by Dean M. Cole
It was no good. By the time Vaughn could raise his head, Mark had already disappeared around the corner of the building.
“Shit!”
Taking another deep breath, Vaughn stood upright and went after his friend.
A moment later, he rounded the corner at a pace barely faster than a walk and was relieved to see Mark right where he had expected.
The man stood between the two buildings, staring through the perimeter fence at the pile of mangled and burning passenger jets, the Boeing-fed bonfire.
Vaughn stepped up to stand next to his friend.
Mark looked ill, his face suddenly ash-white. His mouth worked, but no words came at first. Then he found his voice. “I … I remember this.”
“What? What do you remember?”
“Standing here. Seeing that pile of burning wreckage.”
Vaughn’s stomach churned. “Do you …” His voice hitched. “Do you remember what happened next?”
Mark shook his head. “Just this. Not real clear, though. More like déjà vu.” He turned pleading eyes to Vaughn and pointed at the wreckage. “You’re sure …? You’re sure no one is in there?”
Vaughn nodded somberly.
Mark’s vacant stare returned to the burning aircraft. “I need to see it … see it for myself.”
He took a hesitant forward step.
Vaughn put a hand out and grabbed Mark’s shoulder.
“Hennessy!”
The man blinked. Finally stopping, Mark looked at him.
Vaughn held his gaze and canted his head toward the wreckage. “This …” He took a breath and then sighed. “This is where it happens, Mark.”
He looked confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Panting, Vaughn raised an arm and pointed toward the end of the runway closest to the mangled pile of burning jets. “That … is where you died, Mark.”
His friend stopped trying to pull free of his grasp. The blood drained from his face. “What happened?”
Vaughn closed his eyes and sighed. Then he gave a short nod and hitched a thumb, pointing over his shoulder. “Help me back to a picnic table in the courtyard and grab some more food from that break room, and I’ll tell you as much as you want to know.”
An hour later and already feeling better, Vaughn finished the last of a microwave dinner that Mark had found inside the break room’s refrigerator. Vaughn had spent the time briefing his friend on the events of that day. He’d told him how the tumbling engine had taken his life, although he’d left out the goriest details. Then he’d told Mark about the hellish events that he’d encountered as he headed toward Colorado.
Finishing the last bite of the meal, Vaughn set the fork down. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and soaked in the warm sunlight.
As they often did during quiet moments, thoughts of his mother resurfaced. He knew there was nothing he could do for her, that the light had likely already passed through Boulder. He also knew that the best thing he could do was to help Angela find a way to stop the invasion from ever happening, but that didn't erase the knowledge of the literal Hell she had likely gone through, or the fact that she might still be going through it at this very mo—
“You know, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Huh?” Vaughn opened his eyes. Blinking, he stared into the surreally blue sky. “What are you talking about?”
“My death. Back in the chamber, you said that it had been your fault.”
Vaughn opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “Did you remember more?”
Mark shook his head. “No. I just know it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, plain and simple.”
Blinking, Vaughn looked from Mark to the table top and then back to his friend.
He suddenly felt as if a softball had lodged in his throat.
Vaughn tried to speak. His mouth worked, but no words would come.
A knot in his gut—one that he hadn’t known existed until that moment—seemed to loosen a notch.
Mark gave him a crooked grin. “Hey, and this time, you saved my life.”
Vaughn’s vision blurred.
Looking away, he tried to wipe the moisture from his eyes. However, the nonabsorbent sleeve of the spacesuit merely spread it across his face. He looked down and then, smiling self-consciously, gestured at his chest. “Let’s get the hell out of these things.”
A while later, the two of them walked up to the NASA hangar. They had changed out of their spacesuits. Mark had donned his dark blue NASA one-piece flight suit.
After taking his first decent hot shower in months, Vaughn had tried on his two-piece camouflage Army flight suit, but it had been way too big. It had been like wearing a small tent. Fortunately, Mark had found a NASA flight suit that fit him. Attached by Velcro, Vaughn’s green name badge contrasted sharply against the suit’s dark blue fabric, but he didn’t give two shits about that now. He would’ve left it off, but they’d soon have more than themselves to think about … hopefully.
Carrying bags stuffed with the supplies they’d cobbled together, the two of them walked across the hangar’s parking lot.
Vaughn stared at the UPS airplane that was still sitting on the tarmac beyond the Glenn Research Center perimeter fence.
Seeing ‘What Can Brown Do For You?’ stenciled across the side of the wide-bodied jet, he wondered how things might’ve been different if he had understood the significance of those words the first time he’d experienced this day.
What if he’d connected the UPS slogan to McCree’s last words about rescuing Commander Brown?
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Vaughn turned from the sight. He pointed toward the hangar entrance. “It’s in there.”
Mark nodded, and the two of them entered the large building.
Working together, they soon had the US Customs Black Hawk out of the hangar. They even found the aircraft key, so this time, Vaughn was able to forego the headache of bypassing the ignition lock.
As they worked, Mark continued to ask questions. Vaughn had already told him about Angela’s theory that the Necks had locked onto a micro black hole created by the supercollider, so he briefed him on the time loops and Angela’s idea about how they all linked back to the creation of the wormhole.
Mark tilted his head. “So that’s how you reset the timeline? She dumped all the power they were channeling through the wormhole?”
Vaughn shrugged. “Yeah, I guess, but when she explained the details of her theory, I was just giving her a lot of nods and ‘uh-huh’s.”
Mark looked at him with exaggerated surprise. “You? Mailing it in?! Psshaw!”
“Hey, I was doing well to understand half the words she used.”
Raising an eyebrow, Mark just looked at him.
“Come on. The woman’s a gravity-wave astronomer.”
“Who happens to love you.”
Vaughn gave him a double-take. After a moment, he grinned and shrugged. “What’s not to love?”
Mark chuckled. “I think your ex could list a few things.”
Vaughn frowned. “Yeah, she had good cause.”
It was Mark’s turn to do a double-take.
Nodding, Vaughn pointed at the pile of burning airplanes. “Nothing like spending a couple of months of introspection in this new world to put you in touch with your true nature.” As he said it, Vaughn realized that things wouldn’t have worked out if he’d connected the UPS slogan to McCree’s words. He’d needed those months. The old him wouldn’t have succeeded … not that the new him had done a stellar job of the rescue.
“Introspection? Big word for a self-described cretin.”
Vaughn smiled. “Hey, I paid good money for that word, dammit.”
They both flinched, and their laughs faltered as an echoing report of an explosion shook the ground. They turned to see a small black mushroom cloud rising from the distant pile of wrecked airplanes.
Standing in front of the helicopter, they stared at the surreal image for a long momen
t.
After the sobering reminder of the day’s events, the two of them finished their preflight preparations in silence.
Afterward, they both walked up to the right pilot door and then pulled up short.
Unlike airplanes, in helicopters, the aircraft commander usually occupied the right pilot seat.
Mark stepped back and held up his hands. “Sorry, buddy. You take it.”
Chuckling, Vaughn shook his head. He extended an arm toward the door. “No, it's been a while since I've flown anything that doesn't fly itself. I sure as hell haven't flown a helicopter in a long time.”
Hesitating, Mark looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Flew itself?”
Vaughn smiled wryly as he started to walk around the nose, heading to the left side of the aircraft. “Just get in. I’ll tell you all about it on our way to Nebraska.”
He could feel Mark watching him. Vaughn pointed at the cockpit and looked back at his tall friend. “Get in, Chewie, before your fur starts matting.”
Mark scoffed and shook his head. “Damned entitled, rich kid.”
Chuckling, they climbed into the aircraft.
Having flown together during flight school and through more than one combat deployment, they completed their final tasks wordlessly and soon had the aircraft running and ready for departure.
Vaughn had entered the coordinates for the Nebraska rendezvous point into the navigation computer. Presently, he pointed at it. “Landing zone is in the box.” He looked at his friend. “You ready?”
Mark nodded. He keyed the radio transmit trigger but then released it. He gave Vaughn a sideward glance. “Old habits …”
“No worries. I did the same thing.” Vaughn pointed into the wind, indicating the takeoff direction. Grinning, he said what he always had when Mark was the one flying: “Don’t fuck up.”
Smiling half-heartedly, Mark stared through the helicopter’s windscreen. After a moment, he regarded Vaughn from beneath hoisted eyebrows. His sad smile morphed into a familiar grin. “Hold my beer.”
He raised the collective control and soon had the helicopter accelerating into the wind. A moment later, Mark turned the aircraft toward Nebraska.
As the helicopter flew over the center of Cleveland Airport, Vaughn looked down on the swath of tortured earth that had been laid bare by the passage of multiple crashing airplanes. He spotted the area where Mark had fallen and blinked in recognition. There was still a small crater there. It took Vaughn a moment to realize that it was the impact point left by the careening engine that had killed Mark. After it had broken off of the sliding airplane, it must’ve followed its original trajectory. However, this time, no mangled corpse sat within that concave depression.
Dragging his gaze from the impact point, Vaughn stared at his friend. Then his words from that long-ago day echoed through his thoughts: ‘I’ll come back for you, Mark.’ When Vaughn had returned to Cleveland with plans to convert the thruster module into an actual spaceship, he had lamented the fact that he’d never had the chance to keep that promise.
Looking down again, he watched the small crater pass beneath the helicopter and smiled to himself. He had come back for his friend, after all.
Chapter 10
Blinking his eyes, Rourke stared at the empty section of matting. “He’s … He’s gone.”
“What are you talking about, Rourky?”
He shook his head side-to-side slowly.
Doctor Andrew had been there just a moment before, but now he was gone. Rourke had been looking right at the man when he disappeared.
An hour ago, Rourke hadn’t known the man existed, but now Doctor Andrew’s apparent death had him unable to speak.
He stared at the mat with mounting horror, watching the fading impression left by the man’s momentary contact with the engorged foam rubber.
When they had climbed atop the scaffolding, the doctor had taken up residence on the far right edge of the platform. Rourke had stood between the man and the rest of the group.
During the briefings they’d received from Commander Brown and then from Captain Singleton, Rourke had watched the doctor become more and more animated.
As the final moment had drawn near, the doctor’s fidgeting had grown into pacing.
Earlier, the otherwise quiet man had expressed his discomfort with the whole situation, telling the group that he hadn’t signed up for this. Then he had added that he was a geologist. “All I wanted to do was visit an asteroid.”
Then Bingham had exploded on the director and nearly left the chamber. Doctor Andrew hadn’t said anything, but Rourke had seen the man becoming increasingly agitated. His back and forth pacing became frenetic. He’d never said anything, but in the final moments before the countdown, his chest had started to rise and fall rapidly as if he were hyperventilating. Rourke had wanted to say something, but with the countdown and the moment rushing toward them, he never could get in a word.
As Director McCree’s countdown neared zero, the doctor had been the first to step up to the edge of the scaffolding, doing so spasmodically.
In the corner of his eye, Rourke had seen the man’s frantic breathing rate double and then treble.
The countdown inched to two and then one.
Doctor Andrew simply stepped off the top of the scaffolding. He didn’t leap or jump as instructed.
He just walked off the deck like a man stepping off the end of a pier.
The sight of the doctor’s erroneous dismount had startled Rourke so severely that he almost botched his own jump. The surprise of it threw off his timing, causing him to leap late.
The boots of Rourke’s spacesuit had just left the scaffolding when McCree’s final utterance cut off mid-word.
At the same instant, Rourke had looked down in time to see Doctor Andrew land on the swollen mat.
Then a blindingly bright wave of light had passed through everything.
Including the doctor.
The brilliance of it had washed out Rourke’s vision, but not before he saw Andrew vanish, spacesuit and all.
One moment the doctor had been there, the next, he was gone, nothing left in his wake but the temporary afterimage of his white suit and the slowly fading bootprints he’d pressed into the blue mat.
“Rourky?”
Blinking, he pulled his gaze from the haunting image and looked at Major Lee. “He’s gone.”
The major looked past him. “What are you talking abou—?” Seeing the fading bootprints, she stopped, and her eyes went wide. “Shit!” Anger twisted her face. “Son of a bitch! We lost Doctor Andrew!”
Commander Bingham and the other astronaut candidate, Monique, Rourke thought, looked up from their hands. The commander tilted his head. “We what? How?” Then he looked down and started shaking his head. “Oh, bloody hell … the git jumped early.”
Moving to stand in a semicircle, the four of them stared at the twinned depressions in solemn silence.
A moment later, the bootprints finally vanished.
The four survivors exchanged glances and then turned to look at the airlock.
Rourke felt his stomach churn as the reality of the situation sank in. Everyone outside had suffered the same fate as the doctor.
His family.
His friends.
McCree.
All … gone.
And it was still—
The wing commander shook his head. “This changes nothing.” He started walking toward the exit. “We have a job to do, mates.”
Monique, the tall African-American astronaut candidate, stared at him, anger flaring on her face. “What do you mean this changes nothing? A man died!”
Bingham spun on her. “A bloody hell of a lot more than that died, lassie!” He pointed at each of them in turn. “His family died. Her family died. Yours as well—if you have any besides your cats.”
Seeing the look on her face, the man faltered. He appeared to deflate a bit, and the anger drained from his visage. He raised a hand, palm out. “Sorry, tha
t was wrong.” He pointed at his own chest. “I lost mine, too.” He paused and stared at the ground. The muscles in his jaw worked. When he looked back up, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Yes, a man did die here, the first to perish in this offensive, this effort to take the battle to an unseen enemy.” He looked into Monique’s eyes. “Leftenant Gheist, the best thing we can do to honor his sacrifice is to carry on.”
Monique stared back at him for a moment. Her anger appeared to wither. Then she nodded.
Bingham looked to Major Lee and then to Rourke, securing a nod from each.
“Very good. What say we get the hell out of this tin can?”
After clearing the airlock, they removed their helmets and exited the building.
The four of them walked out onto the street.
They turned and scanned the horizon.
An otherworldly silence lay across the land.
It was a mild day, so the normal strum of air-conditioners was missing, but there was more than that.
Or less.
The world seemed muffled.
Thinking that he needed to equalize the pressure in his ears, Rourke pinched his nose and blew.
Nothing happened.
His ears were fine.
He shook his head. “It’s … too quiet.”
Wing Commander Bingham slowly nodded. “It’s the birds, mate. They are gone as well.”
Lieutenant Gheist’s eyes widened. “My cats, too?”
Anger again flared on Commander Bingham’s face. “Cats?! We’ve lost our families, and you’re talking about bloody pets?”
Monique glared at him.
Everyone flinched as the report of an explosion split the silence.
Rourke turned to see a small mushroom cloud rising above NASA Road 1, the highway that passed in front of the Space Center.
Commander Bingham started trotting toward it.
After exchanging glances, the other three members of the group followed after him.
A few moments later, they stepped up to the perimeter fence of Johnson Space Center.
Standing side-by-side in shocked silence, they stared at the after-effects of a multi-vehicle accident. A massive pile-up of ruined cars and trucks choked the major intersection in front of the facility’s entrance. Several of the vehicles were burning. Flames fully engulfed the one that had exploded, its back end blown open and shredded where the gas tank had detonated.
