A Dark World: The Complete SpaceMan Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Tom Abrahams

  “Plan,” said Pop.

  “Plan,” said Betty. “It’s a good plan.”

  CHAPTER 28

  MONDAY, JANUARY 27, 2020, 6:54 PM CST

  HIGHWAY 95 ELGIN, TEXAS

  Rick gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. His back ached, his neck was stiff, his head hurt. He was pretty sure he had body odor. And he was certainly tired of Karen’s backseat commentary.

  “It’s been twenty-four hours, Rick,” she said. “You said we’d be there by morning. That was a whole day ago.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked. “I can’t help the checkpoints every fifty miles. I can’t help that Highway 290 was totally blocked at Hempstead. That added hours to the trip.”

  Karen huffed and grumbled. “Still,” she said. “This is ridiculous.”

  Rick didn’t bother answering her. He knew she didn’t really blame him, not rationally. He was a convenient target. He was her favorite target for everything bad in the world.

  He eased off the brake and inched forward. The military had set up impassable checkpoints for anyone wanting to move freely. There were only a couple of working cars or trucks at each of the stops. Most people were on older motorcycles or bicycles. Some were on foot. And while the lines were never long, the guards manning the checkpoints were thorough. Twice, they’d had to empty the contents of the Jeep for inspection and had to argue to keep their weapons.

  It wasn’t the checkpoints that really slowed them, it was the detours. From the multicar collision at Hempstead to the overturned eighteen-wheeler in Giddings, Rick had repeatedly driven miles off course to find his way back to his intended path. Given the delays, they’d stopped a couple of times to stretch their legs, eat, and go to the bathroom.

  Mumphrey thumped Rick on his shoulder. “Hey, you live in Texas back in 2005?”

  “Yeah,” said Rick. “We did.”

  “We were newly married,” Karen said. “Those were happy days. At least I thought we were happy.”

  “You remember Hurricane Rita?” Mumphrey asked, ignoring Karen’s bait. “That huge storm, most intense ever in the Gulf?”

  Rick inched the Jeep forward. “I remember it. It was supposed to push right up I-45 and level Houston.”

  Mumphrey nodded. “Like I said, the most intense ever in the Gulf. It was a nasty category five. All of the news stations told everybody to leave town. Remember that?”

  Rick nodded. “I remember. All of the city leaders were telling people to evacuate. They wanted us to go to Austin or Dallas.”

  “I started to leave,” he said. “Lived in Spring at the time. I got in my truck and got stuck in gridlock five minutes from my house. It was awful. It took me five hours to turn around and get back home.”

  “The storm never hit,” said Rick.

  “Oh, it hit,” said Mumphrey. “It was far to the east and didn’t do the kind of damage they thought it might.”

  “It was crazy,” said Rick. “I remember it was only a few weeks after Hurricane Katrina. That’s what had everyone so spooked.”

  “Yeah,” said Mumphrey. “Well, I said all of that to say this reminds me of that.”

  “No kidding,” said Rick. “I’m ready to be there.”

  A guard waved Rick forward. He took his foot off the brake and let the Jeep idle forward. He rolled down his window and stopped aside the uniformed guard. The guard looked young. His freckled face was lit by the flashlight in his hand until he shone it inside the Jeep, sweeping it across all of the occupants.

  “Hello, sir,” he said. “Could you please cut off your engine?” It was a command more than a question.

  Rick obliged. “I know the drill. You’re our third stop.”

  The guard appeared unimpressed. He spoke loudly with a robotic cadence. “Is this your vehicle, sir? If so, I need to see your identification and your registration or insurance information.”

  Rick reached onto the dash for the registration. He pulled his license from his shirt breast pocket. “Here you go.”

  The guard eyed the documents and then Rick, shining the light in his face. He handed back the papers. “All right, Mr. Walsh. Where are you headed?”

  “Coupland.”

  “What’s in Coupland?”

  “One of my passengers has family there.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Clear Lake.”

  “Clear Lake? Why didn’t you stay there?”

  Rick sighed. He’d answered the question four times already. “There’s more room for everyone in Coupland,” he said. “We decided we would be better off in Coupland.”

  Mumphrey smiled at the guard. “May I ask a question?”

  The guard’s eyes landed on Mumphrey. He backed up a step and aimed the light at him. He didn’t answer.

  “What’s with all of the checkpoints? What are you looking for? Who are you looking for?”

  “We’re just trying to keep the peace, sir,” said the guard. “The current situation has a lot of people nervous.”

  Mumphrey squinted and tried shielding his eyes with his hand. “Like who? I mean, who’s nervous enough to put our men and women in uniform on checkpoints? I don’t get it.”

  “We’re only doing our job, sir,” said the guard. “Police and sheriff’s departments have only so many resources. A lot of people would take advantage of a situation like this. “

  “A situation like what?” Karen asked from the backseat. “What exactly is the situation?”

  The guard flashed the light to the backseat and hesitated. An older-looking guard, likely a superior, made his way to the Jeep. “Is there a problem here?”

  “No problem,” Rick said. “We’re wondering why there are checkpoints.”

  “To ensure safe passage from one powerless spot to the next,” said the guard. He stepped back from the window and scanned the Jeep with his flashlight. “You’re lucky to have a vehicle that works.”

  “Yes, I am,” said Rick. “Can you tell me if it’s clear between here and Coupland? We’re heading north here on ninety-five.”

  “You should be fine,” he said. “There aren’t any more checkpoints between here and Round Rock.”

  The younger guard muttered in the older one’s ear and then pointed to the lane of oncoming traffic. Rick noticed a caravan of headlights moving in his direction.

  “Sir,” said the older guard, “we’re going to let you pass, but I’ll need you to pull over to the side here for a few minutes. We have some high-priority traffic moving through.”

  Rick glanced at the oncoming vehicles. “High-prior—”

  “Sir,” said the guard firmly, “I need you to move now.”

  Without any further dissent, Rick started the Jeep, put it in gear and moved to the right side of the road as the first of the headlights approached the checkpoint. The two guards with whom he’d dealt and another two moved the temporary traffic barrier and waved the vehicle through. Its rumble vibrated the Jeep. It was a large military truck.

  “What’s that look like to you, Mumphrey?” asked Rick as three more large transports barreled past them, heading southwest in the direction from which they’d come. A flatbed vehicle passed, an armored Humvee with its payload.

  “It looks like they’ve got somewhere to be,” said Mumphrey, tugging on his seatbelt shoulder strap. “And they’ve got someone to see.”

  Rick opened his door and hopped out of the Jeep to watch the vehicles pass. As they moved beyond the Jeep, he could see into the open rear hatch of what he now knew were personnel carriers. Inside the trucks, visible in the yellow glow of a cabin light, were helmeted soldiers holding nasty-looking rifles.

  “Mumphrey,” he called over his shoulder, “come see this.”

  Mumphrey hopped from the truck and joined Rick at the driver’s side. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Like I said,” he said above the roar of the convoy, “they’ve got someone to see. All of those fellas are carrying M4s.”

 
“M4s?”

  “It’s a lighter version of the M16 they used to use in training,” said Mumphrey. “It’s their standard rifle.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Rick. “Did you serve?”

  “No,” said Mumphrey. “I tried. They rejected me. I have hereditary anemia. But I do watch a lot of the Military Channel.”

  “So what do you think they’re doing?”

  Mumphrey shook his head. “Like I said, they’re headed somewhere with purpose. I’ve got no doubt about that. Wearing all of their battle rattle, they’ve got a mission. They could be headed to Houston or up to College Station.”

  The convoy stretched as far as Rick could see. There had to be fifty or sixty vehicles from one end to the other. This must be the real reason for the checkpoints. They wanted to make sure their men got to where they needed to be.

  “There are nine or ten military installations between where we are, Austin, and San Antonio,” said Mumphrey. “Fort Hood is pretty far north. All Houston has is Ellington Field. Maybe it’s reinforcements.”

  “For what?” asked Rick. “Aside from the occasional jerk, society is holding together for now.”

  Mumphrey shrugged. “Could be they want them in place for that moment it reaches critical mass and falls apart.”

  “Yeah,” said Rick. “I just hope we find this prepper’s place we’re looking for and we’re not on some wild-goose chase. I don’t want to be fighting our way back to Houston after that moment.”

  “Me neither,” said Mumphrey. “Hey, I think we’re about to see the end of the convoy.”

  Rick noticed the last of the headlights headed in his direction. He and Mumphrey got back into the Jeep.

  “What was that about?” asked Karen. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Rick said.

  Karen rolled her eyes.

  Rick adjusted his rearview mirror and saw Candace with her head back against the seat, her mouth agape. She was out.

  “Hey, Candace,” he said, “I’m gonna need your help. We’re getting close. You’ll need to talk us to the right place.”

  Karen nudged Candace in the arm and she snapped awake, smacked her lips, and blinked her eyes into focus.

  Rick spoke more softly. “You hear me, Candace?”

  She nodded and yawned. “Yes,” she said groggily. “I’m up. Where are we exactly?”

  The guards waved Rick through the open barrier and he shifted the Jeep into gear. He accelerated through the checkpoint and waved at the guards.

  “We’re just north of 290 on Highway 95,” he said. “I’m heading north. We can’t be more than ten miles or so away.”

  “That’ll only take us five hours,” Karen whined.

  Candace rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “All right, I know where we are. I can get us there.”

  CHAPTER 29

  MONDAY, JANUARY 27, 2020, 6:30 PM MST

  DENVER, COLORADO

  Chandra slipped his DiaTab into his back pocket and hustled along the narrow corridor. He checked his watch. He was late. The welcome reception started promptly at 6:30. He wasn’t there yet.

  He followed the markings on the walls, retracing his steps back to the elevator that had brought him to his new home deep beneath the earth. He made a right turn, almost skipping as he picked up speed. He wasn’t so worried about the possible consequences of being late, but he didn’t want to miss anything important. Chandra had reached a full sprint by the time he got to the elevator. He punched the call button on the wall to the right of the gleaming stainless steel doors and then punched it again. The floor indicator above the doors told him the car was on its way down, but it wasn’t moving quickly enough. He was bent over at his waist, trying to catch his breath, when a chime signaled its arrival and the doors slid open. A uniformed guard was standing inside at the controls.

  “Feed level?” he asked, one eyebrow raised higher than the other. “The welcome reception?”

  The guard pressed the button for level two and the doors slid shut with a whoosh.

  Chandra rested against the back wall of the elevator with his hands on his hips. The elevator surged upward and he felt it in his knees. He breathed in and out through his nose, trying to regulate his heart rate. He self-consciously touched his soft belly, thinking about how he hadn’t cared about his health since Anila left him. If nothing else, perhaps the apocalypse would be good for weight loss.

  The elevator clanked to a stop. The doors whooshed open to reveal a brightly lit lobby. The guard nodded at Chandra and the scientist exited the car. The doors closed behind him and a pleasant-looking woman greeted him. She was dressed in a sleek black dress, her hair pulled tightly into a bun. She was holding a larger version of the DiaTab and reminded Chandra of a hostess at a chichi restaurant, checking reservations. Chandra looked over her shoulder and saw a line of people filtering through a set of doors at the opposite end of the lobby. There were five other women dressed in identical dresses, their hair also in buns, standing closer to the doors, each of them holding tablets.

  The woman shifted her weight, drawing Chandra’s attention back to her eyes. “Hello,” she said with a broad, toothy smile. “Welcome to the reception. Could you please hold up your DiaWatch? Turn the face toward me.”

  Chandra looked down at his wrist and then raised it up for the woman to see. She aimed a lens on the back of her DiaTab at the watch face and tapped her tablet screen. Chandra could see the reflection of light from the tablet change in her eyes. She scanned whatever it was on the screen and then looked back up, her smile returning.

  “Dr. Vihaan Chandra?”

  “Yes.”

  She tapped the screen with her impeccably manicured fingers. “Excellent. And you are a resident of our Intact Level 5 here in Building 3?”

  “Yes.”

  She tapped the screen twice more. “Wonderful. How are you enjoying your stay with us so far?”

  Chandra curled his brow. The question was absurd. This wasn’t a resort in Aspen or a cruise along the Mexican Riviera. This was an underground bunker designed to preserve humanity. She must have caught his dislike of the question because she tapped the screen and rephrased it. Her eyes left his and moved from right to left as she read from the tablet. “Are your accommodations acceptable?”

  Chandra thought it better not to quibble. “Yes. The room is very nice.”

  She looked up from the tablet after pressing it again. “Outstanding. That’s wonderful to hear. Do you have any questions?”

  Questions? I have a million of them. I doubt, however, you would answer any of them. And if you did, you’d probably tap something into that tablet of yours, marking me as a malcontent.

  Chandra returned the smile and shook his head. “No, but thank you for asking.”

  “Fantastic. If you’ll follow me, please, Dr. Chandra, I’ll escort you to the welcome reception. It’s beyond those doors in our dining room here on the Feed Level. They may have already started, but I doubt you’ve missed much.”

  The woman tucked her tablet under one arm and glided toward the doors at the back of the lobby. She moved swiftly and Chandra pushed himself to keep pace. They brushed past the other bunbots and she pulled open one of the large doors leading into the dining room, motioning for him to enter. “Thank you, Dr. Chandra. You may sit wherever you please.”

  Chandra thanked the woman and crossed into the cavernous space to the sound of applause. Like the lobby, it was brightly lit. At the front of the room were a riser and a lectern. Someone was waving to the assembled residents and leaving her position at the microphone. Another person was taking her place, adjusting the lectern to prepare for her presentation. There were dozens of circular dining tables dotting the room, each draped with a black tablecloth. The room smelled like a mixture of baked goods and steamed vegetables. It was at once appetizing and nauseating, and the odor transported Chandra back to elementary school and the cramped lunch room, where aproned workers slung slop onto hungry childre
n’s Styrofoam plates.

  Farther into the room was a long buffet to one side. There was a line of people carrying cafeteria trays, awaiting their turns at the steaming trough. A few of them played with their DiaTabs while they waited.

  Chandra found a chair at an empty table at the back of the room and sat. The rising din of clanging utensils and glasses and the soft murmur of conversation stopped when the speaker began to talk. She was in a uniform similar to Van Cleaf’s and stood at the lectern with her hands behind her back. She stood ramrod straight and spoke with a seriousness Chandra hadn’t yet heard from any of the other handlers. Her image was projected on a pair of screens flanking the riser. The woman seemed to wear a tattooed grimace on her face and Chandra wondered how long it had been since she had smiled, if in fact she ever had.

  “Welcome,” the woman said. “I’d like to pretend that I am happy you are here with us. I am not. Your presence means we are facing an extinction-level event. It means society is on the brink of collapse and that anyone you know who is not here likely won’t survive very long.”

  The woman paused and the crowd grew restless. The murmur grew louder until she silenced it.

  “All right,” she said flatly. “That’s enough. I understand your concerns. I’m aware that what I’m telling you isn’t easy to hear. My job isn’t to candy coat what’s happening, it’s not to put on a smile and ask you if you’re comfortable. Rather, it’s to inform you of the harsh reality of our situation and that of those left behind.”

  The woman cleared her throat. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room. Nearly everyone, even those in line for food, was paying attention now. The ding of flatware disappeared. The room was virtually silent.

  “You are aware that on 24 January, we experienced the effects of what is called a coronal mass ejection, or CME. In layman’s terms, it is a blast of magnetic radiation from the sun that can interfere with our communication and electrical grids. This CME was the strongest in recorded history and the Earth took a direct hit.”

  Chandra leaned forward onto the table. His eyes were on the large projection to the left of the podium. The presenter scowled. The soft skin under her eyes was swollen thick and purple. Thin red lines spider webbed the whites of her eyes. He imagined she hadn’t slept and had spent much of her time since 24 January working to pull off whatever this place truly was.