The Last Everything

  The

  Last

  Everything

  Book 1: The Impossible Future

  Frank Kennedy

  Dedicated to all those who like to keep life interesting.

  c. 2018 and 2019 by Frank Kennedy

  All rights reserved

  Cover art by Fiona Jayde

  www.fionajaydemedia.com

  Book 2 of The Impossible Future saga continues in The Risen Gods, available on Amazon in August 2019. The story picks up right where this novel ends. If you enjoy this first episode in the saga, please write a short, honest review on the Amazon product page. Your comments are greatly valued.

  Go to www.frankkennedy.org and sign up for my newsletter, which will provide an opportunity to receive free advance material, updates on The Risen Gods release as well as other surprising offers connected to my work.

  Exogenesis

  Lake Vernon, Alabama

  3 years ago

  M ARLENA SHERIDAN BROUGHT ONE SON and one monster to this version of Earth because the fool she married sought adventure.

  “No-no,” Tom argued. “They aren’t cave dwellers; their homes have environmental controls. Communication tech is rudimental, but they show progress. True, they slaughter livestock, disregard their poor, and pollute their oceans. How is this different from most of our colonies?”

  Her fate might have been worse. They could have been ordered to 19th-century Ukraine on another Earth disguised as Cossacks or sent to a fold in the jungles of Indonesia Prime. She visited there once – a day trip from the Ark Carrier Oasis – and returned with a virus. She vowed never to set foot on a colony world again.

  Not that this Earth knew anything about colonies. She scoffed at their scientific limitations: A few trips to the moon, a shell of a space station, robot crawlers on Mars.

  And seven billion planet-wrecking people in need of culling.

  Tom often talked her down. “Remember what is at stake,” he said. “Keep the boys in line until recovery day. Our sacrifice saves the future.”

  Marlena needed to hear those words every month, even as the calendars flipped, and their escape grew closer. Twelve years behind, a thousand unending days ahead.

  She watched the young one – her monster – from a cushioned wicker chair on the lake house deck. The boy and his best friend were cannonballing off the end of the dock.

  “Jamie seems happy today,” Tom said from a matching chair. “He and Michael appear to be each other’s tonic.”

  Marlena bemoaned her husband’s dreadful judgment.

  “They’re criminals, Tom.”

  He nodded. “Yes, they do have fun together. They are fourteen years old, Marlena. Teenagers.”

  She dunked a slice of lemon in her sweet tea. “Teenagers. Criminals. One and the same on this world. Honestly, Tom. Look at them.”

  Jamie and Michael clung to the bottom of a ladder, their shoulders above the water. After a moment of inaudible back-and-forth, they burst into manic laughter. Jamie gazed back, catching Marlena’s eyes.

  “They’re conspiring,” she said. “The next prank, the next theft, the next joy ride. They think we’re blind to it all. Smug, self-indulgent criminals. As I have told you many times: One word to the Coopers, and Michael will be gone. One less variable.”

  Tom adjusted his sun hat. “No, Marlena. This is where we draw the line. Michael may not be the best influence but imagine Jamie without him. He’s had more bad days this year than ever. Confrontations at school, the bullies, the depression. Benjamin hasn’t been able to get through to him and frankly, that worries me. Jamie admires his brother, but he only listens to his peers now. I never see him with anyone other than Michael. We need to keep him whole for three more years. Then none of this will matter.”

  Grace Huggins joined them on the deck carrying a tray of cream cheese and pimentos on crackers. She forced a curt smile.

  “You two,” she said. “Still having this debate, are you?”

  “Every day,” Marlena rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure playing the role of passive parents has served us well. If the Mentor program had done its job, Jamie might not be so fragile. He’d have purpose. He’d value each day.”

  “It is a quandary,” Grace said, taking a seat. “And you are certain the Mentor is still silent?”

  Marlena studied Jamie as he climbed onto the dock. A lean, strapping boy, surging past six feet tall in the past few months. A runner’s body, his rarely-brushed blond hair falling below his shoulders.

  “There was a moment at breakfast two years ago,” she said. “He hadn’t touched his food. He was staring at me. His eyes were glassy, as if in a trance. I expected him to reveal what Mentor told him. But the moment passed. He picked up his spoon and ate. The moment never repeated. But he suspected something was off about me.”

  Tom stirred uneasily and leaned forward. “We’ll be more vigilant. I’ll speak to Ignatius. He’ll keep a closer watch. He’s done a button-up job of shielding our little thieves from handcuffs so far. When the Mentor does decide to kick in, the rest will take care of itself. In the meantime, I think the boy could use a little love from his mother. Just a thought.”

  Marlena plucked an ice cube from her tea and flicked it at Tom.

  “His mother is not here, Tom, and it wouldn’t matter if she was.” Marlena leaned toward Grace. “He expected me to love Jamie by now. I’ve seen what short-term love does to a person. The idiots on this Earth attach themselves to dogs and cats, few of which live past fifteen. They give their whole hearts to these animals. They grieve when the predictable arrives then buy replacements to repeat the cycle. I refuse to grieve that boy when he is gone.”

  She reset her icy glare upon her husband. “That was never the plan.”

  “Find your humanity, love,” Tom said. “That boy may yet save us all.”

  “He’s just as likely to kill us all if the design is breaking down.”

  Grace widened her eyes. “Voices,” she warned, pointing toward the dock. The boys slipped into their sandals and started in. Each draped a towel over his shoulder but didn’t bother drying. They dripped on everything reaching for the tray of appetizers without so much as hello.

  Their pairing made no sense to Grace. Michael buried himself in movies and video games, while Jamie preferred a skateboard, a sketchpad, and running trails. Michael rotated between afro and dreadlocks, while Jamie streaked his hair with varied highlights.

  “Ma,” Jamie said between bites. “Coop and me are heading out. Gonna hike up to the store for snacks. Got a twenty I could borrow?”

  She glared. “Borrow implies a loan.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. S.,” Michael said. “J and I got it covered. You want us to get you folks something? We’ll keep the change.”

  Tom pulled a twenty from his shirt pocket. “Consider this your snacks for today and tomorrow. Yes? Spend wisely.”

  “Sweet, Dad.” Jamie and Michael pumped fists.

  “Ebony and ivory on the case,” Michael said. “Catch you on the flipside.”

  Marlena groaned as the boys turned to leave. “Ebony and ivory? Is that your new catchphrase, Michael?”

  He frowned. “Don’t reckon. It’s just ...” He pointed back and forth between himself and Jamie. “Ebony. Ivory. Stevie Wonder? Get it?”

  “No. Is Stevie another friend I haven’t met?”

  The boys fell upon each other in stitches. “Let’s just go, dude,” Jamie insisted. “Wait, what?” Michael said as they shuffled off. “How does she not know Stevie Freaking Wonder? Dude. Seriously.”

  She punched Tom’s arm. “I guarantee they will leave this house with a lighter and a couple of joints. The snacks will come after.”

  Tom shrugged. “If this i
s the worst they do, then at least Jamie will be happy for the next three years. He’s earned it, even if he has no idea why.” Tom shifted to Grace. “So? Walt and Sammie are running a bit late. Yes?”

  “Sammie wanted more time on the range,” she said of her daughter. “Which reminds me. Walt wanted you to see his latest acquisition. Since the boys are gone … shall we?”

  Marlena and Tom followed Grace inside to the master bedroom. She pulled open the double-closet doors and reached to the top shelf. She retrieved a long, wide case and set it on the bed. She placed a key in the lock and turned three rotations. Tom whistled and Marlena felt cold as they studied the two weapons.

  “M16s,” Tom said, grabbing one. “Walt’s contact came through. How big is the Huggins arsenal now?”

  “We’re getting closer, although I doubt Walt will ever be satisfied. He’ll have no relief until recovery is complete and we cross the fold alive.”

  Marlena had not fired a weapon in twenty years, but that didn’t worry her. “Why so much firepower?” She asked. “You already have more than enough to kill the others. Does Walt sincerely doubt their loyalty?”

  Grace smiled. “Walt trusts no one. Except for me and Sammie.”

  “But,” Marlena said, “have you heard any of the others say a single word against this mission in twelve years? Even a hint of disloyalty?”

  “Of course not, but none would dare make a premature move. They know how Walt will respond. No, Walt expects the trouble to come toward the end, perhaps not even until the final hours. Some might choose to go rogue and stay here; others might move against the Jewel before transformation. Walt believes the last hours will be treacherous.”

  The same thoughts plagued Marlena since the day she arrived. Fifteen years was too long an exile, on this or any other planet. Too much time to become satisfied, to forget about the traditions of home, to doubt the mission parameters, to justify killing friends.

  Marlena doubted she would see her home world again.

  PART ONE

  FROM THE DARKNESS

  Son,

  In these, your final hours, we hope you will find the capacity to forgive us. Please understand that the force of history requires promises be kept and destinies be fulfilled. We were faced with a dilemma; we made the choice that was in the best interests of humanity. It is our sincerest hope you were able to find a life of reasonable happiness and fulfillment in the short time given to you.

  With Fondest Regards,

  Mother

  Father

  1

  Albion, Alabama

  1:58 a.m.

  J AMIE SHERIDAN NEEDED a few more smash-and-grabs to refine his technique, with less emphasis on “smash.” He made a mess of the back door to Ol’ Jack’s General Store because he stole the wrong key from the old man’s master ring. He used the butt of his flashlight to crack enough glass for a gloved reach-in.

  “You suck, Sheridan,” he muttered as he brushed hair out of his face and followed the light.

  He passed the bait and tackle display then the grain and feed, reaching the tiny office where Jamie expected to find the object of his first official robbery. He long ago decided the other thefts didn’t count because he never kept what he stole.

  This time, no give-backs.

  Jamie pulled open the top drawer of Jack’s file cabinet. He squeezed the hanging folders forward and focused his light on a brown metal lockbox. He set the box on a desk littered with the chaotic paperwork of a man who trafficked only in cash, check and handwritten receipts - and trust of a boy who swept floors and bagged groceries three times a week.

  “He’ll never get it,” Jamie said. “None of them will.”

  Jamie took a deep breath. He knew where Jack kept the bolt cutters, but he played a hunch. The box opened without resistance. He should have known. Ain’t nobody robbed me in forty-two years, Jack insisted at least once a week. Who in hell’s gonna bother now?

  Jamie wondered whether the old man was begging to be robbed - any excuse to quit the business he said was dragging him to the grave.

  Jamie understood the sentiment too well. Albion was the town where dreams came to die. A dreary blip on the map, not enough traffic lights to count on one hand, and sufficient whispers of judgmental busybodies to drive a boy out of his skin. He knew what they thought every time they saw him riding a skateboard or jogging the quiet streets after sunset. They turned down their noses at his long, blond ponytail, gossiped about fights at school, and spread rumors about drugs and booze. Then they tied it together to what happened two years ago and lost all pity.

  You’re 17 now, they said. Get on with life. Learn a craft. Earn your diploma. Go down to Burton’s for a proper haircut.

  They wouldn’t be surprised to learn he took up crime.

  Jamie reeled when he shined his light on the contents of the box.

  “Shit.”

  The money was there - upwards of a thousand dollars, enough to send him on his way and keep food in his belly until he found a new town and his next grab. However, he didn’t predict the Glock lying atop the cash.

  Jamie’s heart raced, so he took a seat. He ran his gloved hands over the gun and wondered whether this was a gift from burglar heaven or a warning. The old man never spoke of a gun, keeping only a hard-to-find baseball bat tucked amid clutter under the front counter. Jamie hadn’t fired a weapon in years - a .22, squirrel hunting with Ben six years ago. He studied the Glock, found the safety, and released the magazine. Full.

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “This is beyond stupid.”

  He restored the magazine, set the pistol aside and gathered the cash, tucking it into a bank deposit bag lying underneath. He opened the desk drawer and found a pack of Jack’s Marlboros and a lighter. The old man chain-smoked while laboring through paperwork.

  Jamie lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  Go home. Go home. Every instinct told him to go back to that rat box called an apartment, find Ben passed out on the couch reeking of alcohol and the perfume of another woman.

  Don’t let Coop down. He needs me tomorrow. He can’t finish the plan without me. He and Michael Cooper expected their prank to be a fitting end to their junior year. “Alternative cow residue” instead of frozen beef patties would bring them legendary status - and possible expulsion. Jamie almost backed off the last time they texted, just before 1 a.m. He typed the words, I’m out, but he never sent the message.

  He didn’t want to disappoint Coop, the only boy who didn’t see him with suspicion or condescension. But if he went to school, he’d have to sit for Ms. Bidwell’s English III exam. The thought of it - and her imperious sneer at his inevitable failure - frightened him more than expulsion.

  He took a deep puff and thought of Samantha. Weird, shy, beautiful Sammie. He’d just begun to think she might be his first. And she loved him - never said the words, but he saw it in her eyes. He felt the love every time she tried to steer him back on course. What would she think of him now?

  What would any of them think?

  “You’re a good man, J,” Ben told him six hours ago before heading across the county line to drown himself at his usual dive. “They’ll see that someday. They’ll get past what happened. So will you.”

  You’re wrong, Jamie thought. Just like with everything else.

  “Gotta blow this town,” he said. “Not one more day.”

  Jamie tucked the pistol inside the deposit bag and zipped it shut.

  He took another puff, enough to give him the courage to head out. A packed bag awaited him at the apartment. He only needed Ben’s car keys. He figured that step would be easy. From there …

  “This is not what Tom and Marlena wanted for you.”

  Jamie dropped the cigarette. The voice, husky and rigid, escaped from the darkness. Jamie knew it at once. He focused the flashlight, and Deputy Ignatius Horne - all 6-foot-8 and 270 pounds of him - filled the doorway, his badge shining in
the narrow beam.

  The deputy flipped on the office light but kept a hand by his holster. Jamie saw heartbreak crack the deputy’s stern, militaristic features.

  “This is not for you, J,” Ignatius said. “You’re a lousy thief and a bigger coward.”

  “You’d never understand, Iggy. Please. I’ll be out of town before morning, and you’ll never have to deal with me again. Please?”

  Ignatius smiled. “Did you think old Jack didn’t see how curious you were every time he put money in the box and stowed it away in here? He predicted you’d try this by the start of the week. He sure hoped he was wrong. The pistol was my idea. I really thought it might scare you off, given everything you’ve been through.”

  “I never would’ve used it … not to hurt anyone. You know me.”

  “Used to. Let’s go.”

  The deputy backed away, but Jamie did not follow. He unzipped the bag and reached for the Glock. He aimed the gun.

  “I can’t live here anymore. Let me screw up my life on my own.”

  The deputy unholstered his weapon. “Or I could put it to an end right here. A third Sheridan lying on the floor in a pool of blood. That what you want, J?” He advanced. “Maybe they were right after all.”

  “Who?”

  Ignatius took a deep breath. “You’ll know soon enough. Your timing is ironic, to say the least. I always gave you more credit than the others.”

  “What others?”

  In a blink-and-miss-it maneuver, Ignatius used his free hand to disarm Jamie, who fell back into the chair.

  “I wish there was enough time to cover it all,” Ignatius said. “Perhaps you’d understand. No matter. Let me just say this: I was named after a great man whose courage and sacrifice changed the course of human history. You’ve never heard of him. He lived and died far away from here and a very long time ago. Since you lost your folks, I have tried to carry myself with the same honor and dedication to a selfless cause. What of James Sheridan? Will he be remembered as a worthless thief gunned down during a heist? Or will he become something more?”