Thunder Dead

Thunder Dead

By

Mark Paul Sebar

Copyright © 1995 All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

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Never a sport so brutal yet beautiful

Mark Paul Sebar 1995

Its Base is 2,500 feet above ground. Its ceiling is 69,068 feet, and it is one of the most awesome sports on Terra. Welcome to Cumulonimbus, better known as The Ice Anvil.

Chris Cirrus was a dying television weatherman with a short time to live. The pancreatic cancer was putting an end to his life, separating him from his wife and son, until they made an offer. Chris never expected to awaken from a frozen stasis 375 years later, but he did. Now the rules have changed. Chased by a 5 million man army; hampered by Grey Aliens, Chris meets Major Don Rogers, and the last of the former American high technology UFO's, known as an Astra. The Astra, a black triangle, can travel through folded space on a gravity well, and go from 0 to 10,000 mph in a second. Together they go on a trek, traveling the solar system for the team who will challenge the evil ruler of Terra (Earth), and known as Sarg. Nevertheless, Sarg has powerful friends, namingly the Devil, who is very close to destroying heaven, God, and plunging the Universe into eternal darkness, and only the sport of Thunder Dead can put a stop to this evil.

Chris and Don must take their team to the tournament known as Thunder Dead, being the first to climb the frozen, gravitated Ice Anvil to the top, to save all from hell. At stake is everything. It's no holds barred in this action packed thriller, God versus the Devil Sci-Fi.

First Edition EBook 2011

Copyright © 1995 All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress, United States of America

ISBN 978-1-930246-37-9 TXu000740746

http://www.sebar.com/pub

Table Of Contents

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Q&A

More

Chapter 1

April, 22nd 1991 5:13AM

Major Don Rogers entered the long corridor in uniform. He was a bit stocky and brawny all in one package as he was being escorted by four security personnel with M-16’s in hand.

He had a sort of smirk on his face, having taken his deep Texas pride with him. They rounded a corner and he almost glanced at the little grey alien Zeta in the open door.

Keep your eyes forward sir, a guard cautioned as he followed the Air Force Major. Don did as requested and they continued to a set of large doors that slid open on both sides.

Don entered the doors while the four armed guards stayed outside. The doors began to close behind him as he continued towards a giant something that remained covered under a white canopy. It was huge as he passed it to greet some higher-ups who were also in military uniform and one gentleman in a suit. Don shook hands with them after saluting the General. Sir, he questioned, his eyes drifting to the large covered object.

We are going to brief you on your new ship. We call it an Astra Class MKAII. It can travel folded space, the General informed Don.

Don’s jaw just dropped as the covering began to lift. They all turned to the ship built by American hands. And you said this was a class of ship? Don asked in admiration while the covering continued lifting off it.

Yes, we have four more like it, though this is our original prototype. We will not be storing this here, but rather, we shall move it inland a bit at a private and well secured hanger facility. You do know why you’re here Major?

I suspect you’re gonna tell me, Don broke a slight grimace of a smile.

You will be entering training to pilot and operate this craft. Thanks to our little grey friends, we have built-in a number of new and fantastic technologies inconceivable several years ago.

I see, Don replied approaching the craft. It stood on three large hydraulic legs and there was a walkway up the belly into it. Its outer hull had a glossy black gleam to it that seemed to absorb light. So rumors of this craft causing multi sonic booms were correct after all. A United States built UFO.

Well, Major let us review the preliminaries on this so we can get started, the General added.

Thursday November 25th 1993 3:30pm

Simi Valley California

A cool snappy nip of Old Jack Frost knocked at the wooden door. Sharon Cirrus, quietly opened it. There were more friends attending their Thanksgiving Dinner. This was above all else, a special time of year and a special year. Sharon's husband Chris, would soon be home.

The day had come hard for her as she prepared the turkey and stuffing. California of the nineties had become a dump, a place inhabited not by most law-abiding citizens, but a place to fear.

No vestige of Los Angeles was safe anymore, not even the gentle rolling hills of Simi Valley. Gangs, gun toting children and drugs were the in-thing of today's world.

Chris, a tall stocky man in his late 30's, grabbed his weather stick. The news anchors just read the story about the gang shooting in Canoga Park California. A co-worker turned to Chris. It's getting worse. I've been thinking about moving my family from this dump before long.

Chris glanced at him with pity. It's good to be alive. You know, It may not be as bad as you think. Things could be a lot worse; after all you have a good paying job.

Well, that may be true, but just the same, Saint Cirrus, I'm not ready to die yet.

And here, the television announcer said, while the cameras rolled to Chris for the weather, is our very own weatherman, Saint Cirrus. The term was one that somewhat embarrassed Chris, but a label he was stuck with, none-the-less. Chris gave his local weather forecast and then exited backstage.

You guys all have a great Thanksgiving he waved. They all wished Chris the same as he exited the building to his Porsche 911.

Chris arrived at the medical center in the Northern San Fernando Valley. Upstairs in the examination room, the doctor entered. Whelp, how bad's the damage, Doc? For someone dying of pancreatic cancer, he put up a brave front.

It's time to get serious Chris. Several months, maybe less. If we cut, you could go in weeks. The physician took off his glasses and stood glancing into Chris's sky blue eyes. It's a terminal situation. Honestly, what you might want to do now is start prepping your family slowly. I don't think you'll go another year…I'm sorry Chris.

Chris smiled for a second. It was a dainty smile at best, a momentary acknowledgment of what the future held for him, which was death and then nothing, for he would no longer be standing upon the Earth.

He would be dead and gone and in time forgotten like so many others before him. It was a horrible thought he did not relish to know that his very existence was coming to such a rapid end.

I see, he replied. He gathered his things together as evening had fallen and made his way across the parking lot, taking one last glance at the building over his shoulder.

The news was exactly what he had feared. His time indeed was finite on this planet, coming to an end, much sooner than he had realized was the case.

He took a deep breath that brought soreness in his gut, and then got in his car. Placing his hands on the steering wheel, he gazed out the windshield at the world as it was spinning and would continue without his presence.

Life continued, people in a holiday hustle and bustle, moments and then minutes zooming by, and here he sat, watching it all.

The house was dark inside. It seemed a bit unusual that nobody was home as the wife had promised to work on a Thanksgiving turkey.

He pulled the Porsche into the driveway and exited the vehicle. He approached the front door, keys in hand and unlocked it, pausing a moment, taking another deep breath of air that brought more of that evil soreness to his gut, reminding him that next year at this time, he most likely would not be doing this. In a sense he relished the moments.

There was something eerie going on that he did not like one bit about the home though, something out of place.

Chris opened the door and entered the quiet living room. Suddenly, they all burst out, yelling when the lights turned on—Happy Thanksgiving Saint Cirrus—from relatives and friends. It was to be a large party for Chris, Sharon knowing fully the bad news.

She was faking it, acting as though nothing was ever going to happen to her husband. Some people watched on his big screen television and some gabbed with each other in the background.

The atmosphere just went from morbidity to mundane, and finally a bit of holiday cheers, though each breath he took reminded him of his ultimate fate and demise.

Chris closed his bedroom door and fell back on the bed. He put his hands over his eyes. Death he told himself. I guess I'll see it firsthand in a couple of months. He took a deep breath bending over and felt a moment of sharp extreme pain. It was the cancer.

He felt its menacing discomfort at the center of his body, every ache reminding him of its eminent disastrous effects, the loss of his life. However, Chris was not dead just yet, and if he was going to die at a young age, he was going out with dignity. He suddenly sat up, realizing the party was out there.

These people all knew his plight and they pretended along with Sharon, that they were not aware of what was going to happen soon. He went out and joined the party.

Chatting with the guys, he watched Terminator 2 on video tape. Wow, he thought, the technology of the future, perhaps a future he could have lived to see. The thought of a liquid-metal man, containing built-in chips was almost above comprehension.

The women all sat at the round table playing poker. Chris's son Todd walked in and sat down. I love you dad, he told his father, wrapping an arm around Chris.

A tear ran from Chris's eye. I love you too Todd. He patted his son on the shoulder. It was reassurance from a father to a son, a special bond between the two.

Theirs had been a relationship not unlike Andy and Opy from the early nineteen sixties television series, The Andy Griffith Show. About the only thing they rarely did was go fishing.

The evening was soon finished and all three Cirrus's were busy cleaning up. The place looked as though it had received company, and it had. Now it was time for the family to rest.

Chris had something he needed to share with Sharon, but now was not the time. He would wait until tomorrow, on Friday, to break the bad news.

It was the short term inevitable. He felt comfortable knowing she would be covered by an insurance policy.

Friday November 26th 1:30 PM

Chris finished the morning weather report. He had taken an extended leave from work. He was on an indefinite leave of absence, but what a leave it would be.

Stopping off the 118 freeway, Chris pulled off the side of the road. He found an open field, covered by cattails and other grasses and weeds. Picking a spot, he sat back, resting his head.

Glancing upward, he searched the blue heavens for answers. He felt there were answers he was entitled to, which had not been supplied to him. Outstretching his arms, he cried out to god I don't want to die!

Sharon glanced out the window a moment, as though she heard a cry from her husband. It was an odd feeling, somewhat eerie at first. Something had happened, something lonely, sad—something she couldn't stop.

Her husband was dying and there was simply no known way of stopping the cancer that ate away at the man she loved. Todd walked in on her.

Mom is everything okay? he asked.

Yes, everything will be okay honey. You don't know how much I love you. Your father should be home soon. He's taking a rest from work. So he will be home for a month with us.

It's his illness mom, isn't it?

The question was a difficult one to answer. She could not bring herself to lie about things, yet the answer was devastating in and of itself. It was an answer that she would best leave to Chris for explanation.

Chris sat cross-legged in the field concentrating on the cancer. He wanted to try holistic medicine, to help him stop the deadly illness that was consuming his very existence.

For a moment, just a moment, the soreness went away. He tightened his eye muscles while concentrating on an image of a bomb exploding where the cancer was. Again the soreness disappeared. He could sense a light ahead of him, as if he were in a tunnel.

At the end of the dark tunnel, he sensed a presence. It was a Holy presence. He sensed himself floating slowly towards the light. Then without notice, he was sucked into a brilliant and energetic light, which he assumed was the light at the end of the tunnel.

Are you God? he asked the presence.

Thou art thy God.

Why do you take me from my family, drain my life? Can I not stay as a successful man in my life? Why must I be separated from my family?

Thou shalt do thy bidding.

And what is this bidding you ask of me? Why me?

Thou shalt awaken amongst the evil as Saint Cirrus.

What is this awakening?

Thou shalt carry a message to Sarg. Lest thou feel the wrath of God, thou shalt not mock God. Thou shalt not enslave humankind. Let thy people go.

And when I meet this Sarg, who shall I say sent me?

Tell him you have been sent.

Suddenly and as quickly as he had gone to heaven and conferenced with God, Chris found himself holding his breath in a field with the sun setting behind his back.

The pain in his gut and chest had returned with a sharp viciousness, quickly snapping him back to reality. What he had just experienced was a fairytale, a momentary wishful thought, a fictional whim to survive by a dying man.

In other words, the fantasy had born out what he could only suspect were his last desperate wishes, upon a life that would soon be gone, and his own demise.

He glanced up at the sunset. Then he got back in his Porsche and drove towards home.

You're late, Sharon scolded in a pleasant manner. You close things up on that end of if?

Todd hugged Chris. I love you dad. Dad, did you leave work because of the illness?

Chris glanced up at Sharon, his glassy eyes locking her in a stare, for a few moments. Then he looked down at Todd.

Are you going to die? Todd asked.

Chris walked over to the sofa. Todd followed and sat down next to him. Everybody dies son. It's a part of life, kind of like a cycle.

No dad, that's not what I meant.

I know son, he grabbed Todd's head in his arms and hugged him. Yes, I may be dying soon. That's why I've made the preparations for your mother and you.

Todd started balling tears. I love you dad, please don't go, please don't go.

I love you too son. Nevertheless, it is going to happen, and there is not much I can do about it. I have this terrible disease called cancer of the pancreas and there's no cure for it. This caused Todd to cry harder. Sharon walked to the sofa, hugging both of them.

Later that night, while lying in bed next to Sharon, Chris was emotionally down. It was very hard for him. I feel guilty. This thing is killing me Sharon, and I don't want to hurt you or him.

It was hard for Todd, but you told him the truth. Isn’t it better that he comes to appreciate every minute he has with you now, rather then later when you're not here?

All of the legal papers will be signed by tomorrow. I will give you full power of attorney on everything. Have you made the preparations with the lab for me?