by Logan Keys
“The gas is frozen,” German said, and they both stared in horror as the other engine completely died.
The pilot was shouting at German so loudly now, as if it was his fault by being the predictor of the doom, that even Luckman had an idea what he was saying. They needed to bail out and the pilot was already strapping on his own parachute, leaving German and Luckman to do what they would.
“It’s too cold!” Luckman shouted, grabbing German by the arm. “Our chutes won’t work!”
“Pray for a miracle then!” German answered, pulling his arms through his parachute after unstrapping his seatbelt. Throwing one at Luckman, who did the same, he said, “You just pull this red tab once you are out. Don’t wait. That’s important. Do it right away. We are close to the ground! Got it?”
Luckman nodded, and German threw open the door. The plane was dropping before, but now it began to swing side to side, completely out of control, plummeting to the earth.
The wind caught it just then and blew the nose of the plane straight down, pushing air through the open door with such force that the two were blinded by the snow.
Luckman was sure this was it. He’d die trying to jump from a plane in this cold—no way would their chutes work without freezing first. He clung to his seat, too afraid to do anything but try to see through the window one last time.
Below, Luckman found the blanket of white approaching and growing larger by the second. In the moonlight everything was blue, and when he turned, he found the seat empty where German had been, and the pilot was gone, too.
With one final push of bravery, he got onto his shaky legs and held onto the side of the aircraft as he reached the open door. Nothing but air and chaos met him as he stuck his face outside. It took ignoring every fiber of his being to let go of the handle, but he did.
Eyes closed, and without a pause, he pulled the red tab.
Chapter 8
The Leeward’s Residence
Base Housing, Fort Riley, Kansas
The whining sound of the alarms made Brittany’s steps stutter to a halt. She wasn’t going to run inside just yet. Riley had a dozen or so tests a week and even Benton said over the loud noise, “It’s just signaling that Halloween’s started!”
Seemed weird, but they had done such a thing before. Another alarm would sound again to signal the end, if that was the case. But Brittany had not found herself looking in the direction of the giant metal pole at the end of the street fixed with large megaphones that spilled out a high and low whine at molasses speed. She was still watching those suspect few clouds that hung low above the high hill that ran along the entire neighborhood across the street. The hill was like a blade ready to sever the belly of the cumulus cluster. William had said the hill was man-made to block some of the terrible winds that often struck the eastern side of base housing where they lived on Thunder Road.
A flash of light occurred deep within the darkness and like the name of the street, thunder rolled mere moments later.
“I think we need to get inside,” Brittany said. When the kids hesitated, she shouted, “Now!” feeling a sense of great unease. With her eyes still on where she’d seen the lightning, she pulled the children’s hands. Just as she got them to start moving their feet, a funnel began to form at the top of the hill.
Brittany gasped, as did the neighbors who were now shading their eyes and watching the same spot. The obvious shape of a tornado spun slowly into existence, swirling from the sky toward the ground, getting faster as it traveled not a few hundred feet from where they stood.
“Look!” Benton shouted, pointing, and Brittany had to do a double take. Another funnel had formed along the same hill on the opposite side.
Lily screamed and so did some of the neighbors as the wind went from a light breeze to gusting into them, blowing their hair back and spitting leaves into their faces.
“There’s another one!” someone shouted to her left, and Brittany swiveled her head around to find that tornadoes were popping up all along the ridge, one right after another from those same dark clouds.
“Run!” she cried, pulling the kids, and she dragged them along until their little legs were pumping eagerly beside hers toward the house.
Brittany felt like no matter how fast she moved, it wasn’t fast enough, and she kept feeling like they’d never make it. She rammed flat into the front door before trying to fit her key into the hole that now seemed unreasonably tiny and hard to find. Why had she even locked it? It was a nice neighborhood, for crying out loud! Despite struggling to stay focused, she gave in once during the struggle and glanced back at the hill and froze. As she watched, the tornados wound their way down to the street, some of them moving close enough to the others that they combined into one large funnel instead.
Her mind couldn’t grasp what she was seeing, it was so beyond comprehension. The closest of them were already ripping up trees, bushes, even backyard fencing from the people across the street’s houses. Brittany knew those people! They’d let her borrow a spade to plant tulips just last week, and now their yard was slowly disappearing into a twister.
Wind had blown outward before, but now it felt like it was sucking them toward the chaos. It sounded like fifty freight trains were running up and down the street, blowing their horns, or were crashing into one another. Perhaps it was the sound of the chain link fencing she’d seen ripped up from the ground being churned up, about to be spat out right onto their heads. It was a sound that Brittany already knew she’d never forget for as long as she lived.
“Britt!” Benton bellowed, and Brittany tore herself away from the melee and jammed the key deep into the lock and turned. The children and Brittany tumbled into the room in a pile and scrambled to their feet, before they all turned and fought together as one force to get the door closed, which seemed nearly impossible now.
“Push!” Benton helped, and even Lily joined in, and they finally got it shut and locked behind them.
Brittany rushed the children toward the fortified bathroom downstairs, pushing them along a little too forcefully, knowing they had only mere seconds. The kids knew the drill because they’d practiced many times. Their shoes squeaked along the linoleum swiftly and they made a hard turn into the bathroom. Brittany slammed the heavy steel door behind them all and started locking the no less than six deadbolts into place.
With that done, she slapped a hand against the door, still overwrought with adrenaline. Her mother, Brittany thought with a small amount of jealousy, had an actual storm cellar at their farm; an actual basement fortified deep within the earth. But these newer cookie-cutter townhomes had only a fortified space within the house, which was better than nothing, she supposed. Her hands shook as she backed away from the door, listening to the house creak and groan all around them, wondering how many of those funnels would find her and the kids. How many of them would take the path to their house instead of the others?
Brittany’s thoughts grew from anxious to a trembling fear. Would a fortified room be enough? Or would the structure be gone in an instant? If so, would some newscaster talk about how the housing department regretted their decision to not make basements for everyone who lived here?
Something caught the edge of the house, making Brittany and the kids jump at the loud boom, and it was followed by the sound of the gutters being ripped from their place one by one all along the rooftop. Her and the kids’ heads followed the sound around in a circle as if they could see it, as though the image of the thin metal twisting could be pictured above them. There was a loud noise of glass crashing, and Lily screamed as the lights went out, leaving the bathroom in complete darkness.
“Look, see,” Brittany said. “My phone has a light. Don’t worry.”
She glanced at the two pale faces set with wide eyes. “Who wants to play a game?” But neither replied. They just stared at her expectantly.
Brittany sat on the floor and hugged the children under her arms and covered their ears, rocking them while humming a song her mot
her used to sing to her when she was afraid. It was hard not to picture Dorothy in the movie, and the house flying away, forever gone into the mouth of one of those hungry beasts she’d seen tearing up the hillside.
It was doubly hard not to scream herself when the house began to shudder and the thunder boomed right outside the door that was rattling with a vengeance against those measly locks. The walls began to shake all around them and they scooted to the center of the room together. Brittany turned off her phone because the light was helping them see their little hiding place come apart.
Finally, Brittany could take no more. The singing couldn’t be heard over the chaos now, and so she huddled down herself, protecting her and the children’s heads, and she cried, knowing this storm was going to be their end.
Chapter 9
Cybercorp Headquarters
New York City, New York
“Bob, you’ve been with the company, what? Ten years?”
“Five, ma’am.”
“Five then,” Reese says, biting the words through her shiny white teeth. “And you are well on your way to a nice comfy retirement, am I right? You have stock in the company, thanks to your partner Al and his wise decision to invest. He showed you how to make your money work for you, is that right?”
Bob wants to ask why she’s talking like that, like she’s in front of hundreds at a conference and not just him and Al sitting across from her. And also, why is it that Reese Leeward never said just one thing? When she speaks, Bob surmises, it’s so gucked up with layers that it makes his head hurt to try and source the meaning. But instead of pointing it all out and getting canned in a hurry, he nods like a good worker bee and lets her drone on about how he’s in a cushy job now since leaving the marines. Because it isn’t a lie; Cybercorp takes good care of him, the wife, the kids, and now even their grandkids, and he’s got great medical compared to the VA and loads of bonuses and time off at Christmas. But one thing nags at Bob more than any other, and that’s just how far down does Reese’s rabbit hole go?
Reese clasps her hands in front of her. “I know you saw that Brian left us in a hurry. I know you heard the way he spoke to me upon leaving, and I’m certain that you are aware that now, even after all we’ve done for him, the same as we’ve always done with you, Brian has sought out the New York Times and he means to do us harm.”
“I heard him,” Bob says. “But I wasn’t aware of the rest.”
A small crease finds its way perfectly in the middle of Reese’s forehead. “It truly pains me to see him like this,” Reese says, placing her hands in her lap and looking down. She is trying, Bob thinks, to seem sad, or maybe like a normal human might seem about such circumstances, but instead she sort of resembles a beautiful statue that’s about to smile, or laugh, or even scream maybe—the Mona Lisa if in fact the Mona Lisa had the hair and makeup of a severe corporate executive and seemed on the verge of popping a vein if someone crossed her even a little. “But Brian has the idea that we are more than friends, Robert.”
“It’s Bob, ma’am. Uh, Robert was my father.” Bob smiles at his joke and looks at Al. But Al is not smiling; he’s looking at Reese and he’s quite serious.
Bob clears his throat and Reese continues, “Putting it delicately…Bob, he’s taking out personal feelings on the company because I wouldn’t be something more to him. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes,” Al answers for Bob like he’s enraptured by Reese and perhaps is next on her list—a longer list than Bob thinks is proper—of people Reese has “been more than friends with” at Cybercorp.
Bob has a few ways of telling how smart a person is, and Reese seems smart as a whip in ways, he’d give her that. But the fact that she spells out so much to him, as if he’s a simpleton, does tend to make him want to second guess his early assessment. Reese has it in her mind that Bob is as dumb as a box of rocks.
“You wouldn’t want anyone to hurt the company, would you two?” Reese asks, toying with her earring.
Al leans forward. “Most definitely not,” he says vehemently, his heavy Brooklyn accent spilling out, making him sound quick on the draw, while Bob’s twangy sort of drawl no doubt paints a picture of stupidity by comparison.
He thinks about it. He’s had more than enough time being the smart young one with all the ideas. He didn’t take the job to be the best pupil, he took it to hopefully retire in an R.V. with Carry and travel the country. Maybe he’d see the Grand Canyon…
Reese taps a nail on the desk, and even Al is staring at him like he’s grown a head. Bob realizes they’ve been waiting on him to affirm that he doesn’t want anyone to hurt Cybercorp.
Stuffing down a joke about a company having “feelings” to hurt, he says, “No,” but he’s more suspicious than his partner of Reese because he knows she uses words like lures on a fisherman’s line, all shiny and dancing until you have a hook through your nostril.
“Good,” Reese says, and he tries not to feel like a dog who performs a trick. “Because Brian will not only hurt the company, he’d finish it. Everything. Satellites, clean energy, the world even. I mean, what is one man when we are talking about an entire planet of people? Bob, I understand you have some grandbabies?”
“Yes ma’am. Two little toddlers, with one on the way.”
“Boy, I bet she’s busy.”
Bob has to hand it to his boss. She smiles a genuine smile at that. Reese has two children, Bob know that. She has a boy and a girl, both in photographs sitting on her desk, but she’s never mentioned them and he’d bet his next paycheck that she won’t now. It’s not her style to bring up her own personal information. Just yours and then use it against you.
“Tell me, Bob,” Reese says swiveling her chair to the side to show them her perfect profile. “What kind of future will they have if the shade is brought down?”
“Ma’am,” he says, scratching his head. “I’m no scientist. You’ll have to speak plain to me if that’s all right.”
Well, he figures, if she thinks I’m dumb, best not change her perception of me, her lesser mortals or the world around her too hastily.
“Yes,” her eyes are cold as the grave, and they dance across his face seeking one sign that he’s playing her. She’s too smart by half and he’s laying it on too thick. It’s like she knows what Bob knows, and she doesn’t like it. “Speaking of plain.” She slams her palms against the table and pushes to a standing position. “The sun will burn the earth to a crisp without this project. Like that.” She snaps her fingers under Bob’s nose. “We have saved every one of these ungrateful fool’s lives, and the thanks I get?” She laughs a terrible laugh. “A man’s ego before his brains talking to the press, saying everything he can to stop our progress, and what? What then? We just throw it all away? Because I wouldn’t screw him!”
Bob wonders if that’s any way for a lady to speak, but is Reese really a lady? He wonders just how much trouble he’d get into for doing a slow clap for her grand production. She really nailed the ending with a hurt look and everything. Bob had to even wonder a bit if he’d read it wrong before, but he had to slap himself out of it. It’s Reese, full company watchdog, and she was damned good at her job.
“Bob,” she says quietly, beckoning him with soulful eyes. “Your grandkids need us to get a handle on this. They need their grandfather to rise up and stop this before it goes any further. This is their future we’re talking about. And you—their hero. A hero in the war, is that right? Well we need you to be one again. Stop it in its tracks. Stop it dead if you get my meaning. Nothing is too far to save the world for your grandchildren and their grandchildren.”
Bob frowns but Al is already standing. “Yes ma’am,” he says, his face full of resentment for those who’d dare steal the children’s future. “We hear you loud and clear, Ms. Leeward. Come on, Bob, we have a job to do, old man.”
Bob stares at the two bewildered, as their eyes lock, and Reese licks her lips, causing Bob to cringe at the whole act. Al is lapping it all up like
a poor pup next in line while Reese is plotting against the last men she’d tangled with, and the sheets are probably still warm. Brian won’t know what hit him.
Bob can hardly believe it, but he’s nodding his head and following Al out of the office because he can’t imagine saying no to Reese, and that’s exactly what he realizes has happened every single time someone raised a question about the project. They’ve run into Reese’s hard heart and they’ve disappeared.
***
“This is the place,” Al says when they pull up to the small brick house squashed in between two apartment complexes.
Bob feels sick to his stomach, and he hadn’t even asked Al what they plan to do with Brian once they find him because he doesn’t want to know. He tells himself when they get up there that’s when he’ll have the guts to do the right thing. But obviously…not a moment sooner.
Al knocks on the front door though it’s a little too hard if Bob has any say about it. It’s late and he can hear the Walkers stumbling around inside and he pictures them warm during the cold night, having no idea what waits on their porch.
“Brian?” He hears a woman call. “Brian, someone’s at the door.”
She sounds alarmed. How is it that the women always know?
Brian’s still putting his glasses on when he opens the front door, and by the grim set of his mouth when he sees who’s there, he knows it’s not a good visit.
Wisely, he steps outside and shuts the door behind him. “Reese sent you.” He ties his robe and crosses his arms.
“Yes,” Al says, shifting on his feet. “You should’ve never talked to that reporter, Brian. You have a non-disclosure. You know the drill.”
Brian cocks his head. “You think that I don’t have a duty to let everyone know what’s going on? How Reese is going to try to collect the energy from the sun and slowly shut off natural sunlight so that people have to buy it like water?”
