Carl
Sagan once said, “Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.” The
reason I’m mentioning this is because this is what I would say to those reading
the TWELVE DAYS book series….Something incredible is waiting to be known!
TWELVE
DAYS – Book One, introduced you to the story, but as they say…You ain’t seen
nothing yet! There’s a lot more to this story than meets the eye, and just when
you think you’ve figured things out, you’ll quickly come to realize, you
didn’t.
Though
we had hoped to release TWELVE DAYS – Book Two, this past summer, it wasn’t
ready. However, this is no longer the case, and we anticipate a release in
Spring of 2013! To prepare you for what’s to come, we have updated the sample
we posted before and added a little more. I hope you enjoy it, and that it
leaves you wanting more!
-Monica Grimm
-Monica Grimm
CHAPTER
ONE
Day
Two: Saturday, August 11, 3100
“Mr. President…your wife is dead.”
Silence.
The doctor shifted from one foot to
the other. “Sir?”
John sat perfectly still with his
eyes focused on the clean white floor in front of the surgeon’s blood stained
boots. How did he get to that moment? Only one hour before they had been eating
dinner and Mary was fine, perhaps shaken by the day’s events, but certainly not
injured or in significant pain. Yet, there he was. “I’m sorry...I didn’t hear
what you said.”
“We couldn’t save her, sir, we…” He
wiped at his forehead. “I’m so sorry, sir, we tried everything we could to
revive her but the internal damage was too extensive…there was no way to
repair…”
“Wait…” John looked up at the
perspiring surgeon that stood in front of him wearing a look of great distress
and exhaustion. “What you are saying is not possible. Mary wasn’t injured in
the attack. I was with her and she was fine. We were having dinner when she
started feeling lightheaded, which is why I brought her in, but there weren’t
any other symptoms to indicate that something was wrong.”
The doctor’s agony was compounded by
the president’s reluctance to believe what he was being told. “I understand
that, sir, and though on the outside she did appear fine when we looked
inside…” He stopped. “Sir, I know you have some medical training…” He
hesitated, and then finished his thought. “Would you like to see for yourself?”
See that the doctor was wrong? The
answer was obvious. “Yes.” He rose to his feet and started quickly down the
brightly lit tunnel towards the surgical ward, knowing full well that when they
reached the room, Mary would be sitting in there, fully awake and well.
“Excuse me, sir, I need to get in
here for the eye scan,” the doctor explained, stepping in front of the
president as they reached the door. “It’ll just take a second...”
The barely discernible beam of light
shot directly into the doctor’s eye revealing to the computer not only the
specific makeup of his iris but the minutest details of his occipital lobe, as
well, authenticating the physician’s identity and his right to enter the
secured space. And though the procedure was as quick as the surgeon said it
would be, it seemed an eternity to John who stood waiting for the very large
and round steel door to open so that he could finally see for himself that Mary
was well, and that the doctor was wrong.
“Mr. President,” the surgeon said
quietly, “normally I don’t bring family members into the OR because it’s a
highly sterilized area, but more than that it’s because seeing their loved ones
on the table can prove to be too much for most. Still, for some reason I have a
feeling that this will be the only way to convince you.” He put a hand on
John’s arm. “Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes, of course.”
A big rush of cold air accompanied
the sliding open of the door.
“This way, sir.”
The brand new state-of-the-art
operating theater was a large, frigid room with sleek black furnishings and
instruments, surrounded by a massive domed imager that covered the walls and
ceiling entirely. With the touch of one button it would display scenic
panoramas designed to relax the patient before being put under, and the surgeons
while they worked. As they walked in, expansive green hills encircled them with
bright yellow wildflowers growing sporadically within the tall grass that
swayed gently in the unseen breeze.
“We thought she’d like the flowers,”
the doctor clumsily explained. “That’s why we…um…” He stopped when he noticed
the president wasn’t listening.
Instead, John’s eyes were on the
metal table where Mary lay covered almost completely with a black sheet.
“Mary?” he implored breathlessly. Her exposed and pale face looked serene as
though she were peacefully napping while dreaming of being in the beautiful
countryside the room had brought to life. But as hard as he tried to see her
chest rise and fall, he could see no movement. He swallowed hard and then
asked, “Where…where was she injured?”
Stepping up beside him the doctor
slowly pulled back the sheet revealing her discolored shoulders and chest. “The
contusions were caused by the restraints she wore in the shuttle’s cargo hold.”
The sight of the very dark and ugly
bruises crossing her chest brought instant moisture to John’s eyes. “I had no
idea,” he muttered, under his breath.
“This is the only outward sign of
trauma on her body, however, when we looked inside the extent and seriousness
of her injuries became apparent.” Pressing a button on the control console the
physician activated two highly reflective slabs that rose upwards on either end
of the table. Once in place, hundreds of minute beams shot out from microscopic
holes embedded within the glass panel at the head of the table, passing through
Mary’s body and striking the angled mirrors on the opposite end. In a matter of
half a second, the information would then be processed and projected as a
perfect three-dimensional representation of her body hovering three feet
directly over her. “Let me adjust the contrast.”
As the natural lighting from the
imager was dimmed, the floating image of Mary grew brighter and more detailed.
But just as quickly, the layers of skin and muscles disappeared leaving only
her skeletal system and internal organs on display. And though he was not a
doctor, John could clearly see the damage done. He wiped at his eyes, letting
out a shaky breath.
“Sir, if you look here,” the surgeon
quietly said, pointing towards her broken ribcage, “you can clearly see the
traumatic pneumothorax that was caused, I’m assuming, by the impact of the
crash landing, which then forced these two fractured ribs to cut to the pleura
causing air to be trapped…”
John stopped listening. Rather than
look at where the doctor was pointing to indicate the severe hemorrhaging
throughout the chest cavity and into the abdominal cavity, he focused on her
serene face. “Mary, wake up,” he whispered, despite knowing that she would not.
“Please.”
The physician went on. “…hypovolemic
shock stemming from hemoperitoneum…”
In other words, she bled to death.
Mary bled to death and there wasn’t a thing he could do to change what was so
obvious. She was gone. Barely able to utter the words, John said, “But she
seemed fine an hour ago.”
The physician turned to him. “If she
had only gotten here sooner...”
The words struck him like a violent
blow, leaving his eyes blurry and his mind spinning. “I…I didn’t know. I…” He
stopped. There was no point in going on. The doctor was right. Mary died
because he didn’t bring her in sooner. He was to blame, just as all the
failings of the past day could be attributed to his shortsightedness. The
ambassadors. Glen and Frank. The passage of the GRP. All of it. Overcome, John
fell to his knees. The pain of the last several hours had been so intense, so
overwhelming, but as he thought of Mary’s lifeless face, the pain he had
experienced throughout those torturous hours paled in comparison to the
insurmountable anguish he was feeling at that moment. Closing his eyes he
pulled at his hair. “Mary.”
There was no answer. No sound at
all, except for the barely detectable trace of static discharge crackling
somewhere in the room.
“Please, please, please, let this
not be happening,” John said, trying with all his strength to wake himself up
from the nightmare he prayed he was having. But as he opened his eyes he found
himself kneeling on the same hard floor of the same sterile room, however,
something was different. Above him the rolling hills and their flowers were
gone, replaced on the imager by a different scenario entirely. It was as though
the walls and ceiling had been taken off the hospital exposing him to the
environment outside where giant skyscrapers of varying fantastical designs,
materials and functions, rose up thousands of feet all around him. And
everywhere there was movement…on the bridges, in the tubes and crowding the
airways, people and vehicles rushing about unaware of the great tragedy
transpiring below them. And still higher, far above all the lights and
oblivious transients, the moon was near full and shining brightly, competing
with the aurora borealis to be the most prominent feature in the night sky.
There was no contest. The lunar orb was merely a footnote to the night’s spectacle
and would only be noticed for the briefest of seconds. Then the eyes and all
the attention behind them would focus, and stay focused, on the undulating greens
and reds. It was a strange phenomenon.
Somewhere a door closed.
Turning, John glanced towards where
the doctor had been standing, but not seeing him his attention was quickly
drawn back to the mesmerizing luminosity that danced silently above him. So
beautiful. So eerie.
“Renton.”
There it was again. The same voice
that had called him during the Cabinet meeting. Whose voice was it? He turned
and looked around the room.
“Renton.”
As he searched for the one speaking
to him the lights of the aurora suddenly filled the room, blanketing everything
with its moving glow and accompanying crackling sound. “Mary?” he uttered, reaching
up onto the table that was quickly becoming blurred patches of greens and reds.
She wasn’t there.
Rising quickly to his feet and with
his hands outstretched in front of him he felt around the table. “Mary? Where
are you? Doctor!” Becoming desperate he felt his way around the room as the
lights became brighter and brighter, blinding him to everything beyond the
illumination. With his heart pounding so loud he could hear it he tried once
more, “Mary! Where’s Mary?!”
“She’s
dead, John.”
The sound of his voice chilled him
completely. “Warren?”
“I
tried to warn you but because you refused to listen, she’s dead. So what will
you do now?”
Searching frantically around the
room John could see nothing beyond the moving colors. “Where are you?!” he demanded, frustrated by
the mocking laughter that echoed around him.
Very suddenly the imager shut off
and John was left standing in the empty operating room.
“I’m here,” Warren replied calmly,
while switching on the lights in the observation area above. He smiled down at
the president. “There’s no need to panic.”
“Son of a bitch!” John ran for the
stairs but when he reached the observation room, it was empty. Throwing chairs
aside, he made his way out into a very long, white and vacant hallway with
narrow doors lining both sides. To his left there was no movement, but to his
right he caught sight of a distant door slowly sliding shut. He ran fast,
reaching the portal just before it closed and with a burst of energy forced it
open again. Bracing himself against the powerful gusts blowing into him, he
stepped out onto one of the hospital’s landing platforms. He searched the
darkened tarmac for signs of Warren, but saw nothing. Only an air ambulance and
three police units stood on the windy plateau, with the lights from the
surrounding skyscrapers reflecting brightly off their gleamed surfaces.
Squinting his eyes, he thought he saw movement inside of one of the police
crafts. Starting towards it he saw more movement and then a second later the
ship was taking off in an accelerated climb. “Bastard!” Running over to the
unit that was nearest to him, John forced the canopy of the single-seater open
and jumped into the pilot’s seat. Five seconds later he was in pursuit of the
other craft.
“Catch
me if you can!” Warren jeered, heading vertical towards the aurora.
The DART 1A’s were compact
mini-trainers that the police used as escorts and traffic enforcers. They were
fast, extremely maneuverable and were considered to be more of a weapon than a
vehicle, loaded with ordinance that could either disable, or completely destroy
another vehicle. “I’ll catch you,” John mumbled as he raised the intensity of
his firing power, hoping that with one blast he would be able to obliterate
Warren’s craft the moment it cleared the skyscraper he was climbing alongside
of. “Just a little higher.”
But then just as he was about to
reach the tallest point of the building Warren suddenly decelerated, then
yawing to the right he began a steep and rapid dive into the midst of hundreds
of towering office buildings. “You’re not
getting me that easy,” he cackled.
“Shit!” John shouted, chasing Warren
through a very narrow labyrinth of curved and spiraling structures covered with
highly reflective glass that made it difficult to tell where the space between
the buildings began and ended. Adding to the harrowing nature of the chase were
the other ships that crowded the airspace. Large and small, commercial and
private, slow and fast, they made the pursuit substantially more dangerous
without realizing they were. Switching on the siren as well as the DART’s
powerful flashing lights to alert the other pilots of his course, John
accelerated, maneuvering quickly while doing everything possible to avoid
slamming into the slower traffic that made catching up to Warren impossible.
“Why
don’t you try firing on me now, John?” he taunted, flying perilously close
to unsuspecting transports.
Wanting very much to do just that
John held back, knowing that even if he were to hit him directly the debris
would damage many of those flying nearest to him. Then just when he finally saw
an opening, Warren pitched up and veered hard to the left, barely missing a
city transport vehicle.
“Hey,
let’s go over here, John, where there’s no one in our way.”
Speeding to catch up, John raced
past soaring skyscrapers with advertisements playing on the massive imagers
that made up two of their sides. One showed a group of laughing people and for
a moment he felt certain he could hear laughter, but instantly the image and
the sound were gone, distorted beyond recognition the moment he increased the
power to his engines. Still despite the acceleration he couldn’t get closer to
Warren’s craft. Feeling his frustration growing, he searched the cockpit for
the means to increase his ship’s speed even more. He found none. “Come on, damn
it!” At long last the traffic began to clear and John finally saw his chance.
Taking it, he fired rapidly on his enemy. “Yes!” The relief was short-lived,
however, because every shot he took missed its mark.
“Can’t
you do anything right?” Warren mocked, as he casually rolled his craft. “Here, I’ll make it easier for you.”
Very suddenly John found himself
flying into a wide corridor with rows and rows of exclusive housing units
rising thousands of feet on either side of him. Though there was no traffic
flying between the buildings he could see scores of people enjoying the lush
gardens below, while many others lounged about on landscaped balconies and
interiors of the luxurious apartments that Warren purposely flew close to.
“Pull up, Warren!”
“Why
should I? I like it here…so many rich people enjoying their wealth…but then
again you hate rich people, don’t you, John? Well then, in that case…this is
for you…”
“No!” John shouted, as the madman
began firing indiscriminately into the homes causing huge explosions that
instantaneously engulfed the properties and those within, raining fiery debris
upon the people below. Without hesitation John fired on Warren’s craft, but
again every shot he took, missed, striking and destroying random residences
instead. Enraged he slammed his fist down on the firing device. “What in the
hell is wrong with this piece of crap?!”
“It’s
not the ship, John, it’s you,” Warren laughed. “You have a propensity for killing people, which is actually something
I admire about you.”
“Screw you, Warren.”
He laughed more. “Usually though, and to your credit, you
kill the inane people…you know…like Mary was.”
That was more than John could take
and instantly a seething rage took hold of him, blinding him to everything
except his desire to kill the man he knew was ultimately responsible for Mary’s
death. “You son of a bitch!” he yelled, firing shot after shot at Warren’s
speeding craft. Yet again, every shot he took missed its mark and instead flew
into the surrounding buildings destroying even more of the homes and the people
inside of them, as well.
All the while, Warren laughed. “You do realize that you’re missing me and
killing innocent bystanders, don’t you?”
“Renton.”
John thought about answering the
voice, but quickly decided to ignore it and kept his focus on killing Warren,
instead.
“All
this talk about justice and that integrity bullshit, when the truth is you’re
just as ruthless as I am, aren’t you, John?”
Turning his gaze to the side, time
stalled just long enough for him to vividly see a blown out room where a woman
and child clung desperately to a man who was hanging over the edge of their
destroyed apartment one hundred stories above the ground. A second later the
man fell, pulling the woman and child down with him. At once John took his hand
away from the firing device.
“Look
at all the people you’re killing!”Warren roared. “Can you hear their cries, Mr. President?” he asked, pitching his
craft downwards and into another steep dive.
Shaken by what he had seen, John was
even more determined to stop him. Whatever it took. Putting the thought of them
plunging to their horrific deaths out of his mind he sped after Warren, flying
with great precision amid countless aircrafts and finally gaining on him as
traffic leaving a floating service station slowed the lead ship. He shot again.
The beam glanced Warren’s canopy then continued on into a building where a
giant explosion erupted. “Shit!”
Losing control for only a few
seconds, Warren corrected then quickly headed towards a great opening halfway
up a massive skyscraper that housed the city’s main monorail station. “Hey, John, why don’t we take the rails?”
“Warren, don’t!”
He didn’t listen.
Having no other alternative, John
followed him into the expansive terminal and stared in horror as the deranged
man flew in low before opening fire on the throngs of people coming from, and
heading towards the passenger trains that waited on the magnetic tracks.
Immediately the panicked crowds ran for the exits, trampling over fallen bodies
without a care as to who they were stepping on in their desperate attempts to escape.
“What in the hell are you doing?!”
Again, laughter. “Killing.”
“Enough.” John loaded a missile. A
direct hit would blow Warren out of the sky ending his killing spree. And
though some might be injured by the falling debris, he had no choice if he was
going to prevent the slaughtering of even more people. Locking in on the signal
emitting from Warren’s ship, he fired his weapon…but again he missed.
Helplessly he watched as the errant rocket flew into the wall of the structure
blasting out giant chunks of concrete, steel and glass into the packed
terminal. “Damn this piece of shit!” Flying through the smoke and debris all he
could see below him was burning wreckage amongst clusters of mutilated bodies.
Tears flooded his eyes as a feeling of desperation filled him, feeding his
rage.
“Stop
killing the people, John!” Warren jeered. “What did they ever do to you?” Still laughing, he performed a
tight loop and bringing his ship around he flew it straight into one of the
monorail tubes.
With his mind reeling from rage and
guilt, John flew into the tunnel after him. “You son of a bitch! I’m going to
kill you!”
“You
can’t kill me, John. And the more you try to stop what I’m doing, the more
innocent people will die.”
The moment his words sounded over
the speaker a terrifying noise began filtering into the cockpit enveloping John
in a horrific cacophony of chaos. Gruesome voices, screams, cries, human and
inhuman, swirled in his brain like a violent whirlpool, spinning clarity and
reason into oblivion. With this came a great pain behind his eyes, blurring his
vision as again the colors of the aurora began overtaking his surroundings. He
wanted to shut his eyes but he couldn’t for the pull from the magnetic rail
below him made level flight difficult, forcing him to stay focused in order to
keep from smashing into the sides of the tube. Fear suddenly overwhelmed John.
Fear of being completely impotent against Warren and the destruction he wielded
with such ease.
“But…I
will kill you.”
The chilling assuredness with which
he spoke the words was made even more unsettling when John looked beyond the
curve they were fast approaching. A mile past it he could see a commuter train
speeding towards them, unaware of their presence in the particularly narrow
tunnel. “Warren, please don’t do this!”
“What?”Increasing
his speed, Warren shot out a missile destroying the monorail track and leaving
a gaping hole through which the approaching train would surely fall. “This?” he laughed, as he flew out
through the opening.
John stared with growing dread at
the surreal scene playing out in front of him. The conductor had seen what had
happened and had activated the emergency braking mechanism releasing brilliant
sparks as the floating train reattached itself to the tracks to slow it down.
But John knew, just as he was certain the train operator knew, that there was
no way the train would stop in time and that in only a matter of seconds it,
and all its occupants, were going to plunge through the breach and crash onto
the ground one thousand feet below. Knowing there was nothing he could do to
save them he fired at the tunnel ahead of him to create his own escape route.
However the blasts that flew out of his craft were ineffective, dissolving
immediately upon contact with the wall. “What in the hell?!” Feeling suddenly
desperate he tried to stop his craft, but nothing he tried worked.
“Time
to die, John!”
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