Richard Stephenson - Collapse

As the craft began to plummet vertically, Howard’s arms began to hover in the weightlessness. He immediately gripped the armrests of his chair and looked out the cockpit window. All he could see was blackness. Howard fought the urge to scream and closed his eyes.

“Please, Hal, please save me. Please save me, I don’t want to die. Please, please, please, please. Do something, Hal, please do something. Eject me! Hurry up! Eject me! Why aren’t you ejecting me? WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?”

Howard replaced his terror with rage. Rage is a much more comfortable emotion than terror. Rage demands control; terror whimpers for it. In the span of less than a second, his brilliant mind reviewed the failsafe systems he had designed, and Howard realized that all of the electrical systems must have gone offline at precisely the same instant. He wasn’t struck by lightning and the craft didn’t malfunction. The odds of all the systems malfunctioning at the same time were astronomical. What did Hal say just before this happened? He had disturbing news that he didn’t think I could handle. The disturbing news and his craft going dark could not be a coincidence; the two had to be related. Howard then realized with certainty that a nuclear device had been detonated high in the atmosphere, and the resulting electromagnetic pulse had disabled his craft.

Howard relaxed when he realized it was only a matter of time before the craft would deploy her wings and become a glider. Once the craft fell to the thousand-foot mark, the hydraulics pushed out the wings and locked them into place. Slowly, the craft leveled out for a more gradual and controlled descent. Howard’s mind raced, simultaneously processing a dozen trains of thought at the same time. He calculated that they were in the air for less than three minutes and still climbing to cruising altitude when they were struck, putting the point of impact roughly ten miles from Beck Castle. The craft would then spend another few minutes slowly gliding back to the ground, adding another mile or so to the distance. Once on the ground, Howard figured he would be ten to twelve miles from Beck Castle. He was no spring chicken and never exercised, so he would be lucky to make three miles an hour on foot. Thus, it was going to take him close to four hours to make the long trek back to the Castle. Another of the many thoughts racing through his head was the status of Beck Castle. Howard knew the massive underground facility was shielded from an EMP. What concerned him was whether or not Hal would come to rescue him. Hal knew the monumental importance of keeping the facility safe at all costs. The Artificial Intelligence was capable of rational, independent thought. If Hal made the decision to leave Howard to his own devices to keep the Castle undetected and safe, then Howard would be on his own. If the EMP was the first phase in a full-scale invasion and the enemy was at their shores, then nothing would be launched from the Castle for fear of detection. If Hal launched a drone into a sky absent of aircraft, the Castle would become an inviting target. Howard decided that the best course of action was to operate under this assumption.

Howard’s brilliant mind, a mind that rivaled that of Albert Einstein, began to execute tactical scenarios of what the enemy might be doing at that very moment. He also analyzed what an EMP would have done to the Eastern United States. The death toll would be staggering. Howard quickly realized what the average man wouldn’t comprehend for years: the American way of life was extinguished by a flash of light in the sky.

A few minutes later, the parachutes deployed from the roof and gently brought the craft to the ground. Howard took the large bolt key and flashlight out of the small compartment in front of him and opened a small panel on the door. He pushed the lever forward and the cockpit door slowly opened. Howard stepped out into the surrounding blackness and looked up into the night sky, cursing the cloud cover above him. The moon was desperately trying to pierce the cloud in front of it. The edges of the cloud were illuminated, giving him a glimmer of light to work with. He scanned the rest of the night sky and saw a few stars, but not enough to get his bearing and figure out the direction he was facing. He had little choice but to wait for the clouds to move out of the way and bring the stars out of hiding. Desperation was setting in when Howard remembered his saving grace — the emergency pack in the rear of the craft.

Removing the pack from its compartment, Howard inventoried its contents — two one-liter bottles of water, three MREs, a cigarette lighter, a container of waterproof matches, an emergency Mylar blanket, two flares, two chemlights, a tube tent, a multi-tool, a six inch folding knife, a first aid kit, a roll of duct tape, fifty feet of parachute cord, a poncho, a ten-by-ten tarp, and best of all, a compass.

Howard grabbed the compass, flashlight, and a chemlight and slung the backpack over his shoulders.

Howard was happy that he hadn’t set off from the tail of the craft thinking it was pointed in its original eastward direction. With the aid of his compass, Howard headed west, watching the constellations to alter his course and bring him directly to Beck Castle.

Thinking back, Howard realized that this was the first time he had been separated from Hal since he came online. Howard was surprised at how much he depended on his digital friend. He had only just been separated from Hal and was already missing his company.

Howard walked longer and farther than he had in decades. He couldn’t remember walking this far since he was a teenager walking around his college campus. Every thirty minutes he stopped to rest and scanned the night sky for direction. Two hours into his trek, he fought the urge to set up the tube tent and call it a night. He had never been so exhausted in his life. He was drenched in sweat, and his muscles and joints ached. His estimate of making it to the bunker in three or four hours was a pipe dream. At this rate, he would be lucky to make it in six. He stopped and drank half of one of the water bottles. The constellations gave him another minor course correction, and he set off towards Beck Castle.

Two hours later, Howard’s feet were swollen and blistered. He stopped and removed his shoes and socks. Using the first aid kit, he bandaged up his feet as best he could. Realizing he needed more padding on his feet, he took off his shirt and tore it into strips to wrap around his feet. Dress shoes might look nice, but they served little purpose in long distance walking.

Howard slowed to a snail’s pace but didn’t stop. He knew he was in the vicinity of the Castle but had no way of knowing exactly where it was in the dark. He scanned the horizon, looking for Meredith’s garden. He just needed a frame of reference, something to stand out against the surrounding terrain. It was hopeless. The clouds above had completely blocked out the moon. Howard could barely see ten yards in front of him. He could very easily walk right past the garden and wander further off course. He checked his watch to discover that the sun would not be up for at least three more hours. Howard’s mind raced through dozens of options, quickly determining that all were hopeless. He would have to set up the tent and wait for the sun to up. Howard took the tube tent from the package and unfolded it on the ground. As he sat down and began to remove his shoes, he saw something. He turned his head and watched for it again.

A blinking light.

A very faint, red light blinked three times in quick succession. Howard thought he was imagining it and continued to stare into the darkness. One-Two-Three. Pause. One-Two-Three. Pause. One-Two-Three. Pause.

It was Hal!

Howard was overjoyed. The thought of waiting for the sun to come up was pure torture. Howard was not a patient man and hated the outdoors. He quickly repacked the tent and tied his shoes. In his excitement he found a new strength and began to walk towards the light. One-Two-Three. Howard had no idea how far away the light was; it could have been a hundred yards or even a quarter of a mile. One-Two-Three. He didn’t care. His journey had an ending point.