Solutions: A Man's Dilemma by James Gerard (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

For now, however, the call of duty would be obeyed.  It would be in a time of his choosing that the questions arising from all doubts and suspicions that stirred in his mind would be answered.

 An explosion disrupted the calmness of the cabin.  Chaos reverberated all around as wind whipped about everything in sight.  The sound of an engine thrown into full thrust was heard. The plane rolled uncontrollably from side to side while the nose seemingly struggled against the downward motion pushing it towards the ground.

Stephen struggled against the gravitational forces knocking him about at will and fell into the cockpit door.  Shouting as loud as he could over the sounds of hurricane force wind, banged and banged at the door, he desperately waited for an answer that never came.

Assuming the worst survival instincts kicked in.  Wading through the forces of destruction hindering the walk to the rear of the plane, he frantically searched for a parachute.  Time for planning was ticking away as the ground in view neared. He fought off panic, allowed the presence of patience to take hold, located a lone parachute, and loosely secured it to his torso.  A hand slammed open the emergency lever to the cabin door.  The door was sucked off its hinges and went flying away.  He begged for mercy and leapt into the sheer terror fast approaching.  He yanked on the chord.  The chute opened.  His legs buckled underneath his frame from the collision with the ground.  At a short distance the scene exploded in a cloud of sparks and flames and dust as the jet slammed into the ground.

Aches and pains were tempered by the shock of the collision.  A sense of disbelief mulled the senses.  He could not believe he was alive, but the frantic pulse and rapid breathing assured otherwise.

The thick black smoke arising from the plane's debris answered the pilot’s fate.  Feelings of grief for the pilot’s demise were too overcome with the shock of his miraculous survival.   All Stephen could do was offer the Lord a silent prayer of mercy for the pilot’s soul, and a much elated thank you for sparing his own life.

Stephen had no idea where he was.  He figured he could be anywhere between Northern California and the destination point in Oregon since all around him stood a tall forest of pines and mountains dotted with patches of felled trees.  His cell phone managed to survive the jolt of the impact.  But the phone was of no use as it did not respond amidst the mountains surrounding him in all directions.  However, the time function was still operating.  It was close to eleven in the morning, and with a quick estimation of the lapsed time he felt more assure of the present location.

Stephen wondered had the pilot in all the mayhem dispatched a distress call.  Then again, he thought if the pilot did manage to transmit a call would anyone respond considering the world was dying anyway.  Do I or the pilot even matter?

Mustering up all the logic within his rattled brain and clearing out the cobwebs covering common sense, Stephen needed to devise an emergency plan of his own.  He doubted a response call was even transmitted because such scenarios no longer mattered in the battle against the plague.   But, in the event the pilot panicked, sent out an SOS, even then Stephen could not see the logic in worrying about two souls in the face of the pandemic.  If the world were right then the sudden disappearance of the jet off the radar screen would be noticed and rescuers alerted, but the world was anything but right.   And even if the plane bore an emergency beacon that emitted a steady beat of pulses to some satellite in the sky, would there be anyone in any regional communication center listening at all.

A quick check of the integrity in bones and muscles came back with just a bit of soreness.  Standing, he surveyed the surrounding area and headed for a small hill rising from the valley floor.  Starting with the view of the clear patches of mountains his eyes followed the thin bare line coming down the side of one particular mountain and into the valley floor.  There would be his escape, but the escape found him instead.

The chopping whir of helicopter blades buzzed his ears.  He looked up with flailing arms to signal the eyes in the sky his location.  Finally seen, the chopper turned on a dime and descended to a point just above the trees.  A safety line dropped feet away.   Stephen secured himself in the harness and was lifted to safety.  As he ascended to his rescuers above Stephen had the time to consider why they even bothered to send out a rescue team, or for that matter, how the chopper arrived on the scene so quickly.

“Stephen Boyd?” yelled out a member of the crew attending the harness.

“Yes.”

“Did the pilot make it?”

“No.”

“Can you confirm that?”

“Trust me, he didn’t make it.”

The crewmember unstrapped the harness and led Stephen to a seat.  The helicopter lurched forward and turned sharply to the left. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a makeshift base about thirty miles due east.”

Stephen leaned back into the seat and deeply inhaled the fresh air swirling around, slowly released it back to the rush of air. 

The scene below was filled with the site of endless trees and an occasional small mountain lake as the helicopter flew just above the top of the canopy of the forest.  Stephen had an obstructed view of the ground but as it turned sharply to the left the site of a field covered with trailers and tents and vehicles came into view.  The helicopter leveled itself for a vertical landing.  Stephen could see activity on the mountainside to the left of their position.  He was not so sure what the vehicles and people were doing, but the bustling activity suggested something vital to the success of the survival plan was at hand.

He was escorted off the helicopter and accompanied straight to a military transport plane idling on the tarmac of a makeshift runway.  Without a word two armed men followed him onto the plane and sat in seats opposite his position. 

“Where are you taking me now?”

“I don’t know,” answered one of the guards.  “We’ve just been ordered to escort you to wherever it is you’re going to.”

Stephen did not want to risk suspicion by questioning the two any further.  It was better, he reasoned, whatever was going on it was paramount to maintain a calm train of thought to better deal with the situation.

In a matter of hours the plane landed at an unknown destination.  Stepping out of the plane and onto the tarmac was like stepping into an oven.  The sun was still high in the sky and beamed down penetrating rays of heat.

Stephen turned to one of the guards, “We’re in Las Vegas aren’t we?”

“Looks that way sir.”

Stephen did not recognize the two men walking towards him.  Their eyes were transfixed squarely on him, but he had no doubt who they represented.  Thoughts of Robert popped into the mind.  It appeared as if he had acted deceptively and wondered if whatever hit the jet was an intentional act of sabotage.  Feelings of dread led to thoughts that he had been targeted for elimination.  That was the logic behind the rescue team’s sudden presence he felt.  They had not shown up for humanitarian reasons but rather to verify the success of the plan to kill him.  All this, he concluded, because he dared to disrupt the plans by his acts of compassion.  But to the extent that they would want to eliminate him for it was beyond comprehension.

“Stephen, you survived the crash.”

“How did you know I survived?”

“Satellites of course.  Too bad for the pilot.”

“Where are you taking me?”

One of the men smiled.  “Just to get you checked out.”

Stephen was baffled by the situation.  Now suspicions reined his thoughts.  Events were not following the path of a clear and orderly pattern.  For the first time in a long time he was facing a fear of the unknown.  An intense feeling of doom shrouded his usually cool and calm manner.  He was not in control of the situation.  He was the one that was being led about, as if played with for the amusement of others.

He was driven directly to an operational building somewhere off the Las Vegas strip.  The huge structure once serving the throng of tourists in the form of a hotel casino and resort now gave way to an operational building of the U.S. National Crisis Center.  No doubt, he deduced, that the building now offered a different kind of reality than the usual customer accommodations for the masses.

Inside, Stephen was presented in front of the regional superintendent.  The man seemed polite enough.  A warm smile and firm handshake greeted him.  The reassurance of rest and relaxation were offered with words wrapped in a tone of sincerity.  The invitation to roam the streets freely to any site, to any location, was a benefit offered as well.

But Stephen was too overcome with suspicion to see that everything offered, every word, every smile was done so in the most honorable tradition of polite society; the show of kindness was seen as smoke and mirrors.  The niceties had to be hiding the intentions brewing behind the kindness thrown at him.  What that was, however, he would be a willing participant and play the game.

Behind the steering wheel of a luxury SUV, Stephen carefully maneuvered out of the parking lot and turned onto the boulevard.  There was not much activity to see except for the armed guards patrolling the perimeter of each building.  To the rear of the buildings, however, he could see some activity and decided to investigate the actions.

There were the same refrigerated trucks he had seen from the satellite view, parked behind the building in the area reserved for deliveries.  He wondered if they were delivering food.  But he remembered from the satellite view that the same trucks were not heading in the direction of the strip but in the direction of the desert where they disappeared into a cloud of smoke hiding the ground below.  Are they picking up food?  Did they run out of space and were forced to use desert camps to house more survivors?

Stephen shouted to one of the guards patrolling the area and asked about the refrigerated trucks.  The guard just smiled and said in effect it was none of his business to know what the trucks were for only that he had to guard the area.

Then the sound of doors opening, the shuffling of feet, and the quiet whispers of many voices filled the air.  People, seniors, seniors in wheelchairs and with walkers and on gurneys were herded into the back of the trucks that sat ready.  The back doors were slammed shut.  Each truck’s refrigeration unit started to hum as the engines roared to life.  One by one the trucks departed into the direction of the desert not too far