My Novel, A book I've ben working on

This is a story I began about 10 years ago. Should I finish it? Is it interesting enough for me to finish? I know there are a lot of errors (spelling, grammar) and editing is needed, but aside from that, please lend me your opinion.

By Daniel Taverne: all rights reserved 19 feb 2008
1.

July 14, 1988

“Boys will be boys.” Mrs. Jones said flatly as she stood at her kitchen sink rinsing the last of the supper plates. Betty Jones’s kitchen remained untouched since it was remodeled back in 1974. The wooden cabinets suspended from the upper walls were still painted yellow…a yellow that once was bright. But layered with almost 14 years of cigarette smoke they now appeared dingy and dull. The swirl ceiling which used to be white also had that same yellow, dull appearance. So much so that one would think the ceiling and the cabinets were originally painted the same color. The range was top of the line in ‘74. It was a stainless steel custom insert model, with four burners sitting within a matching yellow wooden cabinet the underside of which was storage for pots and pans. However, fourteen years later the stainless steel range stood stained with old food and grease.

“I just can’t accept that as an excuse, Betty. Those boys need to be taught a lesson.” Joan stated, shaking her head. Joan, a tall brunette with haunting green eyes and a supple olive complexion was the sister of the woman to whom she was speaking. She loved her sister Betty but always felt a twinge of jealouly of the life Betty was leading with Phillip.

“Joan, do you remember when we used to hop the train? Our moms didn’t know where we were either. We’ll just have to have a talk with them.” Betty was also brunette and had features similar to Joan, however Betty stood at least a head taller. In addition, Betty had a noticeable scar, a white line of sorts about an inch long over her dark haired left eyebrow: a scar she had gotten at the age of 11 when she flew over the handlebars of her bicycle as she collided with her dog Sammy, breaking it‘s neck and killing it..

“Maybe you’re right.” Joan conceded.

Neither Joan, nor Betty expected what happened next.

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2.

July 1988 seemed hotter than hell at Fort Polk, Louisiana especially to Sergeant Phillip Moon who made one last check of his TA-50 on the tarmac before boarding the C-141. As he finished up his checks and snapped the padlock on his duffle bag, he momentarily allowed his mind to wander…to drift back home to up-state New York…back home to his wife and son…Betty and Brian.

The flight chief yelled from the flight line, over the sound of the airplanes powerful massive engines, “Load up!” Phillip gave a nod and a thumbs up has he stood and hoisted the two duffle bags up (one over each shoulder) Sweat beads ran down his forehead stinging his eyes. Before he boarded, he took one last look around. As he turned toward the rear of the plane, he set his jaw firmly, as if he knew something bad was about to happen.

It’s times like these, he thought as he sat down in something resembling a cargo net, that to the government, soldiers were nothing more than expendable property. Just cargo…no more or less valuable than the parachutes they jumped with or the TA-50 they utilized in the field.
He tried to get comfortable, but his duffle bags were placed directly in front of his feet allowing no room to stretch out. He allowed his mind to wander back home again…

I should have brought them with me. Joan could have taken care of mom. God I miss them. It’s
been too long. Brian should be playing catch with me, not Uncle Bob. I mean, I’m glad he’s there
but….

The plane rumbled roughly down the runway then smoothed out as it lifted off.
Phillip stopped thinking about home long enough to look out the window watching the ground fall away. The best part of flying, he thought. Then his mind went back home.

I wonder how King is doing. They must have gone swimming by now…That damn dog! I can’t believe he chewed up my skiing goggles…what I wouldn’t give to be with him right now.

Though he always missed his family, the feeling was strongest during times like these…just before a mission. After about 10 minutes into the flight the C-141 seemed to hit some turbulence. The large plane pitched to the left and seemed to drop 20 or 30 feet simultaneously. This snapped Phillip back to reality. “What to heck was that!?” He Yelled.

The co-pilot leaned back in his seat then spun facing the rear…“We’ve just been hit by something and one of our engines are gone.”

Just then, at that moment…something…the front half of the plane simply disappeared. It was as if a giant sword cut it in half. Phillip sat there with his mouth open…not thinking at all…not comprehending what just happened. It happened so fast that when it did happen, the plane didn’t even shudder. There was no explosion or fire. Their was however, a rancid purple-gray/brown smoke that instantly filled the cabin. The “semi C-141” just continued to fly (with no wings) for a second or two before it started falling.

3.

Brian and Frankie were standing at the edge of a stand of woods, rocks in hand, looking skyward toward the top of a large maple tree. In the top of the tree lived a large restless chicken hawk and her nest. The boys were calculating the odds of hitting the hawks nest with a rock from where they stood. They were calculating the only way boys did when out of school for the summer: trial and error. It was Frankie’s turn to throw. He leaned way back, dropping his hand close to the ground then with a loud grunt he catapulted the golf ball size rock…both boys watched it’s trajectory hopefully.

As the rock gained altitude, the boys heard a strange noise…kind of like when a stone drops into the lake from a long way up. Both Brian and Frankie knew that sound from throwing rocks high above Hinkley lake - off the cliff in Grant park. The sound was kind of a swift hiss…with a thump and a clink all rolled into one. As soon as the boys heard the sound, the sound was gone, like the audible equivalent of a flash bulb. Their eyes still trained on the flight of the recently thrown rock didn’t waver as suddenly a huge hole appeared through the tree tops.

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July 13, 1988 began just as any other summer day in up-state New York. The morning air contained a wonderful crispness as the sun broke the horizon with its gold rays pouring from heaven like some kind of warm paint bestowing color to every thing it saturated. Brian and Frankie were already awake after their night of camping out.

Although the fire quit burning during the night, the place it had been still had enough smoldering, smoking embers for Brian to add a few dry leaves and a couple of stiff breaths to get it going again. Once the leaves caught, he added some small sticks, then some larger ones. It wasn’t long before he had it crackling and burning nicely. After brushing his hands off by rubbing them together in a clapping motion, he sat back satisfied, taking in the warmth that the fire provided.

They were camping in a large field about a quarter mile up an old logging road from where Brian’s home was situated. The field itself was situated adjacent to the old grassy grown up road. The road continued past the field into a dense white pine forest.

“I’m hungry.” Frankie said in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone. “Lets go down to the house and get some breakfast.”

After some laughter over fart related jokes, and a discussion on the previous nights firewood collection by Brian in his underwear “freezing his ass off”, and after getting dressed the two cousins headed down to the house.

Brian had a light complexion, and though he was relatively small for his age, he was well built and strong. Frankie, on the other hand, had a darker complexion. And though he was also strong, he was relatively lanky. They were quite the “odd-couple” in as far as looks were concerned, but when it came to character, intestinal fortitude, and friendship, these two were as close a match as any two could be.

Breakfast was a quickly eaten meal in the Moon household. A bowl of Corn Flakes, and a glass of O.J. lasted about five minutes with these boys. Betty just sat back and watched them, smiling, as she sipped her morning coffee and smoked her first cigarette of the day. Watching Brian scarf his food down pleasantly reminded her of her husband and how he used to choke his food down with that same intensity. It’s been a while since she’d seen Phillip eat a meal; almost a year as a matter of fact. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Then the smile she was wearing slowly eroded away. God she missed him…
Her thoughts of Phillip were interrupted by Brian’s voice.
“Me and Frankie are going swimming later, okay?

“That’s fine, just stay away from the drop-off.” She returned.

So, the boys rinsed out their bowls, and placed them into the sink. They then went into Brian’s bedroom to get ready to go. They changed into shorts, grabbed a towel, and slid their tennis shoes on without socks. Brian grabbed his Remsen Rams baseball cap from the yellow kitchen counter and Frankie grabbed the transistor radio that was sitting on the phone stand next to the door on their way out.

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The water was beautiful. It was a clear deep blue that captures, and holds your gaze and draws you in. Hinkley lake was like this all the time when the sun was out, and the sky was clear. Today was no different.
Something that was different however was the fact that the boys were alone. There was no one else at the swimming spot.
After kicking off their tennis shoes, The boys wasted no time climbing the large boulder that sat half in and half out of the water about ten feet out. They dove, and performed “cannon balls” for hours.

They decided they would do something brave (or stupid) and swim out to the island. They swam one behind the other and got about 25 yards out when they began getting tired. The depth at that location was about 30 feet. The “drop-off” that Joan warned the kids about began about 20 yards out where the depth went from about 5 feet to that 30 feet seemingly all at once. Brian told Frankie that he could roll onto his back and rest for a while if he was getting tired, and Frankie did just that. They reached the island after 30 minutes of swimming, and both boys were exhausted. They lay on the beach sprawled out on their backs for several minutes catching their breath. About that time, Mr. Andrews floated by in his old plywood boat. “Wha-chu-boys-doin’?” He yelled over. They answered that they wanted to see if they could swim out to the island. “Looks like ya made it.” he hollered back. “Do ya wanna ride back ta shore?” he asked. The boys hollered, “Yea.”

Well, it turned out that Mr. Andrews told Joan about the boys swimming to the island. This is why she was upset.
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What seemed to be a pressing issue for Betty and Joan was suddenly erased from their minds when an ear splitting whooshing sound, then a thunderous explosion occurred somewhere in close proximity to her home. “Oh my God! …Plane Crash!” Came her alarmed voice. She immediately went to the window above the sink peering out toward where the explosion seemed to have occurred. There was a great deal of smoke coming from an area Northwest of the house. Then she could see large smoldering objects falling from the sky…burning branches, and logs. Even entire trees tumbled, burning through the air like giant flaming arrows. The largest of the burning objects didn’t land close enough to her house to cause immediate structural damage to the house due to impact, however the burning branches that were raining down on and around her home would eventually burn her house down.

“Dial 9-1-1!” Betty yelled at Joan

When Joan hung the phone, Betty instructed, “Come on!” She took Joan by the sleeve of her bousse and pulled her to the cellar door, then led her down the stairs. “Stay here!” Betty ordered.

She then headed back up the stais and pulled the door closed. She grabbed a flashlight from the shelf beside the stairs, and met Joan again at the bottom.
“What about the kids?” Joan asked in a faltering half-hearted voice.
“They’ll be fine Betty stated flatly. Secretly Betty hoped her voice didn’t give away her true fear for the boys; the area where the plane crashed is the same area the boys were supposed to be camping.




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As the plane began falling, Phillip moved into action. He could see the obvious fact that It was the front half of the C-141 that disappeared and that there was no way he could get out that way with the wind whipping into the cargo bay as it was. He knew the tail door was the only way out and he didn’t have much time. Quickly he unsnapped his seat belt harness and held on for dear life as the wind threatened to send him fatally crashing into the rear. His legs immediately were blown toward the back, and with a loud grunt he held on to the cargo net seat as slack was taken out by his weight. He walked hand over hand along the cargo netting until he reached the tail door lever located on the left side of the tail section. As he reached for it, he looked for the emergency chute that was supposed to be located somewhere back there.

He saw it. It was on an upper shelf and had been blown all the way to the back. “Pull the lever and grab the chute.” He strained to himself. And, he pulled.

Immediately when the doors began to open, the emergency chute was sucked outside. “Damn.” Phillip yelled. then let go of the netting.

He was immediately yanked out by the wind barely missing the metal door as he went passed it. “Where’s the chute?” He actually asked. Then he spotted it. It was merely a
speck against the horizon. Aligning his body, with his arms straight at his sides he rocketed headfirst toward the falling package.

It didn’t take long to reach it at all. So he quickly strapped it to his back initially fumbling with the shoulder harnesses but managed to get the thing on and buckled.
He pulled the ripcord and was yanked stiffly as his downward speed was suddenly reduced. Phillip then took a moment to watch as the plane he was in less than 2 minutes ago hit the ground with a large explosion.

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Things have a way of happening, in this world and in other worlds as well. Here we have things like Murphy’s law, “what will be will be”, fate, and even a more popular description….shit!

100 light years ago, some “shit” happened. The gasses at the core of a seemingly dead planet built up enough to finally cause the planet to burst apart sending tons of debris sailing into outer space in all directions.

This debris has been sailing through the vast cosmos, silently and steadily, occasionally shifting course as it passed relatively near a planet. Some of the debris crashed into planets, moons, and then even other chunks got caught up in the orbit of other planets.
Enough “shit” however did happened, to ensure a few of the pieces of rock made it all the way to Earth. These large glowing angular pieces of some strange planet entered our atmosphere undetected by the United States Military.Radar grid due to the radar scatteromg angles. None of these rock forms allowed a radar beam to be bounced back to it’s source. Therefore the rocks entered our atmosphere undetected.
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Frankie and Brian both kind of ducked at the same time. Then they looked at each other
and said in unison, “Holy Shit!” As they said this, they heard an explosion as the thing that made the top of the tree disappear hit the ground about a half a mile back up into the woods. The smell was terrible. Like rotten eggs or something the boys would later recount.

“C’mon!” Frankie yelled as he took of running toward the explosion.

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As the boys drew near to the impact area, they both noticed how hot the air was getting. “Wow!” Brian exclaimed. “Yea.” Frankie returned as he wiped his brow with his forearm. Soon they could see the “impact” area.

Purple smoke was rising out of a hole in the ground. The hole they could see, was about 5 feet in diameter, but how deep it was, was a mystery. “Try not to breath the smoke.” Brian said. The smoke pouring from the hole was being blown toward the East as the boys arrived from the west. As they approached the opening in the ground they began to feel a small tremor under their feet.
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Possible continuation

Moments later, as the boys stared in awe not daring to go near the hole, a bunch of strange bugs came crawling out from the holes black depth. There were hundreds of them, and they were fast.. Each one was about the size of a grown mans hand, and looked kind of like a cross between a spider and a cockroach. They had the thick brown backs of a roach, and roach like noses and eyes but their legs were long and segmented with little hairs protruding off each of them.

They moved in a swarm, the boys barely had a chance to run. As soon as they noticed the spider-roaches coming toward them they were almost upon them
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The edges of the hole seemed to be covered by a black powder. They noticed this because the powder was sloughing off at the entrance as a trembling was felt through the ground under their feet. Both boys looked down at their feet then at each other silently communicating their confusion. Soon, a bad feeling crept over Brian. “Let’s go.” He said. “I’m getting a bad feeling.” So they headed back toward the house.

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The boys had no idea that the impact of the unknown object had sent an immediate plume of burning debris a half mile in all directions. None of this debris fell back to it’s source.

Suggestion: The powder black powder could soak into the ground water that fills the well belonging to brians family. The heavy planet powder soaks in the ground via rain water. As the family drinks the water, changes overcome them effecting the kids first since they are smaller. At first the get real heavy…I mean “REAL” heavy. After sleeping one night they cant lift themselves out of bed, and neither can anyone else…But, this heaviness wears off.

OR

Alien life form travel inside the rocks and are released shortly after the rocks collide with a planet. These are intelligent life forms with an agenda. These life forms could be microscopic worms that enter human bodies through drinking water, or some other method then go to the brain via the blood stream. Once in the brain, they grow making connection of it’s own to very specific neuron pathways that render the “worm” in control of the body which it is in. This bug however cannot keep the person from having his own thoughts.

Soon. as a defense mechanism, the brains, because of the stress of lack of bodily control, of those taken over are forced to use more and more of the brain that normally would not be used and the boys begin to communicate with each other through telepathy. Finally as their telepathic powers reach their peak the boys and Brian’s mother find they have telekinetic powers and learn to use them while the bugs go into a necessary hibernation period.

It’s almost as if the boys are sleeping…dreaming mustering just enough bodily control to barely open their eyes. But, that is enough control to practice. first they find they can stop the second hand on the clock hanging from the wall across the room.

But, where does the danger come in. it could be that these bugs take over the body of Phillip. He fights them and dies. The reader knows this but the boys don’t. Other characters….Mr. Phelps dies when some of these bugs enter the body of a dog which chews the shit out of his throat. Mrs. Dolittle…She could die after being attacked by her cat which causes her to fall down her cellar stairs breaking her neck.

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Brian and Frankie ran for cover. They knew to take cover from stories that Phillip told the boys…made up stories mostly. Stories of imaginary combat missions and how running and diving for cover had saved his life on many an occation.

So the boys instinctively ran for cover

About a hundred yards or so down the old logging road they were earlier standing on tossing rocks at that defenseless hawk, sat an old international scout. The old truck was a rusted heap now, but still had it’s hardened steel snow plow attached to the front. The boys ducked behind it. They then peered from around the plow blade: Frankie on the right, Brian on the left. After the loud explosion, the boys ears were ringing so they didn’t hear the strange humming noise when it first began. The sound just sort of leapt into their consiousness suddenly as it became loud enough to be confused with a low flying airplane. The sound was moving too.. It was not a single hum though, it was a chorus of hums like thousands of Zen buddist monks practicing their montra in unison with many individual pitches and tones merging into one strange voice. And, the sound of the hum was continuing to grow louder, thus closer.

The increasing volume of the hum, at first a curiosity to the boys, soon frightened them. They ran again, not wanting to see what things were coming at them singing that droning hymnal. The boys transversed the field they camped on many a night, and they headed toward Mr. Rundburgs junk yard where three old school busses lay waste after being decommissioned in the ‘60’s. “In here!” Brian yelled urgently. They ran onto the welcoming bus. The large door stood open in seeming expectation. Frankie slammed the door behind him. They ran toward the back.

Inside the bus smelled of musky dust and old worn seat cushions, many of which were torn, revealing a yellow foam-like substance that in some seats was crumbled as if some rodents had been nesting within.

The hum was growing louder still. Instead of sounding as loud as a mere airplane, the hum sounded as loud as a hundred helicopters. It’s possible that the sound wasn’t actually that loud, maybe the fear the boys felt magnified the sound making it seem louder than it really was. In any event, Frankie placed his hands to his ears, covering them. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as if it would explode. He was peering from behind a large seat back, looking up and through one of the many windows that lined each side of the bus. He looked in the direction from which they fled, starring up at the sky.

Brian was also looking, but instead of cupping his ears to muffle the loud noise, he turned his head to the side, peering through the corners of his eyes, wincing, as if he were withstanding the winds of a blizzard.

Then the boys saw it…them. “What the…” Brian’s voice trailed off.

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What they saw, could never have been manufactured in either of the boys minds, but it only took a split-second for them to realize that these things were not good - to say the least.

The things appeared from over the trees, a swarm of some kind. There were so many of the things that the sky was blackened where ever they flew. The swarm was shaped like a tear drop laying on its side. The narrowest point of it however was not in the back, it was in the front as if the entire swarm were being led by one single thing. The swarm didn’t maintain its teardrop shape entirely however, it seemed to accordian somewhat so that the teardrop at times squeezed down to the shape of a plump balloon. And the things were fast. The leader banking this way and that with the rest of the swarm keeping up easily.

The swarm was coming toward them. “Oh man!” Frankie yelled and pointed at 3 open windows near the front of the bus. The boys both ran to them closing them quickly just as the things arrived.

They looked familiar. Brian thought to himself. Like hornets…but a lot bigger. He got a good look at them when a few of the little beasts collided with the now closed window. They had to have been 5 inches long with stingers the size of nails The wingspan of the large insects must have been at least 10 inches, and they were silver-gray in color with a hint of purple in them. About that time, the boys heard a large thump on the roof of the bus. The boys looked out the windows.

They barely had the time to notice that the whole time they were running, the sky was raining burning debris, and it was still coming down.

A few seconds later, one of the windows in the back of the bus cracked loudly.

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Somewhere over East Texas, Phillip was drifting through the sky, slowly descending through the air. While he floated downward, he wondered what on earth could have caused what happened. But no matter what he came up with, he could explain the theory away. No way, a missel couldn’t have done it. There would have been an explosion upon impact. He thought. Maybe some sort of mechanical failure.,,highly unlikely. He concluded. What then?

As he looked toward the east, he saw a long smoky streak. Similar to that of contrails left behind by supersonic, and commercial aircraft. This vapor trail was different though. It wasn’t white in color, it was more like the color you would see floating on soap bubbles, or floating in water puddles that contain an oil residue. It was a kind of purplish gray with some dull reds, greens and blues mixed in. “What is that”? He said aloud.

5 minutes later Phillip touched down. A Perfect PLF, he thought.

It was 1335 hours when Phillip finally made it to a phone. It was at a service station in a one-horse-town called Silsby. Phillip had landed in the middle of a corn field, so he had to walk for 2 miles before a motorist stopped to give him a lift. The driver let him out at Bubba’s pick’-n-save, and with a hardy, “Good luck!” was on his way.

Phillip’s first call was to his C.O. , Captain Markus, a tall, black man with the temper of a pissed off grizzly bear. “Why on earth are you calling me, Moon!?” He bellowed over the phone line. But, before Phillip could answer, Markus continued his onslaught “You are supposed to be on your way to Fort Irwin. You shouldn’t be calling me, what to hell is going on!?” He screamed growing louder with each word. Phillip couldn’t believe that Cpt. Markus could get any louder, but he did. “What did you do, skip the damn flight? If you did, I’ll have you court martaled. Do you hear me Moon?!”

“Yes sir!” Phillip hollered back at him. “If you’d shut up for a second I’ll tell you.”

Phillip paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. When Cpt. Markus didn’t speak, Phillip continued.

He recounted his experience as best he could, growing more and more excited as he went on. By the time he finished with landing in the corn field, his heart was racing again as fast as it was when it actually happened.

Markus instructed Phillip to remain where he was, and informed him that he would send a car to retrieve him. “It’ll be there to get you in about an hour.” Markus finished.

Moon hung up the phone, then as he had done many times as a child, he swept his right index finger into the change return slot of the pay-phone. Nothing…oh well. He thought. He was thirsty, so he went inside the Pick’-n-Save. The attendant behind the counter, a young lady, mid 20’s stood staring at Phillip as the door closed, automatically, behind him. He was wearing his BDU’s with his web gear; complete with ammo pouches, compass, 1st aid pouch, canteen, and a model M-1911, Colt 45 semiautomatic pistol on his right side. His getup was complete with a rolled up poncho attached to his belt located in the lumbar region of his back.

The woman regarded him with a kind of reverent glow, and smiled slightly. She looked him up and down. “A little out of place here, huh Boo?” She asked. Boo, a term of endearment in the south, is used by many people to convey a sense of friendliness to strangers and friends. Phillip knew this from his experience in the south.

“Yea.” Phillip answered with a sheepish grin.
The woman had strawberry blonde hair, with a round face containing more freckles than a person should ever have to endure. Yet somehow, the freckles gave the woman a pleasant appearance, a kind of girl-next-door quality. She wasn’t exceptionally tall, although she appeared to be since the floor behind the counter was raised a full 6 inches higher than the floor that the general public, the patrons, walked on, and she wore a nametag. “Teresa” It read with small unremarkable letters.

“Well, Teresa,” Phillip continued, “You may not believe this but I was involved in a plane crash about 10 miles up the road.” “I heard bout something happening.” she said as she chawed on a piece of gum. “Thought it must’ve been a rumor started by some farmer sitting in his field eating wild mushrooms. Guess I was wrong.” She said.

“You don’t mind if I wait here till my ride gets here do you?” Phillip asked. “Not at all.”

“Thanks. I’d like a coke, and could you fill this up for me?” He reached back with his left hand and flicked open the two snaps that held his canteen in place. Then he pulled it out and held it out toward her. “No problem.” She said. “The Cokes are over there.” She pointed toward the back of the store .

The tinny sounding music coming over the speakers in the ceiling was a pleasant country melody from days gone bye. “I love little rubber ducks…” Tom T. Hall sing. Then the music was interrupted by a special news report.

“A meteor has been spotted hurdling northeast over North America, and was reported to have made impact somewhere in rural New England. A NOAA weather satellite image has confirmed that the object entered the atmosphere somewhere over The South Pacific, and reportedly struck an aircraft over East Texas and this was confirmed by Dallas, Fort Worth aircraft control.” Phillip listened intently, barely breathing, as the reporter continued, “The exact location of impact is not known at this time since the object fell below radar tracking as it crossed over Ohio. The aircraft it struck did not seem to alter the trajectory of the meteor in anyway, and the fate of the crew or any passengers is not known at this time. Stay tuned for further up-dates.” “and I love you too.” Tom T. Hall finished.

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Neither Betty, nor Joan yet knew what had actually happened. The cellar was unremarkable. In fact, it wasn’t a cellar at all. What it was, was the area under the living space of the home, which was not totally underground. The space they were in served as a garage under one end of the home, and a mechanical equipment storage and work area on the other, complete with a work bench that Phillip had built into the wall 10 years ago. The half of the “cellar” where the bench was located remained fairly self contained in that it was more like a room to it’s self divided from the parking area by a concrete block wall. On one end of the wall at the bottom of the stairs that the women descended moments earlier was the opening to either side’ a walk-through. To the right, the enclosed side and to the left the garage side.

The sisters went to the right. The only place Betty could think of that was totally safe from the burning debris, and even the house if it burned, was the bomb shelter that Phillip had built beneath the concrete floor of the patio. The patio was built off the back side of the house, and had a floor that was 12 inches thick. Access to this space was hidden since any one who didn’t know would assume that dirt lie behind a particular wall beside the work bench that Phillip had built. Also, the space one would have to crawl through was very narrow. about 14 inches between the floor joists above, and the top of the cinderblock wall. Before they went over the wall, betty flicked a switch mounted on the underneath the workbench surface. Immediately, a red glow appeared from behind the wall. Betty then helped Joan over and climbed over herself.

Betty felt safe in the shelter. She knew that Phillip had built the space to withstand any sort of catastrophy. The wall separating them from the cellar was built with 12 inch cinderblocks filled to the top with concrete reinforced with rebar.

Inside the shelter was comfortably large. The room was about 10 feet from front to back and about 20 feet from side to side. along the far wall, was a single bulb fixed to the ceiling, burning red. Along the cinderblock wall on that end was another bench. This bench contained a ham radio, a map of the area and a book of emergency frequencies for use in the event of a disaster. To the right of this bench stood a tall metal cabinet. with two tall doors that swung open from the middle. Inside contained canned goods: vegetables, fruit and canned meat. Also inside the cabinet were four-five gallon jugs of water. Next to this cabinet stood another shorter cabinet, about 5 feet tall. This cabinet contained two 12 guage shotguns and enough ammo to seemingly hold off the Chinese army. There were 2 cots, side-by-side along the back wall, and a generator built into the wall near the entrance.

Planning the use of the generator posed the most perplexing problem solving for Phillip. He finally solved how to deal with the exhaust by connecting a series of pipes from the exhaust system of the generator, and routing it up through the ground to a vent between a couple of trees more than 60 feet away.


“I have to pee. Joan stated flately, as if she knew she was going to have to hold it for a long time. “Phillup thought about that and built an enclosable latring.
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The cracking sound, came from the window built into the rear emergency door. Brian back window