Darkening Danger; Chapter 1

Miami, Florida

Michael Levine

The void of darkness is surrounding me. My naked skin beaded with moisture chills to the bone. The perfect darkness elicits no sound except my own heartbeat and heavy breathing, no smells, and except for the company of my own fear, I am alone. From the darkness comes a light that separates and splits into innumerable floating squares. I am watching as they begin to move and oscillate around me, faster and faster… Reaching out to catch one, my hand is passing through its center, and I see each transparent slip of light is actually a formula or equation. All of the answers sought by scientists and mathematicians are within my reach, but I can't grasp one of them! What does this mean and why is it so damn familiar?

So many numbers are passing by I can't focus on one group. Out of the oblivion comes a backdrop to the equation, photographic flashes of famine and devastation have me struggling not to close my eyes. The gray and white images of the sunken eyed people are frightening. Compounding my fears are the visions of the gruesome dry deserted terrain scattered with animal skeletons. Out of a squint, I look to see post-apocalyptic images…oh God, is it the past or the future? I can't be sure. It reminds me of photos shot by Rothstein or Lange of the economic disaster during WWII and the famous western droughts. Somehow a part of me knows this is the foreboding future mankind will face in the wake of the sun's hiatus.

Sickened, giving into the pain, I double over and recognize the familiar darkened surroundings of my bedroom in Miami. I stumble in an awkward race to open the blackout drapes covering the French doors, and in a state of madness, I pull them back and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of the fiery ball rising above the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean. I swing open the doors, walk out onto the veranda, and soak in the heat of the rays.

Quickly, I decide to shower and return to The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (NOAA). I just left there a few hours ago, but the circumstances demands I return before my flight back to my more permanent residence in Corpus Christi. My family lives there, and I am anxious to enjoy Thanksgiving with my relatives.

Waiting for the shower to warm, I think back to my days at MIT as a young student hungry for answers to questions. Today, as if the dream were a portent, my wish is for an unintelligent normalcy.

In record time, I'm showered, dressed, a short drive later and I wave at the security guard as I pass through the gate. I swiftly maneuver my car into my marked spot and make my way into the building to my office. Considered a senior member of the team, I am actually a contracted consultant. Having made the point, recently NOAA and the issues at hand have demanded far more of my attention than usual.

Inside my office I buzz for Clyde, one of three intern assistants assigned by NOAA. I need coffee and the latest data sets. I pull the most recent research from the shelves and turn back to my desk to find myself face to face with none other than the current bane of my professional life, Dr. Larson Taylor.

"Ever hear of knocking Larson?"

Why knock, the door was open." The muted tones of an expensive suit go well with the distinguished appearance of the man who just barged into my office. Yet, the Wall Street Banker appearance of Larson doesn't fool me one bit.

"What do you want?" I ask resignedly.

"Just to let you know that young geologist…what's his name Raymond?"

"Ryan, his name as you very well know is, Ryan."

"Yes, well whatever. He totally screwed the pooch in Washington yesterday. Those people will never listen to us again!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought you knew. I took young Ryan with me to address the Hill, yesterday. I did my best Michael, but they refused to listen to me. Especially after young Ryan gave them the horror story version of what to expect in the near future. Of course, with no scientific proof to back up his claims, they refused to hear me out."