Blue Hope: (Book 2) (Red Hope) Page 4

  Years later, these friendly missiles were not the type that secretly piggybacked their way onto the International Space Station (ISS) during preparation for the first manned mission to Mars.

  A new ISS module was launched up and attached to the massive orbiting station for the sole purpose of temporarily storing all the equipment and materials needed for the impending Mars mission – the astronauts would disembark toward Mars from the space station. This stationary unit, dubbed the Storage Wart, didn’t look much different from the existing modules on the ISS, but it was much larger. And on the outside was a large cabinet. It was specifically requested by the Pentagon as a tradeoff for temporarily giving up their budget to the Mars expedition.

  During the bumpy ride up to the ISS, some of the wires were chafed and eventually began shorting out. This was most unfortunate because they were part of the ejection system attached to the eight top-secret thermonuclear B-61 bombs secretly stored in the outside cabinet. The bombs had been modified with rocket engines and new nosecones to withstand the atmospheric re-entry – all to help them reach distant targets quickly from space.

  Having those weapons in space violated international treaties, of course, but the Pentagon thought it would be a great political trump card to bring out in the event of a tense international disagreement. And it was a great idea until the electrical shorts accidentally ejected the missiles – missiles that were sent to space with some of the launch-code safeties disabled to make sure somebody on the ISS could trigger them in an absolute emergency, a so-called “last-man standing” scenario.

  The sparking on the ejector mechanism eventually caused the eight thermonuclear missiles to eject from the ISS so violently that the resulting jolt broke the connections between several Space Station modules, causing a chain reaction of failures. As the missiles started launching toward their predetermined targets in Russia, the inhabitants of the ISS had to abandon their orbiting home, escaping in the Soyuz return capsules for a trip back to Earth. Below them, they could see mushroom clouds popping up near population centers in Russia.

  Power was lost to the high-bandwidth antennas on the ISS which were the main communication channels with the crew on Mars. Their only hope now were the three deep-space antennas spread around the Earth.

  Even before the ISS nuclear missiles struck Russia, the former Soviets launched a large retaliatory strike first against America and then Europe. As planned by Dmitri, many of these first wave missiles were the CommKnock type of missiles, destroying communication hubs and wiping out power distribution stations.

  America went dark and silent, but not before sending their own CommKnock missiles to take out some of the same types of locations in Russia (and China for good measure). Russia retaliated with a second wave to take out satellite communication networks which included sending one missile to each of the three deep-space antenna sites around the world. The Goldstone facility near Barstow, California, the secondary facility in Madrid, Spain and the third facility in Canberra, Australia. Poof. All gone. Our team of astronauts on Mars was completely cut off.

  Of particular concern to Chris Tankovitch and Connie Alston was the large 10-kiloton nuke that just wiped out downtown Houston, blasting out beyond the city core and damaging buildings as far away as Clear Lake where the NASA Johnson Manned Spacecraft Center was located.

  Chris Tankovitch was huddled in a bomb shelter with dozens of coworkers. He stared at his phone. The screen said “Call terminated” and the top now showed No signal.

  Connie and her two children were stuck in a sea of traffic trying to escape Houston back to their home in Fort Worth, hoping it was still there. She kept checking her cellphone. No signal.

  On Mars, Captain Adam Alston and the only other surviving crew member, Yeva Turoskova, slept fitfully in the Big Turtle habitat spacecraft. They had just suffered the deaths of two beloved crewmembers and a series of unfortunate setbacks. Soon they would lose all communication with Earth. They would never know what happened. Twenty minutes after the last deep-space antenna on Earth was destroyed, the first sign of what was to come showed up as a blinking warning message on a laptop screen, the computer that monitored data transfers between Earth and Mars. No signal.

  CHAPTER 6

  The Alston family getaway car

  Somewhere between Houston and Dallas/Fort Worth

  The Honda was running on fumes, occasionally lurching as the engine gasped for more fuel. Connie guided the car off the freeway near the tiny town of Alma. The gas stations there were out of everything, including fuel and bullets. Using directions from a local resident, she continued on the small road away from the freeway, looking for the tiny town of Eugene.

  Connie reached Eugene after a few minutes of driving and pulled into the small two-pump gas station. The engine gave its last gasp of life and died. She was trying to get out of her car when the attendant came out, wiping his hands with an old greasy towel.

  “Howdy ma’am, need some gas?”

  Why else would anybody stop in this hell-forsaken town, she thought.

  “Yes, I was going to do it myself, if that’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not okay,” he said with hillbilly authority. “Since all the stuff hit Houston, we’ve had a lot of people pump their gas and then drive away without paying.”

  Connie could feel the attendant’s anger.

  “Okay, can you pump it for me then? Please?”

  The attendant leaned down to inspect the inside of the car.

  “You coming from Houston?” he asked as he carefully pulled an oily rag out of his pocket.

  “Sort of,” Connie said. “We were just visiting, but we escaped from the southeast part of town. Have you heard any news?”

  “No ma’am. All communication’s dead. No TV signals either. It’s bad whatever it is. We got our guns ready though,” he said while patting his pocket. “Ain’t nobody gonna cause trouble round here, unless they plan on stealing gasoline.”

  The attendant grabbed the gas pump nozzle and walked to the back of the car. He knocked on the car for Connie to open the hatch.

  “Please open the gas cap cover, ma’am.”

  Uh oh, ‘rental car’ syndrome, she thought. It wasn’t her car, so she frantically searched around the footwell to find the gas cap release, first pulling on a lever that opened the hood.

  “Dammit,” Connie muttered.

  A chorus of “Mommy said a bad word!” came from the back seat.

  The attendant scowled and knocked on the gas cap again. Connie pulled on a different lever and the gas cap popped open.

  The attendant rolled his eyes and then stuck the nozzle into the car and squeezed the handle. The slosh and gurgling of gas was heard by everybody. She contemplated gunning the engine and tearing out of here when it was full.

  The attendant walked back up to Connie.

  “Ma’am, you look familiar. Are you on TV or something?”

  Connie looked straight ahead and moved her head side to side. “Nope….” she trailed off.

  “She’s Misses Adam Alston!” came a voice from the back seat. “Our Daddy is an astronaut on Mars right now. He’s famous!”

  Connie squeezed her eyes shut in anger.

  “Please be quiet, Cody!” she shouted.

  The attendant laughed out loud.

  “From the ears of babies, right?” he said, mangling the phrase. The attendant stood up and turned his head toward the building and yelled, “Hey Bill! We’ve got ourselves a very important person here in our tiny town. This is Adam Alston’s family! You know, one of them NASA guys on Mars right now.”

  A very rotund man waddled out of the small station office and across the blacktop. His belly reached the car first, the sheer weight of which closed the hood tight again. He was still licking his fingers from the meal he had just given no mercy.

  “Howdy Ma’am. Well imagine you coming to our sleepy little town of Eugene,” he said while trying to catch his breath from the walk. “I suppose the gas sta
tions on I-45 are all emptied out, eh?”

  “Yeah, that seems to be the case. Everywhere. The northbound traffic from Houston is pretty heavy.”

  At that moment, the pump clunked. All done.

  Here’s my chance to take off, thought Connie. The fat guy was standing in front of the car, blocking them in. She couldn’t do it.

  The attendant removed the nozzle and hung it back on the pump. Connie got out her wallet and handed her credit card to the attendant.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked.

  “Charge the fillup, I hope.”

  “I done told you communication is all broke to hell. I can’t process no credit card. You got cash? Maybe something else worth tradin’?” he suggested in his creepiest voice.

  “Yes, I have some cash. How much is the total?”

  The attendant stopped chewing his gum and turned to smile at Bill.

  The attendant leaned into the window, breathing at Connie. He smelled like coffee, cigarettes and tooth rot.

  “Seein’ as you’re famous and all… How much do you have on you today? MAYAM,” he said, stressing the last word.

  Connie opened her wallet and took out all her cash, totaling $90. She reluctantly handed it to him.

  The attendant counted each bill slowly, pulling each one tight to straighten it out.

  “I tell you what. We’ll call it even,” he said with his flawed logic. “Good luck on your trip north. And give our regards to your husband up on Mars. The town of Eugene is rootin’ for him, ya hear? We love our Texans!”

  The attendant and Bill walked back toward the garage, occasionally pointing back toward Connie and laughing.

  She started the car and peeled out in the direction back toward the freeway. Once on I-45, their next stop would be home in Fort Worth.

  I hope it’s still there, she thought.

  CHAPTER 7

  Bomb Shelter, Building 12

  NASA Johnson Space Center

  Houston, Texas

  “Thank God for cellphones,” Chris Tankovitch said.

  He and nine other people were using the flashlight apps on their phones to illuminate the room. They’d been in the bomb shelter for hours with very little information. The explosion had sent a shock wave across the facility and damaged a lot of buildings, including knocking a wall out of the mission control center building. The flag pole on the roof had fallen down and speared a parked Volkswagen Beetle.

  “Anybody getting any signal? Any updates?”

  A chorus of sad No’s filled the room.

  Chris stood up and walked over to the door.

  “Okay everybody, I’m going to go take a peek outside.”

  Chris slowly opened the door and walked out. Ceiling tiles dangled from the roof. All of the outside windows were shattered and glass lay strewn across the floor. The acrid smell of burnt electrical wires filled the air. Some of the non-load-bearing office walls had fallen down, but the building itself looked structurally sound. Chris continued toward the outside door and pushed it open. To the northwest he could see a glow coming from the downtown Houston area, no doubt caused by enormous fires. He saw a huge hole in the side of the Mission Control Center complex, papers blowing in the wind.

  On occasion Chris could see emergency vehicles through the smoke. They rushed up and down the main road. They weren’t far from the on-base medical clinic, which still had lights on.

  Their backup generators must be working, Chris thought.

  Chris walked back to the bomb shelter room and opened the door further. The glow from the flashlights pointed at him. He held his hand up to block the blinding lights.

  “Come with me. The clinic has power and some of you need help.”

  One by one, they exited the room, some walking, some limping.

  “Watch the broken glass,” he warned them.

  The group moved slowly across the parking lot toward the new medical clinic. Chris was flanked by his two deputy directors. He barked orders to each of them.

  “Get a list of all NASA facilities still functioning and see if there’s any communication routes open. We may have to walkie-talkie and CB radio our way around the country. Execute the emergency protocols at all of them.”

  “Got it, chief,” said the deputy as he jotted down notes.

  Chris turned to the other deputy.

  “The Space Station is crippled. We may have lost the deep-space wideband antenna to Mars. Find out if Goldstone or the other two deep-space antenna complexes in Madrid and Canberra are working. We can’t leave our crew stranded without any communication.”

  The group continued walking toward the medical clinic. Chris made sure to drift over towards Jimmy, the technician who had shown him the depressing video from Mars right before the accident.

  “Hey Jimmy.”

  Jimmy acknowledged with a head nod, but kept walking without looking at Chris. Jimmy had a new limp.

  Too much silence followed.

  “Yes?” Jimmy said to Chris.

  “You know the video you showed me?”

  “Of course,” Jimmy confirmed, nodding his head.

  “Is your computer okay?”

  “No, it was crushed by a wall. I barely got out. There was a small fire, too.”

  “Damn,” Chris said in despair. “But you have backups, right?”

  “Of course we do. We have an offsite backup, you know, for safety reasons.”

  Chris was overjoyed to hear that.

  “If we can get power back on and get you a new computer, how soon before we can get to your backups?” Chris asked.

  “That might be a bit tricky,” Jimmy said as he stopped walking.

  Chris stopped walking, too.

  “Why is that? Where are they?” Chris asked.

  Jimmy frowned.

  “Downtown Houston.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The Alston family getaway car

  Nearing Dallas

  The Honda approached the Southern outskirts of Dallas on its way to neighboring Fort Worth, having driven nearly seven hours.

  Approaching any large city brings the same universal sights. The exit ramps become more frequent. More fast food restaurants. More hotels. The oddly placed adult mega-bookstore.

  Off in the distance, Connie could see the familiar Reunion Tower with its big spherical top.

  We’re so close, Connie thought. Both kids were asleep in the back seat.

  Tonight was very different from the other times they’d driven in at dusk. At the bottom of the exit ramps and on the distant side streets, Connie could see the blinking stop lights. Everything was running on emergency backup power. None of the skyscrapers downtown were lit up. Just dark obelisks stabbing up at the sky. The sight of the buildings brought joy to Connie though because it meant no bombs had struck Dallas.

  Fort Worth is probably okay too, she thought.

  She barely noticed the tiny figures ahead on the freeway. As her headlights got closer, she saw a dozen thugs standing across the freeway, each one holding a weapon of some sort. A mix of baseball bats and two-by-fours. Connie saw a car that had stopped – the driver was being beaten senseless.

  Not today.

  She gunned it and aimed for the biggest gap in the line. Instead of moving apart to avoid the automotive death-machine approaching them, the thugs started moving together. Connie didn’t slow down. She passed right through the line at full speed. A loud BANG hit the drivers’ side mirror. It flung back for a brief second, but bounced right back into place. The mirror itself was shattered. She looked in the rear-view mirror just in time to see a body rolling along the pavement.

  “Mommy? What was that sound?” Catie asked, freshly awoken from a back seat nap.

  “It was nothing. We… we hit a bird. You two go back to sleep.”

  “Okay. Are we home yet?”

  “Almost. We’re in Dallas. We’ll head west for a while and then we’ll be home.

  Maybe Houston was a terrorist attack, she th
ought, even though the car radio still couldn’t pick up any stations.

  Once she reached the outer belt, Connie headed west toward her hometown of Fort Worth. The two giant cities had grown together into one massive city often called the DFW Metroplex. This urban blob even had its own airport.

  One more hour to go... hopefully.

  Connie looked in the mirror at her sleeping children. They had survived unscathed.

  Thank God for small victories.

  The Honda drove down the long sweeping exit ramp leading right into the main intersection entrance to Wanigas. She had to stop quickly due to the backup of cars. This intersection, the only entrance to the city, was blocked by a police blockade. The officers were turning many people away. After what seemed like forever, Connie reached the front of the line. A policeman knocked on her window and she rolled it down.

  “Hi, Officer, I need to get to my house. I live here.”

  “Ma’am, can I see your driver’s license?” he said without emotion.

  “Sure,” Connie said quietly while digging through her purse. She handed him her driver’s license.

  The policeman wondered why she was whispering. With his left hand on the hood, he leaned over and stared into the open driver’s window. He saw the two sleeping children – the officer understood. He leaned back up and had a huge blood stain on his shirt where it had rubbed on the side-view mirror. It was at that moment that Connie realized just how hard she’d struck those freeway thugs back in Dallas. She stared in horror, but the policeman didn’t see it. Her eyes quickly moved up to his face.

  “Ma’am, where are you coming from?”

  “We were in Houston, but we were able to get out.”

  “What happened there? What did you see?” the curious policeman asked.

  “I think it was a huge bomb or something. Probably a terrorist attack,” Connie said pensively.