52.
Going to a New Home
They ended up staying one extra day to complete all the preparations for travel. The following morning, they all said goodbye to Robert and Emma Simpson, knowing that they would never see them again. The Simpsons would most likely be dead long before the others arrived in New Mexico. Wilber spent time with them providing more instructions on the location of supplies and what they could do to minimize the effects of the coming radiation. He dug out two old Geiger counters from a metal storage shed, sealed in their original wood boxes. One he left with the Simpsons. The other they would take on their journey, hoping to bypass any potential radiation threat as their planned path west would bring them near a couple other nuclear power plants . He crafted steel cages around each, providing protection against the daily CME attacks.
Robert and Emma thanked him and begged him and the others to go before the radiation moved in, when it would be too late for all of them. He obliged, grabbing Darla and Steve who had spent an extra few minutes at the graves of their family members. Their waterworks of anguish had long since dried up, replaced with regrets and self-loathing over not having done a better job of protecting their loved ones.
The travelers readied themselves for their journey, taking stock of their supplies and making sure everything was secure. Each pulled a cart filled with nearly two hundred pounds of food and water, medical supplies, tents or canopies, sleeping bags, etc. Much of that weight was water. Wilber had built the carts, each one essentially an up-ended shopping cart about five feet high and three feet wide with a big handlebar on the back so that it could be rolled on its two large wheels. He borrowed the idea from all the roll-aboard bags, except these were much bigger, much sturdier, and had much larger wheels. Wilber and Steve then designed an ingenious strap system, setting a padded harness for each shoulder that fastened across the chest. This way each person could pull a heavy load many miles without tiring from the weight. They also wore military vests with two full spare magazines for their rifles and loaded pistols (one per person) plus two more magazines for each pistol. All carried their rifles, slung to their chests, at the ready. Darla was the only exception. Her rifle was attached to the cart in a special sling. On her back, she carried her spear gun, which had already helped her out of one jam.
They looked once more at the house and headed down the road, one long step at a time, hoping to reach their destination before the onset of winter.
53.
Together
They pulled onto the long sandy road away from the beach. This would take them to Highway 37, then through Rocky Point and then to the US about fifty miles later. Everyone was apprehensive, but happy just the same. They were together, this family of theirs, and they were headed to a place that offered hope in a world that had little.
At the intersection of Highway 37, just before they turned west was a Jeep pointed in their direction and parked in the middle of the road. A man had his back to them and his head under the hood. Since they probably had the only functioning vehicle in Rocky Point, this was way too suspicious.
Bill slowed down. “Everyone get your weapons ready. Miguel, open your window and take aim at that man. Look around, this is probably a trap.”
The man, at least acting like he was trying to fix his Jeep, stopped what he was doing. Now alerted to their approaching vehicle, he turned around abruptly. Thankfully there were no weapons in his hands. The man’s fury gray face wore a wide grin instantly recognized by everyone in the Blazer.
He started to run toward the Blazer, and Bill hit the brakes, and slid to a stop.
“It’s Señor Max!” Miguel announced, and all knew it was true.
Bill opened the door and embraced his friend, with a hug and laughter, and everyone else followed. There they were hugging their friend in the middle of a road that no one else would drive on.
Afterward, when Max told them that his ranch was ruined, he was overjoyed when Bill told him they were headed to Cicada.
And so they all traveled north, to this mysterious place known as Cicada, not knowing what lay before them. It didn’t matter. They were together. They would take care of each other, no matter what happened.
Part III
“My desolation does begin to make a better life.”
Thompson Journal Entry
September 2, 1991
Cicada could be humanity’s last hope
When our world ends, and I believe it will soon, the surviving remnants of humanity will need a place of hope, where the best minds work together to find solutions to what ended the world. This is what my great-grandfather envisioned with his concept of Cicada. Unfortunately, he never brought it to fruition. I intend to pick up where he left off.
To make Cicada work, and because we don’t know the type of apocalypse that will ultimately befall us, we have to find the best minds in each scientific field, whose prescient work may provide early warning signs to that end. It is then my hope that these same scientists will also find the solutions to counter whatever apocalyptic calamity has ended our world, so as to help humanity rebuild the broken one with one even better.
To find these scientists, I decided that we would run tests to attract the brightest minds, to pursue those who are the top in their individual fields of study. Besides giving them funding for the work they are already doing, we will offer an insurance plan: a free ticket for them and their immediate family on the only ark available when the world ends.
To bring this vision to reality, I will build the Cicada complex on the same 900 acres of land south of Boulder, Colorado, that my great-grandfather Russell Thompson set aside for this. It will be completely unknown to the world, until the apocalypse, and then it will be known as a utopia or place of salvation.
54.
Breaking Ground
Maxwell J. Thompson stood on top of an expansive mesa surrounded by pine, juniper, and a grove of magnificent aspens, all looking upon a majestic green carpeted valley below. He regarded all of this land with a certain reverence. His great-grandfather had left it to his grandfather, who had left it to his father, who had left it to him. Originally, Russell P. Thompson III had envisioned this as a sanctuary for humanity, but that goal was never realized before his death; besides his dream and a few thoughts in a journal they shared, the only tangible remnant was a rock wall around the mesa’s circumference and a few buildings within, their walls buckling from age and nature’s advance. No one in his family had taken up the mantle of Russell’s dream, preferring instead to waste their portion of the inheritance. Max’s father was frugal with the land and reverent of the Cicada dream, leaving both to his only son, Max, along with a substantial portion of Russell’s sizable fortune. Upon his father’s death, Max had created a not-for-profit corporation whose overly general purpose was, “to create scientific breakthroughs that might benefit humanity,” and to which he had donated all of the rights to the land and a considerable amount of cash. For this, he received a half-billion-dollar deduction against his taxes, and more important, a guarantee that the land would not be sold to a housing developer and Cicada would outlive him.