Final Dawn: Escape From Armageddon

Darrell Maloney

Copyright 2013 by Darrell Maloney

Please check out Darrell Maloney’s best selling book,

The Secession of Texas

As well as his other fine works, available at

Amazon.com and at Barnes and Noble Booksellers.

    Sometimes the gods of fate smile upon you, and bestow on you a treasure of such magnitude, such wonder, that you pinch yourself over and over until you finally believe it’s really real.

     And sometimes those same gods bestow upon you a bowl of smelly, steaming crap.

     They seldom do both within the same week.

     Mark Snyder finished the breaker box tie in just before losing his daylight. He’d been working in an empty house for days, all alone in his thoughts. He hated jobs like this. No one to talk to, no other voices to listen to, other than the ones in his head. The house was only about eighty percent complete. Not far enough along yet to have power.

     The electricians were supposed to button everything up by the end of the week. And yes, he could have waited until then to start installing the security system. But he had several other jobs going on at once, and he was trying to maintain his good reputation for coming in on time. So while most people would have taken Sunday off to watch the ball game and relax, he was here instead installing security cameras.

     He’d come back on Saturday and check all the cameras to make sure they were working, then install the operations console.

     But for now, he’d done everything he could do without electricity. He loaded his tools back into his Explorer and headed home. Enough is enough.

     Mark picked up his cell and called Hannah.

     “Hey, Babe. I’m on my way. Is the game still on?”

     “Hi, honey,” she said. “No, it’s over, but you’ll be proud of me. I recorded it for you so you can watch it when you get home. The Cowboys lost at the last second when
Washington kicked a field goal.”

     Mark winced and bit his lip.
He resisted the urge to tell her it’s not so much fun watching a close game when you know how it turns out.

     Instead, he praised her. Because after all, she was the light of his life and the be
st thing that ever happened to him.

     “Well, thank you, my love.” He said. “Are you trying to out-sweet me again?”

     Hannah replied “Nope. Not trying. I won that contest a long time ago. I just want to show you how much I love you.”

     She went on. “If you want some beer you’ll have to stop and get some.
Bryan came by to watch the game with you. I told him you were working and he asked if we had some beer. I told him to check the fridge. He took all we had and left. Said if we weren’t going to watch the game, then we wouldn’t need it. He said he’d take it to someone who had the game on.

     “How did you manage to grow up with him without ever killing him?”

     Mark laughed. “Because he was the baby of the family and Mom always took his side. If I had killed him she’d have grounded me for at least a week, maybe two. But I thought about it many times.”

     He made a mental note to find a way to get back at his brother. And yes, he’d have to stop for beer. The last hour of the job tonight, the only thing that kept him going was the thought of downing a cold
Corona or two.

     Mark walked into the Exxon convenience store and waved at Joe
Kenney, the assistant manager.

     Mark shouted across the store as he pulled a six-pack of
Corona from the cooler. “Hey, Joe! All that I have are these, to remember you.”

     A couple of the other customers gave Mark the strangest look. A “better stay away from this guy” kind of look.

     Joe yelled back from behind the counter, where he was inventorying cigarettes. “Jim Croce. Photographs and Memories.”

    
They’d known each other since high school, where Joe was one of the coolest guys Mark knew. Joe knew everything about music from the good old days. The music from the 60s and 70s. Back when music was good, and you could understand the lyrics. And every other word wasn’t profane.

     They’d played this game almost as long as they’d been friends. Mark would find an obscure song lyric and try to stump Joe. But he seldom succeeded. Joe played five instruments, and had been in various garage bands since he was ten. Music was pretty much his life. At least when he wasn’t at Exxon counting cigarettes.

     The line was a lot longer than usual. A rolling marquee above the cash register said the PowerBall jackpot was at $310 million. Mark let out a slow whistle. That was a good chunk of change.

     He seldom played the lottery himself, but Hannah did all the time. Poor sweet thing. She’d been stuck at home with the flu
for the last week and hadn’t been able to get out. But he knew she’d have gotten herself a ticket if she hadn’t been sick.

     So as a last-
second lark, he told the clerk to throw in a quick pick for the lottery, cash option, and paid two extra bucks. It was worth two dollars to make Hannah smile that beautiful smile. And it was the least he could do for her, for thinking enough to record the game for him.

     But Mark forgot to give her the ticket. Forgot to even take it into the house. He laid it on the passenger seat of his
Explorer and it sailed down to the floorboard when a dog ran in front of him and he had to hit the brakes hard. And he pulled into the driveway, took his beer and watched the game, and never gave it another thought.

    
On Thursday, Mark was doing a sales pitch to a banker who was worried because his neighbor three doors down had been a recent victim of a home invasion. The banker’s community was gated and a private security company made their rounds occasionally, but none of that had stopped the brazen thieves from posing as utility workers.

     In broad daylight, they knocked on his neighbor’s door, flashed fake IDs to gain access to the back yard “to check the power lines.” From there, they cut the phone cable, kicked in the back door, and tied up the occupants before leisurely looting the place of all its valuables. They even stopped long enough to make themselves a sandwich before leaving.

     Thievery, it seems, works up one’s appetite.

     The banker decided he needed a better security system, and Mark was trying to convince him that he was the man for the job.

     Mark’s cell phone went off. A little bird whistling “I’ve Got Sunshine” told him he had a text message from Hannah. He hit the mute button and went on with his presentation.

     Half an hour later he’d sealed the deal and was returning to his
Explorer when he remembered the text. It said “Call me ASAP.”

     Oops.

     But luckily Hannah wasn’t mad. She was way too excited.

     “Did you hear about Joe’s store?” she asked him.

     He answered with a bit of apprehension. “No. Did they get robbed again? Is he okay?”

     “Oh, yeah, I’d say so! I heard on the news that they sold the winning ticket to the PowerBall drawing.
Somebody won over two hundred million dollars after taxes. And it’s somebody that lives right here in San Angelo. Wouldn’t it be cool if it’s somebody we know?”

     “Baby, hold on a minute.”

     Mark put the phone down and took out his wallet. The ticket he had purchased on Sunday night wasn’t there. Crap! Did he leave it on the counter at the store? Did some cretin come up behind him and pick it up?

     He instinctively felt his pants pockets, even though he knew he wasn’t wearing the same jeans he had on Sunday night.

     Then, on the floorboard of the passenger side of his ride, he saw a lonely piece of paper. And he remembered that damn dog.

     He picked up the ticket, then the phone.

     “Honey, don’t freak out,” he said. “But I bought you a ticket on Sunday night and forgot to give it to you. Would you go on line and see what the winning numbers are and read them to me?”

     The next thirty seconds lasted twenty years.

     Hannah came back on the line and said “Okay, here goes. 13, 25, 26, 44, 57, and the PowerBall is 18.”

     Mark’s chest actually started to hurt, and he felt faint. In his mind’s eye, he saw Red
d Foxx playing Fred Sanford, holding his chest and saying “This is it. It’s the big one…”

     But Mark wasn’t having a heart attack. Mark was experiencing what it felt to find out that you were suddenly a multi-millionaire.

     Hannah didn’t believe him, of course. She thought he was playing one of his dumb practical jokes. She met him at the door as he walked in and presented her the ticket as a new father might present his first born to a hospital nursery visitor.

     “Be careful,” he said. “Don’t damage it or tear it or sneeze on it
.”

     The next day was Friday, and Hannah insisted on getting up and going to work. Even though she only got an hour’s worth of sleep. Mark stayed behind in bed, telling her just to call in and say “Go to hell, you bastards. I’m rich!”

     But Hannah was a scientist and an honorable one at that. She was above doing such a thing. She’d wait until her boss pissed her off. Then she’d tell the bastards to go to hell.

     When they parted that morning, both of them were on cloud nine. They’d spent most of the night talking about all the great things they’d do with their new fortune. They laughed when they thought of sour old Reverend Samuels, and how he might actually crack a smile when they presented him with a tithe check for ten percent of their winnings.

     They talked about which European countries they’d visit first, and even considered buying their own Caribbean Island.

     Yes, when they parted that morning, neither had a care in the world.

     What a difference a day makes.

     A little after 3 p.m., Mark was on the computer in the den looking for a local accountant to answer all of their tax questions.

     He heard the garage door open, a
nd knew before he even looked at the clock that it was way too early for Hannah to return.

     He ran to the bedroom and got his Glock from the nightstand. How in hell did they find out about the win
ning ticket so quickly? They hadn’t even told anybody about it yet.

     Mark readied his gun for what he was certain were thieves coming to kill him and steal his newfound millions.

     But it wasn’t that at all.

     It was Hannah. And she was white as a ghost. And s
he had tears streaming down her pretty face.

     It took forever for Mark to get her calmed down. She rambled
incoherently between the sobs, but Mark couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell him. Something about a program, and impact, and dinosaurs.

    
He finally told her to stop talking and just held her shaking body until she regained her composure.

     Hannah was finally able to tell him that
part of her job with a NASA contractor required her to track known asteroids and meteors in the galaxies, and to constantly search for new ones, that might be on a path that would bring them close to earth’s atmosphere.

     He already knew that, of course. But she had started f
rom the beginning, to make it easier for him to understand the complex problem she’d discovered earlier in the day.

     Hannah explained to Mark that she had been concerned in
recent weeks that all of their computer models only tracked near misses of known asteroids and meteorites for the next six months. The computers ran constantly, and theoretically would provide six months’ warning any time it detected an incoming near earth.

     But Hannah had been questioning whether this was enough time.
She reasoned that the discovery of something on a collision course with earth would require as much time to prepare as possible. To develop contingency plans. To get people into shelters. To stockpile food and first aid supplies. To stage the supplies close to the point of impact, where most of the casualties would be. And to get as many people out of the impact zone as possible. Depending on where an asteroid or meteorite fell, it might involve the relocation of a lot of people. If it was expected to fall near London, for example, would six months be sufficient time for eight million people to move to other, safer areas?

     Hannah had taken it upon herself to rewrite the program. She tweaked it to sca
n the skies farther out than before. To track the meteorites and asteroids’ projected courses not for six months, but for three years. Because that kind of advanced notice could save so many more lives.

     She did this without o
fficial authorization. She was caught up on her workload, after all, and needed something to occupy her extra time at work.

    
She could have played solitaire on her computer, like some of her co-workers and her supervisor did. But she’d rather spend her time doing something useful.

    
So she tweaked her program, and changed the tracking criteria to three years. Then, after she made sure it was working properly, she’d show her superiors and recommend they switch over to her new program.