M. Banner - Stone Age

He was on a slightly elevated platform that made him look that much taller. He was a manifestation built up by word of mouth, fueled by an overzealous media, and buttressed by his own charismatic presence. The Teacher was educating the crowd about judgment day. It was one of his favorite topics, and one he spoke of a lot recently.

“This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come. And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are but the beginning of the birth pains.” He paused for impact.

“Lawlessness will be increase and the love of many will grow cold, but the one who endures to the end will be saved.”

The stadium lights started to flicker.

“For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, and never will be,” his voice rising in strength for emphasis.

They flickered some more, this time followed by a few gasps from some in the crowd.

“Immediately after the tribulation of these days, the world will be plunged into darkness.”

Only a few miles away, the Dresden Nuclear Power Plant was a buzz of activity. From the air, the workers running around the plant would have looked like ants evading a large predator. The predator invading Dresden was silent and unseen, and far more deadly than any attacker imagined by the Nuclear Power Plant Preparedness Plan.

Induced currents from a moderate sized CME currently working its way to Earth built up along power lines leading to the station’s main transformers. To protect itself, when current levels reached 110% above baseline, the power plant’s system disconnected itself from the grid, in essence shutting itself down from power production. Unfortunately, tonight was also a usually warm summer day in Chicagoland, which was pulling more than its fair share of energy from the grid. The Joliet Power Station, on the NERC’s watch list for not having proper shielding around its transformers, was already struggling to keep up with normal power demands. The same CME induced currents, which were playing havoc at Dresden, started to cause cascading circuit overloads at Joliet. When Dresden shutdown, Joliet’s transformers failed.

The lights went out at Joliet High School stadium, followed by the school’s lights, followed by the streetlights, followed by the AM/PM Mini Mart a block away. It was a blackout.

The Teacher paused and now many more murmured, and whispered. He flicked the microphone on/off switch a couple of times to verify it was not working, confirming its power appeared to be cut off too. He turned and found Thomas, already anticipating what Teacher might need, handing him a bullhorn, already turned on.

He continued, “And there will be terrors and great signs from heaven.”

The murmur grew louder. A dozen or so fingers were thrust into the air, pointing to the East, then a few more, and then still more, until everyone was looking to the Eastern horizon, which was awash in undulating green clouds. The pulsating auroras rolled in like storm clouds, but far more sinewy and fragile looking, which didn’t at all diminish from their ominous presence. A few people stood up, frightened by the sight before them, as the Teacher had just prophesied. In their fear, they were no longer paying attention, tripping over others who were transfixed by the heavenly miracle they were witnessing.

One of the stadium’s transformers connected to a light pool on the 20-yard line exploded. A gushing arch of sparks fanned out and rained down on the crowd sitting and standing below. The panic bubbled up through the multitude, beginning with those being covered by incendiary material, and then spreading out. A woman’s scream sliced through the commotion, her hair catching fire from the transformer’s sparks. Terror fueled her voice and legs. Those around her joined in, now accompanying her shrieking and erratic motion, until it seemed a mass of people were rolling into the field rather than toward the exits.

Another transformer blew. This one was on the opposite end of the field by the 30-yard line. These sparks ignited a powder keg of terror. Most of the whole crowd, at once, attempted to flee, many falling over each other, some getting trampled to death. Only moments ago, the field was in rapture over the Teacher’s words and his promised specter of miracles. Now it was a witness to hell on Earth.

The Teacher stood resolutely on his dais, the bullhorn dangling from the cord around his wrist, and both arms suspended by his sides. He watched intently as this sea of people ran in all directions simultaneously, their fears pushing aside any logical thinking. He slowly raised his arms skyward, as if beckoning the heavens. His face, without emotion, was posed in purposeful determination. He considered what it must have been like for Moses when he parted the seas. Only this prophet was parting a sea a sea of people so as to separate the wheat from the chaff, or the strong from the weak. He was in command. He was the prophet of this time.

It was his time.

John and Steve Parkington arrived at the Jackson County Airport — Reynolds Field at just before 11PM. Steve ran into airport restaurant to use the facilities, knowing it was going to be a while before the next rest stop, while John went to the Airport Manager’s office to drop off their flight plan. They met at Hanger 119 and opened the door to reveal John’s favorite toy, a blue and red striped, 1982 Cessna 340A. Although he didn’t need to, John justified the purchase for business, since he often traveled around the state, especially Detroit, and sometimes across the lake to Chicago. Really, John just bought the plane for fun. It was in sorry shape when he first purchased it — or stole it — having sat in a field for a decade, unused. After a year of overhauling the engine, replacing much of the avionics, reupholstering it with leather, and repainting it with his company’s colors, it was like a new plane.

While John went through his pre-flight checklist, Steve was getting weather reports all the way to Denver on his phone. Most pilots never flew at this time, even those who were instrument rated, still preferring to fly by the light of day. John loved flying at night, among the stars, and he was very familiar with this route, having made this very same flight six times now. Everything looked good and they were ready to go. With a little tailwind, they should reach Denver by sunrise at 5AM the next morning.

“Jackson tower, this is Cessna Charlie-George-Boy- two-two-six requesting permission to take off.”

“Cessna two-two-six, be advised, Chicago O’Hare reports communications problems. Traffic is heavy in their neighborhood. Otherwise, Cessna two-two-six, you are cleared for take-off on runway three-two. Have a safe trip, John.”

“Thanks, Peter, Cessna two-two-six out.”

John looked at Steve, who was lost in a happy thought, smiling to himself.

“You ready,” he asked interrupting his thoughts.

“Engage, Number One,” he answered thrusting his hand forward, mimicking his most favored TV series, Star Trek Next Generation, even though it hadn’t been on since he was really little.

John throttled the engines. The twin turbo props came alive in an instant, moving the airplane forward at an increasing rate. In twenty seconds, they reached 105 miles per hour. John pulled back on the wheel and they were airborne. The plane steadily accelerating, disregarded the pull of gravity. Within a few minutes, they flew over their family home and the lake they both so enjoyed. Ahead of them was an adventure that would test their intellectual and physical limits. Behind them was the home they knew for most of their lives, and one they would never see again.