Jubilee Year: A Science Fiction Thriller (Erelong Book 1)

by Gerard O'Neill

  Storm peered down at the chrome cage that housed the propeller. “I wouldn’t like to be caught in a cross wind with that on my back,” he said. “It would be like riding a scooter down the motorway in Sydney.”

  “If you can pilot a plane, you can strap yourself into a paramotor and make it fly. I’ve seen them do it on YouTube.”

  Storm laughed. “You’ve never actually flown one though, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t flown one myself,” Darren said slowly.

  He wasn’t going to let Storm dismiss the significance of the discovery. “But, like you said before—you can check out a lot more of the ground from up there.”

  Storm shook his head. “I don’t know…”

  “Never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that,” Darren told him.

  Storm stood up. The fumes inside the hangar made him nauseous.

  “Alright. Let’s get them on the truck.”

  The supermarket had been ransacked ahead of their arrival. Shelves once stocked with containers of water stood empty. So they collected what provisions they could find and cram onto the remainder of the deck and set off to see what remained of Coona and to siphon some diesel along the way.

  Storm’s neighborhood was a burned out wasteland. He could see straight through the blackened flatland of neat squared off blocks.

  Darren was not interested in returning to find what remained of his own home.

  “What would be the point of sifting through ashes?” he asked them, and he turned to Storm. “Let’s check to see if your old man is home.”

  So, their last stop was to be Pete’s house.

  When he climbed back into the cab, Storm didn’t say a word to either of them. “Bloody fumes in that hangar were bad,” he mumbled as he rubbed at his eyes.

  He was having trouble keeping his shit together. Going back to the house, as it turned out, had not been the best idea. At least now he knew for sure that Pete had never returned home. All Storm had brought back with him from the house was a book.

  “A friend left it on the kitchen table for Dad to read. Thought I might as well have a read myself, though it looks like heavy going.”

  “Can I see?” Darren asked and he lifted the book from Storm’s open hands without waiting for a reply.

  He read the blurb on the back and turned it over.

  “The Russian Revolution and the Unfinished 20th Century.”

  He was about to start telling them about that period in history when he opened the front cover.

  “Is your friend’s name Alistair?”

  “Yeah. Alistair—that’s right.”

  Darren held the front cover open as he stared at the first page.

  “So—that’s different. Look!”

  Storm had turned around for one last look at the front of Pete’s house as Matthew turned the truck. He had the silly idea that by actually doing so he might actually catch Pete walking up the street.

  The soccer ball still was still wedged between the legs of the chair on the porch, right where Summer had booted it. Pete never did bother much with keeping the front of the place tidy. The bent metal screen was always going to hang from its frame, until weeds or fire enveloped it.

  “Hey, Storm!” Darren called once again to get his attention .

  “What?” Storm said, turning away from the window.

  “This is odd.”

  “What is?”

  Darren had his finger below the scribble next to Alistair’s name.

  “That’s a phone number,” he said, peering down at the open book in Darren’s hands. “That would be pretty useless to us now.”

  “That’s too short for a phone number, isn’t it?”

  “Are you asking me?” Storm snapped. Darren was irritating the hell out of him all over again.

  “Well, it can’t be a phone number, can it? There are both letters and numbers, and anyway, there aren’t enough to make a phone number.”

  “I dunno—I give up,” Storm replied, staring at Alistair’s scribble.

  “It’s a call sign used by a ham radio operator,” Darren declared triumphantly. “He’s given you a way to contact him for when that day comes you can no longer make phone calls.”

  He handed the book back to Storm.

  “And, dude, it looks like those days have arrived.”

  Storm opened the cover and looked at Alistair’s scribble.

  “I suppose you know about ham radio too, huh?”

  Darren nodded.

  “Just the basic stuff. But...”

  He stopped as he realized he would have to start from scratch, and even then, they would need to be actually listening to what he had to say. He knew the day was coming when they would be listening.

  Short And Sharp

  Michael collapsed onto the gravel drive and stared up at the gray sky. It took a moment before he came to his senses and he sat up. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead from a fresh gash above his hairline. He saw Darren backing down the path toward the Ute still loaded with paramotors and generators. He was dragging Penny behind him by a fistful of her hair.

  She struggled to break free. She twisted and clawed at Darren’s fingers but it was no use.

  Darren was resolute. This was the opportunity he needed. Fate had given him this day, and he had grabbed the gift with both hands. He turned to wave the handgun at the group that hurried to help Michael to his feet.

  “The next time anyone comes at me like that—I’ll bloody well shoot them dead,” he shouted.

  Why the stupid, uncomprehending looks on their faces?

  “This is what we do now!” He yelled, surprised at the emotion he heard in his voice.

  Darren saw Storm turn on his heels and strode to the house. He scowled and leveled the weapon at Storm’s back.

  “No, Darren,” Stella screamed. “Don’t!”

  It was the blare of the Bushmaster’s horn that caused Darren to glance over his shoulder instead of pulling the trigger. He took aim at the troop carrier turning into the farm gate. Things were getting out of hand.

  At the speed Bushmaster was traveling, they would smack into the back of the Ute. He fired, but the truck did not slow. He fired again, and this time he grunted with satisfaction when he heard the twang of the bullet striking metal.

  Inside the cab, Taylor braked hard on the gravel. The tires slid until the carrier came to a stop midway down the long drive. He glanced at Cameron. The corporal was staring down at the display, looking for a clear line of fire. A single shot from the .50 caliber might take out Penny along with Darren. If anyone could hit the target without incurring collateral damage, it would be Kwong.

  Darren glanced down at Penny to check if she had noticed.

  “Not bad shooting, if I do say so myself.”

  He let go of Penny’s hair and locked his arm around her chest to pull her upright. She would be his shield until he reached the driver’s door of the Ute where the load on the back of the truck blocked Cameron’s view of the two of them.

  “Why, man?” Matthew called to Darren as he helped Michael to his feet.

  “Look around you!” Darren shouted as he bundled Penny into the cab. “It’s over!”

  “How are you going to survive out there without help?” Aunty cried out.

  “I have the truck and I can barter for anything I need. You lot can go into the town and get whatever you want. So you’re okay too.”

  “You don’t need my daughter,” Michael pleaded, his voice breaking.

  “You mean she doesn’t need you anymore, old man,” Darren laughed. “You’ve had her long enough.”

  Michael shrugged off Matthew’s helping hands and staggered up the path. He stopped when he reached the gate to lean on a post.

  “I don’t want to shoot you, Michael,” Darren called out.

  With the weight of his body pinning Penny to the bench seat, he had opened the window of the passenger door. He was unwilling to shatter it with a bullet.

  “You sta
y where you are,” Darren warned as he fastened the seat belt across Penny.

  At the sight of Storm running from the house with the farmer’s old roo gun held at his waist, Darren pressed the muzzle of the gun to Penny’s forehead.

  Michael swung his arm in front of Storm to hold him at the gate.

  “Oh, come on, Storm,” Darren called out. “Haven’t I done enough? You owe me!”

  Storm pushed Michael aside and walked in front of the truck. When he spoke his voice was quiet and his tone measured.

  “Darren, you are best to let Penny go.”

  “No!” Darren said, surprised once more by the emotion he heard in his own voice. “You listen for a change! Penny is coming with me.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. When he saw the reaction in Storm’s face, he smiled.

  “Don’t worry. I will look after her much better than you ever did.”

  “Let her go,” Storm repeated.

  He pressed against the front of the truck, using the Bull Bars to rest his elbows and took aim.

  “What are you doing? What if when you shoot me, my finger pulls this trigger? You will be to blame for what happens next!”

  Penny stared tearfully through the windscreen at Storm and shook her head.

  “Don’t risk it, Storm,” Darren told him through the open side window. “There are no more doctors. No more hospitals. If anyone gets hurt bad, they’re going to die.”

  Darren started the engine, but Storm stood his ground, pressing cheek to the rifle. Darren tapped the accelerator, intending to rev the motor and give Storm a scare. To get him to jump out of the way.

  Once he turned the truck around, there would still be the one large military carrier to negotiate in the driveway but that wasn’t a big deal. With the Bull Bars at the front he would be able to drive right through the fence, across the field, then through the fence again and onto the road. He hesitated. No! This was about him and Storm. He wasn’t going to give way to anyone. Not anymore. Not in this world. If Storm was staying put, he would drive right over him.

  The accelerator mechanism no longer worked smoothly. It was filled with the dust and grit of countless hours traveling the country roads. He made another mistake, he had put the truck into gear without realizing. When Darren tapped the stiff pedal, the truck leaped forward.

  Caught by surprise, he swore and stamped on the brake. Too late. Storm had disappeared under the front. He slammed the truck into reverse and backed up until he saw Storm’s legs. That wasn’t meant that to happen he told Penny.

  Storm was stunned by the report from the gun more than he was being struck by the front end of the truck. He clambered to his feet, still clenching the rifle, and saw that Darren was scrabbling inside the cab. He had dropped the handgun.

  Storm ejected the spent shell and closed the bolt. He saw Darren straighten up.

  Darren once more had the pistol in his hand and once more he pressed the muzzle to Penny’s head.

  Storm saw the gunman lean across the seat until his hostage was pinned against her side door. He felt the warm gunmetal against his cheek.

  “Do it!” Summer told him.

  He glanced over and saw that she was standing beside him.

  “I can’t!” He moaned.

  “Do it, before he does!”

  The recoil thumped his shoulder, the front window of the truck exploded, and a black spot appeared in Darren’s throat.

  Summer was at the passenger door. When she opened it Penny flipped off her safety belt and pushed herself off the seat. She slipped from the cab and landed in the gravel. Her weight was too much for a twelve-year-old girl to hold and the two of them sprawled in the driveway.

  Penny knew a bullet was about to strike her, and she could not move. It was a single instant of recognition—when time appeared to stop.

  Storm reached up for the door handle and instinctively took a step back when it swung open.

  Darren had a hand to his throat, attempting to stem the flow of blood. The bullet had entered him just below the chin and to the side. A few days earlier it would have been survivable if he was able to get emergency help in enough time.

  His mouth opened and closed as he tried to speak. All that came out was a breathy bubbling sound. He clutched the handgun to his chest with his free hand and stared in surprise at Storm. He had really done it.

  Storm chambered his last bullet and raised the rifle once more to his shoulder. He heard the wounded man gurgle a single word. It sounded as though he might have said the word sorry.

  Storm’s mind was a blank. He was a spectator watching himself go through the actions. As if it was not he who spoke with a guttural snarl.

  “I warned you!”

  Darren wanted to say the words he had on his mind for Storm to hear, but nothing recognizable came out of his mouth. He gave up trying and pressed the muzzle of the handgun under his chin.

  The force of the shot whipped the man’s head back so that he sat upright before the lifeless body toppled across the seat.

  Storm couldn’t hear the crunch of boots on gravel. There was only an awful hissing like a cornered snake, and there was the sound of dripping and he knew it came from Darren.

  “Are you hurt?” Michael asked as he lifted the rifle from the boy’s hands.

  Ocean rollers thundered and the world shook. Everything was red at sunset. He stopped at the gate and felt Stella’s arms envelop him.

  She kissed him on the head, and buried her face in his hair.

  “Come on, son. Let’s go into the house, eh?”

  A little later, Summer stood alone on the path watching Kwong and Taylor pull the body from the cab, and set it down on the grassy verge. She spat in the dirt and turned away to follow the others.

  They had found the farmer’s winter firewood stacked in the shed. The fireplace was large enough to sustain the kind of fire that heated the entire house to the point they were perspiring. There was not a real need for a big fire. The night was cooler than usual, but it wasn’t cold. The reason they gathered around the hearth was for comfort alone.

  Michael passed a mug to Cameron. “Your men are okay with the cottage?”

  “Yeah. Better than good.”

  “Mm,” Michael nodded. “You didn’t say why you came back so soon?”

  Cameron looked down at the hot tea in his mug. The images of what he saw at the camp were vague and he didn’t mind that at all. He didn’t want to remember. But it was a bit like picking at a scab, because he couldn’t help but try.

  “There was nothing left. Even the forest—all flattened and burned out.”

  “You think anyone might have escaped?” Michael asked.

  “The meteoroids did some hellish damage,” Cameron replied. “From what we saw the barracks got hammered… I can’t remember seeing a wall that was still standing.”

  “But do you think any of them survived?”

  “We saw tracks made by vehicles. So we knew a few escaped, but later on, we found them. They had been trapped by the firestorm.”

  “So it looks like no one at all escaped?” Michael persisted.

  Cameron gazed up at him.

  “Maybe and maybe not.”

  “We want to say goodnight,” Summer told him, her face lit warm by the light of the candle Stella held.

  Storm sat on the edge of his bed. He could see Matthew sprawled, already asleep, on the other bed, opposite him Storm gave two in the doorway a tired wave.

  “Goodnight,” Stella whispered. “Try to get some sleep.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mom,” Storm said. “I’m alright.”

  “We know,” Stella told him. “Love you.”

  Storm called out to his sister. “I saw you pull Penny from the truck. Dad would have been proud of you.”

  She tossed her head back. “I want you to know something, bro.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re my hero.”

  “Hey. Come here kid a
nd let me give you a hug.”

  “Nah. We gotta be tough.”

  “Like we always were, right? We can still hug.”

  “Can we?”

  “Sure.”

  She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck.

  “I was hoping you would say that.”

  Much later, in the pitch black of the night, Storm closed his eyes and watched the images jerk about in front of him, like pictures on a pack of cards being flicked through by a diabolical dealer. He opened his eyes again. Sleep came easier to him when he stared into the darkness.

  Michael opened the liquor cabinet, his eyes settling immediately on the bottle of Black Label. He waved it in front of Cameron.

  “I’ve no idea how long this one’s been open, but it should still have a kick to it.”

  “Let’s do it more damage,” Cameron said.

  He watched the astronomer splash the whiskey into two tumblers.

  Michael raised his glass, and they clinked rims in a toast to their survival and gasped after they downed the raw spirit.

  Outside the night was still enough to believe things were normal, except for the biting cold in the middle of summer, except for the burning candles, and the painful images that lurked, ready to fall upon them whenever they relaxed their guard.

  “Can you tell me what’s happening?” Cameron asked.

  “I have theories, but without enough evidence to support any of them,” Michael told him.

  “You either know or you don’t,” the corporal said with a frown.

  Michael refilled their tumblers and sat back in his chair.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m just not certain of anything anymore—well, perhaps I am certain of one thing.”

  Cameron leaned forward. He needed more than a straw of hope to cling to.

  “Like I told the sergeant. I think a small intruder solar system has entered our own with a dark star at its center. It comes through here every few thousand years and messes things up. I think before it leaves, it will cross our path as it swings around the Sun. That’s when its magnetic influence on our planet will be at its strongest.

  “I think that small, dense, invisible star will snatch us from the Sun’s grasp. Then, the magnetic influence lessens with distance as it moves into perihelion just like a comet would. At that point we escape its grip and fall back into the Sun’s influence. At those two times, the surface of Earth will undergo a sudden violent shift. The second will be the worse the first.”