Torn (18 page)

Bret’s mouth went agape in offense.

Colin stayed close to her. “Ignore him.”

“Am I only for show?” Bret asked.

Colin smiled.

The motorized wheelchair spun around from the big window and into the desk. Jacques Winslow was a thin man, balding, and not quite as old as someone that would be dying shortly. “Awful shame about that volcano in Albany.”

Colin sighed out. “Awful shame.”

“Hear they’re spreading like wildfire.”

Colin shrugged. “Possibly.”

“Oh my God,” Bret whispered. “He loo
ks just like the man.
…” She jolted when Darius grabbed her arm firmly and led her closer.

“Gentlemen,
” Winslow spoke in a dignified manner. “And.
…”

“Bret.” Darius introduced.

“How do you do?” Bret extended her hand, still within the clutches of Darius.

“Better now. Thank you. Have a seat.”

All three of them did.

“Professor Cobb,” Winslow said. “Dr. Reye. I saw both of you on the news.”

Darius smiled politely. “And hence the reason we’re here.”

Winslow looked directly at Bret. “Are you married?”

“Yes,” Bret answered.

“Ah,” Winslow nodded and returned to Darius. “Go on.”

“May I?” Colin asked. When he received acknowledgement he stood. “Look, Mr. Win
slow. You have been an integral
part of funding for th
e university. Basically you’re a man worth quite
a bit
of dough. Now
. . .
h
ow can one spend that dough wisely if
. . .
if
. . .
n
o,” Colin shook his head. “When
. . .
the world ends.”

Darius groaned. “Can you be
any
blunt
er
?”

Darius and Bret jumped a foot when Winslow slammed a hand on the desk.

“Silence, b
lunt is best. I hate beating around the bush,” Winslow said crass
ly
. “Go on Dr. Reye.”

“Can you answer the question?”

Winslow pau
sed in thought. “When the world
ends? You can’t.”

“Exactly. Now
. . .
take that same scenario and
. . . .
”

“Are you married?” Winslow asked Bret again.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Ah.” He nodded then returned
to Colin. “You were saying God
. . . .
”

“No, nothing about God. Scenario.” Colin explained. “Answer this question. How can one spend tons of money wisely if he knows ahead of time
that the world is going to end?
”

“Use it to save his life,” Winslow responded.

“Bingo.” Colin smiled. “We’re off
and running. Would you?”

“Use tons of money to save my life? Yes,” Winslow said.

“Good. Now
. . . .
”

“Wait
. . .
”
Winslow sang the word. “Wait .
.
.
are you? Are
you
telling me that you need money to sto
p the end of the world?
”

“Actually, I’m
. . .
” Colin tried to answer but Winslow interrupted.

“Are you a prophet?” Winslow asked Colin.

“No, I’m
. . .
”

“Are you?” He questioned Darius.

“No, I’m
. . .
”

“You?” He went to Bret.

“Some say I am.”

“Ah,” Winslow nodded. “So you have had this vision of the end of the world. Has God spoken to you?”

Colin chuckled. “Sir, really if God gave Bret the message the world was ending, could money do any good?”

“No,” Win
slow said. “God can’t be bought; neither can
good judgment. Plus, money can’t stop it.” Winslow slammed his hand again. “Goddamn Russians, are we back in the Cold
W
ar? Are we gonna build a do
o
z
e
y of a bomb shelter?”

“Close.” Colin said.

“I hate the Russians.”

“Sir,” Colin tried again. “The Russians have nothing to do with this. Although if you wish to blame it on them, I’m sure some experiment they pulled
in the seventies might have ha
d
repercussions
on what we’re facing.”

“Are you married?” he asked of Bret.

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Winslow nodded again.

Colin continued, “What we’re dealing with basically isn’t a man made issue. It’s out of our hands. It’s earth and space.”

“Earth
and space.” Winslow repeated. “Can it be stopped?
”

“No.” Colin shook his head.

“We can’t use the nukes to do any good?”

“No.”

“Send a few men out
into space and.
…”

“No.” Colin lifted his hand. “We can’t. It will happen. We can only prepare.”

“Earth and space
. . . .
”
Winslow stared out. “Earth and space. Prepare. You mean for survival.”

“Yes, we may not be able to stop it, but we certainly can get ready.
However,
getting ready cost
s
money. Things need
to be
constructed. A
place to go, a transport there.
…”

“And you need me to fund.” Winslow asked.

“Yes,” Colin answered.

“How much?
”

After a clearing of his throat, Colin said. “Eight million.”

Bret sprang
up
in shock. “Holy shit. Eight million dollars!”

Darius tugged her back to her seat.

Colin remained composed and repeated, “Eight m
illion.”

Fingers tapping, Winslow peered. “Doesn’t sound like much. To build a station, transport and so forth. Supplies as well?”

“Yes,” Colin answered.

“Doesn’t sound like much.” He grazed his finger tip over his top lip. “Will there be oxygen at this place we’re going.”

Colin responded, “Yes. Plenty. It’ll still be cold, but not frozen.”

“How will we grow our own food then?”

“Green
houses.”

“And there is oxygen? You’re sure?” Winslow questioned.

“Positive.”

“Hmm. Air samples, have you taken them?”

“We can.”

Bret looked curiously at Darius who just flung his hand at her to be quiet.

Winslow continued, “Sounds like minimal to be able to live.” He faced Bret. “And you are married.”

Irritate
d
, Bret answered, “Yes.”

“How long?”

“Four years.”

“Not long.” He shif
ted his eyes to Darius. “If wome
n become scarce, would you have a problem sharing her?” He gave a twitch of his head to Bret.

“Nope, not at all.” Darius said.

Bret’s mouth dropped opened.

Colin interjected, “As you know
, Mr. Winslow, i
n desperate times, when women are few, a good husband should always be willing to share his wife. Professor Cobb knows this. He wants to share Bret.” He winked. “Trust me.”

Before Bret could say anything i
n her shock, Winslow spoke, “Okay t
hen. I’ll invest
that
and some more if you need it. Only I want a guaranteed seat on this spacecraft.”

Colin winked. “You got it.”

“How long will the journey take?
”

“Depends on conditions.”

“Very well.” Winslow backed up his whee
lchair. “Contact me in two days;
resources will be set up for you.”

“Thank you,” Colin said
then hurriedly escorted Darius and Bret from the office. He beckoned their silence until they were out of the house and en route to the car.

“A spaceship?” Bret asked insulted. “You allowed that man to think he was going on a spaceship.”

Darius answered, “More than likely he thinks he’s going to another planet.”

“I’d guess that,” Colin added. “Especially with the oxygen questions. He may have seen the same movie.”

“Wait.” Bret interrupted. “You can’t let him think he’s going on a spaceship.”

“Why not?” Colin asked.

“He’s not.”

Colin fluttered his lips. “He may not live through the cold process up here.”

“And if he does?” Bret asked.

“
Well, we’ll knock him out with Thorazine;
he’ll never know he wasn’t on a spaceship
.
We’ll tell him leaving the atmosphere did that to him.’

“You two are wrong,” Bret s
aid. “First saying you’ll share, t
hen allowing him to believe
he’s going to space
. All for eight million dollars.”

“That’s right.” Darius commented. “Eight million. We need that. You need that. Hell, I’ll tell him we’re going in a time machine if it means getting the money. Because we’re not lying about the end result. The outcome for all of us will be the same,
an
d
that’s
what
matters.
Surviving.”

“The
H
umane
S
ociety and other
animal lovers
gathered around with glee when the
C
oast
G
uard arrived. The reports of the strange oceanic find spread like wildfire, and anyone who wanted to be
a
witness
to this arrival
flocked to the Hudson
Bay
. The excitement began yesterday when the Coast Guard reported finding a life raft with six kittens floating aimlessly seventy miles of
f
shore of New York. A bag of food, one blanket, no water. Experts are saying these kittens may have been floating at sea for up to two weeks. How they survived is nothing less than a miracle. The New York Humane Society is already reporting an outpouring of adoption requests for these fine feline sailors. It’s a story with a happy ending, and after the week of bizarre occurrences this reporter has seen, it is a welcome change. Blain Davis, CNS News.”

It wasn’t a twenty-four
-
hour government station, although Virginia wanted to increase monitoring to ‘round the clock’. She didn’t have the manpower, and unless she herself moved all her belongings
and
gave up her husband
and children, it would never be
‘
round the clock’.

But she arrived early, as
she always did, just after five, n
ever away for longer than seven hours. Her six
-
year
-
old daughter was curled up sleeping on the small couch in the computer room, while Virginia
,
alone with her coffee
,
pulled up the night’s images. Usually it was un
eventful, and any changes noted
we
re
slight and an indication something was about to t
urn. Nothing ever that alarming;
after all she had left there at midnight.

The five
a.m.
images clicked in seven second intervals as Virgin
ia scanned them visually. Four
images, three
a.m.
, Virginia hit ‘stop’
.

“Oh, my God.”
A
fter a few clicks, the
images of the sun zoomed in,
and Virginia manipulated the color. “This can’t be right.” She went back an image, then skipped ahead. ‘It is.” Blindly, she reached
for the phone
and dialed. “Did I wake you? Sorry. Anyhow, go to your station,” she said. “I want you to look at your images, and I’m sending you the ones I have.”

A pause.

“Darius
, I need you to confirm. I know…
I know this isn’t your specialty, but it doesn’t have to be if I’m correct. What do I need you to confirm?” Virginia sighed out. “Whether I’m wrong, or whether we’re really in trouble.”

The Krispy Kreme was a safe house
,
u
nlike the Burger King, where Chuck couldn’t order his
W
hopper without feeling it. He started to notice when he stopped for a latte. He could feel it when he paused at his office
;
by the time he picked up his early meal, he was positive.

Even though he looked he couldn’t confirm
it
, so he decided to play decoy.

There was a Wal-Mart located outside of town, and Chuck, after parking, went inside. He made
a
maze of
his
movements, until finally he arrived at his destination.

W
omen’s lingerie.

It was between the padded bra rack and underwear rack
when Chuck’s suspicions were
confirmed. Acting as if he didn’t see him, Chuck slipped by the girdles, and reached out his hand
,
gr
abb
ing his shirt.

“
Hey. Hey.” Blain pulled away.

“Why are you following me?”

“Follo
wing you?” Blain chuckled. “Does
it look like I’m following you?’

“Yes.”

Blain fluttered his lips. “Please don’t flatter
yourself. In fact,” h
e straightened his clothes. “I was going to comment on what a coincidence this was.”

“Coincidence?”

“Yes, that we’re at the same Wal-Mart.”

Chuck scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. I was buying something for myself.”

“I see. It makes sense.” Chuck folded his arms. “Of course you would come to a Wal-Mart way out of your way. Where else could you purchase women’s underwear without drawing attention to the Big CNS reporter
?
”

“Shit.” Blain quickly looked around.

“Cut the bull. You’re following me. Why?”

Blain sighed out. “You’re getting either really expert tips or psychic tips. Either way, you have
the
scoop I want.”

“Sorry. Bret not talking?”

“No. Look
,
I can make a deal. You tell me and I’ll do something for you.”

Chuck laughed. “What could you possibly have that I want?”

“A chance at CNS.”

Chuck shook his head.

“You don’t want to be on CNS.”

“Do I have the face for it? “ Chuck asked sarcastically.

“Well, yeah, you…
no.” Blain shook his head. “But don’t you want to
claim
credit of writing for them.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Surely the exposure.
…”

This made Chuck pause. “Exposure.”

“Yeah, national.”

Thinking that the national exposure wouldn’t be a bad idea when it came time to get the truth out, Ch
uck nodded. “I will think about
. . .
”
he stopped when his phone rang. “Hold on.” He answered it. “Hey
. . . ,
What’s up?”

Pause.

“When?” Chuck asked. “Can I ask why?” he nodded. “Not a problem. Call
me then. Yeah, I’m on my way.” H
e hung up.

“Going somewhere?”

“As a matter of fact,” Chuck smiled. “I am. See ya.” Chuck took off.

Blain did follow, as best as he could but just as assurance, he placed a phone call to Bret.

Darius looked more like a NASA engineer rather than th
e college professor he was. Ear
piece in his ear, he spoke not only on the phone, but to Colin as well—who
also
had an ear piece.

“S5.” Darius said as he looked at the image on the screen. It was of
E
arth and a red spot lingered like a cloud above a small section of the US. “Got my image?”

“Yes,” Virginia answered.

“Four
a.m. Next
. . . .
”
Darius clicked. “Five. N
ext
. . .
six. “See the changes?”

“It increased.”

“Exactly.”

Colin’s finger pointed to the screen. “What is this one here?”

“Seven
a.m
. S3.” Darius answered. “It increased up until nine
a.m. when it peaked. But…it only pea
ked for seven minutes, and hit an S5, over this area of Missouri and Kansas. It’s leveling now.”

Colin nodded. “But what about at S4?”

Darius nodded. “Some problems. It’ll look more like food poisoning.”

Virginia asked. “Did you let the airlines know?”

Darius laughed. “You kidding me?
When you showed me this I immediately went to them. They got a warning from NASA. But it’s nothing major.”

“Nothing major?” Virginia barked, “S5 is nothing major?”

“Ah,” Colin interjected. “It wouldn’t appear to be nothing major if they were looking like we are looking. Correct? And they aren’t. We’re searching for it. They are merely doing their jobs.”

Virginia exhaled over the line. “So it’s a wait to see if you’re correct.”

“Oh, I’m right.” Darius said. “When I noti
ced the area increasing more tha
n the others, I immediately contacted the FAA. Luckily Colin knows someone there. Three flights went thr
ough the area at the time it pea
ked. I have Chuck arriving right before
one of those planes do. In fact…I wouldn’t be surprised if
everyone is feeling it now. It’s a minor version of Africa. We’re just lucky it stopped at S5.”

Virginia asked, “What was Africa?”

“The solar scale only goes up to S5. If it went higher, I’d say an S10.”

“Whoa.” Colin commented, “And look at the time. I have to meet Bret.” He lifted a folder. “Good luck. Keep me posted.” After removing the ear piece he began his farewell.

“Oh, Colin?” Darius called out. “Don’t give Bret details about this. OK?”

“Why?” Colin asked.

“Because she’ll tell that reporter. Chuck wants
an
exclusive.” He got agreement, watched Colin leave then returned to the compu
ter screens. “Speaking of Chuck,” h
e
said to himself and Virginia. “
Where are you?”

“Quit f
ollowing me!” Chuck barked, walking at a quick pace through the main terminal of Philadelphia’s airport.

“You’re rus
hing. You speeded all the way here;
I almost lost you.” Blain said.

“Too bad.” Chuck turned and kept on walking.

“Are you leaving the country?”

“Does it look like I’m leaving anywhere? No.” Chuck moved fast, and made it as far as security would let him. “You lost your camera man.”

“I let him g
o. I figured I could follow you.
…”

“A
-ha!” Chuck pointed. “
You are.”

“OK, I am. I’m ready.” He lifted the camera.

“You are unreal.” Chuck pulled out his identification and walked to the security
desk. “Charles Wright,
Johnstown Journal
.
I have media clearance.”

The security man sk
immed the page. “I’m not seeing
. . .
hey
. . . .
”
He smiled brightly and snapped his finger. “Ain’t you Blain Davis?”

“Yes, I am.” Blain answered bashfully.

“Sign here
, g
entleman. But I need to check that ID again,” He said to Chuck.

After a grumble, Chuck complied.

“See.” Blain pestered as they walked though to the main terminal. “I’m good for something.”

“You have that
camera linked up to the network?
”

“All it’s gonna take is a phone call. I figure, I’ll shoot my footage, then do my story.”

“What story?” Chuck asked.

“The one you’re rushing to get to.”

“I am not rushing to get to
. . .
”
Chuck’s words were interrupted when a barrage of medical people barreled past him.

A siren blared from a security cart, and three of them zoomed down the hall of the airport.

Chuck took off running.

Sure enough, Gate 47B, the one
where he was supposed to be
. It was swamped with police, airport security, and medical personal. Through the windows, Chuck could see ambulances pulled up to the plane.

A woman was moving people back from the gate, and Chuck
approached her. “Chuck Wright, reporter, w
hat’s going on with Flight 766?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I’m not at liberty to say.

Chuck tried another, while Blain filmed the hysteria.

A policeman.

“Sir, Chuck Wright with the Johnstown
. . . .
”

“Out of my way.” He scolded.

Chuck
jumped back
and made yet another attempt. His mouth wasn’t even
open when an official in a suit
barked out, “Someone get this reporter out of here!”

“Fuck,” Chuck stepped back.

“May I?” Blain asked.

“May you what?”

“Here, hold this.” He handed Chuck the came
ra. “Just press this button and
. . . .
”

“I know how to use this. Who am I filming?”

“All this and
. . . .
”
Blain grinned. “Me.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a remote microphone and earpiece. He hooked it to his ear, check
ed
the remote connection with the camera and stood straight. “Ready?”

“I’m not filming you. Forget it.” Chuck snapped.

“
Wanna story?” Blain asked. “Yes
or no. We can scoop this.”

“Ha.” Chuck shook his head. His body was a billiard for those scurrying about. “You think you’re all that
.
Mr. CNS reporter. No one’s gonna talk. Not yet.”

“They will to me.”

“You think?” Chuck asked.

“Wanna bet?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I’ll bet you strike out.”