SpaceMan: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SpaceMan Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  She was his type. Young. Pretty. Athletic. She was a triathlete too. He’d noticed the 140.6 sticker on the rear window of the Honda and the expensive Thule bike rack atop its roof. She’d finished an Ironman.

  Then again, most women were his type. That was the problem. He was a good dad to Kenny. He was never late to pick him up. He texted and “snapped” him every day.

  But when he’d cheated on Kenny’s mom, over and over again, he’d been cheating on Kenny too. His infidelity, his narcissism, had ended Kenny’s comfortable two-parent life and thrust the young teenager into a never-ending game of ping-pong in which he was the ball.

  In his darkest private moments, alone in his sparsely furnished apartment with a beer in his hand, Rick could admit his failings. He knew he was selfish, and no matter how hard he tried to make it up to Kenny, nothing could equal the damage he’d inflicted on his son and his ex-wife.

  Rick climbed into his Jeep and glanced over at Kenny and Chris. He considered the ramifications of that red glow in the sky the night before and the loss of power. If the world were ending, would he float skyward or take a nosedive into the depths of that other place?

  He sat there for a moment with the key in the ignition, lost in thought. This wasn’t the time or place for his usual barstool antics. He needed to focus. If he was going to be the kind of dad he aspired to be, this was the time to step up. His gut told him as much.

  He cranked the ignition without even considering it might not start. The Jeep whined a protest then rumbled awake. Its idling rev startled Kenny, who looked sideways at his dad. He held up a finger to Chris and trotted over to Rick’s window.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just two campsites over. A woman needs a jump.”

  Kenny’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What does that mean, Dad?”

  Rick knew what his kid was thinking. “It means her car won’t start. I’m going to try to help her.”

  The boy’s eyes softened with relief. “Good,” he said. “Just hurry up, please. We’re hungry and the charcoal smells ready.”

  Rick looked over at the grill, where waves of heat stretched upward in ambling streams, distorting the trunks of the trees in the distance. “Got it.”

  He gave his son a thumbs-up and then shifted into gear, pulling right into the circular drive and rolling to the stranded Ironwoman and her Honda. She and Mumphrey were talking. Really, Mumphrey was talking, gesticulating wildly with his hands. She was listening, an interested smile glued to her cheeks. Even her cheeks looked toned.

  Rick shook the thought from his mind. “All business,” he mumbled, averting his eyes from her physique.

  He slipped the Jeep into park and left the engine running. He popped the hood and hopped out. Mumphrey already had the cables connected to the Honda’s battery terminals.

  “All right,” Rick said, heaving the heavy hood into an open and locked position. “Let’s do this.”

  The athlete was standing close behind him. She was smiling at him, and Rick assumed some of her ice must have melted. Instead of returning the flirt, he looked at his feet.

  He resisted the strong reflexive urge to compliment her or use one of his ridiculously douchey pickup lines that worked despite their lack of charm.

  “Why don’t you give her a shot,” he said without any hint of his earlier flirtation. “Mumphrey here has the cables hooked up.”

  “Oh,” she said, batting her eyes with surprise. “Okay then.” She raised her arms with balled fists and flexed her biceps. “Let’s do this,” she mocked with a deepened voice and walked to the Honda.

  Rick sat behind the wheel and waited for her to give the thumbs-up. When she did, he pressed on the accelerator, revving the three hundred and sixty horsepower V-8 two-barrel engine.

  The athlete cranked the ignition. The Honda wasn’t responding. Rick revved the engine again.

  Nothing.

  He got out of the Jeep and walked over to the Honda, leaned on the open driver’s door, and looked down at the athlete. She was cursing her car and slapping the top of the steering wheel with her palm with one hand while uselessly pushing the start button with the other.

  “You want me to try?” Rick asked.

  She glared at him. “Seriously? You think you can do a better job of pushing the button?”

  Rick grinned. “Seems like I just did a pretty good job of pushing one.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Good one.”

  “I try.”

  “Thing is”—she gestured toward the dash with her hands—“it’s not just the engine or the battery. The display isn’t working either. It’s like someone fried the computer.”

  Mumphrey peeked around the Honda’s hood and blinked over the top of his glasses. “Just like my pop-up,” he said. “Deader than dead.”

  “Why is your car working?” the athlete asked. “It looks like something Henry Ford built by hand.”

  It was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes. “It’s not that old. It’s—”

  Then it hit him. The magnetic blast, whatever it was from, had fried electronics and anything plugged into an outlet.

  His old Jeep was computer-free. There was nothing to fry.

  “Looks like you’re ruminating on something,” Mumphrey remarked. “You got an idea there?”

  Rick nodded. “My car doesn’t have a computer. Yours does.”

  “So?”

  “Didn’t you see that magnetic storm last night?”

  The athlete shrugged. “The aurora?”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. “The aurora is an electrical phenomenon. It’s like a visible magnetic disturbance.”

  She looked at him sideways and planted both hands on the top of the steering wheel. “Are you a scientist or something? You don’t look like a scientist.”

  Rick stepped back from the open door. “I’m not sure how to take that,” he said. “But, no, I’m not a scientist. I can’t really explain why we saw that aurora last night. It shouldn’t happen this far south unless there’s a magnetic cause. That’s about all I know. That and they’re usually green.”

  “The green ones are borealis and australis,” said Mumphrey, slinking around the side with his hands in his pockets. “Those are the two auroras. One’s North Pole, the other is South Pole. I watch a lot of the Discovery Channel. I’m an outdoors kind of fella. The red one means there’s a big sun storm, I think. There was one back in the 1850s. It was red.”

  “So what do we do?” she asked. “I need to get back to Galveston.”

  “Galveston?” said Mumphrey. “That’s where I’m headed. Well, not exactly Galveston. But Spring. You know, a bit north of Houston?”

  “I know Spring,” she said. “Right off I-45. You’re on the way.”

  Mumphrey’s eyes lit up. “Exactly right.”

  Rick knew neither the athlete nor Mumphrey were going anywhere. Their vehicles were as good as scrap metal. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled.

  “I’m headed that way,” Rick said reluctantly. He didn’t need the temptation or the bother. He felt obligated, though. Mumphrey was a nice guy, and it wouldn’t be right to leave a woman stranded in the woods. Especially a woman who looked like her.

  “I hadn’t planned on leaving today,” he said. “But the boys are from Clear Lake. I’m on the west side near Memorial.”

  The athlete’s eyes widened. “The boys?”

  “My son and his friend,” Rick explained. “I’ve got to take them back to Clear Lake. I’ve got room in the Jeep for both of you.”

  Mumphrey hiked up his pants. “When were you hitting the road if not today?”

  “Tomorrow,” Rick said. “Given we’ve got no cell service, though, and I can’t get in touch with the boys’ moms, we probably should head back after breakfast.”

  “I’ll take you up on the offer,” Mumphrey said. “Mighty kind of you. I’m in Spring right off the highway.”

  Rick nodded at Mumphrey and then shifted his eyes to the athlete. Part of him w
anted her to decline the offer. Admittedly, it wasn’t as big as the part that wanted her to say yes.

  Her eyes narrowed on Rick then relaxed. She shrugged. “All right,” she said, exhaling loudly. “Might as well. I’ve got no other choice.”

  “Don’t sound so enthused,” Rick said and walked back to the front of the Honda. He disconnected the cables from her car and then from his Jeep. When he slammed shut the hood, she was standing next to him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, extending her hand. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just frustrated. I’m usually pretty self-reliant. I can handle my business, you know? Plus…”

  “Plus what?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Plus you make me uncomfortable.”

  There was an undeniable electricity. Rick felt it, and he believed she did as well. It was his sudden disinterest that attracted her. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. He immediately regretted inviting her.

  “Huh,” Rick said flatly. “That’s funny. You make me uncomfortable too.” He shook her hand and pulled away before he might have usually done so.

  “What time you wanna leave?” Mumphrey asked.

  “Give me a an hour,” said Rick. “Meet me over at my site. Bring what you want and we’ll make room for it.”

  He put the Jeep into reverse and started backing out of the campsite. He’d stopped and shifted into drive when she jogged up to his window.

  “What?” he asked, pressing the brake while trying to keep his eyes above her neck.

  “Nikki,” she said. “My name is Nikki.”

  “Okay, Nikki,” Rick said. “See you in an hour.”

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 25, 2020, 8:01 AM CST

  DINOSAUR VALLEY STATE PARK, TEXAS

  Rick hosed off the camping pan from the site spigot and used a grease-stained towel to dry it as best he could. He folded the handle into the pan and looked up to see Nikki walking toward him. She had a large pack on her shoulders, her thumbs tucked inside the straps.

  “Ready to go?” she asked. “Mumphrey said he’ll be here in a second.”

  “Just about,” Rick replied, motioning toward the boys. “They’re taking down the tent and we’ll be on our way.”

  “How was breakfast?”

  “Good enough,” Rick said. He tucked the pan into a bag that held other camping utensils. “Bacon is always undercooked and greasy when you do it out here. Even the precooked stuff. Eggs were fine. It’s hard to screw up a carton of egg whites.”

  Nikki chuckled. “So you’re a chef, then?”

  “Iron,” he said. “I’m a regular Mario Batali.” He zipped up the bag and reached for Nikki’s pack. “Let me get that for you.”

  “Oh,” she said, appearing surprised at Rick’s chivalry. She shrugged the pack from her shoulders and slung it toward him. “Thank you.”

  “A chef and a gentleman,” Rick said.

  “Stop being a player, Dad,” said a cracking pubescent voice. “Seriously.”

  Kenny stood there, his nose crinkled with disgust. Rick’s cheeks grew hot. Leave it to a teenager.

  Nikki belly laughed and stepped over to Kenny, offering her hand. “I’m Nikki. You guys are giving me a ride.”

  Kenny’s eyes flashed with disappointment, darting between the woman and his father. “Are we?” He didn’t take her hand.

  Rick glared at his son. “Be polite,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Kenny shook Nikki’s hand but didn’t look her in the eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled. “I’m Kenny.”

  Nikki bent over, trying to draw Kenny’s attention. “So your dad’s a player?”

  Kenny rolled his eyes. He nodded and then looked at her. “You look familiar. I’ve seen you before.”

  “I just have one of those faces.” She winked. “Seems to me you’re the cute one.”

  Kenny’s cheeks flushed. He nodded toward Chris. “This is Chris. His dad’s not a player.”

  Nikki waved. “Hi, Chris.”

  Chris waved back. He was sticking the last of the fiberglass poles into the large tent case.

  “Am I late?” Mumphrey appeared from nowhere. “I had a few things to lock up, seeing as how I gotta leave my car behind.”

  “You’re good,” Rick said. “Nikki, your car locked up?”

  “Yes. I hate leaving it here, but I can’t call Triple-A or Honda, so I’ve got no choice, really.”

  “Guess not,” Rick said. “Hopefully, this is a temporary thing, and as soon as we get you home, you can take care of it.”

  “Hopefully,” she said.

  Rick adjusted her pack in the back of the Jeep and made room for Mumphrey’s US Army standard-issue duffle bag. “You sure you don’t want me to tow the pop-up?”

  “Nah,” Mumphrey said. “I appreciate it, but you don’t have a tow package on the back of the Jeep. Might do more harm than good. She’ll be okay for a couple days until I can get back up here.”

  Rick heaved the duffle into the back of the Jeep. He’d feel uneasy leaving anything behind. There was no telling who or what would be hanging around once they left. The cars and pop-up were as good as abandoned.

  He walked over to Chris and helped the boy finish zipping up the tent case. It was always tough getting all of the pieces in the bag just right. When they finished the job, Rick thanked Chris for his help and tossed the case into the back of the Jeep and closed the tailgate.

  “Okay,” he said with a sigh, “we can hit the road. Everybody hop in.”

  “I’ll get in the back with the boys,” offered Nikki. “Mr. Mumphrey can have the front seat.”

  Mumphrey faked a bow with a wide, toothy grin. “Mighty kind of you. Are you sure you don’t want to be up front?”

  Nikki slung open the heavy passenger side door and climbed into the back. “I’m good,” she replied, sitting in the middle.

  Rick put his hand on Kenny’s shoulder and whispered into his son’s ear, “Don’t be a player.”

  Kenny rolled his eyes. “Funny, Dad.”

  Rick climbed into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. He checked the fuel gauge. It was nearly full. Thankfully, he had filled up on Highway 67 outside of the park entrance.

  He adjusted his rearview mirror and caught Nikki’s eyes. She held his gaze for a moment before she turned away to talk to the boys. Rick pulled out onto the circular loop that connected the campsites to Park Road 59.

  He drove west, passing the same scene over and again. People were trying to jump the cars or their SUVs. They had their hoods up. Men and women were flailing their arms at each other or pointing with frustration at their children.

  “Seems everybody’s stuck,” said Mumphrey. “So thankful to have you help us.”

  “Not a problem,” Rick said. He turned on Park Road 59 and drove south toward the exit. He felt the stranded campers watching when they rolled past. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, as if trying to avoid a beggar shaking a can at a stop light.

  They navigated the Park Road in silence until they reached the fork where the road merged with FM 205. Just south of the merge and before they connected with Highway 67, they saw a crowd of people off to the left of the road. A few of them stood in the northbound lanes, threatening to block Rick from passing.

  Kenny pressed his nose to the glass. “Dad, what are they doing?”

  Chris leaned forward, almost sitting in Nikki’s lap. “They look angry, Mr. Walsh.”

  As they approached, they could hear the chanting. Dozens of people were dressed in all white. Some of them had their eyes closed, heads tilted back toward the sky. They held their arms in the air, palms pressed open flat.

  “That’s the Creation Evidence Museum,” said Rick. “The people who don’t believe in dinosaurs.”

  “What are they doing?” Kenny asked.

  Mumphrey pointed at the people spilling into the road. “Looks to me like they’re praying.”

  The chanting grew louder. It was another language, perhaps Latin or Aramaic.
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br />   Rick pressed the accelerator, hoping to skirt past the crowd flowing onto the road. He wasn’t fast enough. By the time he’d shifted the wheel to go around the group, they’d blocked him.

  They were men and women, even some children, all of them with the same wild look in their eyes. They had something to say and they were going to make sure Rick listened to them.

  Rick looked in the side-view mirror and shifted into reverse. He started to back up, but when he turned around, some of the white-clad chanters had blocked him. He cursed under his breath and slipped the Jeep into park.

  Kenny reached across the seat and gripped Rick’s shoulder. “Dad?”

  Rick took one of his son’s hands. “It’s okay, they won’t hurt us,” he said, although he wasn’t so sure. He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Nikki’s eyes again. She wasn’t sure either.

  A tall, thin man standing on the shoulder moved, almost floated, to the center of the road. His white shirt was buttoned up to the collar, his hair short and trimmed neatly along his temples. He had a long, birdlike nose that flared as he spoke.

  “And there appeared another wonder in Heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads,” he recited.

  His voice was loud but controlled. The others kept chanting. It was like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

  Rick reached down to crank open his window.

  “Dad,” Kenny said, his voice trembling, “don’t.”

  “It’s okay,” he assured his son and opened the window. He leaned his head out. “Could you please let us pass? We need to get home.”

  “Where did they come from?” asked Nikki. “I don’t see any cars. Did they all walk here? Are they with the museum?”

  The tall man with the bird nose glared at Rick but didn’t respond. He blinked and took a step forward. He held up his hands to silence the throng. The chanting stopped and all of their eyes focused on the Jeep.

  Rick muttered under his breath, “What the hell?”

  “We might want to get a move on,” said Mumphrey. “These folks look like they got bad intentions. They ain’t got nothin’ to do with that museum.”

  Through clenched lips, Rick said, “I can’t go anywhere. Ichabod Crane and his minions are blocking me.”