World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1) by Chris Pike (good novels to read .txt) 📕

The incident was filed away in the back of her mind, hidden, yet not forgotten.

~ ~ ~

To think Joe had been in the presence of a gifted singer before she was discovered was a memory he’d never forget.

Pushing through the crowd, Joe flashed his ID card, apologized, and said, “There’s a back-up in the toilets the football players use.”

He always found it funny how people gave plumbers a wide berth, like they’d catch some type of superbug from him. He also found it funny how people were extremely glad to see a plumber when they needed one. Then equally glad when they left.

Once he found a perfect spot to watch the fireworks and the Blue Angels, he launched the camera app on his iPhone then swiped to video mode. He held the cell phone above his head to video the festivities.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer boomed. “Please rise for the singing of the National Anthem. Let’s give a big welcome to country star, Lex-eeee Carrrrter.”

Lexi froze at the mention of her name. For a moment, she felt a twinge of a memory of earlier days when she sang by herself onstage. The glaring lights and choking smoke; the smell of cheap booze of those broken down honkytonks; unruly fans and the insecurities she suffered from made it seem like those struggling days were only yesterday. She never believed she was good enough to receive all the adulation and awards bestowed upon her.

Channeling what her mother had told her, Lexi stood board straight, then strode onto the field like she owned it, keeping her gaze planted firmly ahead, trying desperately to focus on what she had to do.

A raucous round of applause greeted her as she walked out onto the field.

~ ~ ~

Oblivious to the thunderous applause, Joe took his sight away from the phone to witness the real thing. Lexi arrived wearing a smart navy blue pantsuit, paired with a white shirt, red dangly earrings, high heels, long brunette hair cascading in perfect curls over her shoulders, and a two hour makeup session by an experienced makeup artist. If someone had asked Joe Buck what Lexi Carter was wearing, he would not have been able to answer because he was blindsided by her grace and presence. She had come a long way from the smoke-filled honkytonk.

Standing at center field, Lexi waited for the applause to fade, and once it did, she took a big breath, smiled at the audience, and from the first note she sang, Joe was in another world.

He placed his right hand over his heart, and softly sang along with the words, oblivious to the person who accidentally bumped him, spilling a soft drink on his shirt. He didn’t notice the woman passing him, holding a screaming toddler who smacked Joe on his head; he didn’t hear a man telling him to move and to stop blocking people.

He only heard the angelic voice of Lexi Carter, and the memories when he first laid eyes on her.

The song ended much too soon before Joe had time to fully enjoy it, or even listen to the words. He hadn’t even tapped off the recoding on his iPhone or realized he had placed the phone in his pocket.

~ ~ ~

When Lexi finished the last line of the song, she had a deer-in-the-headlights look, didn’t move a muscle, as if she was unsure what to do next. Savoring the memory of what she had accomplished, she lifted her gaze to the crystalline blue sky, visible from the open roof, closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer for her daddy.

Once the Blue Angels did their flyover, she’d walk off the field as she had been instructed to, then take an elevator to the luxury boxes where her mother waited for her.

The stadium lights flickered, and a strange buzzing noise zipped and crackled along electrical lines.

The enormous big screen video board went black.

A hush fell over the stadium.

Cameramen on the field tapped their headsets, as if tapping would restore a connection.

People were fumbling with their cell phones, confused.

The ones who didn’t have their heads buried in their phones witnessed in horror a jet spiraling out of control towards the end zone.

Before anyone on the field had time to react or prepare, the jet clipped the upper level of the stadium, catapulted end over end, then slammed into the end zone, gouging a depression through the artificial turf, the concrete foundation below it, then the gumbo-like dirt of the swamp Houston was built upon. A tsunami of fire and pressure sent exploding pieces of razor-sharp shrapnel sizzling through the air, slicing anything unlucky enough to be in the way.

Dense, black, lung-clogging, fuel-soaked smoke spewed upwards toward the open roof.

Another explosion rocked the stadium.

A goal post, its foundation weakened by the blast and its padding melting from the intense heat, teetered then clanged to the ground.

A fireball the size of a three-story building erupted, sending out flames sucking up oxygen, resulting in an intense rush of pressure.

The entire stadium shuddered.

Anything organic near the inferno was incinerated in seconds, and a putrid odor of melted skin and organs mixed with burning jet fuel filled the air.

The shockwave of pressurized air hit Lexi hard in the back, lifted her off her feet, then slammed her onto the turf, knocking the air out of her. The back of her head took the brunt of the hit. She gasped for air and sucked in a gulp of oxygen that tasted like burned crumbs mixed with something putrefying. She coughed, trying to rid her lungs of the foul-tasting mush she had breathed.

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there. Thirty seconds, perhaps five minutes.

Dazed, Lexi pushed herself up to a sitting position