Zenith

By P J Anderson

Tim Ross isn’t part of the ‘cool’ crowd. He can’t play sport, he’s awkward with girls and he has few friends on Insta and Facebook. He hates change and isn’t adventurous. So why did he agree to join his elder sister, Danni, on an end-of-school yacht trip off Queensland?
While out at sea, Tim and Danni witness a mystery spacecraft crash into a nearby island. Reluctantly, they investigate.
As they do, United Nations peace-keeping soldiers are deployed to respond. Leading the top-secret unit is former Australian soldier, Brett ‘Scorpion’ Tanner. His unit includes neo-punk chick ‘Jinx’ – a feisty Japanese rookie – and former British soldier Leonard ‘Snowman’ Frost – a violent man of war just as deadly as the blood-crazed aliens the unit is destined to encounter.
Zenith Island is an exclusive Whitsunday resort with five-star facilities and a fantastic fun park. It’s here where Tim and Danni, and a group of desperate others, must band together to fight for their lives.
As battles for survival rage, certain things become clear. The aliens aren’t the only threat; some people are monsters. And desperate situations can change us all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781398427877

P J Anderson

From a lay boomer who has been engaged in church and mission service for the last thirty years, he shares his concerns regarding our generation’s impact on the church now and on to the future. What will our legacy be?

Book preview

About the Author

P.J. Anderson is an award-winning former Melbourne crime journalist. He has written seven true crime books. His debut adult crime novel, The Robbers, was shortlisted for a prestigious Australian Ned Kelly Award in the Best First Fiction category.

After completing a university course, he now works in the education system in a learning support role.

This is his first work of young adult fiction.

Copyright Information ©

P.J. Anderson (2021)

The right of P.J. Anderson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528919906 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398427877 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

Thanks to my editorial assistants Kat, Jakob, Bianca and Donna for joining my journey to Zenith.

And to Dad for helping us get there.

Thanks to Mum for reading everything, including the early stuff.

To David Robbins, principal lawyer at KHQ Lawyers; and Olivia Dalton for their IP/copyright advice.

And Katie Munro for help with the Japanese translations.

Part 1

Contact

Tim

MY knuckles are white. I’m holding the yacht’s thick wire lifeline while staring out into the darkness. I’m freaking out. What the hell am I doing here, way out in the ocean? It’s like I’m floating in a monstrous blackened amphitheatre where Greek tragedies were so often staged. The evening has consumed me, and our Spotify tunes seem an invitation for trouble as the shrill wind carries them out across the water. I’m wondering what’s swimming below us. We’re (supposedly) sailing to Lindeman Island right now. I’m just super keen to reach the shallows. To hit land. Coming on this Schoolies’ Week holiday with Danni was a bad idea. Monstrous. Amphitheatre. Greek tragedies. Just pause here. You’re probably thinking they’re strange things for a seventeen-year-old boy to be saying – and most of the time, I reckon you’d be right. But here’s the thing about me: I’m not what you might call a typical teenager. I don’t have a bold personality and I’m not a risk-taker. I feel much safer in the school library talking movies and games with my like-minded friends than being out on the oval at lunch time. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a prodigy: that I’m pretty smart and know a lot about a lot of things. That I use a lot of big words. And that I’m an easy target for the kids who intimidate me and my library group friends. All that’s true, I suppose. And maybe there’s a reason. I have a disorder called haemophilia which means my blood doesn’t clot properly. I won’t bore you with all the details but basically, if I cut myself or get a really bad knock, I have trouble stopping the bleeding. While it’s a rare disorder, I have the most common type: Type A. Luckily, not the most severe form but it’s always in the back of my mind. I didn’t do anything wrong to get it. I was just born this way. Mum and Dad and my big sister, Danni, don’t make a big deal of it. But Danni is very protective and always has my back, although she tries to pretend she doesn’t act like my guardian angel. She likes to challenge me, and calls me ‘dork’ to keep things normal. I’m telling you all this because, truth be known, I am a dork. Or a nerd. Whichever word you like. Because of the haemophilia, I can’t play contact sport. I’d dearly love to but I can’t. I’m really jealous of those who can – even if I am a bit unco. My mum and dad are very sporty. Mum was a good netballer when she was younger and Dad played a lot of football. Danni is a gun at netball. Plays state level. Even though I’m not the sporty type, I love watching football. I barrack for the Melbourne Demons in the AFL and study all the stats. I guess I’ll never know what it’s like to be a player. As you can probably guess, what I am good at is schoolwork. All of it. I just get it. And I study hard. I was the top-ranked Year 11 student at my school this year, with perfect scores in English and Biology. Not that that’s a cool thing or anything. Danni says I ‘got the brains, not the brawn’; that my high intelligence is the result of nature compensating me for my lack of sporting ability. I know she’s referring to evolution – and that takes generations – but it’s a nice thought. And a good way to explain away my frailty. I’m a big believer in Darwin’s theory.

In my spare time I play PlayStation games and watch a lot of movies, new and old. I’m a full-on film geek. A real fanboy.

The fear of the unknown is a big thing for me, so yeah, it’d be a fair question to ask why I’m floating way out in the ocean in the middle of the night. My library friends from school wouldn’t believe it if I told them.

Danni

I’M SO into Zac. And I’m happy to admit it. Happy to post it on Snapchat and Insta with the smiling pictures to prove it. I’ve never been a girl who fawns over boys or blindly does what they say, and I’ve come a long way since my days of unnecessary body image issues. I’m really comfortable in my own skin now. And I’ve found a great guy in Zac. He’s hot. And muscly. And smart. A jet footballer who might even get drafted this year. I’m Danni, by the way. I’m currently sitting in a warm hoodie on our rented yacht’s back couch, snuggled into Zac’s arms. I feel safe in his embrace in the chilly night breeze. I’ve found the whole night sailing thing a bit spooky, to be honest. It’s a real adventure sailing the islands, and doing it at night feels a little riskier. I’m hanging to get to Hamilton Island tomorrow. That’s where we’re staying for Schoolies. We’ve been motoring for a couple of hours now and with Zac’s best mate, Henry, currently steering who knows where we’ll end up! Henry’s a bit of a tool. Not the sharpest in the shed, particularly after a few beers. His nickname is Sauce because he’s tall and has red hair. The name’s got something to do with a bottle of tomato sauce, I think.

Henry had been pestering Zac for a go at steering ever since we’d left Mackay. In a flannelette shirt and board shorts – and with his Bulls cap pulled on backwards – he was now standing at the wheel and holding a can of beer as we motored along without a sail. Henry was no America’s Cup captain, let me tell you.

I watched on as Zac took a picture of him.

Like me, Zac takes lots of pictures and vids and posts them. Social media sort of rules our lives. I’ve promised myself I’ll stay off my phone as much as I can on this trip.

Henry gulped down the rest of his beer, crushed the can and threw it in the sea.

Hey, throw ’em in the bin, Zac told him. Ocean pollution’s a killer.

Henry answered with a burp, a weak apology and a belly laugh.

Grab us another one, chief.

Zac scooped another can out of the Esky and tossed it to him. It hit Henry lace out.

Whoops, nearly dropped it, Henry laughed, rolling his eyes while teasing Tim. I’m starting to see double.

Stuffed in a bright-orange oversized life jacket, Tim sat peering out into the darkness with a thousand-mile stare. He hadn’t moved since we’d motored away from Brampton Island an hour or so ago. To be honest, he’d been on edge ever since we’d left Mackay two days ago.

Come on mate. Live a little. I’ll look after you, is what I’d told Tim when Zac and I were organising the trip. I was hoping a bit of fun in the sun and a few new experiences might have built Tim’s confidence. Sailing a yacht. Snorkelling a reef. Pashing a chick at a beach party. Any or all of the above. But I was now starting to think this whole ocean holiday might have been a bad idea for Tim: a kid with a blood condition who fears a lot of things, like participation and injury. Maybe this adventure was a bit much for him.

Zac eased me off his lap. Approached Henry.

How we tracking, skip?

Sweet as.

Zac checked the compass then pushed Henry aside.

You tool! Out of the way! We’re miles off course!

Zac throttled up the motor and started turning the wheel.

Any danger you might’ve listened to me? I told you to start on a north-west heading from Brampton to Lindeman! Not north-east!

I could tell none of that meant anything to the big fella.

We should have been going that way! Zac shouted while pointing. On your course, you had us heading to Hawaii!

Henry mumbled something. Slumped on to the couch between me and Tim, laughed out loud then yelled "Aloha!" After another swig he flicked Tim on the ear. It seemed more than a playful gesture, so I moved in between them. Checked Tim’s ear and put my arm around him. I stared at Henry. Shot him daggers.

Hey big dog, leave him alone.

Tim had dealt with his fair share of school bullies. I wasn’t going to let him face one on this trip.

The Pilot

I’VE been a commercial airline pilot for over twelve years. A captain for the past five. I’ve logged hundreds of flight hours and have trained for all types of situations in the air. But I’d never witnessed anything like this.

The object was a ball of flashing light – primarily white with ebbs of orange and blue. It shone against the void of night, above us to our south-east. It was descending fast on a pretty severe angle. I tapped my first officer on the arm and gestured towards it. The officer raised his gaze. Looked left.

Wow, he said in genuine amazement. What is that?

Leaning forward, I craned my neck to try to study the object. To try to work out what it was.

Part of a satellite? my first officer asked.

With operating lights?

He shrugged his shoulders.

Whatever it is, it’s really moving.

It sure was. I made a mental note of the time. It was 10:07 pm. The glowing altimeter read 35,000 feet. We’d finished our ascent and were now at cruising speed. With the mystery object still in sight, it was time to contact air control at Hamilton Island; the small airport from where we’d departed. Despite the object’s appearance, I was calm – but keen for information.

Hamilton tower, this is SE841.

Go ahead, 841.

Do you have any traffic in our vicinity, south-east of us? We have an object at our ten o’clock position. Distance difficult to estimate.

841. Confirmed. I have unknown traffic on radar – range about ten miles. Origin and destination unknown. There’s nothing listed to be flying in your area. You should be the only traffic up there.

OK. So it wasn’t a listed flight.

Tower, I went on, from this distance I can’t make out a definite shape but the object has what appear to be anti-collision lights. They’re quite dazzling. Blue and orange in colour. It looks to be descending at a rapid rate.

It could be military – from Oakey, Hamilton tower suggested back. But they know better than to be testing anything in our air space. Standby, 841.

As I awaited word back, I didn’t have to be reminded that, as flight captain, I was responsible for the lives of the one hundred and fifty people on board my Boeing 737-800. The object’s descent remained steady. My bet was it was some kind of military craft on a ballistic test flight. Who knew what those air force guys were up to these days.

SE841.

Go ahead, tower.

Oakey say they have nothing up this evening. I’ll continue to monitor. Maintain current heading, altitude and airspeed.

OK. So that meant the object wasn’t a military aircraft – conventional or prototype. But it had pulsating lights. My mind boggled.

Roger, tower, I replied. Maintaining current heading, altitude and airspeed.

You ever seen anything like this before? my first officer asked me.

I’ve seen a few YouTube videos but, no. I’ve never personally seen anything like it.

Like probably every professional pilot, I search and view YouTube clips of unidentified flying objects seen around the world – particularly those witnessed by fellow pilots. The videos and news reports fascinate me. Do I believe in UFOs and aliens? From what I’ve seen and read about the unexplained, yeah, I guess I do.

As I watched on, the object flashed and its flight path changed dramatically. Alarmingly, it flattened out.

Tower, I immediately informed, "unknown craft’s heading has changed. It appears to be heading towards us now on more of a horizontal trajectory."

I side-spied my first officer.

I’ve never seen an aircraft move like that, at such an odd angle so quickly.

I glanced at my navigational display. The object had now entered our Traffic Collision Avoidance System airspace.

Object is still approaching, I informed Hamilton tower. And according to vertical separation, it’s only slightly above us now – and descending. Are you sure this isn’t a military craft of some kind? Our TCAS has responded to it.

Oakey were adamant they had nothing up tonight, 841. Said if they did, it wouldn’t have been out that far. Oakey tower asked me to keep him informed.

As I thought on the response, my navigational display showed the object was now within six miles. It was now what we called a proximate intruder. A few seconds passed and the TCAS kicked into action. The object was now an identified threat. Traffic! Traffic! The situation had escalated.

Tower, TCAS is warning of an impending threat.

I was speaking in a different tone now. Professional urgency had taken over.

The controller replied, Pilot discretion is approved.

Roger that, tower, I confirmed aloud. Pilot discretion approved.

For those of you who don’t know, pilot discretion isn’t common. It’s verbal permission for a pilot to take control of his or her airliner – particularly when it comes to split-second decisions about ascending and descending. It is only approved in times of an emergency.

Climb! Climb! The TCAS was now giving me a resolution advisory. Relying on instinct and my years of experience, I disengaged the autopilot and flight director functions, took manual control and banked and ascended to avoid the object. Our turbine jet engines roared with the added thrust. As we rose quickly, the object loomed; its bright lights pulsating. This was going to be close. As we continued to ascend and turn, the object – it was definitely some sort of aircraft – nosedived into a spiral spin and shot underneath us. As it disappeared, we flew right into its contrail.

Danni

STILL on the couch next to me, Henry mumbled something about Peter Perfect. Drank more beer. Burped again.

Are we OK? I asked Zac, who’d just finished swinging the yacht.

Zac turned back to us. He looked so hot. And kissable.

We’re good, he winked. It might be quicker to head back to Brampton and sail to Lindeman in the morning. Hey Tim. It’s OK mate. We’re not in any trouble.

As Zac spoke, an explosion cracked above us. It was like a supersonic boom, or whatever it’s called. I’d heard a similar noise at the Melbourne Grand Prix when a jet fighter flew across the track (Zac and I had gone to the race this year). I looked up at the star-scattered sky. A bright object was falling at a sharp angle. A white misty trail was visible in the moonlight. And a passenger plane was up there as well! The whole thing looked frightening, but amazing at the same time.

What is it? Zac asked.

It’s an alien spaceship from Mars! Henry yelled, obviously trying to put the wind up Tim. It looks sick!

It’s a falling angel, I said. It’s beautiful.

The Pilot

AS we passed through the strange white vapour trail, the big plane shook uncontrollably. I rattled in my seat.

Hamilton tower, we are experiencing wake turbulence. Do you copy?

Communications were scratchy. The frequency crackled.

SE841–I–not–please–peat.

I said again, Hamilton tower. The object just passed under us. We are experiencing wake turbulence. Do you copy?

Copy that, 841.

The frequency cleared and the airliner steadied. The shaking and rattling stopped.

Tower, we are clear of conflict.

Roger that, 841.

Unknown object was definitely metallic, I informed Hamilton tower. Moving at incredible speed. Man, that was close. What was it?

By now, I was really hoping the air controller had some answers.

Still unknown, 841. Was it military? Could you see any markings?

I shook my head.

That’s a negative, tower. It was triangular in shape. Had luminous blue and orange anti-collision lights. It started into a rapid descent. Disappeared underneath us. It came within maybe four hundred feet.

Four hundred feet. I thought about that for a second. That was way inside the one thousand feet minimum separation threshold. In the great expanse of the sky, four hundred feet was practically touching distance. What had just occurred was a very close encounter. I had to say, I was relieved. I turned to my first officer.

Any thoughts?

He shook his head. Seemed reluctant to give an opinion out loud.

Object is heading north now, Hamilton tower informed us. Altitude at about ten thousand feet. Seven thousand. Six. It’s really falling.

Zac

THE bright object was rocketing towards the sea. Was it a meteorite? Space junk? Whatever it was, it looked unreal – and we had front row seats. As the others talked, throwing up their suggestions about what the object might be, I excitedly grabbed my iPhone from my pocket and began to film it. I cut the yacht’s engine and continued to video the object as it fell closer. It was going to crash nearby! Danni asked me if I was getting it all on camera. I nodded.

Yeah!

I was pretty pumped.

This’ll go viral, babe!

My screen view lit up as the object, at maybe a fifty-degree angle, smashed into a nearby small, dark island to our starboard side. An orange explosion erupted. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a massive blast. More of a fireball that quickly burned out. A blue neon light then rippled out and washed over our yacht, smothering all the lights like fingers snuffing out a candle. The Bluetooth music stopped. My phone was dead.

Tim

PREDATOR, Battle Los Angeles and War of the World scenarios were running through my mind as I stood in complete darkness. An EMP – an electro-magnetic pulse – had just fanned out and killed the yacht’s power! I was packing my dacks, not brave enough to breathe, as our dead yacht rocked like a floating coffin: the hull creaking as the sea lapped against it. A shrill wind whistled across the waves. Someone, most likely Danni, grabbed my life jacket collar and held on. No one spoke. We were just waiting for something to happen. And then – bang! The lights and the music came back to life! I breathed again. That was the longest twenty seconds of my life.

The Pilot

I ASKED my first officer to ease us back down to cruising altitude and then took up the in-flight intercom. Our passengers and the cabin crew had just experienced a rough and unexpected ride.

Good evening passengers, I began.

I had to sound calm and explain the event away as no big deal. Keep the passengers and my cabin crew feeling safe and assured.

This is Captain David Taylor again. I’d like to advise you that we’re safe and sound and continuing on our flight to Brisbane. We did have to momentarily climb in altitude due to an unforeseen event. I realise it was a bit of a ride, but we are flying normally. We’re returning to our cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet. So sit back, enjoy the service and we’ll have you landing comfortably in Brisbane at about 11:20 pm local time.

I turned off the intercom. Took a deep breath.

SE841, do you want to report a Uniform November Zero?

The air controller sounded matter of fact. His question came as no surprise. He was following Civil Aviation Safety Authority procedure. According to the guidelines, any mid-air incident like the one we’d just experienced had to be reported to the United Nations Security Council for investigation. I turned to my first officer again. To be honest, I’d never imagined I’d be in this position.

Did you hear what tower’s asking? Do we want to do that?

My first officer appeared to think for a second.

According to the manual it’s a federal offence if we don’t. But are people going to think we’re crazy? I don’t want to be grounded.

"Neither do I. But we both saw it – whatever it was. We have to follow procedure."

The first officer nodded, and I agreed.

Yeah, I told air traffic control. We’re reporting it. You’d better make it official.

Roger that, 841. I’ll check the CASA manual and follow the CONTACT reporting service guidelines. Enjoy the paperwork upon your arrival at Brisbane.

Yeah thanks, tower. Have a good night.

Zac

THAT was weird, I said, as I re-started my iPhone.

Sauce thanked me for the news flash as I keyed up the motor and turned the boat back towards the small dark island.

What are you doing? Danni asked me.

Let’s go and take a look.

I heard Tim say something about an EMP – whatever that was. I motored about a kilometre or two, came in close to the island and cut the engine. Sauce rushed down the companionway. As he came back up carrying a torch and socks and shoes, I threw the anchor. Then grabbed Danni’s hand and led her downstairs. Yeah, I was really up and about now.

Grab some shoes. Come on!

Danni didn’t seem to share my enthusiasm.

Do you think that’s a good idea?

What do you mean? It was obviously part of a satellite or something. Let’s check it out. Take some photos and post them with the video. I reckon we’ll get on the news.

Cool, Danni nodded. But I’m not sure about Tim. He’s really not the outdoor type.

I nodded. That was a fact.

So get around him. Let him see some space junk. He’ll love it.

Danni seemed half convinced.

I suppose.

With shoes in hand, Danni and I returned to deck. Danni threw Tim his runners. He caught one and dropped the other. Suggested we call the police or the Coast Guard. Sauce suggested Tim remain on board. Called him ‘cupcake’. That was a bit of a cheap shot. Tim shook his head. Said he was staying with Danni. That he was going to the island. It was obvious he was trying to sound brave, so I ruffled his hair