by Bobby Akart
Nonetheless, Washington didn’t need an open, very public conflict with Moscow over her death. Robinson was charged with containing the truth, and he did. Now the final loose end to the saga, Gunner Fox, was AWOL.
When Mission Control lost communications with the spacecraft prior to the intercept point, Robinson became concerned there had been a malfunction. Make no mistake, he wanted Major Fox to succeed. He wanted every single nuclear missile on the Starhopper to find its mark to obliterate the asteroid.
He just didn’t want Gunner Fox to return alive.
When communications were never reestablished, and the Starhopper failed to reemerge from the multiple nuclear blasts, Robinson quietly slipped back into his office and poured himself a glass of bourbon. And then another, providing himself a triumphant toast for killing two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.
Then Mark Foster interrupted his celebratory moment with the news. The buzz was killed and the sober reality revealed itself. An amateur astronomer, one of millions enjoying the spectacular light show provided by the meteors burning up in the atmosphere, was certain he’d seen the Starhopper fly over his home on the Yucatán Peninsula in the general direction of South America.
Fortunately, he was interviewed by the micromanaging Foster directly, who immediately reported the information to Robinson. As a result, that Friday afternoon had been extraordinarily busy. Ordering the unfortunate, accidental deaths of two people took planning.
The astronomer in Southeastern Mexico was easy. Robinson had a contact who was former Delta Force and worked in Cancun for the Drug Enforcement Agency, the DEA. Within hours of his phone call, and before he could crow to the media about his discovery, the young man died at the hands of a burglar looking for illicit drugs found hidden under his mattress.
The second victim would be more personal—Mark Foster.
Robinson had debated killing Foster after the incident involving Heather Fox. Foster was a loose end that was also a potentially loose cannon. However, he needed Foster alive to help run interference during the investigation. Fortunately for the Mission Control director, he’d kept his mouth shut and toed the line.
Now he was expendable.
If Major Fox wasn’t dead from the spacecraft soaring into the Caribbean Sea, at least the only other person who threatened Robinson’s legacy would be soon.
Foster had exhibited signs of becoming unstable. He’d taken full control of the Starhopper mission, and his overly emotional response to the loss of communications prior to the intercept of IM86 had been noticed by everyone within the Mission Control center at NASA.
Robinson had heard rumblings and whispers throughout the hallways of the Johnson Space Center over the last forty-eight hours.
Foster needs to get some rest.
Foster might slip back into the bottle.
He’s taking this too hard.
Robinson knew that Foster would be all right, but his coworkers didn’t. So the opportunity presented itself to eliminate another threat, another witness, to a cover-up that would land him in jail if the entire truth came out.
Tonight, NASA’s mission control director of four years, Mark Foster, would commit suicide. He just didn’t know it yet.
PART TWO
Saturday, April 28
Chapter 13
Saturday, April 28
Unknown Jungle
South America
The earth shaking followed by clumps of dirt falling in his face shook Gunner back to consciousness. The thunderous explosion that reverberated through the ground was reminiscent of the mortar shells landing near him in Kandahar Province of Afghanistan when he was on an assignment at a NATO base there. Rocket and mortar attacks had been a way of life at Kandahar Air Field, where duck and dive was as much a part of one’s daily routine as hitting the latrine when they woke up.
Disoriented, Gunner scrambled to his knees and tried to shake off the pain to his back resulting from the long fall into the man-made pit. He was sopping wet, as rainfall had filled four to six inches of the hole designed to trap intruders who wandered down the jungle trail unaware.
It was still dark outside, and Gunner tried to adjust his vision to take in any ambient light from the full moon or the glow of meteorites passing by.
BOOM! BOOM!
Two space rocks pummeled the Earth in rapid succession, causing more dirt and rocks to come crashing down on Gunner. He covered his head with both arms and frantically wiped his eyes to get out bits of wet dirt.
Gunner dropped to his knees to protect himself from the debris and to search for the steel piece of missile support he’d retrieved from the Starhopper wreckage. Relieved that it had made the trip to the bottom of the hole, Gunner stood once again and assessed his surroundings.
The hole appeared to be at least fifteen and maybe twenty feet deep. It had been dug out with shovels, the spade-like shape still appearing in the dim light. He felt around the sides of the pit, searching for tree roots or rocks jutting out to use for an upward climb.
Much to his chagrin, the walls were smooth, with only a few stubs of tree roots protruding out. He suspected others had experienced a similar fall and broken off the roots in an attempt to climb to the top.
Something stung his left ankle, so he reached down to swat at it. It was a two-inch-long leech. The parasitic worm was in the perfect habitat to flourish. And Gunner had provided it more than enough nourishment while he’d lain in the muddy water unconscious.
He flicked at it with his forefinger, but it had latched on. Gunner knew leeches were harmless, and the amount of blood he’d lost to it was insignificant. Once they were full, which didn’t take long, they’d fall off and go on about their business.
His past experiences with leeches prepared him for the fact that his body had at least a dozen attached to it. He felt around under his shirt, on his neck and up his pants leg. This was like Thanksgiving for them, and he was powerless to remove them without a lighter, alcohol, or table salt.
Gunner turned his attention back to the pit. It was too wide for him to climb up by spreading his legs wide and using his thigh muscles to propel himself upward like a spider. His other option, thanks to the piece of steel, was to dig out a series of footholds and handgrips to climb up.
The sky was getting lighter, and fortunately, the asteroid remnants had taken a respite from crashing into the surrounding jungle, so he began to dig.
He had no difficulty creating holes in the walls of the pit, as the dirt was moist and soft. He quickly created the first set of holes and rose off the ground a few feet. Then, with a little more difficulty, as he had to hold on with his left hand while digging with his right, he made a little more progress.
Within fifteen minutes, the sky grew lighter as dawn approached, enhancing his visibility. Encouraged by his climb to the halfway point, he dug faster and more efficiently.
Three-quarters of the way to freedom.
Then the rain began to fall.
Gunner could feel his grip on the wall slipping. He halted his digging to hold on as moisture ran down the side of the pit.
First, his right leg lost its footing. The sudden slip and shifting of his weight surprised him. He desperately tried to regain his foothold. He stuck his toes back in place and shook his head violently to get the rain mixed with pieces of dirt out of his eyes and his longish hair. He released his grip to clear his vision and immediately grabbed the wall again.
That was when a large clump of dirt dropped on top of his head, causing him to look upward. A young boy was standing precariously on the edge of the pit, staring down at him. Gunner was startled by the kid’s sudden appearance and lost his focus—and his grip on the wall. He slipped downward, his body bouncing off the side of the pit, causing it to twist until he landed hard on the piece of steel, which jabbed into his shoulder.
He groaned in pain as the metal sliced through his shirt and tore into his skin. Gunner rolled over to get the wound out of the stagnant, leech-filled water
and immediately pulled his shirt off to wipe the murky soil off his arm.
He turned his attention back to the boy and asked for help. “Hey, kid. Mi amigo. Por favor. Help. Um, ayuda?”
Gunner had a decent vocabulary of Spanish words, but was not knowledgeable enough to comprehend the foreign language in a conversation. He also thought Hispanic people spoke really fast, so he didn’t bother to try to understand.
The boy simply responded with a blank stare.
Gunner waved his arms back and forth, thinking the boy didn’t see or hear him. “Hey, niño! Where are your parents? Padres? Ayuda?”
Still nothing.
The rain continued to fall, and Gunner reconsidered another attempt to dig his way out. He studied the walls and noticed the opposite side from his previous attempt was receiving very little in the way of additional moisture.
He started over, disregarding the boy, who stood peering over the edge of the pit. Gunner dug his first four holes and started upward. The light of day was growing brighter despite the rainfall.
He dug out the next set of grips and hoisted himself upward. He glanced toward the sky and noticed the young boy was gone. Good, he thought. Maybe he went to get his daddy.
Gunner kept digging, encouraged by his progress. The rain dissipated and the sun began to peek through the jungle’s canopy.
He managed a smile and tore at the earth, fighting up the walls of the pit like the Marines clawing their way through the sand at Iwo Jima.
Almost there.
Gunner continued to where he could reach the wet grass at the edge of the pit, and then he heard it. The unmistakable metallic sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun. He froze and glanced upward. Four men had their guns trained on him, and Gunner let out a sigh.
The men began to step aside, and an older Hispanic man with a heavy accent began to laugh. “Well, well, mi amigos. We caught a DEA cabrón. Lock him up!”
The leader walked away laughing, and the end of a thick knotted rope flew over the edge of the hole and whacked Gunner in the head. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he wouldn’t be safer down in the hole with the leeches.
“¡Ándale!” one of the men yelled while pointing the barrel of his AK-47 rifle at the back of Gunner’s head.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gunner replied to the demand and pulled himself out of the hole, only to earn a buttstock to the back of the neck for his efforts, knocking him unconscious for the third time in twenty-four hours.
Chapter 14
Fort Mills
Near Delta, Alabama
“Have you heard anything on the ham radio channels, Pop?” asked Cam as she kicked the mud and pine straw off her wet boots. She and Bear were taking turns patrolling the perimeter of the cabin while the other rested or inventoried their supplies. Pop had readily volunteered to monitor the AM stations and the ham radio frequencies that Cam’s father had jotted down in a spiral notebook years ago.
“No, Cam, not really,” replied a dejected Pop. “Oh, I don’t really mean that. Obviously, I’m looking for any kind of information regarding Gunner and the Starhopper. There’s nothing on that at all. It’s as if everyone forgot about them.”
“I understand. It’s always about what have you done for me lately with people nowadays. Gunner, somehow, prevented that asteroid from hitting our planet in one humongous piece, wiping us out all at once. I suppose that’s been forgotten already.”
Pop set the headset down and unplugged it, allowing the frequencies to be monitored over the speakers attached to the base unit. For the moment, the chatter consisted of a conversation between people complaining about FEMA.
“Here’s what I’ve heard,” he began. “The asteroid has basically been turned into a massive meteor storm that is impacting the entire planet, especially near the equator. Certainly, everything I’ve heard has to be taken with a grain of salt, but supposedly, the timing of the incoming meteor storm will begin to affect the lower forty-eight, Canada, and other countries around the world in the higher latitudes today and tomorrow.”
Cam retrieved a handful of trail mix from the kitchen, which was combined with the living room area. She was staying hydrated with water from the property’s well and munching the healthy snack throughout the day, hoping to preserve their stored foods for later. “I can see it in the skies. The instances of the fallout are more frequent and much brighter. It’s a matter of time before the larger meteorites find their way through the atmosphere.”
“Is it still raining?” asked Pop.
“Nah, not really. Just a little misty drizzle.”
Pop stood to peer through the curtains to get a look for himself. “Cam, which way is west, you know, toward Birmingham or, specifically, Talladega?”
Cam pointed toward the windowless wall of the cabin where the stone fireplace was located. “Talladega is about thirty miles as the crow flies on the other side of Cheaha State Park. Why?”
“Supposedly, a fireball hit the roof of a Walmart just east of town. Several aboveground gasoline storage tanks were hit, creating a huge fire. The flames got whipped up by the wind, and the wildfire is moving toward the east.”
A concerned look came over Cam’s face. She’d never really paid attention to the geography of the surrounding area. She made her way to the kitchen cupboards and searched through the drawers for a well-worn, folded map of Alabama. She spread it out on the table to identify their location in relation to the small Alabama city known for its NASCAR Superspeedway.
“I don’t know, Pop. I think we’re okay. The fire would have a long way to travel through the gaps and ridges of the state park. Plus, even this little bit of rain will slow its progress.”
Bear emerged from his slumber, rubbing his eyes like a little kid who’d been awakened before he was ready for the day. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, really,” replied Cam. “Pop’s been monitoring the radio and I’ve been patrolling. I’ve heard nothing from Ghost or Houston, and there’s been no sightings of Gunner and—”
An enormous explosion drowned out Cam’s sentence and caused the cabin to shake so bad that years of dust and debris, which had settled on the open rafters, came fluttering down on top of them.
“Holy shit!” shouted Bear as he rushed to the front door and flung it open to get a look. Cam immediately joined him, and they walked into the grassy area between the cabin’s porch and the lake.
Howard, who’d remained calm throughout the ordeal, as he tended to avoid the drama generated by humans, still managed to let out a couple of barks and a long howl.
“Look!” shouted Cam, pointing eastward beyond the back of the cabin. A huge trail of black smoke poured skyward well off in the distance.
“That’s a little close for comfort,” said Bear.
“Should we get in the root cellar or something?” asked Pop.
Cam walked away from Bear and stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the plywood doors that led belowground next to the cabin. She turned to address Bear. “Seriously, do you think it would matter? I mean, how deep would we have to be to avoid these things? That hit like a nuke!”
Bear studied the smoke pouring into the sky. “Man, that was miles from here, but it shook us like it landed on our heads. I don’t think a root cellar would help us at all.”
“There has to be something we can do,” implored Pop. He was rubbing his temples and appeared to be on the verge of tears.
Cam moved to comfort him. “I’d love to have a better answer for you, Pop, but there isn’t one. It’ll be just pure luck to avoid being hit. A nuclear bunker might give us a chance, but even if we found our way into a cave in the park, it might not be enough and …” She paused as she got the feeling that providing Pop a dose of reality might not be the best idea.
“And what, Cam?” he pressed.
“Nothing, Pop. It’s just there are no good options. We’ve got to ride it out and hope for the best.”
Pop managed a smile and stood a little taller
. “And pray. I will absolutely ask God for help, without hesitation.”
Chapter 15
NORAD
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
The president had been awakened at three a.m. by Chief of Staff Fielding and asked to report to the battle cab. The first meteorites were beginning to find their way to U.S. soil, and he’d insisted upon being present to make any decisions necessary to help the American people. It was now daylight across the nation, and the meteor storm was making its presence known from coast to coast.
“Mr. President, there’s no way to put into words how tragic this situation is,” began Peter Gower, the deputy director of FEMA. “As we’ve discussed, we are now in the throes of the meteor storm created by the destruction of IM86. The entire Northern Hemisphere is beginning to experience the impact of meteorites crashing to Earth, which areas near the equator felt during the evening hours.”
“What are the worst hit areas of the U.S. at this time?” he asked.
“The worst damage has been caused by tsunamis, sir,” he replied. “The Virgin Islands were completely covered with water for a time, and this had a profound impact on Florida’s east coast and the Keys. The Coast Guard station in Fort Lauderdale reported a six-foot wave hitting the Atlantic Seaboard before we lost contact with them.”
The president winced. “Lost contact?”
“Yes, sir, the station’s ground personnel were evacuated, and the vessels were redeployed to sea.”
“Why would you do that?” the president asked.
“Sir, boats are generally safer from tsunami damage while in ocean waters of at least a hundred meters in depth rather than being docked or moored in a harbor. In open water, the energy of the tsunami is distributed along the length of the wave created. The waves may be hundreds of miles long and travel at the speed of an airplane, but for the ships at sea, they simply ride the wave as it passes.”
