The Mayan Apocalypse Read Free

his auto shop across the street. Its roof and two walls had collapsed. The sheet-metal wall facing the street that separated the bar and shop bowed out.
    Turning, Marcus saw dozens of holes in the wall of the bar and several broken windows. Fragments had hit the wall like pellets from a shotgun blast. That raised a concern with Marcus. He looked at his arms, legs, and body. No blood. No pain.
    â€œIt missed me. Not a scratch.”
    â€œYou’re one lucky drunk,” Bennie said. “You fared better than my bar.”
    â€œNot so lucky, guys.” Gary pointed at the shop. “You won’t be salvaging much from that mess, Marc. That big rock ruined you. What are the odds?”
    Marcus felt something well up inside of him. It took a moment to realize what it was. He bent and placed his hands on his knees. His shoulders began to shake. His head bobbed.
    â€œIt’s all right, dude.” Gary put a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Let it out. Ain’t no one here gonna blame you for crying.”
    Marcus straightened, unable to hold back the emotion. A loud guffaw erupted from deep inside him.
    â€œWhat’re you laughin’ at?” The bartender seemed offended. “Maybe you’re drunker than I realized.”
    Another roaring laugh filled the night. Marcus wiped a tear from his eyes. “Don’t you bums get it?” He pointed at the burning remains of his shop. “I’m rich, boys. I am rich.”

A ndrew Morgan never rushed anywhere. Not anymore. In high school and college, he had been so impatient that he jogged across campus to whatever place he needed to be at next. When he drove, he drove fast, as if he didn’t want to waste one moment of his life.
    He read fast, he spoke fast, and once he became an executive in his father’s oil business, he conducted meetings fast. He was a race car with only one pedal-to-the-metal speed.
    The day he learned of the plane crash that took his wife and son, Morgan slowed. At first, he dawdled because he didn’t want to face life. Why get out of bed? What reason was there to answer the phone? Morgan Natural Energy had the best executive team in the business, men and women smarter than he and more conscientious. If he never stepped foot in his CEO’s office again, the firm would continue to grow and pay hefty dividends to investors and stockholders.
    It took less than a day for him to realize he was unneeded: no wife to love and support and no son to guide. The rushing whitewater river that had been his life had declined to a slow-moving, muddy, polluted creek.
    Morgan hadn’t decided to slow his pace. His grief and confusion had shackled his legs and thickened the air around him so much that it pressed him down.
    The Tinsel Town Theater displayed art deco on the outside, as was popular for theaters of this age.
    Just as Morgan laid a hand on the angular door pulls, a womanstepped to his side. Without thinking, he opened the glass doors and moved aside to let the woman in. She was rushing. Like Morgan, she was five minutes late.
    â€œThank you.” The words came without a smile.
    â€œMy pleasure.” He followed her through the doors.
    The woman was, he judged, five-foot-six, slim, and well-dressed in a tan pantsuit with a bright, decorative scarf. She had shoulder-length auburn hair that bounced as she walked. She wore bone-colored flats. The shoes indicated she was a sensible woman who cared more about the condition of her feet than how shoes made her legs look.
    The lobby was empty except for two beefy men with arms the size of redwoods who paced the worn carpet. Morgan recognized security when he saw it.
    Pale colors accented the geometric shapes on the walls and ceiling. The carpet, which had to be decades old, proudly displayed its faded designs. At one time, the colors must have been bright. Now, they were difficult to distinguish from the beige background. Although the snack bar was closed, the