The Mayflower Project: Deconstruction Book Two (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller)

by Rashad Freeman

  “Heather,” I called out as I sat the bags onto the ground and reached for the door. “We finally found so—”

  I paused then spun around and surveyed the rest of the parking lot. Cindy stopped a few feet behind me and huffed.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “The girls, they’re gone.”

  CHAPTER 27

  UPON OUR MAYFLOWER

  “Heather!” I shouted.

  My voice echoed across the barren lot. The forsaken swatch of hopelessness answered back in silence. I spun around anxiously, but there was nothing. They’d vanished.

  “Max,” Cindy said in a low voice. “Max, they left. You don’t owe them anything.”

  “What?” I asked with slanted eyes.

  Cindy put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Let’s just leave,” she said sharply. “They’re fine and don’t we have somewhere to be.”

  “Cindy, we can’t just leave them without knowing where they went.”

  She groaned in response then lifted her head and pointed. “Over there, the hotel.”

  I followed her finger to a ran-down hotel across the street. It was old and dingy, but made of brick and had survived whatever disaster had claimed all of the other structures.

  Cautiously, we walked across the street and stopped outside of the River Inn. The place was ancient, like some kind of lost artifact from the 1800’s. I was surprised it hadn’t been condemned and demolished years ago.

  The entrance was a grime-covered revolving door with gold plated framing. I walked up and placed my hand up to block the glare as I peered in. Suddenly, it started to swing and whacked me in the face, knocking me off of my feet.

  “Oh my!” Heather said as she stepped outside. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

  I gathered myself and stood up. “What are you doing in here?”

  “You took the keys…it’s cold.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I found you shoes, they’re back at the truck.”

  “Thank you so much, for all you’ve done,” Heather said in a strange tone.

  “Where is everybody else?” I asked.

  “There inside, keeping warm.”

  “Well, call them down. We need to get moving.”

  Heather took a deep breath. She looked back to the hotel then to me and Cindy. “I think we’re gonna stay here.”

  “What?” Cindy snapped before I could reply.

  “Look, we are grateful for everything you’ve done. More than I can express, but we’re safe now. This, whatever this is will get worked out. We’ll be safe here until then. The hotel is empty and it’s only the one door in. We already found something we can use to keep it locked.”

  I wanted to protest, to tell her how crazy I thought she was. There was no help, no working this out, if she stayed here she was definitely going to die. But I could tell by the look in her eyes that there was no convincing her. She’d made up her mind.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  Heather smiled then nodded.

  “I’ll get you your shoes…and we have a bag of supplies. You can find more back in the mall.”

  Cindy cut her eyes at me, but I ignored her. Heather smiled and grabbed my hand.

  “Thank you so much. Thank both of you.”

  I jogged back to the truck and grabbed the bags. I offered to help Heather take them in, but she was the self-reliant type, now that she wasn’t chained to a cinder block. We exchanged a few more words, hugged and then she headed back inside with the others.

  “You gave her everything,” Cindy growled as I cranked up the truck and headed for the highway. “You didn’t think we needed anything?”

  “We should be in Wyoming by the morning. We won’t need any of that.”

  Cindy laughed. “Maybe you, I haven’t eaten in three days.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out an energy bar and tossed it to her. “I kept a couple.”

  She snagged it and tore it open. Before I could say a word, she’d devoured the entire bar and was searching the cabin for something else. I handed her the other two bars that were tucked away and gave her a bottle of water.

  “Well now we don’t have anything,” I said.

  Cindy grinned then dug into her pockets, but the only thing she came up with was the jagged piece of cardboard I’d given her back in the basement. I frowned and she reached out and grabbed my free hand.

  “I know you don’t want to hear it now, but I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, sorry. I was fucking stupid,” she cringed. “Whether we die tomorrow or 60 years from now, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

  I didn’t know what to say so I forced a grin onto my face. My feelings were still confusing and I tried to not think about any of it. When I did, an uncontrollable anger swelled inside of me and I wanted to avoid that at all costs.

  At some point in the day Cindy fell asleep. I managed to stop at three different gas stations before she noticed and luckily enough, this one had gas.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she sat up and wiped the drool from her face.

  “Nothing,” I told her. “Finally found some gas.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Wyoming,” I replied with a smile. “Just outside of Rawlins. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “We made it? We made it!” she screeched then started to cry.

  I grabbed her and pulled her into my chest. She wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed. It felt like she never wanted to let me go.

  “We’re almost there,” I whispered. “We’re gonna make it.”

  “I love you…I love you so much,” she cried.

  “I love you too.”

  We held each other for what felt like a lifetime, but not nearly long enough. The UV lights of the abandoned gas station buzzed over our head like an applause. Cindy was right, we had made it.

  Eventually, I filled the truck up with gas and pulled back onto the highway. The night pressed on and two hours became three and then three became four. And as the sun rose over the mountains the ranger station in Dubois came into view.

  “Cindy!” I hissed and shook her arm.

  She shot up and stared around before fixing her eyes up ahead. “Is this it?”

  “Just past the ranger station,” I replied.

  The truck rolled slowly by the small outpost that housed several cameras. The facility was a decoy, a way of deterring nosey eyes before they got close enough to see anything and giving security a fair warning of intruders.

  The station was closed and had danger signs posted everywhere. The area was supposedly off limits to travelers for undisclosed reasons, but it was so remote that if someone stumbled upon the station they knew exactly what they were looking for.

  Ten miles up the road I stopped at a 15-foot-tall black, iron gate. It ran from side to side as far as the eye could see. Near the opening there was a single digit keypad attach to an inconspicuous wooden post.

  I stepped outside and pressed my thumb against the silver-plated number seven. Almost immediately the gate started to open and I felt a wave of excitement stir in my stomach. We had done it, against all odds we were here and my journey that had costs so much was almost over.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” Cindy said as I climbed back into the driver’s seat.

  I leaned over and gave her a kiss, fighting back tears of joy. My hands trembled as I gripped the steering wheel and piloted the rumbling truck around the bend.

  “So, what happens now?” Cindy asked.

  “I’ve gotta get in touch with my team, hopefully Bruce is here. But now we live, we get to survive.”

  My heart thundered like a stampede of buffalo, the closer we got. I took a deep breath as I tried to contain my excitement. The feeling was overwhelming, like the culmination of a life’s work.

  The road started to straighten out and I could see the top of the building that had been built right into the mountain. The bold let
ters that read “13 M.L.S.” stood out like a hand reaching for me.

  I parked out front and took a deep breath. “We’re here,” I said and opened the door.

  I stepped onto the gravel covered lot and made my way to the control station outside. There was a small console recessed into the wall like an ATM machine. I slid out the keyboard and started to run the authentication process.

  “What are you doing?” Cindy asked.

  “This is the only way in. The system monitors, who can come in, how many people are already in, when to seal the facility…it monitors everything.”

  I finished inputting my information then anxiously waited. Turning around, I looked up into the looming mountains that rose overhead. It was the most at peace I’d felt in a long time.

  “You built this?” Cindy asked and interlaced her fingers with mine.

  “I helped design it.”

  “Wow.”

  The console suddenly beeped and I jumped then spun around.

  “What?” Cindy asked.

  I laughed. “It’s nothing, just caught me off guard.”

  A string of green text began to scroll down the monitor. I leaned in and with my index finger traced each line as I read them aloud.

  ...………Authentication sequence complete……………

  Version 7.62

  Site: 13 Mayflower Launch Station

  System user: Max Neilman

  Life support status: 100%

  Charging system: 100%

  Solar Operating level: 27%

  Solar system availability: 100%

  Primary systems: 97.6%

  Backup systems: 100%

  Water tank 1: 87.9%

  Water tank 2: 100%

  Water tank 3: 100%

  Water tank 4: 100%

  Primary fuel system: 8.3%

  Secondary fuel system: 100%

  Press 7 for more systems info….

  Intake status: Open

  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~

  ~Continue the journey with~

  “Flight Plan: Deconstruction Book Three”

  Coming in Soon!!

  Click here to join the mailing list for updates, access to special features, new releases and the monthly newsletter.

  Follow me on Twitter: @RashadFreeman

  www.rashadfreeman.com

  Loved it, liked it or hated it?

  I’d love to hear your feedback; please leave a review.

  About the Author

  The date was October 31, 1979. The air was cool and a light fog blew in from the gulf, cloaking the Tampa area in an ominous, tight-fitting tunic. The annual Halloween festivities had just begun and a night of mischievous tomfoolery was afoot.

  Scandalous and nefarious characters took flight. Doorbells were rung and ill-boding tricks were played regardless of the treats given. This was the dark reality of the bustling Florida metropolitan.

  To the north, Grateful Dead crooned the night's theme music at the Nassau Coliseum. Within earshot of the concert, witnesses stated a UFO hovered over the grounds for thirty minutes before vanishing.

  At the same time the Cromarty's were busy hosting their notorious Halloween party at 112 Ocean Ave., better known as the Amityville Horror House. Screams and cries for help were reported throughout the night, punctuated with the disappearance of the family next door. They were never heard from again.

  Unknowingly altering the course of history, Kurt Vonnegut released "Jailbird" the same week KISS gained infamy on The Tomorrow Show. The aftermath of this collision would not be felt for decades until the emergence of Justin Bieber.

  After a night filled with mayhem and destruction and the deaths of several prominent entertainers, politicians and a notorious bank robber, the Federal government was forced to loan $1.5 billion dollars to Chrysler. This spurred a series of violent protests, resulting in the Brunah Agate oil spill. Over 10.7 million gallons of oil were dumped into the Galveston Bay. This became the worst oil spill disaster in U.S. history.

  A few hours later, on November 1, 1979, Rashad Freeman was born. Feel free to draw your own conclusions.

  "I'm a writer, I right things."

  Follow Rashad and stay updated on the series and other books @

  http://www.rashadfreeman.com

  Other titles you might like

 

 

 
re