Torn

by Druga, Jacqueline

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bret, I thought we were going to be a team. A partnership. A commitment. I saw us going into the end of the world as a couple. When you have someone on your side, someone beside you, you can get through anything.”

  “Darius, I don’t know what transpired in that week or so we were alone. I don’t know how we went from friends to making a commitment. We must have been through a lot.”

  “We were.”

  “But I do know that during this last month, I can see why we made that decision. And do you know how many times in the past month I just wanted to give in and say, let’s hook up?”

  “Why didn’t you?” he asked.

  “I was afraid that the moment I made my move that was the moment you’d say, ‘Ha! Gotcha’.”

  Darius rolled his eyes. “I told you it wasn’t a joke.”

  “I believe it now,” Bret said.

  “So what does this mean?” Darius asked. “You and I are gonna be committed?”

  “We already are,” Bret folded her hands on the table. “I’m pregnant.”

  25. Preparing the Future

  Martin was able to shower when he arrived on the air craft carrier but wasn’t given that much time. He was shuffled for sixteen hours straight.

  From the carrier, to a plane, to Hawaii, then straight to Washington, DC.

  No one knew anything nor told him anything.

  He figured he was in some sort of trouble when a car arrived at the airport and took him away at high speed.

  Washington. The Pentagon.

  A police escort.

  It was when the woman in the car handed him his uniform that he realized he wasn’t in trouble.

  He changed in the car, which was difficult.

  Never did he expect the car to pull up to the White House.

  Again, escorted without answers.

  He was brought to the Joint Chiefs meeting room, where three other generals greeted him, along with the Secretary of State and Chief of Staff.

  What was going on?

  He almost hated to ask.

  The President walked in.

  Like everyone else he stood.

  President David Greene was wearing a presidential tee shirt and jeans. Carrying a folder he nodded to the men and instructed, “Be seated.”

  But before Greene took his seat, he shook hands with Martin. “General Myers.”

  “Mr. President, it is an honor.”

  Greene half-smiled and sat down. “You may not think that when you hear why you’re here.”

  ‘Uh-oh’ wouldn’t have been the professional response, so Martin just nodded and took his seat.

  “I’ll make this brief,” Greene said. “Then everyone else can fill you in and get you situated.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re aware of the Paris flare, obviously.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you aware of the other events that have taken place globally, General?”

  “The events, sir?”

  “Geological events,” Karnes said. “Bird problems, earthquakes, tectonic plate shifts. A volcano in freaking Albany, New York.”

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “Are you aware that there is going to be a global summit regarding these changes and what we can do to prevent further catastrophes?”

  Martin cleared his throat before speaking. “Yes, sir. I was not aware that a solution was being sought. I was just aware as most of the public is that the summit is to determine what is happening.”

  “Correct, but if we can change something we will. I doubt it. And by the way you cleared your throat and hesitated, you doubt it too.”

  “If it’s geological, then how can it be changed?”

  Greene nodded. “This is obviously a chain of events leading to something big. We’re planning on the worst case scenario and on something big. Right now we have initiated a survival program which my Chief of Staff will fill you in on once I leave. We don’t know exactly what this is leading to. Our scientists speculate, other scientists speculate. What we are hoping to accomplish with the summit is to bring all the great minds together, all the speculation together and make one determination.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The big one is the finale. Excuse my language, but a lot of our top minds believe shit is gonna hit the fan globally until then. You are here to one, be at the conference, listen and report. Two, be in charge of a command center that will monitor the global happenings via our troops and stations around the world. You will keep track of these happenings. Some of these can lead to national security.”

  “Allow me to clarify?” Martin asked.

  The president nodded.

  “You’re talking about a command center to monitor everything. And I’m only to oversee this and report.”

  “We may need to send troops. Things may happen in our own country. You’ll work closely with FEMA for troop support. This will be removed from the state hands for now and placed into your hands. This will now be a matter of national interest. You’ll start immediately.”

  “May I ask, sir, with many much more qualified people available, why I was chosen? I mean this is an honor. But I’ve only just begun my first Theater of Operation.”

  “Yes you have,” Karnes responded. “And I don’t mind you asking why I chose you to monitor and command a situation as big as this. Yes, you are correct. There are many more qualified. But you, General, are the best one for this job. I chose you personally, and chose you not just because of your determination, record and skill. But on this . . . .” he opened a folder and lifted from it a huge bound manuscript. “Did you not write this thesis in college?”

  The manuscript slid his way and Martin looked at the typed title.

  Greene read the title out loud. “A Thesis by Martin Myers. Monitoring the Global Events on the Path to the Next Extinction-Level Event.” The president smiled. “Long title.”

  Martin nodded.

  “Do you realize, General, twenty-six years ago you wrote about a lot of possible events that have already occurred?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You theorize on a lot of different scenarios,” Karnes said. “Your research is phenomenal.”

  “I enjoyed writing that.”

  “And it shows. Good reading. Good work. You don’t need to ask again why you’re the best one for the job or why you were chosen. This speaks for itself.” The president stood up. “Good luck.”

  As Greene left the office as abruptly as he entered, even standing, Martin’s eyes kept going to his thesis. How he dismissed it when he wrote it and thought no more about it.

  There it was again. His past was his future.

  ***

  The Paris flare triggered an electromagnetic pulse, which in turn blacked out most of Europe. The widespread power outage caused a martial law to go into effect in the countries afflicted. Panic and chaos, along with violence, ensued. An immediate exodus began out of London.

  Chuck was enthralled by the news. He watched it all the time. Every moment he could, down to watching it on his phone.

  He wanted to go to Europe, but the Johnstown paper didn’t have the funds to send him.

  Besides, the fires still smoldered and no one was able to get close to Paris at all.

  Like a forest fire raging out of control, experts gathered to figure out a way to put out the fires.

  The focus in the United States was on the conference. Like with everything, things returned to normal after a day or two. When the commercials came back into the news programs, people returned to their lives.

  Chuck would have rather been watching the television.

  Even though he was fortunate enough to be privileged to scientific knowledge, he wanted to hear what everyone else had to say.

  He was still in shock over the news of Bret’s pregnancy and how Darius and Colin weren’t lying to her about their relationship. He didn’t know what shocked him more, Bret and Darius or the fact th
at Bret actually had sex.

  The last thing he wanted to do was go out. But he did. He finished his story about the Siamese twin dogs and headed down to the West Virginia-Pennsylvania border to meet Bret.

  She was already there holding a table at the Hub-a-Nub Saloon.

  Perhaps Chuck should have known by the name what to expect. But he came right from the dog interview and hadn’t thought much about it.

  Country music twanged loudly on the jukebox. The all-wood atmosphere really aided it in making it a country music bar. An old-fashioned bar, with a pool table, juke box, and round tables for sitting that enhanced the feel. A small dance floor separated the small stage with a tree of three spotlights.

  “Tell me again why I’m here.” Chuck kissed Bret on the cheek.

  “Darius is playing a set tonight.”

  “He couldn’t play in Pittsburgh?” Chuck asked.

  “He needs a country feel.”

  “Great. I am so out of place here,” Chuck said. “I am a black man, in a suit, in a hick bar.”

  Bret snickered. “The suit is too much.”

  “I just came from work. But it’s not the suit, Bret. I’m the only black man here.”

  “You won’t be for long, Bobby is coming.”

  “Bobby doesn’t know he’s black. So I’ll still be the only black man.”

  “That’s because it’s country music. How many black people do you know listen to country music.”

  Chuck shrugged.

  “Bobby does,” Bret said.

  “As I said before he doesn’t know he’s black.” He paused. “So Bruce and Bobby are coming?”

  Bret nodded. “Along with Colin and Grace. They should be here any second.”

  “What’s up with Darius’ mother?”

  “What do you mean? She’s very nice.”

  “Yeah, but so uncouth.”

  “That’s terrible”

  “It’s the truth,” Chuck said. “Of course, she’ll love it here.” He ran his shoe across the peanut shells. “Look at this floor.”

  “It’s atmosphere.”

  “It’s unclean. Where is Darius?”

  “He’s back stage talking to the bar owner.”

  “He’s not gonna come out and sing wearing shit-kicker boots, a fringe shirt, and a cowboy hat, is he?”

  “No.” Bret chuckled.

  “I’d have to laugh if he did. Possibly make fun.”

  “That’s better than bitching.”

  “I do that well.”

  “You do.”

  “How are you feeling?” Chuck asked.

  “Good.”

  “Any memories?”

  “Not of sex with Darius.”

  “So you are having memories.”

  Bret bit her lip.

  “What?”

  “Okay, it’s not a memory, it’s an impression.”

  “An impression.”

  Bret nodded. “A feeling.”

  “So how do you know it’s memory related?”

  “Because I know how Blain died.”

  “Continue.”

  “I keep having nightmares, and I can’t explain it. It’s the same nightmare, and this dream has actually sparked a phobia in me. I worry about it all the time.”

  “What? Jumping from planes? Trains?”

  “Chihuahuas.”

  Chuck coughed. “Chihuahuas?”

  “Yeah, why is that?”

  Chuck laughed. “Ask Darius.”

  “Do you know?”

  “Ask Darius. I need a drink.” He started to laugh again, standing. “Do you want one?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Have a glass of wine. It’s good for your uterus.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged and watched Chuck. She jumped at the kiss to her cheek. "Look at you spreading affection.”

  “I like it,” Darius sat down. “Where’s Chuck going?”

  “Getting us a drink.”

  “Me and him.”

  “No, him and me.”

  “You can’t drink. You’re pregnant,” Darius said.

  “Chuck said wine is good for my uterus.”

  “What does Chuck know?”

  “More about pregnancy than you. He had two kids. Plus, I had kids, I drank with Luke. Wine.”

  “Look at Luke.”

  “Hey . . . .”

  Colin, who had arrived, interceded, “Luke is a fine boy who is well on his way to being the next great scientific mind of our world. Of course . . .” Colin pulled out a chair. “There’s not going to be much competition.”

  “Where’s Grace?” Bret asked.

  “At the bar getting drinks. She said she wanted to go speak to the token black man.” Colin chuckled.

  Darius said. “Colin, Chuck is getting her wine. Tell her she can’t drink.”

  “Sure she can. Wine is good for the uterus.”

  Bret smiled smugly and held out her hand. “There you have it.”

  Darius grunted. “I have to go play.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “Before you go. Chuck said you’d know. Why am I having nightmares about Chihuahuas?”

  The corner of Darius’ mouth raised in a smile and he walked away.

  Bret’s mouth dropped open.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Colin patted her hand. “He probably doesn’t want you to remember.”

  “I want to. I want to know why I am having the dream.”

  “What’s the dream?”

  “Just this Chihuahua yapping viciously. I’m scared in the dream then all of a sudden I see blood.”

  “Hmm,” Colin nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Then please tell me.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Only if you promise not to let it disturb you.”

  “I promise.”

  Colin took a deep breath. “When you were on that plane, a woman had a dog, a Chihuahua. You managed to save it, Bret. You tucked it in your arms when you jumped from the plane.”

  “Ah.” She smiled. “That was nice of me.”

  “Yes. But then you were lost in the woods without food and Darius roasted it over an open fire.”

  Bret shrieked.

  “Sorry.”

  “Did I . . . did I eat it?” She asked.

  “You were starving . . . .”

  Bret shrieked again.

  “Darius said you ate more than him.”

  Bret covered her mouth. Her stomach turned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  Chuck returned and set the wine down. “What’s wrong?”

  Colin replied, "I was just explaining the Chihuahua story and why she could be having nightmares.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s a great story. I don’t get the nightmares, though.” Chuck said. “I mean Darius said you loved every second of it.”

  At that point Bret, hand tightly over her mouth, raced way.

  Darius saw and came to the table. “What’s wrong with Bret?”

  Colin answered. “Well I told her about the Chihuahua and how you blew it up. Way to go, Dare-Dare, you have now made her vomit.”

  “Great. Just great. The head-injury-Bret gets sick, while the pre-head-injury-Bret sang my praises.”

  “Why don’t you remind her when she gets back how much she worshiped your quick thinking and survivor skills?”

  “You know what? I will. I’ll remind her. Thanks. Gotta play.” Darius returned to the stage and picked up the guitar.

  Colin grinned arrogantly.

  Curious upon seeing his expression, Chuck asked. “What is so funny?”

  All but in a full blown gloating mode, Colin shook his head. ‘If you only knew.”

  ***

  It was about two in the morning when Martin arrived at the Arizona site. It was project constructed in the late nineteen nineties in the event of meteor impact. Construction stopped shortly after the war on terror began and it wasn’t continued

  Until that moment.

  Multitudes of trucks were present going in an
d out of the Cavarness project. Martin’s headquarters were a command center constructed in the side of the mountain.

  He was taken to his room first where he left his belongings and then to the project command center.

  The project was named GEP, Global Extinction Project. It still wasn’t a complete setup, but a technician there said the monitoring staff would be arriving at dawn and the equipment, though probably needing tweaking, would be operational by noon.

  Where to even begin?

  Not only was Martin in charge of monitoring the events, he was in charge of overseeing the survival project as well. The specs for the survival city were left on Martin’s bed.

  After taking a quick tour of the facility and realizing he’d need to tour it again after he had some rest, he went to his room.

  A bottle of bourbon was left on his night stand and he poured himself a shot’s worth to sip.

  He kicked back on his bed, drink in hand and flipped open the construction plans.

  A lot of what was amended was what he had suggested was needed in his thesis.

  He was high seventy percent of the time he wrote that thesis; he chuckled at that thought, remembering his youth and how he believed marijuana opened his mind more.

  Now the product of a stoned young man was being used as a guidance tool for a national project.

  Even laying on his bed, in the command center, encased in the GEP, Martin didn’t understand the whys of it all.

  Perhaps the president was just trying to get a grip on all that was going to happen.

  It was obvious he was trying to ensure that an extinction event would not take place.

  Martin knew a survival city wasn’t needed to ensure the human race would go on. A general, running operations in some mountain, was obsolete in the final stages of survival. The human race was self-equipped with a survival mechanism. No matter what, no matter how, government project or not, the will to live would supersede the cause to die, and when it was all said and done, there would be people left to carry on.

  26. Making Points

  July 28th

  He didn’t realize it, but when Sgt. Mann felt the breeze hit him, he needed it. He closed his eyes and basked in the four-second glory. For a second, a split second, it chilled the sweat on his brow and he had relief.