Mother Nature's Angel

By MARK ALAN

Are there really Angels? Is there any help out there? What or who is creating the beautiful Northern Lights? Are Crop Circles hoaxes or do they have a higher purpose? Dr. Anthony Young (a physics professor and scientist at NASA) and Lynette Young (a biology professor) are guided through an intense spiritual, intellectual and sexual journey that answers all of these questions in a way that will change our world forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Alan
• Release date: Dec 21, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301302291

Book preview

MOTHER NATURE’S ANGEL

BY

MARK ALAN

Cover designed by:

Mariah Wilke and Kim McMillian Ralph

This work is fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

©

Mother Nature’s Angel

Mark Alan

Copyright Mark Alan 2012

Published at Smashwords

All rights reserved.

For Makala, with all of our love

And I don't want the world to see me. Cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken. I just want you to know who I am

-Goo Goo Dolls, IRIS

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my entire family for all of their support and patience with me, with special thanks to my wife Lisa. Lisa has spent a tremendous amount of time working on all of the administration and logistics necessary to make this book happen.

I would also like to give my upmost gratitude to Jeremy Rackauckas for all of his outstanding contributions as my Wordsmith.

Chapter 1

Mother Earth

Sun poured through the window and across his living room, drenching the spinning planet with light.

The globe isn’t a toy, sweetie, Anthony reminded his daughter. She pursed her lips as though he had scolded her before spinning it again.

I know, Daddy. I’m trying to finish my homework.

Oh? He yawned, stretching muscles that had fallen asleep during his impromptu nap. He was reasonably fit for a man in his thirties, even if he too often felt that life demanded more energy than he had to offer. That never seemed to be a problem for Grace. And what assignment is that, exactly? You’re a little young for world geography, Gracie.

Her eyes fell, and Anthony worried he had chosen his words poorly. She was only eight, after all; young enough to count her age in half-years. Who was he to tell her fledgling ego what she was and wasn’t capable of? When she spoke again, though, her tiny voice weighed more heavily with concern than anything else. Mr. Robins says our planet is dying, she murmured, almost whispering.

Oh, boy. Anthony stood, sighing. Would he need to have a conversation with her teacher about frightening his daughter with ideas she was too young to understand? He thought back to his own childhood, when his own teachers had filled his nightmares with nuclear missiles and hammer-sickle flags. Did he, now? I wonder what made him tell you that, Gracie. You know the planet’s not going anywhere for a while, right?

Surprisingly, she nodded. Not for a while, she repeated. Mr. Robins says it won’t be for a long time, daddy. He says that’s the reason people aren’t doing anything about it, and that we won’t have to deal with the problem until I’m older than you. She rested a finger at the very top of the globe. He says that the ice up here is gonna melt, and that afterwards the world will get too hot for us to live. When I'm older, she added.

Anthony exhaled. It seemed he really had been clueless about the things his daughter was capable of. Mr. Robins is a very smart man. Did he say if there was anything you could do about it?

Grace grinned. He said there was something you could do about it.

Let me guess... He knew that smile anywhere.

You can do my homework for me! She laughed, pressing a pee-chee folder into his hands.

Oh, I bet I can. He reached below the shoulders and tickled until she dropped the folder, giggling. Let’s see what we’ve got, here.

We’re building icebergs, Grace told him as he read over her worksheet. We need to stick them on top of the gobe.

That’s ‘globe’, Gracie, Anthony corrected. Ga la la obe. And it says here you’re supposed to build a globe, not glue it on top of daddy’s favorite antique. Here, let’s look at what you need and get you all set up.

It actually didn’t look to be all that difficult, and there was little doubt that Stewart, Grace’s straw-haired classmate from down the street, would be eager to work alongside her. He set the kids up at a fold-out table in the garage, laying out every craft-worthy tool he could scrounge together: cardboard, Styrofoam, glue, play-dough, and a flimsy pair of kid friendly scissors guarded by plastic at the edges. I’ll be right in the living room if you need me for anything, he assured them. Don’t try to cut any material those scissors won’t go through, and don’t use something that isn’t on the table without asking permission. Sound good?

We know, daddy. Grace nodded enthusiastically, reaching for the glue before he had even finished speaking.

I get to use the play-dough first, Stewart called out. Anthony, frustrated that the boy had fiddled with Styrofoam all throughout his short list of rules, reined in the impulse to scold the boy.

Take turns, he warned. And I expect the two of you to share with one another.

Decently revitalized from his earlier dozing, Anthony parsed through a handful of his students’ papers as the evening news rambled calm, urgent background noise throughout his living room.

There's not even a debate going on within the scientific community about whether or not global warming has morphed into an immediate, pervasive threat, said Kellam, the doctor pitted at the left side of the split-screen newscast. Chainsworth Industries continues a trend of direct responsibility for larger and larger chunks being lost from our polar ice caps, and still the government does nothing to interfere. We've transcended the realm of considering the rights of corporations; individuals, even. At this point, the fate of our planet is hanging on a knife's edge, and every precautionary measure is not only a permissible course of regulation, it's an absolute necessity.

So your side has been saying for the past fifteen years, said a dark-suited man at the other side of the panel. Charles Ephram, Associate Research Analyst at ChemSol, Inc. read the caption below him. And what do you know? We’re still here. There's a host of studies debunking every one of your doomsday claims, and the more you faux-conservationists attempt to mitigate the abilities of our country's producers by frightening the public, the less credit we can lend to your side of the debate when real problems arise.

We’re making a big song and dance over what might happen over the next six generations when right now we have people who are out of work and struggling to keep it together in today’s economy. No one is doing more to keep the global monetary system from collapsing than Chainsworth Industries, and their willingness to extricate the two trillion dollars’ worth of oil reserves buried beneath the polar ice caps is the only thing holding widespread poverty at bay. I daresay their actions are courageous in light of the vicious character assassination they’ve suffered on the part of the far left.

How timely, Anthony noted. He had never been opposed to the Environmentalist movement; he'd even gone so far as to sign a few petitions and attend some eco-club's meeting back in his college days. What fervor he'd had had faded long ago, though. There's a lot that goes into understanding such a complex issue, he'd recognized, and the demands of simply living life had gradually overshadowed the idealistic goals of his youth. It wasn't something he altogether regretted--he'd trade all the idealism in the world for the privilege of raising a daughter like Grace--but there was a genuine, pleading fear in the voice of the man who now spoke that sparked an echo of regret in the back of his mind.

Dear Mr. Ephram, please don’t’ pretend to believe that Chainsworth Industrie’s has the slightest concern for the men and women out of work today, nor for the global monetary system. It is obvious that Chainsworth Industry’s only concern is for it’s shareholder’s increased profits. This concern is primarily for the increased profits of Chainsworth’s majority shareholder, Mr. Hartman. The increased profits resulting from the savings that can be captured from the twelve thousand kilometers of decreased sea travel per shipment, for each of this greedy corporation’s oil tankers. In addition to the increased profits that can ultimately be attained from Chainsworth Industry’s guarantee of increased oil revenues, once they are able to melt all of the ice above that two trillion dollars’ worth of oil reserves. Chainsworth executives remain blinded by greed, as they continue to deny the possible extinction of every species on this planet as a consequence for their cancerous actions. To the folks at home, Dr. Kellam addressed the camera directly. The warnings from my colleagues and I may ring to you of some hypothetical future where our planet gradually increases in temperature until the public recognizes that enough is enough. The situation is far more dire, I assure you, and the consequences are being felt by our country even as we speak. The insect driven plagues that heavy showers have provided for in Africa have reared their heads in America by way of the West Nile virus, responsible for over thirty thousand cases in the U.S. alone. The influx of deadly heat waves, earthquakes and hurricanes are an even more direct, more flagrant expression of the dangers we’ve opened ourselves to. We mourn the losses incurred through tragedies, but make no mistake, these are but the first several gusts of an approaching maelstrom of horrors that the world can expect to deal with if action is not taken decisively and immediately. If not, we may be facing Armageddon

Daddy! Grace interrupted, beaming proudly at the edge of the hallway. I’m almost done. Come look at it!

Anthony turned off the television, shivering. Perhaps he’d been more wrong about Mr. Robins’ approach than he’d realized. At any rate, he was glad to divorce himself from the immediate emotional thrust of the newscast and absorb himself in his daughter’s handiwork. At least, he would have been, had any of her work remained intact upon their return.

Stu! Grace flushed, her bright blue eyes welling up with tears. What’s wrong with you? Why would you do that?

Scattered across the table and dripping on to the floor were the dismembered remnants of Grace’s project. The rounded pieces of cardboard that had clearly been taped together to resemble a sphere had been torn four different ways. Half of the play-dough that had been molded to the form of a polar ice cap now squished between Stewart’s stubby fingers, drops of glue dripping across his palm.

Look, Mr. Young, the boy laughed, It’s the end of the world! He playfully flicked a glob of play-dough out of his fingers and on to the table.

I hate you, Stewart! Grace screamed, unclenching Anthony’s hand and storming away.

Anthony was almost too stricken to react properly. An immediate, pervasive threat, echoed Ehrman. Go... He choked the word out. Go home, Stewart. Now. Your mother’s gonna hear about this, you can count on that.

The boy scampered out of the garage with a resentful grunt, leaving Anthony alone with the jagged pieces of the tiny cardboard world. Among the first several gusts of an entire maelstrom of horrors... Anthony knelt to the floor, trembling, and tried to ignore the rising sense of dread in his gut.

Chapter 2

Father Light

Grace was smiling again. She was laughing, running, playing; kicking up the golden sand that stretched out to meet the gentle rhythm of the tide. She darted to and fro, chasing the waves as they receded and hopping back again when they turned to chase her.

Anthony reclined casually on a checkered towel, grateful to witness the unabashed joy of a child at play.

She turned, waving her arms, beckoning him to join the fun. She was yelling something, it appeared, but whatever she’d said was too difficult to hear. The water behind her was receding, as it always did, but something had changed. Anthony’s heart drummed against his chest as he realized that the tide wasn’t returning. No; far from it, the expanding blanket of sand that shaped before them was littered now with the flopping bodies of beached fish. Several people had started hurrying away. Others were merely gawking. Anthony was on his