They did.
"What's going on?" asked Adam. "Hey, what is that? You can't just plug that thing into our gear—"
"Come with me, please," said the tall man with close cropped gray hair. "I'll explain everything. My associates need to set up first."
"But—" began Penny.
"Move," he said. His steel gray eyes narrowed and dared Adam to resist.
"Okay, okay," the junior physical scientist said. "I'm coming, don't freak out or anything. It's not like we just had a history-making solar flare or anything."
The man paused at the door and adjusted his tie. He glanced over Adam's shoulder and nodded. "I'm on it. You two finish up here. I'll handle this."
Penny turned around. "Just talk to us—don't look at them—tell me what's going on!"
"We have to tell the world about this flare—it's coming straight at us!" blurted Adam. "Governments need to know so they can protect people."
"You're right, the government does need to know. And we do. Now, if I were you, I'd forget all about this flare…about us, and about everything you saw here tonight."
"This morning," Penny added.
The man glared at her. "You were both at home—asleep—when this…non-event…happened. Do you understand?"
"What?" asked Adam. He shook his head. "No—no, we lost our communications link, we need to warn—"
The man pulled his coat back and drew a large black pistol from a shoulder holster. "I am authorized to secure this facility using any means necessary. You were not here when we arrived. Or am I mistaken?"
Adam stared at the pistol. He glanced at Penny and she shook her head. He nodded. "I…uh…yeah, I don't know what you're talking about. I was asleep."
"At home," prompted the stranger with the gun.
"At home, yes…" Adam said. He swallowed. He'd need more than coffee now, something aged 12 years or more. "Uh…yeah, I was asleep at home. Right, Pens?"
"Yes, absolutely," she mumbled.
The stranger stared into Adam's eyes until the younger man looked away. "Good." He holstered his weapon, and it disappeared under his coat. "Now follow me, please. You folks need to disappear."
Adam looked at Penny as the man from Homeland Security stormed off down the hallway, his glossy shoes clacking on the linoleum.
"What the fuck is going on?" Adam whispered.
"I don't know," Penny murmured, "but I don't think these guys realize how serious the situation is."
The DHS man put a hand to his ear and tilted his head, listening to the radio in his ear as he walked. "Affirmative," he announced into empty, darkened hallway, his voice echoing ahead of them.
Adam traced the spiral white cord over the man's ear with his eyes until it disappeared under a black suit collar. The stranger stopped and looked over his shoulder as if he'd sensed Adam staring at him.
"What did you say?" he growled.
"I said you don't understand the seriousness of the situation," Penny replied, standing straighter.
Adam put a hand on her arm. "Just let it go."
The man from Homeland Security looked at the floor and shook his head then spun on his heel, his pistol out and trained on Penny's face. "I'm afraid it is you who don't understand the seriousness of the situation, Dr. Little."
Adam flinched at the sound of the gunshot—it was so loud, he thought a bomb had exploded. His eyes watered, momentarily blinded by the flash, and his ears rang from the pistol's thunder, but the warm, wet blood splattered across his face was what made him scream.
The man shifted his aim and pointed his weapon at Adam. The trembling scientist saw Penny's body twitching on the floor in his peripheral vision, but couldn't take his eyes off the pistol aimed at his forehead.
"For what it's worth," the man from DHS said in a tired voice, "I think you'll be the lucky ones."
"No! No, wait—" Adam began as he threw his hands up. His last thought was that the muzzle blast from the pistol looked just like the sun's corona. Then, like the SOHO screen, everything went black.
CHAPTER 1
JAYASHEKHAR CANTRELL LOOKED UP from the bloody mess at his feet. He'd never taken a human life and struggled with his lack of emotion. In fact, he felt nothing—except a sudden weakness in his knees. He sat down hard on the ground and stared at the crimson stain on his bronze-skinned hands. He'd expected them to shake more after taking a human life. Didn't he need to feel something, or at least vomit or…?
Jay never thought he’d have to kill someone, let alone sit around and think about what it felt like. He looked down at the still-warm corpse in front of him with eyes that watched but didn't see. Somewhere off in the distance, in another body, another place, sour bile rose in the back of his throat.
His stomach tightened with the sickening thought the man—boy really—he'd just killed was young enough to have been friends with his daughter under other circumstances.
What have I done?
The roar of a car driving by caused him to blink. The breeze kicked up by the passing car drove bits of dust and pebbles into his face. He felt a gust of warmth, then the surrounding cold air sucked him back to the would-be thief with the caved-in skull.
Panic flared bright and hot in his chest, making his fingertips tingle with suppressed energy. What if someone found him with the body? What if the people in that car called the cops? He had murdered someone. Jay looked down at his hands. Was that his blood or the boy's?
He scrambled to his side, groaning with the pain that lanced up his forearms as his hands hit the asphalt. The boy had cut him—bad it felt like. He uttered his mother's favorite Hindi curse about the testicles of a goat. His hands burned.
He groaned as he folded his legs under himself and stood to dust off his jeans. The car disappeared down the road. They didn't stop. His heart slowed, his chest stopped heaving—they didn't stop. They didn't call the cops.
A tiny voice whispered in the dark recesses of his troubled mind: What cops? How are they going to call on a cell phone with no signal? Get the gas.
Jay turned away from the grisly scene and leaned against the car on one elbow, opening and closing his slashed hands. His eyes found the gas can that had been the reason for the unprovoked attack.
Jay took a deep breath of lung-searing cold air and stared at his shot-up Ford Escape. Only a few days before, it had been the boring little daily commuter that took him to and from the library. He'd prided himself on keeping it clean and polished. Now?
Bullet holes peppered the doors, the driver's window was a jagged chunk of glass, and a network of fine, spider-web cracks criss-crossed the rear window. He couldn't count the number of dents and scratches along the sides any more. The car looked like it had been through hell. He glanced down at his bleeding hands again.
I suppose I look like hell now too.
His less injured left hand went to his cheek and scratched at the days-old beard stubble. On still-unsteady legs, Jay moved away from the body and back to his car.
Don't look. Just leave him. Don't look.
Soft as the sound of his boots on the gravel was, it still jarred him with every step—it sounded like thunder, or maybe that was just the blood pounding in his ears. At least he managed to stagger back to the Escape before the shaking started.
Get this gas in the car. Leah's counting on you.
He bent and picked up the red gas can to finish filling the little SUV's tank. He knew he'd have to go collect the tire iron he'd used to bludgeon the would-be thief, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the body again just yet. After the attack, he'd looked down on the grisly scene as if floating above the world and detached from his body. Now that he'd moved and got back work, he felt himself sinking back into his tired, bleeding body. He wanted to finish fueling up so he could wrap his hand—it was stinging like a son of a bitch and getting worse by the second.
I killed that boy.
Jay didn't have time to curse—he turned and threw up all over the road. He fell to his knees, heavin
g and gagging on the repulsiveness of what he'd just done. It didn't matter that he'd had to kill in self defense—he had taken a life. Someone's child wouldn't come home tonight.
The boy's words echoed in Jays mind as he tried to clean his face with the backs of his grimy, blood-smeared hands.
I killed someone's son.
He closed his eyes tight and clenched his fists, enduring the pain in open-mouthed silence. He let the fire in his hands cleanse his mind.
Focus. What's done is done.
The words were his, but he heard Mac's voice. Gods, how he wished the grizzled old bastard was with him now. Jay opened his bloodshot eyes and let them roam the horizon, searching for the next threat. He thought he'd been alone on this desolate, isolated stretch of highway in eastern Indiana, but the kid had come out of nowhere screaming about needing gas.
"I have to get home!" the young man had cried, eyes wide. "I have to get to my girlfriend! She's pregnant! Gimme your gas and I won't hurt you…"
Jay closed his eyes for a second. He imagined Mac standing behind him, arms crossed, a frown on that creased, weathered face.
He had to get to his girlfriend…well, you have to get to your daughter. It's not your fault.
He checked the surrounding interstate. Nothing moved but the tops of scattered trees in the gentle breeze.
Well, at least that's something.
Jay could almost hear Mac urging him to move, move, MOVE. He needed to fill up and get on the road again. Why did the University of Indiana put a satellite campus out in the middle of nowhere?
A slight gust of wind whistled through the dormant fields lining the road, a sound that would under normal circumstances, evoke a deep sense of homecoming in Jay. Bloomington, Illinois didn't look all that different from…wherever the hell he was.
Fear slinked its icy fingers around his spine and squeezed. He was out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by empty fields and a few scattered trees. If he'd broke down–if he'd been seriously injured…how long would it take before someone found him? Without cell phones and instant communications, he was cut off from the rest of the world. In that light, the whistling wind didn't sound so comforting any more.
It sounded lonely, like it mourned the lost world as much as he did.
Out of habit, he felt for the reassuring weight of his cell phone in his pocket, then frowned. Now it was just an expensive paperweight. In the blink of an eye, the entire modern world around him woke up in the pre-industrial 1800s. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it.
And now he was a murderer. Jay leaned over against his car and rested his forehead against cool, unyielding metal. What the hell is going on?
As the red plastic gas can emptied, he tossed it in the back of his Escape on the way to the driver's seat. Pain flared in his right hand. He looked down and grimaced at the sight.
"Dusht," he cursed. Residual gas on his hand found the open wound and burned like fire. He slammed the fuel lid before opening the front passenger door and fumbling in his little first aid kit with his good hand.
The sound of another engine caused him to look up from the mess he'd made. He stepped out from the car, holding the bandages and his near-crippled hand.
"Hey!" he yelled, waving at the car. It sped closer, never wavering in its path.
Jay waved again. "Help!" He hated drawing attention to the body on the ground but he hated even more to think what would happen if he left the scene and the police showed up later.
The car never slowed. Its driver, a middle-aged woman, hunched over the wheel and stared straight ahead, never so much as glancing at him. A younger woman in the passenger seat cast a furtive glance his way but otherwise ignored him.
If I can't see you, you can't see me…
"God damn it, there's—" Jay looked back at the body. "Just stop! Please!"
The car raced on, the sound of its tires humming into the distance. In a moment it left him, faded to twin red pinpricks on the horizon.
Cursing again, Jay pulled out a handful of antiseptic pads and only hesitated for a second before tearing the first one open. He took a breath and wiped the slash on his palm, then screamed as the burn intensified. He figured the gasoline would kill anything in the cut, but he also guessed it wasn't good to have gas in an open wound either.
After two more antiseptic wipes and another scream that echoed across the empty fields around him, he tore open a little bandage pack with his teeth and applied the strip of white cloth to his shaking hand.
The kid had come at him with a knife when he refused to share any of the gas and his first strike hit home. Jay was thankful he'd been quick enough to pull his hand out of the way or he might've lost a finger instead.
His spine transformed into a column of ice. In a world devoid of electrical power, how long would modern antibiotics last without refrigeration? How would doctors treat patients without modern technology and pharmaceuticals? He glanced down at the expedient bandage tied around his hand.
If that gets infected…
Kate would know what to do. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Kate's dead. She's never coming back. She died when her plane went down in the Pacific. When it all hit the fan. He swallowed.
She's not coming back—you have to focus on Leah.
Try as he might, Jay couldn't get the sound of Kate's voice from his head as she'd rolled over and whispered in his ear three days ago.
I love you…
She'd left for her usual long-haul assignment flying for Bluewing Airlines and never came back. She'd taken the extra Hawaii flight to cover for a sick friend, but that didn't make it any better.
If she died on the plane as he feared, he hoped at least her death was quick and painless. With any luck, she hit the ocean going too fast to feel anything.
The thought of Kate floating around on a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean without hope of rescue, food, or water almost made the pain in his heart worse than his hand. She would've starved to death or died stark raving mad of thirst—just thinking of it made him want to put his fist through his car's remaining window.
Everything was wrong—Leah was stuck at college, Kate was probably dead, and he'd just killed someone over a few gallons of gas.
He wiped his face with the back of his good hand and shambled over to the body. Mac's voice drove him forward when all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep.
Don't waste the opportunity. Scavenge and move on.
Jay scooped up the bloody tire iron and turned to walk away when he heard Mac again: leave nothing useful.
He stopped in his tracks and stared back down the long, straight stretch of road behind his car to the north. In the distance, a pair of headlights appeared, bright in the unnatural twilight gloom, like two tiny stars low on the horizon. His heart raced.
Someone's coming.
This time it could be the cops. It felt like the cops. He hadn't seen very many people out and about since turning south off the interstate. It had to be a cop. Sweat trickled down Jay's neck.
Spurred to action by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he dropped to a knee and rifled the pockets of the body on the ground. He found four crumpled dollar bills, a half-eaten granola bar, and a small folding knife. He slipped the pocket knife into his pants and took the big hunting blade from the kid's hand, leaving everything else on the road.
If nothing else, he figured the bastard owed him the knife.
Jay tested the weight of the heavy blade in his off-hand, then wiped his own blood off on the still-warm body before finding the sheath on the kid's belt. He had to undo it to get the sheath off. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the car creeping closer in the distance—Jay took the knife and ran.
Back in the safety of his own car, Jay glanced out the chipped windshield at the body on the gravel shoulder.
I killed somebody.
The flicker of lights in his rearview mirror as the car navigated a dip in the
road a ways back forced him to decide. "I didn't want…damn it, you should have left me alone." He rubbed his face again with his less injured hand, taking in the smell of dirt and grease on his fingers.
"I have to get my daughter."
He started his car, slammed it into drive, and sped out, kicking up pebbles in his wake. Jay left his headlights off and put as much distance as possible between the car behind him and the body. He glanced up at the glowing ribbons of light in the sky. They were dimmer than a few days back, but still shed plenty of eerie light on the road for him to drive.
How did everything fall apart so fast? It's only been two days…
CHAPTER 2
2 DAYS EARLIER…
JAY held his breath as he twisted the focus knob on his Celestron Nexstar 8se telescope. Right in the middle of his field of view, a hazy orange ball resolved itself somewhat into the planet Mars. The image, blurry and rippling one second, crystal clear and stable the next, offered a few tantalizing details every time he blinked. After a few more adjustments to the focus, the dark smear of Syrtis Major appeared on the edge of the barren little world.
"There we are," he muttered to himself. Jay thumbed the camera switch and started his last photography run of his early morning observing session.
He stood up from the telescope's eyepiece and knuckled his back, stretching in the predawn light. Taking a deep breath of the clear, cold air, he smiled. In the west, a bank of clouds glowered over the horizon, but it wasn't moving fast enough to block him from seeing his favorite planet. Nothing set him in a good mood for a day at work like a little stargazing before dawn when the world was still quiet.
A loud crash emanated from the other side of the wooden privacy fence that separated his small yard from J.T. MacKinnon’s property. Jay grimaced and leaned back to the eyepiece.
"Well, it was quiet…" he said loud enough for his neighbor to hear.
"Shit—sorry, Cantrell. Didn't realize you were out here."
Solar Storm (Season 1): Aftermath [Episodes 1-5] Page 2
