In the Beginning

A prequel written for, and winner of,

ID: 757551   (Rated: 18+) Write a Sci-Fi Prequel Contest (Closed)  Contest closed. Winner announced. by Rick²

In The Beginning

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, day and night, divided the seas with land masses, and brought forth trees and vegetation. Next, he created the sun and moon, sea creatures, large and small, and birds. Then the beasts of the earth. And God saw that it was good.

But even God can have a bad day. For then he created the pestilent and parasitic creature known as man and, worse, gave this ignoble creation dominion over everything else. Bad move, God.

         By 2053 A.D. the tender flesh and vulnerable guts of Earth showed the cruel ravages of the human race in every imaginable way.

         Scarred and gouged by strip-mining, mountains were leveled in the name of progress and replaced by new mountains of the disposable garbage of the world's inhabitants.

         Entire rain forests were cut or bulldozed, then the land where they stood was burned. Oxygen levels were reduced significantly as photosynthesis was impacted.

         All of these obvious problems could not compare, however, with the unknown effects of man's rape of Earth, and that of one man in particular -- until they revealed themselves on the seventeenth day of June, 2053.

         The red telephone on the massive mahogany desk of Quinton Thorne, the world's wealthiest man, shrilled only once before he yanked the receiver to his ear and barked, "This better not be bad news or another excuse!" The number was known to only a handful of people around the globe, and Thorne did not care which of those individuals it might be. He did not lightly tolerate failure.

         The quaking voice of his head Middle East engineer, Matt Bronson, replied, "Mr. Thorne, I . . . we . . . have a situation."

         Thorne savored the fear in the man's tone. "Tell me."

         "Sir, the wells we've been working on in Iraq are . . ."

         "Spit it out, Bronson!" Thorne yelled. "What have you screwed up this time?"

         "They . . . they're gone, Sir. The whole oilfield is gone. Equipment, rigs, hundreds of workers -- gone in a matter of minutes -- swallowed by the sand. There's a crater five miles in diameter and God only knows how deep, and it's spreading by the second."

         Thorne, not phased by the loss of millions of dollars in materials or the loss of life, calmly sipped his coffee. The money would be replaced several times over simply from the interest his staggering wealth generated in a day. The lives were of no consequence whatsoever. "The cause, Mr. Bronson?"

         Bronson coughed, then cleared his throat. "Our geologists think that we depleted the oil deposits -- that we sucked out every ounce. Something had to fill the empty space. So the ground is collapsing into the void." He coughed again, a ragged, choking sound. "And there's gas pouring from the hole."

         "Natural gas? Find a way to cap and contain it, Bronson. That's money escaping, you fool!"

         "It isn't natural gas, Sir. Our sensors can't identify it. God, the men outside are falling like flies! The gas . . ."

         A strangled gasp wheezed from Bronson's chest and Thorne heard the telephone, and presumably Bronson, crash to the floor. "Incompetent ass," Thorne sighed, breaking the connection.

         Over the next three hours the red phone brought similar reports from other Middle East locations as well as from all over the world.

         Thorne's drilling operations in Russia sank into the earth, dragging an entire mountain range in behind them. The South China Sea facilities disappeared beneath the cold water, and the sea rushed in, creating an immense whirlpool, sucking nearby ships to their doom.

         Closer to home, drilling in the Alaska Wilderness area and protected marshlands in Louisiana, the rights granted to Thorne by the latest Bush presidency and a greedy Senate and Congress, unable to refuse the millions thrown at them by Thorne, suffered the same fate.

         Not only were the cavities drained of oil rapidly imploding and crashing in upon themselves but, so, too, were the vast underground caverns once occupied by the nation's aquifers -- aquifers illegally tapped by Thorne to supply water to his many farming, ranching and industrial endeavors. The Edward's Aquifer in central Texas, 165 miles long, 5 to 40 feet wide and over 1,200 feet deep, filled itself with soil, rock, trees and animal and human life along its entire length and breadth.

         In all instances, the unidentified, deadly gas spewed up like an invisible specter from the bowels of the earth.

         Thorne's heavily fortified three-story operations building-cum-residence in a sparsely inhabited section of Wyoming offered him protection from the events taking place outside. A man of his wealth was always a target for crackpots and kidnappers. Realizing this, his building was built to be more impervious than even the underground labyrinth of the Pentagon or the "safe" areas beneath the White House. Compared to Thorne's fortress, the President's emergency hideaways might as well be a canvas tent erected in the White House Rose Garden.

         Fully self-contained, with its own air filtration system, and high-tech, not commercially available solar power generators, the building could withstand a direct nuclear attack. A push of a button and the steel and concrete structure would be instantly encased in a five-foot thick steel cocoon.

          Fresh water and food supplies sufficient to last fifty of Thorne's most valuable employees a year occupied the immense basement level. And two on-staff gourmet chefs enjoyed suites in the building, ready to tempt Thorne's jaded palate at his whim.

         CNN calmly vomited the news as updated reports were issued from all over the planet. A single newsman, suit, tie. and hair impeccably in place, stared into the camera and said, "The gas escaping from the center of the earth, in addition to being lethal if inhaled, is also rapidly affecting the atmosphere. Already a heavy crimson pall colors the sky." Videotape replaced the image of the reporter, showing the viewers what they could have seen by looking out their windows -- the sky was a swirling, angry red.

         Then tape of several of the ground surface collapses in various nations replaced the red sky video, and the reporter's voice described the scenes: "The collapse of the subterranean caverns and pockets, as they fill with the flotsam and jetsam of anything near enough to be swallowed, have opened cracks and crevices deep below the surface. Soil and rock have been displaced, slipping, sliding and shifting. Tectonic plates scrape and jolt against each other, causing earthquakes unmeasurable by the standard Richter Scale. An estimated two million casualties have been reported world-wide."

         The newsman's face appeared again, as a sheaf of papers were handed to him from someone off-camera. "This update, just in, says that scientists . . ." The man stopped reading. His eyebrows crept together over the bridge of his nose and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He cast a disbelieving glance to the right of the screen and addressed someone unseen by the viewers. "You . . . you're fucking with me, right?"

         He shook his head, held his hands palms up in a placating gesture, then resignedly nodded before once again looking into the camera. "Uh, scientists have determined that Earth's gravity is changing, growing heavier by the hour, as the very mass of the Earth's core -- due to the collapses -- increases. This change in mass, coupled with the atmospheric disturbances . . ."

         Looking for verification of these events, Thorne clicked the remote and found himself tuned to the Fox network, where the style and delivery were much different. A newsman, sans coat, tie pulled low, his collar open and perspiration stains discoloring the armpits of his light blue, television-friendly shirt, spoke in a machine-gun rattle. "This looks like the end, folks! We've messed with our planet one time too many, and now she's out for revenge. Hundreds of millions have died horrifying deaths already, dropping where they stood from the gas, or from being swept into the unimaginable innards of the earth. The end of the world is upon us!"

         For once, Fox's hysterical, scare tactic style wasn't exaggerated.

         Moments before pushing the button that would sheath the building in steel, Thorne had an epiphany. The food stores would last fifty people a year. They would last him and a select few much longer. With no remorse, he punched the intercom on his telephone, wired into the building's public address system, and spoke: "Attention Security. This is Quentin Thorne speaking. Please evacuate all employees to the parking area immediately, with the exception of . . ." Thorne then named one chef, one engineer vital to the continued operation of the electrical and air filtration systems, and three attractive young female secretaries. He knew money could not buy love, but it would work great for sex if they were, indeed, forced to remain in the building for an extended period.

         Once the surveillance cameras showed the six uniformed, armed security guards had escorted the hundred and fifty or so employees to the parking lot, and that a steady line of vehicles was making their way along the winding road leading to the highway, Thorne pushed the button, closing off his sanctuary. He saw the incredulous expressions on the faces of his security staff as they realized that they were excluded from the security of the fortress, but he did not care.

         Calling the five remaining people to his office, he switched the television back to CNN and they watched the latest reports. The women and the chef cried. The engineer stood open-mouthed as the reporter added a new aspect to the already depressing scenario: "Ladies and gentlemen, we've just learned that the mysterious gas seems to have other effects unknown until now. Incredible as it sounds, inanimate, insensate objects are . . . coming to life.

"Desert sands, without benefit of wind, are forming into thirty foot high waves, racing across the desert, burying everyone in their path. Trees have killed dozens of people seeking refuge in heavily wooded areas, their limbs and branches slashing like scythes.

"Rocks are propelling themselves unerringly at people's heads. The world has gone mad."

         As the newsman, from habit, neatly shuffled and squared the papers in front of him, the papers launched themselves toward him. He frantically waved his arms and hands as dozens of deep, stinging paper cuts gashed his face. A heavy cardboard file folder took wing and fluttered toward the man. It sliced his right ear neatly from his head. As the ear fell to the desk with a gout of blood the newsman opened wide his mouth to scream his agony. The scream was suddenly stifled when a table microphone flew into his mouth, breaking off teeth and tearing his tongue as it embedded itself deep in his throat.

         Thorne tapped the remote, noticing how heavy it felt in his hand, and turned the grisly sight to empty black screen.

         The other people in the room seemed drawn and stooped, as though the weight of the world rested upon their shoulders -- or, more likely, from the effects of a fifteen percent increase in gravity.

         "We'll be safe here," Thorne said. "We have food, water, fresh air and everything we need to wait this out for a long time."

         The words were barely out of his mouth when one of the secretaries screamed. The wall she leaned against had claimed her shoulder and part of her arm. The harder she struggled to extricate herself, the more of her the marshmallowy wall devoured. The engineer grabbed her free hand and pulled, to no avail. Her head slipped into the wall and, within seconds, her thrashing ceased. She hung there, her upper body merged with the plaster.

         Thorne took one last look at her firm, round ass, his reason for selecting her to share his fortress, then blanked her from his mind.

         "Stay away from the walls!" The engineer yelled unnecessarily.

         But the walls were not alone in their attempt to envelope the former masters of the planet. Beneath the luxurious carpet, the floor buckled and rolled. The chef lost his balance and fell, his right leg mired to the knee. One by one the other employees fell or were partially pulled downward into the floor, into the steel and concrete.

         At the first sign of movement in the carpet, Thorne had flung himself atop his desk. When he felt the desk shiver beneath him he pressed the button on the side of the desk to lower the steel shield from the building. Suddenly the outside seemed safer than the confines of the building.

         Although still alive, the four employees sank more deeply into the flooring. Their screams filled Thorne's ears, but there was nothing he could do to help them. Instead, he helped himself, using their squirming bodies and heads as stepping stones to make his exit from the room.

         Heavy-footed, he crossed the Italian marble tile of the building's reception area, hit the door with his shoulder, and stumbled out into the newly thick, stifling air.

         Pain pinched his left wrist as his thirty-thousand dollar diamond and emerald encrusted watch bit into his skin. He ripped the watch from his wrist, peeling away flesh and meat to the bone, and flung it from him.

         No need for a watch now, he thought. Time had no meaning. Still, he wondered how much time he had left -- and why, with all of his fortune, he couldn't buy more.

Almost The End

**************************

The conclusion, from

ID: 743520   (Rated: 13+) The Final Three Minutes  How could this happen? by Rick²

:

Three minutes remaining.

         He ran through the windswept landscape, his eyes glistening with tears. His feet pounded the ground of red clay as he looked upward and asked the crimson sky how this could be happening. He found the air itself to be red, thick, and suffocating.

         Though he ran alone, he could not escape the feeling that eyes were everywhere, watching his every movement: cracks and fissures on hillsides seemed to form the outlines of giants; great boulders looked like the faces of ancient sentinels surveying the land; an oak tree seemed to stretch a greedy arm toward him as he passed by. His breaths became shorter, his body felt heavier, and he began to slow.

Two minutes.

         It felt to him as though the Earth’s gravity had doubled—lifting his legs became nearly impossible. As he raised a foot, the sole of his shoe stuck to the ground and pulled it away, stretching the soil like thick chewing gum. As he set it back down, the ground reached up to meet it. Every movement of his body was carried out as though submerged in quicksand. From above, motionless birds dropped from the skies. Before him, rabbits and squirrels staggered forward in the most awful manner—no longer hopping or scurrying, but instead lifting one tiny paw after another with labored effort.

         At the same time he and the other creatures slowed to a standstill, everything else set into motion: large slabs of rock righted themselves on-end; the ground swelled and bubbled, becoming more like liquid than solid; small rocks and pebbles bounced and scattered like swarms of bees; trees made deliberate and graceful movements, looking like conductors of a surreal orchestra.

The final minute.

         He came to a halt. Gravity tugged forcibly on his body and his face began to sag heavily like a melting wax figure. The ground rose up around his feet and he felt himself begin to sink into it. Now paralyzed, he could only stare in horror at the trees freeing themselves from the ground and taking their first steps across the Earth, lurching forward with eerie grace. Boulders with twisted faces grinned wicked smiles at the fall of the living. The wind howled with the sound of a thousand trumpets declaring victory. As he became blinded by the blowing sand and dust, the red clay poured up his chest, over his neck, across his face, and into his mouth and nose. He heard muffled cries and heinous laughter as he was wholly consumed by the Earth.

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