Offworld (51 page)

But the survivors were many. One minute they were gone, and
the next minute they were there, standing or sitting in the chair
or vehicle or sidewalk or shop or library or church where they'd
vanished.

And they knew. They didn't know exactly what they knew, but
they understood that something monumental had happened. One
look at the state of their surroundings told them that they'd awakened after being gone, and while waking up to a world of pain was hard,
it was far better than never waking at all.

Chris fought his way to his feet, ignoring the protests of his friends,
and looked over the hood of the jeep they'd hid behind. Smoke and
debris was still falling from the sky, remnants of the explosion that
had destroyed the Waveform Device, making it hazy and hard to see
in the nighttime air.

The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder there, and watched
and waited for the air to clear. When it finally did, they saw it.

Rice Stadium was gone. It had been replaced by a massive crater
in the Earth, its outer lip just meters from where Chris and his friends
stood. The pungent smell of hot metal and burning rubber and wood
filled the atmosphere, and was difficult to breathe.

"Look," whispered Trisha.

They turned. A handful of people had materialized in the parking
lot. One of them was a janitor of some kind, who probably worked
at the college. Two others were athletes who looked like they'd just
arrived at the stadium to get in some off-season practice time. There
were one or two more in Chris' viewing range.

They just stood there, all of them, unmoving. They looked around,
taking in the incredible sight of Roston's military encampment that had
taken over the parking lot and was now abandoned, and the more
stunning sight of the crater where the stadium used to he.

Chris couldn't stand up anymore; he was too tired. He sank to the
ground and held the blood-soaked cloth to his neck. The bleeding
seemed to have slowed, but he was going to need stitches to fully
repair the damage. And his shoulder had been severely aggravated
and would be out of commission for weeks, if not longer.

Terry collapsed beside him, massaging his leg with one hand and
wiping his wet eyes with the other.

Following their lead, Trisha and Owen both sank to the ground as well. Trisha looked as if she could sleep for a month. Owen was
clearly tired too, but he was still alert, watching the area with a gun
in his hand, just in case any of Roston's men should return.

Chris wanted to say something, to mark the moment. It was done,
and at last they were really home. But he couldn't assemble the words
in his mind in any suitable way.

Some time later, they heard sirens wailing. Red and blue flashing lights were headed their way, no doubt drawn by the crater and
the plume of smoke the blast had created, which was still hovering
high in the air over Rice University and was probably visible all over
Houston on this clear, warm summer night.

"What are we going to tell them?" asked Trisha, her voice
weak.

"The truth," replied Chris.

"But how?" Trisha countered. "How do we explain everything
that's happened?"

"Easy," said Terry, speaking for the first time. `Just tell them their
lives were saved by someone who never existed."

Hours later, the few remaining television sets and computers across
America and across the world that still had electricity received their
first broadcast in months.

"To everyone able to watch and listen in around the world, we
are very glad to be broadcasting to you this evening. We understand
that there are still millions around the globe without power, but
authorities have pledged to work around the clock until everything
is restored just the way it was, before ...

"Well, before we were all gone. Information is still sketchy, but a
source inside the Pentagon has revealed to this network that authorities have an active investigation already underway to discover the
root cause of the unprecedented event that has encompassed the
globe. We can exclusively reveal that the White House is calling this event `The Offworld incident,' and rumors are swirling that a small
but unidentified group of trustworthy individuals has come forward,
and they are explaining the details of the incident to government
officials as we speak.

"We understand that the president is listening in on this debriefing
from the White House, along with several dozen other world leaders who are listening remotely from around the globe. And insiders
believe that we may get an unprecedented joint statement from several
of these world leaders before the night is out...."

Christopher Burke, Trisha Merriday, Owen Beechum, and Terry
Kessler departed the FBI building early the next morning just before
sunrise. Their presence there had been successfully kept a secret
from the press, but two very important people were notified and
were waiting for the four of them to exit.

Owen dropped to his knees at the sight of Clara, his wife, and
Joey, his son, who ran into his father's arms the second they were
out the door. Clara quickly joined them, and the three members of
the Beechum household were reunited in something bigger and more
meaningful than a group hug. Tears fell from their eyes as they clung
tightly to one another, tighter than they ever had before.

"I missed you," said Joey, his face lost somewhere in their
huddle.

Softly, gently, Clara's voice could be heard saying, "I did too."

Chris, Trisha, and Terry stepped away, seeing that their friend
had come home at last. And despite Owen's incredible fortitude,
they knew he would not be able to hold back his emotions. Not this
time. Rather than spoil the moment, they smiled to one another and
walked on.

Without the machine creating its impossibly bright beacon of
light, the last predawn hour was free to wrap darkness around the
streets of Houston.

Terry limped on ahead a few paces, favoring his wounded leg,
and giving Chris and Trisha a much-needed moment alone. He sat
down at the base of a set of concrete steps and very uncharacteristically waited there, patient and quiet.

"Guess you'll be heading off to see your family," said Chris.

Trisha nodded, unable to stifle a yawn. "There are a lot of them
to see. And they'll be worried about me."

"I'm sure they are," said Chris, trying to appear casual. Then
a thought occurred to him. "Though NASA will be expecting our
debriefing."

"They can wait," replied Trisha. "We need to be around the people
we care about most."

"Mm. How are you feeling?"

She was the picture of exhaustion, with drooping eyes and sagging shoulders.

"Tired, sore . . " she said.

Chris was sure he looked as bad or worse. His shoulder was in
a new and more binding immobilizer, the cut on his neck had been
stitched and then covered with a fresh bandage, and he was banged
up and scratched up almost everywhere else on his body.

"You need to sleep," he said.

"I don't want to sleep. I want to hibernate."

He smiled.

She faced him. About ... what you told me yesterday. I don't
know what to say yet. You're my best friend in the world, but I'm
not sure what I'm feeling right now. Paul didn't leave me. They killed
him. And I've spent the last week believing he chose to stop loving
me. I feel like I betrayed him somehow. I need time. Time to grieve,
time to find some closure.... ..

Chris got the picture. "I understand."

"No, you don't," she said, and took a step closer. "This is not a
rejection, Chris. I want you in my life. It's just ... that's as far as I'm able to take it right now. I need more time to sort stuff out. If you
can wait-"

"I can wait," he said eagerly.

"I better get going," she said with a smile, and then extended her
hand. "You coming?"

His face went completely blank, all pretenses dropped. "But you
just said ..."

Trisha offered him a very tired but warm expression. "I said I need
some time. I didn't say I wanted to spend it without you."

He let out a quick breath, a shudder of wonder and excitement.

Was this really happening? Or was it another distortion of reality,
caused by the machine?

Chris didn't want to know. He just wanted to go with her.

He was about to take her by the hand when Terry called out from
his perch on the steps nearby. "Hey, Trish, tell the family I said hi!"

They both turned to face him; he'd obviously been eavesdropping.

Trisha gave him a look of grimace, but didn't really mean it. She
glanced at Chris, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

`All right, Terry," she said with mock exasperation, "you can
come too."

And despite his leg wound, Terry Kessler leaped gleefully from
his seat and joined his friends.

Thanks to ...

God. You are always good. You are always faithful.

Karen. You are my life, my love, my everything.

My family. Thank you for letting me dream, and always wanting
to dream with me.

The kind people at Kennedy Space Center's Visitor Complex:
thanks for your help in learning about your incredible facilities. I
can't wait to go back there.

Everyone at Bethany House, and everyone at Alive Communications-especially Dave and Beth. Thanks for always having my back,
and for caring about my future.

All the friends and loved ones who offer little bits of encouragement from day to day. The things you do and say stay with me, and
will never be forgotten.

Dear reader. Thank you for picking up this book, and taking this
ride with me. Let's take another soon.

Robin Parrish has written for over a decade as a journalist
on the cutting edge of Christian culture, from books and
music to film. He is the author of the fan-favorite DOMINION
TRILOGY. Robin, his wife, and their son live in High Point,
North Carolina.

www.robinparrish.com