The Landing

13 hours to Thunderbolt

The Gulfstream began its descent into Washington, D.C., but the city sprawling beneath them no longer resembled the one David remembered.

From his window seat, he took in the surreal landscape—flames flickered like angry orange scars across the urban grid. Wide swaths of darkness revealed where the power had failed. The Potomac shimmered with an eerie crimson hue, reflecting the electric red sweep of auroras that still danced across the sky like a wound bleeding light.

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Multiple structure fires reported. National Airport control tower is dark. We’re flying visually.”

The aircraft shuddered, banking hard. David braced against the armrest, catching a glimpse of towering black smoke rising from Arlington. Even at altitude, the stench of burning reached his senses—acrid, metallic.

Behind him, someone muttered, “Oh, my gosh. The capital’s already breaking down.”
Grady’s voice, David registered vaguely.

“The CME impacts must be accelerating,” Cynthia said. Her voice was taut, but David didn’t turn to look. His gaze was locked on the city.
He heard Elena speak next, clinical and detached. Something about eruptions in Central America. Magma chambers destabilizing.

David absorbed the words, but only partially. His mind kept looping the same realization: this wasn’t theoretical anymore. They were watching the fall begin in real time.

“We may have hours before a global displacement event,” Cynthia added.

David pressed his fingertips into his forehead. It ached—not from fatigue alone, but from the collapsing framework of everything he once trusted. Less than 24 hours ago, he would’ve dismissed Manny’s claims as pseudoscience. Now the evidence was burning below them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Manny seated beside him—still, composed, eyes fixed forward.

“The electric interactions are building faster than we thought,” Manny said quietly.

David nodded, voice low. “The entire system’s resonating. Birkeland currents… core heating… atmospheric coupling. Everything.”

As the jet descended further, the Pentagon came into view—its lights flickering sporadically like a dying pulse. David tracked the roads below, noting the chaos. Emergency vehicles jammed intersections. A few cars had gone still in the middle of crosswalks, hazard lights frozen or blinking out. He knew what that meant—EMP effects or full electrical failure.

The radio crackled again.

“National’s primary runway guidance offline. Using backup visual beacons. We’re cleared to land.”

David tightened his seatbelt. The plane bounced hard onto the tarmac, skidding slightly before catching grip. The landing gear groaned beneath them as the cabin lights dimmed again.

Through the front window, David saw the black SUVs waiting by the private terminal—engines idling, dark-tinted windows glinting under the emergency beacons. Figures stood beside them.

His pulse spiked when he spotted Blackstone—rigid as ever, hands behind his back, flanked by Secret Service agents. Of course he’d be here.

The cabin door hissed open, releasing a rush of hot air thick with smoke and tension.

“Gentlemen. Ladies.” Blackstone’s voice carried up the stairs, overly formal. “Welcome to Washington.”

David was first down the stairs, not waiting for protocol. The moment his shoes hit pavement, he strode toward the lead vehicle.

“We need to go directly to the AAS Conference Center,” he said without preamble.

Blackstone stepped forward to intercept him. His expression was cool, but David caught the tightness around his mouth.

“You’ll first come with me,” Blackstone said. “The President requires a full briefing before you speak publicly.”

Manny’s voice came from behind, firm. “We’re out of time for briefings, Director.”

David turned, stepping between them before Blackstone could snap back. “You may not answer to him,” he said to Blackstone, “but you do answer to me. And I answer to the truth.”

Blackstone’s jaw clenched. “Don’t do this, David.”

David met his gaze without blinking. “Already done.”

The moment froze. For one breathless instant, the air between them seemed charged—mirroring the electrical firestorm above.

Then Blackstone exhaled and looked away, signaling one of his men. “Very well. I assume you’ll at least allow us safe transport?”

David gave a single nod. “For now.”

As they filed into the waiting vehicles, the sound of distant sirens echoed across the tarmac. A brief tremor passed beneath David’s feet. He paused mid-step, frowning.

“That wasn’t turbulence,” Elena said from behind him.

He looked at Cynthia. She didn’t need to speak. Her eyes confirmed what he already knew.

The quakes had begun.

He shut the door behind him, and the convoy pulled into motion—racing toward a capital already half in flames.