Story Not As Simple As It Seems

Chapter Seventy-Three

Bud had been heavy in thought lately. Since the excavation of the storage room at the Retreat, he thought they might as well carve out as much as they safely could and keep it filled. Something was gnawing in him, perhaps placed there by the current political and economic situation, perhaps by some primitive knowledge that was passed down with the DNA. He just knew something wasn’t right. Jeff, now with some experience on the Tickler under his belt, could handle the excavation without Bud having to be there. Then the impetus came to kick things into another gear.

Joe and Diana were over for one of Bud’s low-country boils and Joe got Bud to walk with him to the dock.

“I heard from Jeremy Cassidy.”

“Oh yeah? What’s he doing these days?” Bud asked.

“Still prying the rotten wood out and applying glue where needed. Bud he has some news that may sound weird, Bud I think we should act upon.”

Bud stopped and turned. “What is it, nuclear terrorism? Iranians invading?”

“Bud, have you ever heard of Planet Nine?”

“What? You mean that old conspiracy theory there is a planet drifting around somewhere out there that may have taken out a planet and the debris formed the asteroid belt?”

“The one and the same. Jeremy has found out it is mostly true and world governments and scientists have been holding the truth in check to prevent growing mass hysteria.”

“So, Earth is going to be destroyed?”

“Not quite, but it will probably come close enough no one’s going to be able to buff it out.”

“Gravity pull could take the water all the way up to Rocky Mount.” Bud mused.

“My point exactly!” Joe said.

“Then I guess we’ll have to relocate for a time. Bud said. “We can always head for the farm.”

“What about Pete and the rest?

“We’ll take them with us, of course. How much time do we have?”

“Jeremy said we should watch the signs carefully and he would keep us informed. He wants to come out and talk to us.”

“By all means. We can have another boil.”

What Joe had related to Bud had dug deep in his gut, like the truth was coming out. He began tabulating his assets and the logistics of moving as much as he could over whatever time they had.

After Joe and Diana left, Bud sat down with Helen and Patty and told them what Joe had passed to him. Patty’s face showed shock.

“What are we going to do!?”

“We’ll think this through and start planning on relocating our assets and ourselves to the Retreat. And I want to wait and talk to Jeremy. It’s not like everything’s going to happen next week.”

So, from then on, a veil of impending doom shaded their lives.

Bud and Joe were waiting at the dock when Jeremy’s Twin Otter landed on the sound in front of them. As Jeremy maneuvered the plane dockside, Bud and Joe tied the plane off. Jeremy got out of the plane, an overnight bag in his hand. Bud had told Joe to tell Jeremy to be prepared to stay at least overnight because they had some beer to drink.

The three walked back to the patio to what Bud had promised—a low-country boil. Bud and Patty had discussed this: she would leave the men alone to talk and she would finish preparing the meal. Everything was ready to drop into the boiling pot.

Jeremy gave it to them short and sweet….or not so sweet. Planet Nine was going to cause significant damage and the farther you were from the coast and seismic zones, the better off you would be. Depending what the planet encountered on its way to their area of the solar system depended on when everything would begin happening. They could have 18 months, or 18 years…it just all depended.



Days became months and months became years, and finally the signs began to appear and the people were asking questions.



OFFICIAL UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT ANNOUNCEMENT

Department of Homeland Security Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA)

IMMEDIATE PUBLIC NOTICE August 28, 2027

SUBJECT: Detection of Rogue Planet Trajectory Posing Potential Risk to Earth – Coastal Evacuation Order for Continental United States Shorelines

The United States Government, in coordination with international partners and global astronomical observatories, has confirmed the approach of a rogue planet (designated RP-2026-01) on a hyperbolic trajectory through our solar system. This interstellar object, approximately 4 times the mass of Earth, is not bound to any star and is currently projected to pass within a distance that may exert significant gravitational influence on Earth, particularly affecting ocean tides, tectonic stability, and coastal regions.

Current Assessment

  • Threat Summary: Gravitational perturbations from RP-2026-01 are expected to trigger extreme tidal surges, potential mega-tsunamis, heightened seismic activity (including risks along the New Madrid Seismic Zone, Middleton Place/Summerville seismic zone, and other fault lines), and widespread coastal flooding. Impacts are projected to begin intensifying within the next 14–21 days, with peak effects possible over a multi-week period.
  • Risk Level: High for all low-lying coastal and shoreline areas in the Continental United States (CONUS), including the Atlantic, Pacific, Gulf of America, and Great Lakes shorelines.
  • Inland Safety: Areas more than 100 miles inland or at elevations above 500 feet are considered significantly lower risk at this time.
This announcement is based on continuous monitoring by NASA’s Planetary Defense Coordination Office, NOAA’s space weather and oceanographic teams, and verified data shared with allies.

Mandatory Evacuation Order

Effective immediately, all residents, businesses, and visitors within 100 miles of any CONUS shoreline are directed to evacuate inland to designated safe zones. This is a mandatory phased evacuation for public safety.

Evacuation Phases:

  1. Phase 1 (Immediate – Next 72 Hours):
    • High-risk zones: Barrier islands, coastal floodplains, and areas below 50 feet elevation.
    • Priority: Elderly, disabled, families with children, and medical facilities.
  2. Phase 2 (Days 4–10):
    • All remaining shoreline-adjacent populations up to 100 miles inland.
  3. Phase 3 (Ongoing):
    • Support for vulnerable populations and critical infrastructure relocation.
Designated Inland Relocation Guidelines:

  • Move to elevations above 500 feet and at least 100 miles from any coastline.
  • Preferred safe zones include:
    • Appalachian Mountain regions (e.g., higher elevations in North Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, West Virginia).
    • Interior highlands of the Ozarks, Cumberland Plateau, and Rocky Mountain foothills.
    • Designated FEMA reception centers in major inland metropolitan areas with available shelter capacity.
  • Avoid river valleys prone to flooding and known seismic risk corridors where possible.
Transportation and Logistics:

  • Highways: Major inland routes (e.g., I-40, I-70, I-80 corridors) will have dedicated evacuation lanes and fuel priority. Contra-flow operations activated.
  • Public Transit and Air: Amtrak, commercial buses, and limited airlifts prioritized for those without personal vehicles.
  • Ports and Marinas: All coastal vessel traffic restricted; emergency maritime evacuation only under Coast Guard direction.
  • Supplies: FEMA is pre-positioning food, water, medical kits, fuel, and generators at inland hubs. Take a 72-hour emergency kit (water, non-perishables, medications, cash, important documents, battery-powered radio).
  • Pets and Livestock: Pet-friendly shelters available; livestock transport coordinated via USDA extension services.
What to Do Now

  1. Prepare Immediately: Gather essential documents (ID, deeds, medical records), medications, and cash. Secure your property.
  2. Register: Visit Ready.gov or call 1-800-BE-READY to register your evacuation status and receive personalized alerts.
  3. Stay Informed: Monitor official channels – NOAA Weather Radio, FEMA app, local emergency alerts (WEA), and broadcast media. Ignore unverified social media.
  4. Community Support: Mutual aid groups, churches, and local governments are activated. Veterans, National Guard, and first responders are mobilized.
The U.S. Government is working with international partners on long-term mitigation strategies, including potential deflection or monitoring enhancements. This is a dynamic situation; updates will be issued every 12 hours or as conditions change.

This is not a drill. Act now to protect yourself and your family.

For more information:

  • FEMA Hotline: 1-800-621-3362
  • NASA Rogue Planet Updates: nasa.gov/planetarydefense
  • NOAA Coastal Alerts: noaa.gov
Issued by: Jacob Parks, Secretary of Homeland Security Alexander Bonnet, NASA Administrator Shirley Graham, FEMA Administrator

God bless the United States of America.

This announcement is authorized for immediate public dissemination. Further directives will follow via the Emergency Alert System.
 
Chapter Seventy-Four


Over the years, Jeff had carved out two more storage rooms adjacent to the initial storage room, and a separate meat locker to store cured meats. Bud had filled them to the rafters with supplies. Twice a year the family made the pilgrimage to the Retreat on the Cumberland Plateau—a working vacation of sorts, where they inventoried stock, rotated anything nearing its date, and fed Tom’s hogs the discards. Bud had bought a second dual-semi trailer rig for the final move; the original still ran like a top, shuttling supplies and household goods between Columbia and the Plateau. Years earlier, he had quietly read Pete and his family, Reverend Phillips, and a handful of trusted neighbors into the larger picture—the coming dangers that could upend their world.

Jeremy’s sleight-of-hand maneuvering had secured adjacent acres designated as the “Yuchi Research Station,” supposedly a USDA facility. Homes stood ready for the neighbors who would relocate with them. Additional housing waited for Jeremy’s own people relocating from the east coast corridor and more cottages up at the Wolf’s Den. The two semi rigs stayed prepped and ready, part of a rapid convoy plan for the close-knit group in their corner of Tyrrell County.


The salt air hung thick over Albemarle Sound as the first hints of dawn bruised the horizon in deep purples and molten golds. Bud Campbell stood on the weathered dock behind his Columbia, North Carolina home, a mug of strong coffee steaming between his calloused hands. At fifty-two he was built like the live oaks lining the property—solid, roots deep, weathered by decades of coastal storms. The cedar-shake house remained sturdy, silvered by years of salt wind. Inside the kitchen, Patty moved with the familiar rhythm of twenty-eight years of marriage, pans clattering as another morning’s routines unfolded.

Their children—Sean, twenty-six, and Sonja, twenty-four—were still upstairs, either asleep or pretending. Sean had come home from contracting work up north for what was supposed to be a quiet summer. Sonja, fresh out of nursing school, had taken a job at the local clinic. Then there was eleven-year-old Aiden, their late surprise, already barefoot beside Bud on the dock, casting for speckled trout.

“Dad, you see that weird light last night?” Aiden asked, reeling in slowly. “Like a star that wouldn’t blink.”

Bud grunted. He’d seen it too. For weeks the news had been saturated with Planet 9—the massive body beyond Neptune that astronomers had long suspected. Fringe theories had become mainstream headlines. Telescopes confirmed it: five to ten times Earth’s mass on a long elliptical orbit. This pass would bring it perilously close. No direct impact, the experts insisted, but close enough for gravitational havoc—coastal flooding, seismic ripples, unpredictable tides.

The government downplayed it. “Preparatory measures,” the alerts said. Bud knew better. He had prepped for hurricanes, ice storms, and the faint tremors from the New Madrid and Middleton zones. This was different. Planet 9 was a cosmic freight train.

“Reel it in slow, son,” Bud said, forcing a smile. Inside, his gut twisted. The summer house in Tennessee—up on the Cumberland Plateau near Jamestown—had always been their bolt-hole: a sturdy log home on twenty acres backed against a sandstone bluff, spring-fed creek, high enough to laugh at floods. They had built it with bug-out in mind, stocking it over years with non-perishables, tools, and seeds. Now it might become their lifeline.

By breakfast the radio crackled with updates. NASA confirmed the trajectory. Closest approach in seventy-two hours. Models predicted extreme tidal surges along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts—waves driven not by wind but by gravity tugging at Earth’s oceans. Earthquakes along fault lines. Dormant volcanoes stirring. Evacuation orders rolled out for low-lying areas from Virginia to Florida and known seismic zones.

Patty set plates of scrambled eggs, smoked trout from last week’s catch, and fresh biscuits on the table. Her face stayed calm, but Bud saw the tension in her jaw. “We go today,” she stated quietly. “Before the roads clog.”

Bud nodded, fork paused. “Trucks are checked. Ram’s gassed, spare tanks loaded. Haflinger trailer hooked up.” They had drilled this a dozen times.

Sonja scrolled her phone. “Clinic’s closing. Patients heading inland. Social media’s exploding—some calling it the end, others a hoax. But the satellite images… Dad, it’s real.”

Aiden looked up, eyes wide. “Are we gonna die?”

Bud ruffled his hair. “Not if I can help it. This family’s built for tough times. Grab your go-bags—one per person, just like we drilled.”

Patty dried her hands on the embroidered dish towel her mother had given her years ago and wiped the sudden tears from her eyes. “Silly of me,” she whispered. “Leaving the kitchen neat when it might all be gone.” They had lost Helen to a stroke just eighteen months earlier.

The morning blurred into controlled chaos. Bud and Sean loaded the Ram 1500: coolers of garden produce—tomatoes, zucchini, herbs from Patty’s beds—cases of water, fuel jugs, and firearms secured in locked cases. Glock 19 for Bud, shotguns and carbines for the convoy trucks, suppressors packed discreetly for the Tennessee property. Patty and Sonja gathered medical kits to be dispersed through the convoy—antibiotics, bandages, Sean’s asthma inhalers—plus canning jars, seeds, and heirloom tools. The girls gathered clothes and documents in waterproof pouches: deeds, passports, Bud’s still sizable stash of gold coins.

By noon an odd haze had settled over the sky, as if the sun filtered through distant smoke. Neighbors waved from driveways, some loading cars, others skeptical. The convoy assembled in the General Store parking lot.

“Y’all really leaving?” old Mr. Jenkins called. “Government says it’s hype.”

“Government’s said a lot of things,” Bud replied, hugging the man briefly. “Stay safe.”

The convoy rolled out: Sean’s older Tacoma in front with Aiden and extra gear; the Ram behind with Bud, Patty, and Sonja; ten more vehicles followed, the two semis bringing up the rear with Joe riding tail-gunner in his truck and enclosed twenty-foot utility trailer. Joe had moved his helicopter to the farm a couple weeks earlier right before Bud had moved the Turbo-Beaver. They stuck to back roads toward I-40, avoiding the worst of the interstate panic. Traffic thickened near Rocky Mount, horns blaring as families fled inland. Radio reports flooded in: unprecedented high tides already lapping at Outer Banks dunes, Norfolk flooding, Charleston bracing.

Sean’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. “Traffic’s getting ugly ahead. Alternate route?”

Bud checked the GPS. “Cut north toward Louisburg. We’ll skirt Raleigh.”

Hours stretched. They stopped once near Greensboro for fuel, paying cash amid long lines and frayed tempers. Sonja dozed in the back seat, her medical bag close. Bud’s mind drifted to the cabin: the excavated room stocked with smoked meats, solar panels on their tracking frames, firewood stacked high in the woodshed. The bluff would shield them from the worst winds. Neighbors up there—preppers and farmers—had formed a loose mutual-aid group.
 
Chapter Seventy-Five

As they crossed into Tennessee near dusk, the radio grew urgent. “Astronomers report gravitational anomalies already affecting tides. Minor quakes reported in California and along the Mississippi. President urges calm and inland movement.”

Patty squeezed Bud’s hand. “We made the right call.”

Night fell under a sky streaked with unusual meteors—debris stirred by the intruder. They pushed on, headlights cutting through rural darkness. Near Wartburg they detoured around a wreck in a construction zone, the Ram’s tires humming on gravel. Exhaustion pressed in, but adrenaline kept them sharp.

The summer house appeared like a beacon around 2 a.m. Jeff was waiting with the floodlights on: a two-story log home nestled against a thirty-foot sandstone bluff, metal roof gleaming faintly under starlight. A creek burbled nearby, fed by an artesian spring. Bud killed the engine. The sudden silence felt profound.

“Home,” Sonja whispered, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

They unpacked under floodlights, the battery bank fully charged. The house smelled of pine and old woodsmoke. Sean and Bud checked the perimeter—fences intact, generator fueled, rainwater tanks full. Patty lit the woodstove and warmed the leftover stew they had carried in the cooler. Sonja found the family-size tea bags and set water to boil.

Sleep came fitfully. Bud lay awake beside Patty, listening to the wind in the catalpa trees. Planet 9 loomed in his thoughts—a dark giant warping space itself.

Dawn brought the first tremors. Not violent, but enough to rattle the stoneware in the cabinets. Shortwave news reported coastal evacuations turning chaotic, Albemarle Sound swelling, docks submerged, water flowing into Columbia streets. Bud’s stomach clenched at the thought of their house.

The family gathered for breakfast—oatmeal with toasted walnuts from the trees, honey from their hives. “We fortify here,” Bud said. “Garden’s planted. Spring house is cold. We’re high enough.”

Sean nodded. “I’ll scout the plateau roads with the Haflinger. See if neighbors need hands.”

Sonja organized the clinic corner with bandages, sutures, and Patty’s herbal remedies. Aiden stacked firewood—his new chore—his fear slowly turning to purpose.

By midday the sky darkened unnaturally. Scientists described magnetospheric disturbances, auroras dancing in daylight latitudes. Then the real effects arrived.

A deep rumble shook the house. Dishes danced. Outside, the creek surged briefly before settling. Reports flooded in: massive storm surges overwhelming barriers from Virginia Beach to Miami. Earthquakes rippling the Eastern Seaboard—Richter 5s and 6s as the old faults cracked open. Bridges compromised. Power grids flickering.

Bud climbed the bluff trail with binoculars. From the vantage the plateau stretched green and rugged; distant smoke plumes rose where lines had fallen. “It’s bad down there,” he told the family. “But we’re positioned right.”

That afternoon they worked as a unit. Sean and Bud reinforced shutters with salvaged lumber. Patty and Sonja canned the last garden harvest—beans, tomatoes—using the propane stove as backup. Aiden practiced with his slingshot, targeting cans, building confidence.

As evening fell, gravitational pull intensified. Coastal tides reached thirty feet above normal in places. Albemarle Sound had become a churning inland sea. Bud pictured their Columbia home, lower floor claimed by water. But they had saved what mattered most.

A stronger quake struck after midnight. The house groaned, yet the bluff’s sandstone held firm. Aiden cried out; Patty held him. “Like the big storms,” she soothed. “We ride it out.”

Bud stood watch on the porch, rifle nearby out of habit. Stars wheeled overhead, distorted by atmospheric effects. He thought of quiet mornings fishing and evenings watching herons. The coast had been good, but this land felt ancestral.

Day two of closest approach brought chaos on the airwaves. The New Madrid fault stirred—tremors felt as far as Memphis. Coastal cities evacuated en masse; looting flared in pockets. Inland refuges overflowed. Here on the plateau, isolation proved their shield.

Sean returned from a neighbor run. “Folks at the general store are banding together—sharing diesel, trading ammo. They heard about our setup and offered garden surplus for medical help from Sonja.”

“Good,” Bud said. “Community’s key. No lone wolves in this.”

The family shared venison stew from the freezer—hunted last fall on these hills. Stories flowed: Sean’s northern contracts that taught resilience, Sonja’s hospital rotations and the human cost of crisis, Aiden’s wide-eyed excitement at a “space adventure” turned real. Patty’s steady voice grounded them all, recalling hurricanes they had weathered together.

As night deepened, the peak effects arrived. The ground rolled like ocean swells. Trees swayed violently. A distant crash echoed—perhaps a rockslide. Inside the reinforced basement room Bud had dug years earlier—concrete walls, stocked shelves, battery lamps—they huddled.

“Whatever comes,” Bud told them, voice low, “we face it as Campbells. Prepared. Together.”

Hours passed in tense vigil. Radio static carried tales of destruction: barrier islands reshaped, ports ruined, millions displaced. Yet the plateau held. Minor damage—a cracked window, a few shifted foundation stones—nothing they couldn’t repair.

Dawn of the third day broke clearer. Planet 9 receded, its influence waning. Seismologists predicted aftershocks, but the worst had passed. Coastal damage was catastrophic, yet recovery stories already emerged—neighbors helping neighbors, preppers proving their worth.

Bud stepped outside. The air smelled fresh, charged. The garden stood resilient, tomatoes heavy on the vines. Aiden raced to the creek, now calm. Sean inspected the Haflinger. Sonja tended herbs. Patty slipped her arm around Bud’s waist.

“Our coast house…” she began.

“Rebuildable,” he finished. “Or we stay here. Roots can shift.”

They spent the week assessing damage, foraging, and connecting with locals. News confirmed Planet 9’s passage: a scientific marvel and a brutal human trial. Billions in damage, but Earth—and the Campbells—endured.

In the evenings around the fire pit they planned. Expand the garden with proper companion planting—more pecans and walnuts spaced correctly, smudge pots ready for frost. Reinforce the spring house. Train Aiden on the radios and woodland skills. Sean spoke of bringing his girl up from Arkansas, merging families in the new reality. Sonja dreamed of a mobile clinic for plateau families.

One night under ordinary stars, Bud carved a small wooden marker for the bluff: “Campbell Haven – 2027.” A reminder that threats, cosmic or otherwise, met prepared hearts.

Life on the plateau was harder—colder winters, greater isolation—but it was theirs. The family that fled the coast had found more than shelter. They had found a deeper calling: to build, to guard, and to thrive amid uncertainty.

As summer deepened, the garden flourished. Fish filled the creek. Neighbors became friends, bound by shared survival. Bud stood on the lake dam with Aiden beside him, both holding rods.

“See that star, Dad?” Aiden pointed.

“Just Venus,” Bud said, smiling. “But if another comes, we’ll be ready.”

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying promises of harvests, hard work, and the quiet strength of a family forged in flight.

End_Card.png​
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top