"Is he gonna be okay?" Melinda asked as she cradled David and Charlie in her arms.
Ashley stood behind her, looking on with watery eyes. She hadn't said much, but I could tell she was terrified of losing him.
"Doesn't look like the bullet hit anything major. He's stable now, but not out of the woods, but we need to get him to a trauma center, I can't do anything with him here."
Hunter looked at all of us and chewed the inside of his jaw. His eyes rested on Ashley then back to Koran. Then he glanced over to the water that was decidedly working its way further and further inland. "Let's go," he said. "Everybody on the helicopter."
The other soldiers ushered us toward the aircraft. The swirling blades blew dirt and debris into the air, but we pushed past it. Running up the ramp, we loaded Alistair into the closest chopper then buckled up the kids. More soldiers piled into the other helicopter as the water worked its way toward the machines.
Hunter and his men loaded in with us. Lockship stayed right beside Alistair the entire time. I was grateful to have him there.
"Hunter," Koran said as he stopped and grabbed him by the arm. "I brought her," he started. "Just like I said I would. She's here."
"Yeah, yeah...I understand."
Water began to splash up against the skids and Hunter glanced back outside. I could read the worry on his face and he motioned up toward the pilot.
"Get these things in the air!" he shouted.
Lockship started an IV on Alistair. I pulled Melinda and the kids in close and prayed under my breath. The weather was damn near torrential and the ground was falling apart beneath us. It seemed like there was no place that was safe.
I felt my stomach turn as the engines grew louder. With a shimmy, the rotors spun up and the molded chunk of metal left the ground.
"Dad are we flying?" Charlie asked.
"We sure are," I replied. "You're not scared are you?"
"Not anymore."
"Well, that makes one of us," I said with a laugh.
The helicopter shuddered from side to side as we climbed higher into the air. The wind seemed intent on stopping us, but the thundering rotors hacked right through it as we left the base and headed into the unknown.
Ashley leaned out of her seat and grabbed Alistair's hand. She interlaced her fingers with his and squeezed. "You'll be okay," she whispered.
Alistair smiled and placed his other hand over hers. He pulled it to his chest and took a deep breath.
I think if they could they would've stayed like that forever. There was something about going through tragedy together. The immediacy of it all made emotions much more potent. It was strange to watch and heartbreaking to know that such things seldom lasted.
"Hey," Koran called out to Hunter.
"Yeah?"
"Mayflower," he said. "You promised...you take us to Mayflower."
Hunter glared at him. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together. Sighing, he turned and looked toward the back of the helicopter then reluctantly nodded.
"What's Mayflower?" Melinda asked.
~THE END~
~Continue the journey with~
“The Mayflower Project: Deconstruction Book Two”
Coming November 2016
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Continue reading for a sneak peek at The Mayflower Project: Deconstruction Book Two
Sneak Peek...The Mayflower Project
CHAPTER 1
THE COUNTDOWN CLOCK
"Max, are you gonna finish that," Suzanne asked me.
I looked up at her and sighed. Of course I was gonna finish that. There was maybe three bites left of my sandwich and I was holding the damn thing in my hand. But the way she was staring at me, I feared she might snatch it and run off.
"Where does all of the food you eat even go?" I asked and narrowed my eyes.
Suzanne was a tall, light-skinned lady from some island in the Caribbean. She apparently worked out like a track athlete, although I had no proof, other than her physique and the fact that she ate like a linebacker, but managed to never gain a pound.
She smiled at me and grabbed the remainder of my sandwich. "Thanks Max. You're a keeper."
"I was gonna eat that," I screamed after her.
Sighing, I got up and cleaned off the table then left the break room. I walked down the hall and back into the work area at the National Weather Service Center in Georgia. You had to say it that way or no one would understand you. People didn't understand what we did anyway, but avoiding acronyms or any shortening of the name, made me feel like I'd chosen the right path in school.
Around the office we spoke in a short code on just about everything. NOAA, EPA, SAB, E3, E&C, NAI,SCAN, SDR...the list went on. It was enough to give anyone a headache. So when I had the opportunity, I spoke like a normal person.
Lately the list of names in the office had become much more ominous and terms like CIA, NSA, DIA and NORAD were getting thrown around. All of our work had become compartmentalized and guys with dark suits and strong, jaw bones lurked in every corner.
All this additional security made me nervous and as far as anyone outside of work was concerned, all I did was track hurricanes and send alerts to the surrounding Emergency Operations Centers. But that couldn't be further from the truth.
I was a climatologist, a damn good one. At the ripe young age of twenty-seven I'd managed to snag a senior position working with the government.
I'd written a paper back in school that had garnered some serious attention. It was about thermodynamics and climate change and a theory I proposed called the "Neilman Effect"...my last name.
Basically, the Earth was dying. I suggested we'd be faced with cataclysmic disaster on a global scale in this lifetime. The report was interlaced with a healthy bit of fiction, but someone important read it and decided it sounded a little too probable to ignore.
So, here I was, heading up a secret team in an inconspicuous building. Plotting charts, making graphs and giving predictions that set the ground floor for policy. All because someone had read my dissertation and concluded that Max Neilman could save the world.
"Max, you get the reports over to the DOD? They need the update before the last mailing goes out," Bruce asked. He was an older man with silvery hair and thick, eyebrows. He needed glasses, but he seldom wore them and he liked to part his hair right down the middle and chew the end of any pen he could get his hands on.
"Yeah Bruce, I sent them." I stopped and looked up at the giant digital clock that took up the wall.
The idea that you needed a clock the size of a movie screen should've already told you how serious things were, but if you didn't get the message the bright red numbers that ticked away slowly would've hammered home the sense of peril. It read 987 Days: 14 Hours: 17:26.
As the numbers vanished I cringed and ground my teeth. Time, man's greatest invention. It was the only way we could comprehend our place in the world and it was the only way we could even attempt to acknowledge our mortality.
"Staring at it is not gonna make it go back up," Bruce snapped.
"Yeah, I know. It's just...maybe, maybe we got it wrong."
"Err on the side of caution Max. You did good here."
I took a deep breath and held it. That was just it, maybe I hadn't been cautious enough. Everything had been extrapolated from my research. Sure, my work had been second guessed and scrutinized by probably dozens, but no one knew the data like me. If the estimates were wrong, that was my fault.
Bruce stepped closer to me and leaned in. "Mayflower is your baby. No one might ever tell you and only a handful of people will even know what you did, but all of this is because of you."
"Thanks Bruce," I said and patted him on the shoulder.
Mayflower, that name was seldom spoken. As far as code names went, it was probably the most secretive of all. Only a few even knew of its existence and an even smaller group
understood the details in their entirety. I was part of that group.
"Look sharp, we have visitors today." With that Bruce headed back to his desk.
Rubbing my face, I walked back to my office and closed the door. I plopped into my chair and let my head fall forward onto the solid oak. I counted to twenty then sat up and stared at the wall.
There was a map taped to the cream painted brick. It was zoomed in on the mid-western United States and had pins stuck in places all over Wyoming. I'd recommended Colorado, but decisions like that weren't really left up to me.
So somewhere up in the Rocky mountains there was a secret. The government had its tentacles at work and had set the many segments of this powerful nation to task, without one arm knowing what the other one was doing.
"I just need more time," I mumbled.
I picked up a picture frame, looked at it and smiled. Cindy smiled back at me and I thought about life before all of this.
We'd taken the picture during a trip to North Carolina. We'd visited a place called slippery rock and spent the rest of the week hiking through the mountains. It was one of the best times of my life and the first time I looked at Cindy as someone I could get old with.
Now, we never had time for anything like that. Cindy lived with her nose in a book, studying to take the bar. And I was always here, doing things I couldn't even tell her about. Most days we hardly saw each other and when we did it was for a few minutes before we both fell asleep.
"Max," I heard Bruce call as he tapped on the door.
"Come on in," I replied.
The door swung open and Bruce was standing outside with two more men. They both were wearing navy blue suits and were probably in their late sixties. I recognized one of the men and felt my throat tighten just a bit.
"Hello Secretary Morris," I said with a smile.
"Max," he replied and stepped inside. "This is Timothy Garner, Secretary of Defense. Why don't you go ahead and tell us about the Mayflower."
CHAPTER 2
PARTY AT THE END OF THE WORLD
I got home around seven and headed up the elevator to my Atlanta apartment. The commute from Peachtree was about an hour and I usually spent that time second guessing everything I'd done earlier. We lived right in the heart of the financial district, which was good for Cindy since she worked there, but meant crappy traffic for me just about every day.
"You home?" I asked as I walked inside and dropped my bags.
"In the bedroom," Cindy replied.
I made my way through the living room and she walked out. Cindy was a tall, athletically built former track star at Georgia Tech. She could still outrun my ass and since she was nearly my height I tried to ban heels whenever I could.
Her father was from South Africa and her mother Honduras. The combination was what I thought every woman should look like. Perfect skin, perfect hair and a full command of five languages while I struggled with two. I knew it, so it didn't bother me when people would say how lucky I was.
"How was work?" she asked.
I collapsed onto our sofa and tapped the spot next to my right. She joined me and leaned into my shoulder while I stroked her hair.
"It was long," I finally replied. "But you know...just another day at the office."
Cindy smiled. "I know the feeling. We need a vacation."
"Now you're talking."
"I'm serious, I have another month before I take the bar. We should go somewhere. I'm sure I can get away from the office for a week...and a break from studying would probably be good for me."
"It would be nice to do something different."
"Max!" someone yelled as the doorbell rang.
Cindy groaned and I let out a laugh.
"You asked for something different," I said as I head to the door.
I opened it and Brent and Jake stormed inside. They rushed past me and headed for the couch.
"We got a plan guys," Jake said in excitement.
"No...no, we are not going out," I replied.
Brent and Jake lived next door. We'd known them for about five years and they were still living like we were freshmen in college. Only difference was they had the money of a blossoming start-up to fund their alcohol driven weekends.
"Just listen to me Max," Jake said. He was the salesman of the two. Tall, dark-skinned and baldheaded, he looked like a wanna be Michael Jordan. But he was actually pretty funny and had absolutely no athletic ability whatsoever.
"Yeah," Brent added. "Listen to him."
Brent was the brains of the operation. An average sized guy with stringy, brown hair and glasses. He'd been a coder since he was like twelve and with Jake's inspiration had created some trading algorithm that helped brokers make more money.
"Alright Jake, what is this plan you have?" I asked.
"Prive is having a giant event tonight. It's DJ Cosmo's launch party. We have to go!"
"This is your big plan?" Cindy asked and rolled her eyes.
"Brent got us VIP."
"You know I hate clubs," I replied and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table.
"Dude come on. It's Friday, you guys never do shit anymore. Remember how it used to be? We were like the three musketeers."
"There's four of us."
"Yeah, but Cindy is a chick."
"Hey!" Cindy objected.
"He means, you're like the fair princess that we have to protect," Brent added.
"Yeah, that's exactly what I meant. So come on Max. What do you say? It's VIP...open bar dude."
Cindy nudged me with her elbow. I turned and she raised her eyebrows and gave me an encouraging shrug.
"Really?" I asked in shock.
"Really!" she replied.
The next thing I knew I was in a noisy nightclub with blinding strobe lights, burning my retinas. I could feel the bass vibrating my chest cavity and the multiple shots of vodka was doing nothing to dull my senses.
The place was packed and whoever this DJ was he had a lot of friends. I was amazed so many people could fit in one building and if it wasn't for Brent getting VIP we wouldn't have had a place to sit.
"Come on," Cindy said.
She grabbed my arm and pulled me to the dance floor. For the next twenty minutes I reluctantly bobbed around with a crowd full of sweaty people, while Cindy pretended I was a stripper pole.
It was hard to enjoy myself when I had so much on my mind. I really didn't like nightclubs to begin with and now with all that was going on at work, it just felt like more stress that I didn't need. But I was a good sport, so I danced and danced until Cindy told me her feet hurt and she wanted to sit down.
After that it was back to our VIP booth and more shots until I couldn't see straight. Jake and Brent were doing their best to make me permanently stupid and on some level they certainly succeeded.
"Enough of this vodka shit," I slurred. "Where's the Patron?"
"Patron?" Jake echoed. "You sure about that?"
"Don't you ask me stupid questions. I said Patron Goddamn it."
Laughing, Jake flagged down our server and before I knew it the fiery taste of death was burning its way through my digestive system. Like a toddler I slid off of the sofa and flopped onto the floor in a laughing fit. Everything was suddenly hilarious and I felt like dancing was the only cure.
Pushing myself onto my knees, I grabbed Cindy around the waist. "Come on...more dancing," I grumbled.
She stared at me with glossy eyes then mumbled something I couldn't make out. I started to protest, but then I felt the urge to empty my stomach and I threw my hand over my mouth.
I quickly jumped to my feet and rushed off to the restroom. Bursting through the door, I dove into the first stall and lurched forward. A stream of vomit came spewing out as my knees buckled and I dropped to the floor.
"Hey man you okay in there?" Brent called from the door.
"Argh! Okay!" I shouted back then collapsed face first onto the toilet seat.
"Alright man...I'll leave you to it."
/> He closed the door and left. It took me thirty minutes longer to puke out enough to regain some of my senses. Feeling like shit, I shuffled to the sink and doused my head with water. I goggled and spit and washed my face over and over. The taste of vomit still lingered no matter what I did.
I felt the floor shift a bit under my feet and the mirror trembled. I shook my head a blinked wildly then slapped myself in the face. I definitely had too much to drink.
"Get your shit together," I said as I stared into the mirror.
Feeling a bit more like myself, I headed out of the bathroom. Some loud trance music was playing and the bass was shaking the walls like a damn speaker grill.
I staggered my way back to the VIP section. Cindy was slumped over on Jake's shoulder and Brent was twirling around with some blonde chick that was swigging Vodka from the bottle.
"He's alive," Brent announced as I got closer. "We got bottles to kill before we leave here."
He grabbed the bottle from his dance partner and held it out to me. I reached for it, but suddenly the floor jutted up and I fell into the wall. The bottle slipped from his hands and burst into millions of tiny glass missiles.
I straightened up and looked around. Everyone else was glaring around in confusion as well. A few people had fallen, others had spilled drinks or knocked over bottles. This time I wasn't imagining things.
"What the hell was that? Brent asked as he chuckled and wrapped his arm around the blonde chick's waist. "Who cares," he continued. "Let's party!"
Suddenly, the ground moved again and a loud rumble echoed over the music. With a crash, a crack split right down the middle of the ceiling and down the dance floor like a mirror image. The shelves behind the bar toppled over and gallons of top-shelf liquor spread across the ground like a tidal wave.
The sounds of screams shocked me into sobriety. Chunks of plaster and cement collided with human flesh, silencing their victims forever. Chaos spiraled all around me and I was too dazed to react until I heard someone shouting.
"Earthquake!"
Dust to Dust: Deconstruction Book One (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 17
