And the Stars of Heaven Fell

By Janice M. Barlow

Sequestered in the wilderness, seventeen-year-old Jade Greenwood and her father, Chase, must deal with the high price placed on their lives. Their unique bloodline gives them immunity to every disease, but endangers their lives. In fact, the plasma from Jade and Chase’s blood was used to create millions of live-saving vaccines during the recent Plague-21.
A sequel to the pandemic thriller, “The Last Bloodline”, “And the Stars of Heaven Fell” continues the story of Jade and her father as they embark across the Atlantic. In this chilling novel, Biblical prophecies become real, and the world is swept up in the magnitude of the horrors of the end times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Aug 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781489743329

Janice M. Barlow

Janice M. Barlow is a retired financial advisor who has authored seven books including two true crime books, a short fiction work about one of her greyhounds, and The Last Bloodline, the prequel to this book. Janice writes and performs Christian music at her church. She lives in coastal North Carolina with her husband, Bob, and their greyhound, Longo.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

A pandemic swept the globe in 2027. The disease was 100 percent fatal. Before the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention was able to come up with an effective cure—a vaccine using the blood plasma of two immune people—Plague-21, named after the twenty-first century, seemingly wiped out all but around half a million people worldwide. The bacterial infection destroyed life as people knew it, and those who remained were left to dwell in a world of devastation and overwhelming loss. It turned out that many more were alive but were simply unaccounted for due to lack of communication.

In the United States, most of those who survived by obtaining the vaccine or by going to ground found they could not dwell in the cities left behind by those who had died. Corpses remained everywhere, rotting and drawing out all manner of pests and vermin. Nothing worked, because no one was around to make it work. So they fled to the wilderness, eking out an existence similar to that of the early pioneers. Fortunately, they had some modern conveniences, such as down comforters and solar-chargeable shortwave radios and smartphones, though cell towers would take a few years to function again.

Things would never be the same. The United States, after the development of the vaccine, had the highest remaining population postplague, but people lived in small groups, mostly scattered throughout formerly unpopulated areas in the western part of the nation. Idaho, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana were among the most popular states.

Some rogue folks braved the cities, where they could lay claim to whatever they wanted in property and material goods since real estate was plentiful, and there were no ownership boundaries to worry about. The partially erected wall between the southern states and Mexico was of no use. Not many people crossed the border in either direction. Life was a day-to-day struggle to stay alive.

Young couples brought together by the tragic event often said half jokingly that their reason for living was to be fruitful and multiply. The earth needed to be replenished. But the earth also needed to be cleansed—and that cleansing was about more than just all the corpses that lay decomposing everywhere.

As time passed, it became apparent that many more than half a million people had survived. Clusters of folks emerged from hiding in caves and underground bunkers. Others were sheltered on islands and never exposed. The plague had mutated into a harmless state, and it went dormant. An actual count of those living couldn’t be ascertained, as there was no internet, and there were not enough people to maintain an electrical grid. There was no organization. No census could be taken. Those who still feared becoming infected took the vaccine since those at the CDC were safe there and had made enough of a supply to help several million people.

Eventually, the realization came that approximately fifty million people had survived Plague-21 globally by never becoming exposed. Exposure would have meant certain death, as the bacterium was 100 percent lethal before it mutated. But fifty million people was a far cry from the former global population of more than seven billion.

PART ONE

ONE

February, year of our Lord 2037

Western Upper Peninsula wilderness, Michigan

J ade Greenwood stared at her handmade calendar as she listened to the wind roaring outside the small log cabin and rattling the windows. She could feel the icy draft despite the towels she had wedged along the bottom of the sills. She was comforted by the crackling warmth of the flames in the fireplace, which she had stoked only minutes ago.

Jade hoped she had not missed marking a day somewhere along the line over the last few years. Her father, Chase Carlson, had brought along a two-year calendar from the CDC when they made the trip to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan ten years ago. He had carefully marked off each day, stressing to her how important it was that they not lose track of time. If they lost track of the date, it would be one more thing the past claimed that they could not retrieve.

For a while, their solar shortwave radio had provided the date and time, but that had stopped being accurate several years ago. Now Chase turned it on only in the evenings, trying to pick up a signal of someone somewhere giving information on something—anything. Jade and her father knew of little else beyond the five-mile radius they had remained within for the past ten years.

Jade crossed off February 3 on the calendar, a Friday. She realized her birthday was only a week away. She would be seventeen years old, nearly an adult by the old standards. But Jade knew she had been living and thinking like an adult for several years. She had no one to talk to except her father. They didn’t dare talk to anyone on the shortwave, since it could give away their location to an unknown source. The Centers for Disease Control’s virology department had two members who knew where Jade and Chase were located, and in case of emergency, their information was in a sealed safe-house document at the FBI, where two agents had the sole job of guarding secret information about the locations and needs of important people.

Chase had spent five years on an oil rig, except for his vacations into the wilderness, before the world changed. He also had taught Jade, his only child, how to live without many of the conveniences of modern society. However, they were grateful for solar batteries. Jade could use her dad’s solar iPad to read the hundreds of books he had stored on it, including those he’d added right before they left Atlanta. Now nothing could be downloaded from anywhere, although she was sure that some cell towers were up and running again after those ten long years.

Fortunately, they hadn’t needed any supplies during the entire time. Their supply shed had been stocked to the ceiling with all their basic needs and more when CDC officials brought them there. But the supply had dwindled to almost nothing. Chase, who knew how to hunt and fish and had taught those skills to Jade, had improvised ways to use their environment for other needs. They had brought books on herbs and farming, along with seeds to grow vegetables and northern fruits in the summer and fall. Apple and cherry trees were scattered behind their cabin and now finally were taller than Chase and bearing sweet fruit in season. There were cornstalks that bore sweet white corn, the cobs of which weren’t wasted but buried after use in the latrine. Toilet paper had long since run out, despite their efforts to conserve it by using all paper goods that were no longer useful for anything else.

Jade knew how to recognize edible mushrooms and wild berries. She had grown up forgetting the taste of artificial sweets and unnecessary carbohydrates. Both she and her father were thin and strong, taking time to exercise daily and getting enough sunshine to tan their skin during the short summers.

Jade knew the time was coming soon when they would have to leave their haven of safety and venture out into the world of humanity again. But she wasn’t quite ready yet. What would it be like? She didn’t know anyone else alive except the people she had met at the CDC. Her dad didn’t want to let anyone know when they left the perimeter, but they had contact-tracing bands on their wrists. If they removed them, it would look suspicious—if the bands didn’t register any movement at all, that would signal the CDC that they had taken them off. But if they wore them, every place they went would be monitored, and they weren’t supposed to go anywhere without permission, at least not outside the five-mile radius they were allowed to roam within. Jade wondered if the tracers even worked. If no radio transmissions could be detected way out there, how could anyone track them? Were satellites still working? If so, where were the satellites sending their data?

Their supposed freedom had come at a cost. Because of their blood, there was a price on both their heads for anyone who found out. Jade was immune to almost everything, and Chase was immune to everything, including insect bites and even snake venom.

Jade was both frightened and excited at the thought of seeing other people. They had heard gunshots a few times on clear, crisp days, so they knew there were other people around. But those shots were at least twenty miles off. There were no other sounds to muffle them. The cabin they lived in was well hidden and off any path in the forest. They made certain not to take the same way back to it when they returned from hunting or fishing, so the forest floor remained covered with fallen logs, detritus, weeds, and seedlings, minimally disturbed by their treks in and out.

Using bows and arrows to hunt also kept noise at bay. Even though they had guns in their possession, they had never had to use one. Chase regularly cleaned and oiled the weapons, but he wouldn’t even set up target practice. The risk of being discovered was too great. At that moment, Chase had been out hunting for a few hours. He was looking for winter hares in the snow. The trees provided a canopy and kept the depth to just a few inches. Jade knew he wouldn’t return empty-handed.

Jade and Chase had been the sole donors of the plasma that had generated eight hundred thousand vaccines against Plague-21. Before Chase had been discovered on the oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico, Jade alone had supplied plasma to the CDC when she was seven years old. Her life had been in grave danger, as she could not produce enough plasma to vaccinate key people and then have synthetic plasma created to vaccinate the rest without dying herself in the process. When Chase, a sole survivor in the depths of depression on an oil rig, had been located and discovered to possess an even more potent immune plasma, he had been brought to the CDC.

Combined, the father-daughter plasma had been replicated synthetically to vaccinate select people in the United States and then around the world. The plague had outpaced the vaccine, so by the time the vaccines were given, billions had died, leaving a small fraction of the population to rebuild the human race with a sort of barbaric Star Wars–like infrastructure that would ensure its survival.

Oddly, Christians seemed to have been wiped out during the plague. Even before Chase and Jade had left the CDC hospital, that had confused them, especially little Jade, who had been only seven at the time. She talked about Jesus all the time. Why had she lived, while her grandmother—who had taken her to church every time the doors were open, according to Jade—had died suddenly from the plague? Jade’s mother, Tara, had died too, but Jade knew that her father wasn’t aware of where Tara had stood regarding any beliefs.

Her parents hadn’t spoken or seen each other since Jade was two years old. Her mother had demanded a paternity test, which had proven Chase to be the father. Even with that process completed and his parentage proven genetically, Jade had had to get past the knowledge that her dad hadn’t paid child support or made any effort to see her. She had just been the tiny girl who had smiled at him in the courtroom.

Her dad had disappeared by taking work on an oil rig. Before that, his efforts to break into major-league ball had failed when he was cut from a minor-league team after three years of lackluster performance. During that time, he had met Tara, and Jade had been conceived. She’d thought her dad simply ran away to avoid any connection with her. She had been wrong, though. Her dad had told her after their reunion that he had never stopped thinking about her.

They were linked by special blood from a bloodline dating back to medieval times. That same bloodline had saved their ancestors from dying of the bubonic plague, a plague similar to the recent one. Since Jade and her father never got sick, they possessed blood that people would kill for. Neither had ever had a cold, a cough, or even a run-down immune system. Maybe that was why they were still on earth and hadn’t died when almost everyone else had. Jade knew her dad hadn’t been a Christian, which was partly why he hadn’t died in the plague. But she didn’t know why she was still alive. She had been a child who loved Jesus. All the other people who had loved him before the plague were no longer alive. Jade’s dad had become a Christian by the gentle leading of her sweet spirit in the early months of their isolation. Father and daughter discussed these things on occasion, but they could never come up with an answer other than the Rapture. But if it had been the Rapture, then why had all the dead bodies stayed on earth? Jade’s grandma had said they would all just vanish into the air. But they hadn’t.

As Jade pondered these things alone in the cabin, a series of sharp and rapid knocks on the door interrupted her reverie.

TWO

Seven years earlier

March, year of our Lord 2030

Moscow, Russia

T he dawn broke with a typical damp chill upon the ruins of the capital of Russia on a Friday morning. Moscow’s residents lived clustered near its center, where the towering spires stood in stark contrast to the dismal, cloudy sky. That day, though, glimmers of sunshine could be seen amid the gray, and the hearts of the people were lighter as they set about their daily chores of baking bread over hot coals and refurbishing vehicles to keep them running longer. They were on borrowed time, though. Everything was on borrowed time until factories could get up and running again to make new machines to replace the old ones, and that couldn’t happen until more people were born and grew up to work in the factories. People also needed to stop leaving the country. The Kremlin was angry, as it could do nothing to stop the exodus of its citizens from migrating to warmer climates and more modern cities.

But that day was a special day in the city of Moscow. People were excitedly milling about and gathering on street corners, as they did each time there was a birth.

Have you heard? Twins were born this morning!

We made special cakes and tarts for all!

Their mother is doing well. And now we have two new citizens! Long live Russia! We will continue to grow.

Russia’s population was approximately two million people, a far cry from the 162 million who’d lived there before the world changed. People gathered to celebrate each birth, showering the family with gifts, such as handmade blankets, homemade food, used baby clothes and furniture, and toys. There were plenty of goods to be found everywhere, which made the rationing years of the Communist nation ironic. Folks could just go into shops and help themselves to what they wanted. Having been conditioned to work for only what was needed to get by, no one hoarded. There was always more, and it felt wrong to take what wasn’t going anywhere, since supplies were so plentiful.

Canned goods and dried foods, such as rice and beans, were still stocked in warehouses all over the country. It would be decades before they disappeared, and everyone was optimistic that by then, the country would be running again, hopefully under a regime that was less oppressive going forward. The birth of the twins filled the people with hope. But those babies were just two more citizens, and they soon would be forgotten as the people looked toward the next births.

There were two young teens, though, whom the nation of Russia obsessed over. They were the royal princes of the land, and the eldest would one day be president.

In Russia that early spring morning, President Grigory Musilav was away from the palace. He had gone to Saint Petersburg to check the condition of the factories there and to see what could be salvaged and what would need to be rebuilt from scratch. He had been gone for almost a week and intended to return home on Saturday by car. The palace had a store of petroleum, and Musilav had a mechanic who not only kept the vehicle in fine shape but also chauffeured him about upon demand. Musilav made the trip often.

Musilav’s two sons, Cheslav and Aleksandr, were sitting at breakfast. Their mother, Lada, asked them in Russian, What are your plans for today, my sons?

Going out shooting! said Alek, the older boy, who was fourteen and looking more like his father every day. His thick black hair hung loosely about his collar and covered his caterpillar-like eyebrows. Acne had begun to blossom on his chin and forehead.

Lada glanced at him and knew she should cut his hair, but she was in no hurry. She thought her son looked handsome with longer locks.

Cheslav simply nodded in agreement. At twelve, he was the contemplative, quiet one. Nothing seemed to excite him, but the depth of his gray eyes revealed a much older soul. His small-boned, thin mother, whom he resembled, often asked him what was on his mind, but he would only shrug or smile a little half smile in response.

Well, you boys be careful. Other people have probably taken to target practice today. Stay out of their range. Stay in the field north of the city, where your father has told you that you can practice. And be back by lunchtime. We will have smoked salmon and homemade bread. I am going to make a fine borscht for supper since the day is going to warm up. It is Lyubov’s day off. Ches, could you please bring me eight beets up from the cellar before you leave?

Lyubov was the cook and maid, who answered to Lada. She thought the sons were spoiled rotten.

The boys rose from the table at the same time, and Cheslav hurried to the cellar to retrieve the vegetables for the cold soup his mother was going to make. He didn’t like it much because it had no meat in it, but he always ate it to please his mother. But maybe not that day. He smiled to himself as he hurried down the cellar stairs.

Cheslav and Alek headed out to the meadow north of town in the four-wheeler dune buggy their father allowed them to use. Spring was here, but in Moscow, the temperature was still in the thirties in the mornings. It was a good five-mile drive to the field, but no one was around to spot them. The people were celebrating the twins’ birth downtown. Alek jabbered along the way about how he was going to knock down all the cans on the first try because he had been practicing. Cheslav nodded absentmindedly. His thoughts were elsewhere, and Alek’s droning was an annoyance.

Yes, Brother, Cheslav said, sighing. I know you have. I have seen you head out early in the mornings before our studies. Why do you want to be such a good shot?

Because one day, when our father dies, I shall be the president! It would be shameful for me to be unable to shoot well. Of course, I want Father to live many years, but why not stay in practice?

Oh, that’s quite true, Alek, replied Cheslav with a cloud of frosty breath flowing from his mouth.

And besides, Father was not a young man when we were born. He has now already passed fifty-five years of age. Of course, he could live fifty more, but it’s not likely, the way he eats so much food and drinks vodka every night. I don’t understand why he does that.

I don’t either. You would think he would want to be president for as long as possible. Maybe he just believes he is immortal, like many youths believed before the world changed.

When Cheslav considered his own mortality, he felt incapable of dying. Alek had touched a nerve. Maybe Cheslav was more like his father than his brother was. This thought helped Cheslav’s plans fall into place. He felt that nothing was accidental.

The brothers reached the edge of Moscow. They came to a crest on a hillock, and Alek parked the vehicle. They stood silently, scanning the broad field before them. Sprouts of new grass covered with a dusting of morning frost glinted in the sunlight. The air already felt warmer. Cheslav drew in a deep, invigorating breath.

Where should we set up today? On the boulders or the fence line? Alek deferred to Cheslav, as he usually did. Alek was the elder of the two, and Cheslav was irritated that his brother kept trying to practice the qualities he planned to use when he became the ruler of Russia one day. The pitiful attempts just revealed weakness.

Cheslav said without hesitation, Why, the fence line, of course. The sunlight will not shine in our eyes. If we put the cans on the boulders, we will be facing into the sun. You know this, Brother.

Alek nodded, looking stupid. They walked out to set their weapons down about sixty feet from the wooden stockade fence, where a covered wooden crate of tin cans was waiting for them. A similar one sat by a grouping of boulders to the east. But they weren’t using that one that day.

After going out to the box and placing the cans atop the fence, they headed back to where they would aim. Each boy had a .30-08 rifle he had loaded before leaving the house. They also had brought along a box of ammunition, which Cheslav had in his coat pocket.

I’m going to show you how much I have improved, Ches! Alek exclaimed proudly as his black locks of hair stood almost vertically in the breeze. He seemed overly anxious to prove to his brother that he was becoming a sharpshooter.

Cheslav knew Alek was not aware that he himself had also been practicing while Aleksandr went into town with Lyubov to help her gather supplies. Cheslav always said he didn’t feel like going because he wanted to study his mathematics more, since it was his weakest subject. But he wanted to shoot and shoot alone. He wanted much more.

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President Musilav had finished his factory inspections in Saint Petersburg the previous day. But he seemed in no hurry to go home. He lay entangled in the arms of his mistress, the voluptuous twenty-two-year-old redhead Natasha, who was scratching the bald spot on top of his head.

She leaned closer and whispered into his ear, Grigory, my president and lover, I have a secret to tell.

Musilav’s bushy black eyebrows shot up, and he sneered. Oh, but my Tashi, darling, you must never be keeping secrets from me. Please tell me.

Natasha’s lower lip began to quiver. She had thought Grigory would be pleased to hear the wonderful news she had for him, but now she was not so sure. She decided to paint a picture leading up to her secret.

My dearest, remember how important it is to grow Mother Russia back to her former glory? No! Even better than it was, because you are now the leader. Natasha anxiously twisted a lock of her curly hair.

Musilav nodded at her and said nothing, waiting.

Natasha took a deep breath. Well, we are going to help that growth. I am with child, and it is yours, sweetheart! It could belong to no one else, for you are my true love, for whom I wait. She whispered the words while her heart pounded so hard she thought he could hear it as well.

Musilav sat up quickly in the bed. What? How long have you known this?

Natasha responded nervously, I suspected I was pregnant a couple of days ago, but now mornings bring sickness to me, so I am certain. I have missed my cycle as well.

But Natasha knew she had missed two cycles. Her thoughts wandered back to when she had tried unsuccessfully to access an abortion pill. But such things no longer were permitted anywhere, because repopulation was the goal and the message. Of course, Natasha knew nothing of the Bible’s command to be fruitful and multiply, and she didn’t want any children.