Personnel head count onsite: 0
Mayflower Launch Status: Complete
Estimated time to Main station check-in: 26.6 hours
Estimated time to site M1A: 179.062 days
Estimated time converted: 184.6 sol
Would you like to continue check-in?
“No, no, no, no! This can’t be right!” I shouted and banged my fists against the keyboard.
“What’s wrong?” Cindy asked in a panicked voice.
I punched in more commands and watched the same information repeat itself. My breath lodged in my throat and I dropped to one knee.
“No!” I cried. “No! We were here, we made it.”
I didn’t expect it, but I felt the tears start to pour from my eyes. I don’t know if it was anger, fear, or sadness. Maybe it was all three, but my soul was crushed and it was all I could do to not die right there from disappointment.
“What is it?” Cindy asked hysterically and knelt next to me.
“They left,” I groaned. “They left us.”
“What? Who? We’re here, Max…we made it. What do you mean they left us?”
I wiped my face and fell back to the ground. Crossing my legs, I took a deep breath, wishing I could make it all just go away.
“This, this wasn’t a permanent solution,” I stuttered.
“There’s something else, Max? You said you’d tell me everything. You promised you weren’t lying.”
I cut my eyes at her. “It’s too late for you to take the moral high ground. Don’t talk to me about lies.”
She didn’t respond. She lowered her head and sighed.
Swallowing, I continued. “The Mayflower project was never just about Wyoming. This is just a transport center. The real work was building a sustainable habitat.”
“I thought this was a sustainable habitat.”
“Not here Cindy, not on Earth. This, this thing, the earthquakes, the storms…they’re not gonna stop. This is an extinction level event. When it’s all done, I don’t think people will be able to live here anymore.”
Her eyes widened and she crouched into the dirt beside me. She seemed to be struggling for words as her brain tried to make sense of what I’d said.
“Are you sure, Max?” she asked with a trembling voice.
“It’s what I do, Cindy.”
“So, where were we supposed to go? Where is this habitat?”
“On Mars. We built a colony on Mars. The Mayflower was never this place, it’s a ship and it’s gone. They already left.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away. We sat there in the dirt for a while in silence. I didn’t know what else to tell her and I couldn’t think of anything that would fix this. We’d been left and there was no reversing that.
As I fell deeper into my thoughts, I heard a faint noise that sounded like it was coming toward us. It was a deep thud, like someone was beating two boards together. The closer it got the more distinct it became and I recognized the monotonous whacking in the air.
Cindy raised her head and looked at me. “What is that?” she asked.
I looked up in shock and replied, “It’s a helicopter!”
~THE END~
~Read on for~
“Flight Plan: Deconstruction Book Three”
FLIGHT PLAN
DECONSTRUCTION
BOOK THREE
By Rashad Freeman
Copyright © 2017 by Rashad Freeman
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author.
Writing the World End
In the event that the world ends brutally one day, I hope to have captured it in a book. If not, then my greatest failure was in the limit of my imagination.
Why we as humans, or at least myself as a writer am so captivated by the eventual demise of our species is a mystery. If I had to venture a guess, I think what compels us all to read these stories is the examination of how we all deal with our own mortality. It’s not just the fear of death, but the fear of the end of life as we know it. How do we go on after the internet and TV and air conditioning and refrigeration are distant memories? Perhaps we are forced to become human again…for better or worse. What rules, what moral compass guides us in a land where you do, what you can do? How do you live when your life is completely in your own hands with no training wheels?
We’ve all become too comfortable. The skills and knowledge that thrust us from the dark ages have become our Achilles heel. We’ve forgotten how to live, we’ve forgotten how to survive and if grocery stores and fast food restaurants vanished, I think the majority of humans would follow closely behind.
So why write the world end? These stories challenge us, force us to think, and some to act. It’s an exercise in self-examination, pushing the limits of what we consider comfortable or even acceptable. We must continually question ourselves and our choices, for who knows what tomorrow brings. We must cast our moth-like shells into the fire until we are molded by the flames into dragons. We must learn to find the beauty that lies on the other side of adversity.
~”Per aspera ad astra”~
“The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly.” – Richard Bach
CHAPTER 1
DEPARTING FLIGHTS
"I know, I know…Grayson hates it, but he’s only gonna be my little boy for so long," I groaned into my cell phone. “Tell him I’ll stay for just a few minutes and if I don’t get to, I’m gonna be sad. Help me out here, Toby.”
“He’s twelve, MJ, I don’t think guilt tripping him is gonna work,” Toby replied. “Maybe you should try bartering with the kid. Sour Skittles go at a premium these days.”
I cut my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Toby had a point, he always had a point, but Grayson was turning twelve and what kind of mom would I be if I didn’t bring cupcakes and embarrass him on his last day of school before Christmas break?
Toby had been trying to talk me out of it, but it was a tradition, a tradition that wouldn’t be broken by the social laws of middle school. So, Grayson was just gonna have to deal with it.
“He wants to talk to you,” Toby demanded like I was negotiating for a hostage release.
“Hello, Mom?” Grayson’s voice lulled in my ear.
“Really? I can’t come see you? I’ve been gone for a week, Grayson.”
“I know, Mom, but I’m not a little kid anymore. Nobody else’s parents come to their class. Cupcakes are so played out.”
“Played out,” I repeated. “What’s that about?”
“That’s an elementary thing, Mom. It…it’s just not cool for your parents to come to your class anymore.”
“If you really don’t want me to come, I won’t come,” I let the words hang in the air.
Grayson didn’t immediately respond. I heard him grunt and groan and I imagined the range of grimaces he was twisting his face into. He got that from his father, Toby always communicated better without words.
“You pouting?” I asked.
He huffed like an agitated bear and I pictured his stringy brown hair blowing out of his face. I imagined him standing in front of me, breaking me down with his watery, blue eyes, trying to make me feel bad for wanting to see him.
“I don’t know why this is such a big deal,” I continued. “Your dad says I should offer you Sour Skittles.”
“Fine,” Grayson laughed. “But five minutes, Mom, that’s it and I want the one-pound bag.”
“Deal,” I said with a smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“Okay see you soon. Put your dad back on.”
“You like that?” someone crooned in a sultry voice that reminded me of a sex worker.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked up. There were only two other people in the sky lounge with me. An awkward couple, throwing back mimosas before our one-hour flight. The man’s leathery, hand kept inching further and further up the woman’s skirt as she whispered and nibbled on his ear. They had the look of a couple that wasn’t married, even though they both wore wedding bands.
For starters, there was at least a twenty-year gap between the two of them and that type of careless, public groping was only done by people about to head back to boring lives. The money she kept slipping out of his wallet, that was just the icing on the cake.
“Mary Jane Buchannan,” a raspy, deep voice called.
At the door, glancing between me and the overzealous couple, was a slightly overweight man in dark blue slacks and a light-blue button-up. “Sean Vodder,” his name tag read.
“Yes?” I asked.
“You have a call at the desk,” he replied, shaking his head as he held open the door.
“Okay, give me one moment.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Buchannan, he said it was urgent.”
I rolled my eyes and growled. “Toby, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you soon and don’t forget to pack Grayson’s cookies.”
“I know, I know,” he replied. “Have a safe flight, I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hit the end button on my cell phone and slipped it into my purse. Smiling, I stood up and followed Sean into a small, secluded room outside of the sky lounge. It smelled like whiskey and cigars, the calling card for the smug, elite that had access to the luxuries that remained unknown to most.
“That one,” Sean said and pointed at a black Avaya phone with an LCD screen and a flashing red light.
I picked up the receiver and brought it to my ear. “This is MJ,” I said softly.
“How did it go?” a deep, baritone voice asked.
“Everyone is on board. Schedule is tight, but they’ll make it. The Mayflower is by far the most advanced of them all.”
“That’s good to hear. Sounds like sticking with Neilman was a promising idea.”
“He definitely understands the arena we are working in.”
“You did excellent work up there, MJ. Get home safe.”
I hung up the phone and smiled. The idea of heading home always brought me joy. I’d been zipping across the country for the last two months with intermittent stops at home. Grayson seemed to be growing up without me and for the first time in a while I’d get to spend more than a few days with him.
The Christmas break was coming, and I couldn’t wait. I was eager to put the stress and worry from my job on the back burner for a while. I just wanted to be a mom again.
Daydreaming, I stepped back into the lobby. The two lovebirds were still carrying on, but now they had an audience. Two older businessmen had joined us and were glaring at the couple in disgust. I laughed to myself then looked out of the window at the darkening sky.
“Getting ugly out there,” Sean said from behind me.
“Yeah…it is.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll take more than that to rattle us, we fly through worse. First class is boarding by the way,” he said with a smile
“Thank you, I’ll be along in a second.”
I walked into the lady’s room and set my purse onto the counter. Leaning over the sink, I stared into mirror and sighed.
Forty-five had grown on me. My stringy, brown hair was flat, but beyond that I looked good. I was in relatively decent shape and could still finish a mile before the clock hit double digits. That was saying a lot, but the last few years seemed to pile on me like dry cement.
A life in the intelligence community kept me on my toes. All my days looking over my shoulder had made me more tool than human. The strain it put on any real relationships was indescribable, but as I stared into the mirror I thought, I’ll be damned if I’m not a milf.
I’d dressed down for the flight home, exchanging my skirt-suit for a t-shirt and jeans. Being comfortable was truly underrated. And even in that get up, I was impressed with myself.
I turned on the faucet and let the water run for a moment before splashing some on my face. It’d been a late night and an early morning and what I wanted more than anything was the comfort of my own bed, but not yet.
“Few more hours, MJ,” I grumbled.
As I made my way toward the runway a loud crackle echoed and shook the windows. The sky outside grew even darker and the dull gray was slowly fading to black. Flashes of electric blue danced in the distance and the windsocks near the runway flapped around like a man on fire.
“Crazy idea for man to put a tin can in the air to begin with,” one of the businessmen said as he stopped beside me.
I peeled my eyes away from the window for a moment and gave the man a curious glance. More thunder rumbled lowly and I forced a smile onto my face. “I guess they’re gonna earn their money today,” I said grimly.
“Timothy,” the man said and held out a web of elongated fingers.
“MJ,” I replied and shook his hand, ignoring the clammy feeling of his grasp.
“Ladies first.” He held out his arm and granted me passage.
With a raised eyebrow, I walked past him toward the counter. He lurked behind me, his head still turned toward the windows with a hesitant grimace stretched across his aging face. As I stopped to hand over my boarding pass he nearly ran into me.
“Sorry…sorry. Have you ever seen anything so crazy?” He pointed back at the window.
I looked over my shoulder and the sun was breaking through the clouds, spreading rays of light across the airport. It was like something out of a movie. Every hint of the storm was gone and suddenly the weather had gone from ominous to downright beautiful.
“Wow!” I whispered.
It was the only word that could describe how I felt. I’d been terrified of flying moments earlier and now it was like the sky itself was calling to me. I breathed in relief and let my shoulders relax.
“Your boarding pass,” the attendant at the counter snapped.
I stared her down for a moment then held out my ticket. She took it from me and looked it over then made a strange face and smiled.
“Mrs. Buchannan,” she said in a shaky voice, trying to sound polite. “Enjoy your flight and um, thank you for flying with us again.”
I snatched my ticket back and started heading down the jet bridge toward the plane. Timothy trotted behind me with loud, clumsy steps. It was like being stalked by a drunk panda.
The tunnel smelled dank and stale and the dim lights gave me goosebumps. I imagined a bolt of lightning hitting the accordion tube and blowing it to shreds. But that was gone, the sound of thunder vanished, and my fears of flying were as irrelevant as ever.
“That lady was a doll, huh?” Timothy called as he closed the gap between us.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Well, I did. Freaking New York, right? Crazy people and crazy weather.”
“That’s not a thing,” I replied and made my way onboard.
I saw strips of clear blue sky between the cracks as I stepped into the plane. I’d never seen weather like that before, not here, not anywhere, at least nothing so drastic. Something wasn’t right, but I tried to brush off the feeling.
The air inside of the plane wasn’t as foul as the tunnel. It was warm and the little vents tried hard to keep it circulating. I could tolerate the smell for an hour, it was a small price to pay to finally see my family.
Stan
ding just inside of the doorway was a thin, blonde flight attendant with her hand outstretched. She looked nervous but tried her best to hide it.
“They told me you had something that should remain with the captain,” she said sheepishly.
“Oh, yes,” I replied then stepped to the side so Timothy could pass me.
“Private bag service? Nice! I’ve gotta get into whatever club you’re a part of,” Timothy said with a grin then headed down the aisle.
I watched Timothy go then handed the attendant a small brown satchel with a rusted lock over the flap. It didn’t look like much, but that was the point.
“MJ,” the captain greeted me as he stepped out of the cockpit.
“Nathan,” I replied warmly.
“Is that for me?”
“It certainly is.”
He took the bag from the attendant like he’d been passed the nuclear arming codes. It was nothing that nefarious, but the real passenger list was something that remained guarded whenever my staff flew commercial. Certain people didn’t belong on planes or in the United States for that matter and while Delta may have owned the plane, Uncle Sam owned the pilot.
“Well, I probably need to get this thing in the air sooner than later,” Nathan said as his eyes scanned the thin roof like he was looking for cracks. “I don’t think this perfect weather is gonna hold.”
Nathan tipped his head and stepped back into the cockpit. I smiled and followed the attendant toward my seat. She led the way, her face strained and eyes jittering wildly as she twirled a finger in one of her blonde locks.
She seemed frantic and my guess was she’d just committed a murder or snorted a line of cocaine. Whatever it was she needed to get it together. I had a classroom to get to and a snappy twelve-year-old to embarrass.
“Do you think they’ll cancel the flight?” I asked, trying to bring her back to reality. “I mean, it was pretty bad a minute ago.”
She paused and looked out of the window beside me then bit her lip. Her face tightened, and she swallowed before answering.
Deconstruction- The Complete series Box Set Page 34