BAD RAIN: A SCI-FICTION THRILLER

by Michael Mazzarelli

  Jeff hung up on Woods and grabbed Janet’s arm and said, “Let’s head up to the tower. Woods said the sky is glowing.”

  “Okay, but then we have to head home and get some sleep,” she said. “I’m already a walking zombie.”

  24

  DONEMORE AND WOODS ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE AT the same time as did Jeff and Janet. Jeff immediately went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay wine. He poured four glasses and handed them out. Jeff had a fully screened-in outside porch where he often went to just sit and relax while watching a thunderstorm or heat-lightning. They all were tired but the unbelievable display in the sky drew them all to the porch. No words were exchanged as they sat sipping the wine and watching the continuous waves of red and green light up in the black sky. Finally, Woods’ curiosity got the best of him and he broke the silence. “Why is blue then red bad?”

  “Remember you asked if we would see any visual affect as the atmosphere collapses and I said I didn’t know?” Jeff said. “That was all true, but when the Northern Lights are seen this far south, I guess that is a visual sign. The altitude affects the aurora’s colors. Green light originates at altitudes of seventy-five miles up to one hundred and twenty miles. Red Northern Lights occur at even higher altitudes, while blue and violet occur mostly below seventy-five miles, perhaps slightly less. When high energy levels are present, the red colors occur again at altitudes of fifty-five miles. If the atmosphere has a super high charge, the sky will be entirely red and may be seen at low latitudes, such as Orlando, Florida. In earlier times, people often mistook this red light for fire on the horizon. As long as we are seeing red and green, the supercharged atmosphere is still at least seventy-five miles above the Earth. If we see blue and violet then red, we know the ionosphere has collapsed to fifty-five miles or less.”

  Again the four raised their glass and made a toast, “Here’s to seeing red and green. No blue allowed.”

  The four sipped their wine and carefully watched for any signs of blue. When the wine was finished Janet said she was heading to bed. Everyone had a long day ahead of them and quickly followed.

  The following morning, they were all up and ready to leave at 7:30 a.m. Jeff had already talked to Woods and asked if Janet and he could come along with the FBI agents to watch the final hope loaded onto the downed Collector. Woods said no problem and they all headed out to the site.

  On the way, Woods called the General and asked if anything new was happening and was told that everything was still progressing as planned. The General did say he would feel a whole lot better when the Ion warheads were loaded and the Collector freed. That went without saying.

  “We’re ready, sir. The path is cut and as soon as the warheads arrive we’ll load them on.”

  “Just be extremely careful, Woods. These suckers are super sensitive and any jolt, however slight, could set them off.”

  Woods said, “You know we’ll be careful but if something goes wrong, none of us will ever know what.”

  At one o’clock everything had been checked and double-checked. Woods was pleased that he had ordered another set of tow trucks in and everything was anchored together with the bulldozer. He felt that with the extra pulling power of the tow trucks they wouldn’t be as nervous as yesterday’s bulldozer run. During the course of the evening, he had asked a crew to go down to the Collector and clear enough sand away so all four trucks containing the bombs would slide under the beast. If the trucks were attached to the sides or bottom, they might not be crushed as the Collector tried to dock with Mother. The crews confirmed there was plenty of room for the trucks to slid underneath.

  Woods walked over to Donemore, Jeff and Janet and said, “Everything’s set. The only thing missing are the four trucks containing the Ion warheads.”

  Donemore had been making calls as Woods had been doing last minute checks to make sure everything was ready. She said, “Typical military. I’ve been told they should arrive anytime between noon and two. They missed noon by an hour already.”

  As soon as she finished cursing out the military, a loud roar was heard in the distance. Four huge I-7 helicopters with an escort of heavily armed Apache choppers were seen off in the distance.

  It was a weird sight seeing eight helicopters approaching with four small body trucks hanging from four of them. Woods yelled, “Okay, everyone, let’s bring these babies in and get them down to the Collector, ASAP.”

  The well-laid plans paid off. Once they signaled the huge I-7s to gently place their payloads down in the area they had cleared for them, it didn’t take long to release the trucks and begin positioning the first on the path the bulldozer had cleared the day before. When they had the four lines from the tow trucks attached and secure, the truck operator put it in gear and started driving toward the huge Collector.

  It was a slow process, and they knew that one mistake would kill them, but worst of all kill the chances of mankind to survive. So they quickly but cautiously proceeded with allowing each truck to be eventually sucked in by the Collector’s magnetic pull. Woods was happy with the difference the extra two tow trucks made. The four tow trucks worked as one and didn’t struggle at all against the force being put on them compared to yesterday’s frightening moaning and groaning of the metal.

  As each truck reached the Collector, a crew of men did their best to properly position the trucks so they didn’t attach to the side of the Collector. They had been lucky, because the giant ship was not completely face down but more tilted on one side so the other side fully exposed the long tubes, the important side. The only problem was timing the slow rocking of the Collector as it tried to free itself. The sides moved up and down somewhat, but the center was relatively at rest. Still, they wanted to take the precaution of letting the trucks underneath just as the monster started to roll past the center toward its side. All the planning and precautions paid off and with relative ease, they got the trucks underneath and attached to the sides of the tubes.

  While one crew worked on the placing of the four trucks, another labored on preparing the Collector so the huge I-7s could hopefully lift it from the sand. The plan was to wrap a super strong synthetic strap around one of the protruding tubes on four sides of the Collector then hook the straps to four super long, special nylon straps suspended from the I-7s.

  The straps were over a mile long, enabling the huge choppers to fly well above the Collector and not be affected by the enormous magnetic pull. As soon as the synthetic straps were in place, the four I-7s would be given the okay to drop their huge nylon straps and the crew would attach them. When everything was ready, the I-7s would all pull their lines tight and hit the power to lift the Collector from the sand. The straps had breakaway clamps on the huge helicopters, so if the Collector was freed, the pilot could release the strap and not be dragged by the craft.

  It wasn’t until just before dark that everything was ready. The I-7s were already in the air and had dropped their straps so the crew could hook each one up to the Collector. As soon as the last truck was properly in place on the craft, Woods radioed the pilots of the huge I-7s to start the lift. All four pilots confirmed the command and began slowly lifting up until the nylon straps were tight. When the four pilots confirmed the lines were taut, they hit full power to commence the lift. The straps instantly tightened around the tubes and a loud snapping sound alerted everyone. The snap was from the straps tightening so fast and slapping into the sides of the tubes.

  Woods watched with the group, and yelled, “Come on you big ugly monster, free up! We’re doing the best we can to help! Fly home to Mother.”

  The engineers and military personnel yelled, “Lift! Lift! Lift!”

  The power of concentration can produce wonders, and that may have been what happened here, or it just might have been the Collector that rolled one final time. It mattered little, as it lifted from the trap in the sand, turned slowly to right itself and for a second seemed confused. Then with a burst of unimaginable speed it was gone. So fast
was the Collector’s departure that you could not tell what direction it headed, with a blink of an eye, gone.

  A cheer went up in the crowd and high fives were given to everyone. Jeff turned to Janet and hugged her close. Donemore looked at Woods who was standing a few feet away still looking up at the evening sky. “You did it, Hunter. You had the idea, made it work, and now you have given us hope.” She stepped toward him and kissed him softly on the lips.

  Woods was surprised and didn’t know how to handle this unusual show of emotion from his partner. She even called him by his first name. As he fumbled for words and his cell phone, he said, “Thanks, Donemore, but it was a team effort. I better call The General and fill him in.”

  Woods radioed the pilots of the I-7s to verify they had properly released the straps and hadn’t gone on a wild ride into outer space. All four replied that they were okay and had released their lift lines as soon as the Collector had lifted from the sand. “Great job, guys! I’m calling the General now and I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear the good news.”

  Woods then called the General. “Sir, everything went according to plan! Just like clockwork! The Collector is fully loaded and on its way. We’re all still alive, at least I think so, which means the Ion warheads didn’t blow.”

  “What do you mean, You think so?”

  Woods said, “Well, for a second there I thought Donemore had kissed me. I’m sure that could only happen if I died!”

  “I can assure you that you’re alive. If those Ions went off no one in North or South America would be alive. Maybe you were just wishfully thinking, Woods. Tell the crew I said congratulations on a job well done and order them home to loved ones, whatever they wish to do. They’ve earned it. We’re some hours away from the first timed blast to go off. You, Donemore, Janet and Jeff try and get some sleep. You know when you have to report back here.”

  Woods turned to the crews that had helped make the operation a success and told them what the General said. Woods thanked them for their hard work and sacrifice and time away from families during the difficult period. “Let’s pray all this hard work pays off.”

  As everyone started leaving, Woods walked over to Donemore, Janet and Jeff. “Well, guys, what do you want to do? We can head back to the control room and wait for something to happen. The Collector is free and packing enough power to make Mother go supernova. It would seem there’s nothing we can do until then. Or we can head back to Jeff’s and get some sleep and be back at the control room before noon tomorrow in time for the real action.”

  “Or we can give Rich a call,” Jeff thought out loud, “and see if the Fighter Squadron is open for drinks!”

  Rich was at his restaurant and picked up the phone on the second ring. He begged them to come over and have a few drinks. “Food and drinks on me—only if you fill me in on what’s going on.” The crowd was sparse and Rich reserved a corner table. “Besides,” Rich said, “I can’t stand drinking alone.”

  Everyone nodded approval and headed for the car as Jeff finished up his phone call. “Okay, Rich, we’re on our way. Should be there in forty-five minutes. Hang in there, buddy.”

  The now dark Florida sky was again putting on a terrestrial display, only the colors were different. Woods repeated Jeff’s words from last night. “If you see green, blue then red, simply put, we’re all dead.” The sky glittered with waves of blue lights.

  When they reached the restaurant, Rich was at the window, staring out at the unusual sky. The restaurant was deserted now and he greeted them like they were long lost relatives, escorting them to a table close to the windows looking out over the runways. “Okay, Dewar’s on the rocks, Tangueray and Tonic with a twist of lime, Jameison straight and a Black Russian, right?”

  They all nodded in approval. It had been a long tense day and finally just sitting down and anticipating the taste of food and drinks was a relaxing way to end the day. Rich didn’t take long and arrived back at the table with five drinks. He passed out the drinks and took his own and held it up. “Here’s to the Ghost Busters, may you win and allow us all to live long and prosper.”

  Everyone agreed, raised and touched their glasses together and took a large swallow.

  Rich was like a little kid asking questions about everything. “Are we winning or losing? Why does the sky keep changing colors? What do these aliens look like? Why does the alien moon keep changing colors?”

  As they sipped their drinks they filled him in on everything that was happening. When they were finished, Rich went to the bar and remade everyone a drink. When he came back with their specials and sat down, he said, “So what happens now?”

  Woods spoke up immediately, “We do nothing.” Already feeling the effects of the alcohol in the Black Russian, Woods was eager to vent his frustration. “We think we have thought out every possible avenue that we could take. The plans are in place and have been carried out. We can’t do anything now but wait and hope everything works.

  “That’s the big rub for me. During normal wartime, the President, Secretary of Defense, Joint Chiefs of Staff, Pentagon Generals and Commanders formulate plans and execute them to the best of their ability. They have control over what weapons to use and what areas to attack. When the order is given, a carefully thought out plan is executed. If things didn’t go right, backup plans are already in place, just in case. This war is different. The nuclear bombs placed on the Collectors are not under our control at all. We have no idea if or when, even where, the bombs will go off.

  “Truth be known, even if it works, we don’t know what effect the action will have on our planet, and I’m talking about the fallout, and actual metal hunks that would be strewn about. Certainly some of the debris will be Earth-bound. How could it not be? Everything is on automatic pilot. Either the bombs work, meaning the Ions go off, and we shoot down Mother or mankind is fucking dead!”

  Rich was a smart businessman and he knew when a customer was dissatisfied with his waiters, service or food. Normally they only complained when reaching a point that started the irritation and it built to frustration when it wasn’t corrected. Woods was at that point. He wanted to do something about a bad situation but couldn’t. He was frustrated and it showed. Rich’s experience in customer satisfaction kicked in. “Do you guys want any food? The asshole alien E-1 has caused my business to stop. I have freezers full of appetizers like shrimp, escargot, all kinds of stuff, steaks of all sizes and dessert that will melt in your mouth. It’s only going to waste.”

  Rich was smartly using his expertise to resolve Woods’ growing anger, and food was the keynote. They had been all day without food and now the thought of maybe a last meal lingered in their minds.

  Donemore put her hand on top of Woods’ hand and said, “We can’t do anything about the plans that are in place. Let’s have something to eat and enjoy what could be our last meal.”

  Woods anger seemed to subside and he said, “Sure, why not. Yes, let’s eat!”

  With that everyone grabbed their drinks and headed to the kitchen. The chant went up, “Food! Food! Food!”

  Woods put his arm around Rich as they approached the kitchen and said, “If we get through this thing, I’ll pay for everything, if not, we are all dead anyway. So pull out everything you’ve got. I want everyone to have their favorite meal one last time!”

  The rest of the evening was spent in the kitchen of one of the best restaurants in Orlando, or anywhere else for that matter. Anything that looked good to anyone was pulled from the freezer and either defrosted and cooked or eaten raw. It was a Roman feast that lasted well into the night—

  25

  THE FOLLOWING DAY AT NOON WAS BUSY IN THE control room, where everyone anxiously waited for the magical 2:00 p.m. blast. Nothing had happened with the freed Collector of an adverse nature to this point, so the wait began in earnest for the first planted nuclear bomb to explode, hopefully detonating all others.

  Captain Stewart’s personnel had contacted all observatories and told them to f
ocus in on the alien moon and report anything unusual. They also had been able to connect live feeds from three of the world’s largest telescopes, with full displays on the control room screens. They once again had a clear picture of the alien moon, displayed on three screens at different magnifications.

  The General announced to the group, “If anyone has any last minute thoughts, now is the time to speak up. In roughly two hours we hopefully will see something happen to Mother. Once the first bomb goes off, God only knows what’s going to happen after that. I just hope the bombs go off and they cause enough damage straightway to stop the supercharging of our atmosphere.”

  As soon as the General said that, Woods got fidgety. Donemore noticed it immediately and knew when her partner started to do that something had hit him as being wrong. She put her hand on Woods’ arm and asked if he were okay.

  Woods replied, “Something the General just said, something seems not quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  The General said, “The number of NBTs placed on the Collectors is nowhere near enough to save Earth but hopefully enough to damage Mother, so the alien moon may either be unable to harm us any further but still not be knocked out, or another possibility, the scum dies with us.”

  “That’s it! I knew something was wrong!” Woods yelled.

  “What’s wrong now, Woods?” the General asked.

  “The Collectors are robot ships. They aren’t going to be affected by Mother’s destruction, or at least I don’t think so. They will continue doing their thing.

  “That means even if Mother is knocked out of the sky, we are still going to die unless we stop the Collectors from their mission of firing light bolts back up into our atmosphere, after all, we are but a step away from bad air,” Woods said.

  Jeff added, “My God! He’s right! The remaining Collectors will continue charging the atmosphere for at least three days after Mother’s gone. By that time we’ll all be dead!”