs around the camp, whining with high-pitched wails. He imagined they were as frightened as he was.

  Clayton checked over both shoulders and limped to the Soyuz as quickly as he could. He swung open the hatch with a bang and found the Makarov pistol he’d stashed inside. Spinning he placed his back to the capsule, leaning against it for stability, slid the manual, slide-mounted safety into the down position, and placed his finger on the trigger guard.

  The wolves were pacing, measuring whether they should make a second go at Clayton when he stuck the 9mm straight up into the air and pulled the trigger.

  Pow!

  Another quick pull.

  Pow!

  The twin shots cracked like thunder echoing off the ice and snow, rippling through the cold air with an angry snap. The wolves scattered, sprinting into a night that resembled a photographic darkroom. The red glow cast across the vast emptiness gave Clayton’s surroundings the look of Hell. The increasingly foul odor of burning fur only added to the sense he’d exchanged one apocalypse for the other.

  Convinced the wolves were finally gone, he slid down the side of the capsule and sank into the snow. The adrenaline leached from his body and he shivered. Pain returned to his leg and was joined by injuries to his arm and neck. He flipped up the safety and set the Makarov on the capsule’s hatch ledge, then drew his hand to his neck. There were long, thin gashes that ran from behind his ear to his collarbone, his bloodied snowsuit was torn at his bicep, and his leg was pocked with bite marks. He closed his eyes, and for some strange reason he couldn’t understand, he started laughing.

  “Welcome home, astronaut,” he said aloud. “Welcome home.”

  CHAPTER 3

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 26, 2020, 7:18 AM CST

  CLEAR LAKE, TEXAS

  Justin Watson narrowed his eyes, studying himself in the mirror above the sink. The early morning light cast a pinkish glow through the bathroom window. He stretched his face, extending his nose downward, and paid close attention to the dark circles under his eyes.

  He was exhausted, as was the rest of his gang, but they couldn’t sleep. Now was the time to gather supplies and take what they wanted, whether people chose to give it to them or not.

  He spun the faucet, splashed cold water on his face, and pulled a soiled towel from the rack above the toilet. There was a lot to do and he was convinced there wasn’t much time to do it.

  “Hey.” The whiny voice of his friend Palero echoed off the thin walls of the one-bedroom apartment, bouncing along the hallway and finding Justin as he emerged from the bathroom. “J, we did our count.”

  “I’m coming,” he called and stepped from the bathroom. He cracked open the bedroom door and saw his girlfriend, Wanda, curled on top of a bare mattress. She was spooning with their one-year-old daughter. Both were snoring. An empty bottle was perched on top of an empty diaper box.

  Justin sighed, quietly closed the door, and marched into the family room. His five compadres, all teenagers, were gathered around a Lucite coffee table piled high with a collection of snack foods, canned sodas, bottled waters, cash, and random electronics. He plopped onto the sofa, sinking into its degraded foam padding, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He was nineteen years old going on forty.

  He waved his hands over the haul in front of him. “This it? This is all we got?”

  Palero was standing on the opposite side of the table, his hands on his hips. His jeans sat low, beneath his boxers. He nodded. “Yeah. We got some good stuff from the cars we hit. Plus your woman did a good job walking that neighborhood last night. People gave her water and food.”

  “This stuff we got from the cars,” Justin said, “the phones and the radios? They’re no good until we get power back. Two guns, though. They loaded?”

  Palero tugged on his pants. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a Glock. Nine milli—”

  “I know what it is,” Justin snapped. “How big is the mag?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Justin smiled and pointed to the other weapon. “And the revolver? All six full?”

  “Yeah,” Palero answered.

  “Wish we had those yesterday,” Justin said. “We could have taken those bikes from those women.”

  The gang collectively nodded in agreement, mumbling about their inability to steal the bikes.

  Palero tugged on his pants and shrugged. “So what’s the plan?”

  Justin rubbed his palms on his knees and pressed himself to his feet. His eyes danced from teen to teen, gauging the looks on their faces. They were tired too. They were frightened. He could see it. Why wouldn’t they be? They were lost boys and he was their leader.

  “This food isn’t going to last long,” he said. “I say we do some door knocking.”

  The gang nodded. Palero tugged on his pants and then cracked his knuckles. Another one of the boys clapped his hands and then rubbed them together in anticipation.

  “We got two guns and ammo,” said Justin. “I got a baseball bat. I think we’ll be good.”

  “We got rope too,” said Palero, “and there’s some of that duct tape. We can use that if people get feisty.”

  A groggy voice from the hallway interrupted the planning session. “What people?”

  Wanda was leaning against the wall with their baby on her hip. Her eyes were slits and her long hair was a nest of tangles. The baby rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and was sucking on the three fingers she had shoved in her tiny mouth.

  “Nothing,” he said, stepping over to her. “Nobody you gotta worry about.”

  Justin rubbed the back of his hand along the baby’s cheek and gently pulled her forehead to his lips. He let go of her head and tried running his fingers through her tangled hair.

  She looked up at him, her eyes adjusting to the light. “You’re not doing something stupid, are you?” she asked. “We need you here now. Don’t be getting into trouble.”

  “Nothing stupid,” he said. “I promise.”

  Justin looked her in the eyes. She was studying him. He knew that she knew he was lying. She always knew when he was lying.

  She rolled her eyes and pushed past him toward the kitchen. “Don’t get caught.”

  “The gas is working if you need to heat a bottle,” he said, trying to change the subject. “You can do it on the stove.”

  She didn’t answer him. The baby peeked over her shoulder, smiling around the fingers in her mouth. Justin waved at his daughter and his eyes drifted down to watch his girlfriend walk until Palero thumped him on the chest.

  “C’mon,” he said. “We sh
ould get going. We need to scout some places, right?”

  Justin shot Palero a disapproving glare and raised a finger to his lips. He flicked Palero in the middle of his forehead and then motioned for the group to follow him outside. They had work to do.

  CHAPTER 4

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 26, 2020, 8:21 AM CST

  CLEAR LAKE, TEXAS

  Reggie Buck leaned on the kitchen island. The lines that framed his eyes and his mouth were deeper than usual. His forehead was tattooed with a trio of parallel creases that defined his concern. He was talking to the group but looking straight at Jackie Shepard. It was her house.

  “We don’t have enough food for thirteen people,” he said. “Plain and simple. Even rationing everything out, we can’t all stay here for more than a day or two.”

  Karen Walsh, the perpetual victim and mother to Chris Shepard’s friend Kenny, shook her head and scratched her arms with her long, manicured nails. Her eyes danced from person to person as she spoke with the speed of a machine gun. “What are you saying?” she spat. “Are you suggesting some of us leave? Who has to leave? Is this first come, first serve? Last hired, first fired? What are you saying?”

  Rick Walsh, her ex-husband, reached out and put his hand on Karen’s shoulder. She immediately shrugged free of his touch and tightened the fold of her arms across her chest, scratching away with her nails.

  “I’m not saying anyone has to leave,” explained Reggie. “I’m saying there won’t be enough food for thirteen people.”

  Karen snickered. “Which means people have to leave. And you’re not talking about yourself, so—”

  “Wait a minute.” Lana Buck waved her hands in defense of her husband, Reggie. “Stop with the accusations, please. Reggie is only trying to state the facts. That’s all.”

  Karen huffed. “Whatever.”

  Jackie Shepard stood apart from the crowd gathered around the island. She hated to admit it to herself, but Karen Walsh was right. Thirteen people couldn’t stay in her house. Not for long. There wasn’t enough food, let alone water, to accommodate so many people.

  It was enough with her neighbors the Bucks; Betty Brown and her son, Brian; and Candace Bucknell, who lived a street over. Add Jackie herself and her daughter, Marie, and there were seven people. Then Karen showed up. That made eight.

  When Rick Walsh had returned from a camping trip with her son, Chris; his own son, Kenny; and two stragglers named Nikki and Mumphrey, the household ballooned to thirteen. It was unsustainable. Still, she couldn’t turn people away. Even if Rick had suggested he’d be on the road by noon, she wasn’t rushing anyone out the door.

  “Nobody has to go anywhere yet,” she said. “I’m not telling anyone to leave. We’ll have to be smart and ration what we have.”

  “Remind us again what NASA told you,” said Reggie. “What exactly is going on out there?”

  Everyone’s eyes settled on Jackie and she sighed. “It was what’s called a CME, a coronal mass ejection. These big magnetic particles tear away from the sun, race toward Earth, and if the conditions are right, send an electrical surge through everything electronic, through the power grid, oil pipelines, everything.”

  “How soon until the power is back on?” asked Betty Brown. “Do they know?”

  Jackie shook her head. “No. They couldn’t tell me. They said this one was bad. It was a really strong CME.”

  “So the power’s out indefinitely,” Betty stated.

  Jackie nodded.

  Chris stepped from the island and toward his mother. “What does that mean for Dad?”

  Jackie extended her arms, motioning for her son to come closer. “We don’t know yet,” she said, wrapping her arms around the boy. “No news is good news, I think. Your dad is smart. He’s crafty. Plus he’s got two experienced astronauts up there with him to get him home.”

  The room grew silent while Jackie held her son. Marie, her older child, crossed the room and joined the embrace. Jackie smiled and welcomed her daughter with a deep breath. She fought the lump in her throat, not wanting to share the emotional moment with the ten other people in her house.

  She closed her eyes and imagined her husband, the father of her children, and what he might be facing in orbit. She buried her face in her son’s head and inhaled the familiar scent of his hair.

  “He’ll come back to us,” she said. “I feel it. He’ll come back.”

  She gave her kids a final squeeze and exhaled. She hoped they bought what she’d tried to convince them she believed. She couldn’t be sure of it either. Space was a dangerous place under the best of circumstances. These were not the best of circumstances.

  Jackie pulled her shoulders back and tugged at her blouse. She cleared her throat and tried to clear her mind. “All right,” she said to the group, “what do we do to prolong our ability to stay here together?”

  “I have an idea.” Candace spoke up. “It’s a last resort, but it might help.”

  Jackie raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Go ahead.”

  “I have a cousin,” Candace said. “He lives near Austin on a large piece of property. He’s one of those preppers.”

  “What do you mean prepper?” Karen asked, making air quotes with her fingers.

  “He’s prepared for the apocalypse,” said Candace. “He’s got a bunker with a lot of supplies. He told me he had enough to last two years. He’s got a farm, a well that supplies his fresh water, and he’s got a lot of his land running on solar.”

  “Near Austin?” asked Rick. “Where exactly?”

  “Williamson County in a little town called Coupland. It’s this side of Austin. He’s got two hundred acres.”

  Rick rubbed the thickening stubble on his chin. “That’s about a hundred and seventy-five miles. It would probably take five or six hours to drive it. It would take a week to walk it.”

  “How many of us do you think he’d take?” asked Reggie Buck. “Does he have enough room for everyone?”

  Candace shrugged. “I think so. He told me I was welcome. He’s a good guy. I can’t imagine he’d turn anyone away. He’d put us to work though. He’s got animals to tend, a lot of land to maintain.”

  “Could you get us there without GPS?” asked Rick.

  “I think so,” she said. “I’ve been there a couple of times. So yeah, I could do it.”

  Reggie pointed at Rick. “Only one problem,” he said. “We can’t fit thirteen people in that truck of yours. The most you could stuff is eight or nine.”

  “That’s plenty of room,” said Jackie. “The kids and I aren’t going anywhere. We’re staying here until Clayton comes home. We can’t leave our home.”

  “We’re not leaving you, Jackie,” said Lana Buck. “Reggie and I are staying here with you.” She shot Reggie a look when he didn’t immediately concur.

  “Of course,” Reggie said. “We wouldn’t leave you here. We’re here for the long haul.”

  “We’re staying too,” said Betty Brown. “Brian and I don’t want to go anywhere. This is home. The lights will come back on. We’ll rebuild.”

  “There’s no need to do anything right this second,” said Rick, “but we need to seriously consider heading to the prepper’s place. I can easily take Kenny and Karen, Nikki and Mumphrey, and Candace. We’ll make room in the back. It’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t say I was going,” said Karen. “It’s not safe out there.”

  Rick stepped closer to his ex, drawing her eyes to his. “It’s not safe anywhere,” he said. “We need to be in a place that can sustain us. I’m going. My son is going. And so are you. We’re staying together.”

  “You’re not my husband anymore,” Karen snipped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  “I never told—”

  Kenny shoved his way between his parents. “Guys,” he said. “No fighting. Okay? Dad’s right. We need to stay together and we’ll eat up all of Ms. Jackie’s food if we’re here.”

  The room fell silent. Jackie watched the sha
me creep onto Rick’s face, the embarrassment spread across Karen’s. Jackie clapped her hands together.

  “No decisions need to be made right now,” she said. “Okay? Let’s eat.”

  CHAPTER 5

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 26, 2020, 7:03 AM MST

  BOULDER, COLORADO

  Dr. Chandra wasn’t hungry. Who could blame him? He sat alone in his office, the lights off, rocking gently in his desk chair.

  The only light in the room was a collection of thick pinkish lines that snuck through the drawn blinds on his office windows. They did little, if anything, to lift the darkness Chandra sought.

  Chandra thumbed the back of his wedding ring, spinning it around his finger. His eyes found the dark outline of the lone picture frame on his cluttered desktop. Even in the dark, he could see the image. It was emblazoned in his mind.

  The photograph, protected by glass on the front and a thick cardboard back, had faded through the years, though the woman pictured in it was as beautiful as the day Chandra snapped it. He remembered the day he’d taken the photograph with his iPhone. She wasn’t even paying attention to him. They were sitting outside at the Southern Sun restaurant after having hiked Chautauqua Park. She was picking at her grilled cheese sandwich, tearing it into ragged pieces and popping them in her mouth. She took a large gulp of water when Chandra said something that made her laugh. She spat out the water and tried to clean the dribble off her chin with a napkin.

  Still giggling, with the Flatirons rock formations framed perfectly behind her, he’d thumbed a quick picture of her mid-laugh. The sun caught her skin such that she appeared as though she was glowing. Her teeth were bright, her eyes full of mischief, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Without a stitch of makeup, she was more striking than the mountain in the distance. Chandra loved the photograph. He thought it the perfect representation of the woman and her spirit.