If Mansfield had been any other person, the President would not have bit his tongue. The Chief of Staff could see the anger in Marshall's eyes, something he rarely saw from his even-keeled boss.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to question the way you run things," Mansfield pleaded, showing the discretion needed to atone for his disrespect. "You're right, this whole situation has been taking its toll on me. And I do wish I could forget about it sometimes. I'm sure if anyone can sympathize, it's you."

Mansfield was relieved to see the anger in Marshall's eyes disappear as quickly as it had risen.

"I have a suggestion that you probably won't like, but it might make things easier on the three of us," Marshall said. "I think we should consider bringing Earl Ackerman back into the mix."

Mansfield could not believe what he had just heard.

"I just think it would be good to have another person's opinion about everything we encounter. He might have some good opinions on the space station and how we should proceed if Neil fails to stop the comet. After all, Earl had a wealth of knowledge on the whole comet situation."

Mansfield did not try to hide his shock at the suggestion.

"Earl was also a damn psychopath," Mansfield countered.

"Earl was not able to handle the pressure very well," the President agreed. "But he was treated at Mimosa Grove for months, he went to a psychiatrist for over a year and was eventually released from that care. He's the only other person who can be trusted with this kind of information. I believe he could prove valuable if given the opportunity."

Mansfield could tell the President felt strongly about this but he could not forget what Earl did to him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't agree with you on this one. The man held a gun to my head. He could've killed me. He probably would've killed himself if I hadn't stopped him. A man like that should not have a say when it comes to the planet's survival."

President Marshall respected the wishes of his top advisor and knew that now was not the time to push the issue any further. Marshall ultimately had the final say on the issue but realized that it was still in his best interests to keep other members of the 'Inner Circle' happy. Besides, he had not discussed the idea with James Armour and decided to wait until he had the Secretary of Defense's opinion before he pursued it.

"I understand," Marshall replied. "But just give the idea some thought. Earl Ackerman might be able to surprise you."

CHAPTER TEN.

June 13, 2013 How can moles do this their entire lives?

While Earl's body reached a point near exhaustion, his mind still raced a hundred miles per hour. Come on, you wimp, just a few more shovels of dirt and you'll be there. He slammed his shovel into the dirt wall, using the force of his body weight more than his actual muscles, which were screaming for rest.

He scooped the last pile of dirt into the large bucket strapped to the back of his golf cart. After dropping the shovel onto the ground and checking to make sure the bucket was secure, Earl collapsed onto the cushioned seat of the cart. He took off his plain white T-shirt and wiped the sweat from his brow. It would have been nice to sit there and enjoy the moment of relaxation but Earl kept reminding himself how much work there was left.

He turned the small knob on the golf cart from park to drive before stepping on the gas. Although he tried to touch the pedal lightly, the golf cart lurched forward as it always did. The cart did not drive more than fifteen miles per hour but any sort of breeze felt wonderful to Earl. Spending most of his savings on the cart was the best idea he'd ever had, as it allowed him to significantly increase his workload. In the six months since he purchased the vehicle, his tunnel nearly doubled in length. He figured the tunnel to be at least 400 yards long by now.

The cart rode bumpily along the makeshift floor of flat wooden pieces that Earl built to get the cart from the end of the tunnel to the basement. It only took him getting stuck in the mud once to realize how bad the cart handled when it wasn't driving on a smooth surface. He carefully steered the vehicle, making sure it didn't veer off the boards, until he came to a stop in the basement. The golf cart required a few painstaking days of disassembly and re-assembly to get through the doors of the house. Unfortunately, he could not ride it out of the basement. Earl tried to think of a way to make that happen too, but building the tunnel was the only major construction he had time to accomplish.

After stopping the cart and pushing the knob back to park, Earl got off the seat and tipped the bucket over, pouring the entire load of dirt into the waiting wheelbarrow. This always proved a messy ordeal and dirt covered the entire basement floor. Once that was done, Earl took another deep breath and promised his body that this would be the last load of the day.

Without stopping to think about how tired he felt, Earl pushed the wheelbarrow up the ramp, through his house and into the night. He carefully maneuvered in the dark, heading up the ramp into the back of his pickup truck. The bed of Earl's truck was filled to the brim. He knew it would only take another ten minutes to drive through the woods and dump the load of dirt. But when he climbed into the front seat, he could not find the will to start the truck and drive. Even though the night air was hot, and his sweat-laced body stuck uncomfortably to the vinyl seats, Earl felt as cushy as if he were already in his bed.

I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute or two.

When Earl opened his eyes, the world around him was bright. He wondered how long he'd been passed out. If it hadn't been summer, he probably would have slept right through the school day. The last thing he needed was to get fired from his job, especially since his salary barely paid for his cabin and the building supplies for his tunnel.

Thank God for summer vacation...

Earl's sight was blurry but rubbing his eyes did not make the outside world any clearer. He felt around for the door handle and stepped outside. The sun was shining brightly or at least Earl thought it was the sun casting the incredible light on the world.

Man, this sun is burning my eyes. There must not be a cloud in the sky.

Earl turned his back from the shining sun. When he looked up at the sky, he was confused to find it was not the light blue color of day but the black of night. He rubbed his eyes again, unable to understand how one side of the sky was as dark as the night while the other side shone so brightly. He blinked and looked again but the sky still looked like night.

What the hell is going on?

He put his hand against his forehead to block out the bright light before turning around again. With the intense brightness blocked from view, he finally saw the source of this light.

No, this can't be. How can this be happening already?

A large ball of fire hung ominously in the sky and for a few minutes, Earl could do nothing but stare in awe at the enormity of Comet Clement. It appeared to be close and even though Earl knew it was hurtling toward Earth at an incredible speed, his feet felt glued to the ground.

It looks like it's coming right for me, Earl thought to himself. I thought it was supposed to crash down somewhere in South America. Were the 'Inner Circle's' calculations wrong? I was supposed to have years to keep working.

When reality hit and Earl realized standing still would lead to a certain demise, he found the will to move his legs. He sprinted across his driveway and threw open his front door, but not before taking one last look at the outside world. Earl knew that within minutes, everything he now saw would be completely obliterated, never the same again.

Had the government known the comet was striking much sooner than originally expected? Did the Circle make any precautions? They must have. Peter Mansfield would have thought of something, anything, to save his own ass.

Earl knew the government had tried to send a nuclear weapon to deflect the comet (which was his idea in the first place) but the probe they used had exploded nearly three years ago. The 'Inner Circle' always spoke of a backup plan but Earl was thrown in the mental institution before he found out their alternate plans.

Did they ever come up with anything? Am I the only person who even has a chance at surviving this thing? Earl thought, looking at the trees and the scenery around his cabin. He never really appreciated the natural beauty before, always too busy with finishing his tunnel and shelter. My shelter! My shelter isn't finished!

Although construction was not yet complete, Earl knew he had to get moving if he was to have a chance to live. He darted through his living room, wondering if he had enough time to drag a piece of furniture into the tunnel. Sleeping on the dirty ground for the next handful of years would not be very appealing but taking too long to reach the shelter and being killed by the comet appealed even less. He took nothing.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. Before he knew it, Earl was sprinting through the basement, down the pitch-black tunnel. He remembered having a whole row of lights set up along the tunnel, but the batteries in all those lights must have died at the same time. As he sprinted, he could not see anything in front or next to him. He kept his arms stretched out like a blind man feeling his way around an unknown room. He tripped a few times but somehow felt no physical pain.

Earl continued to run through the darkness, giving no thought as to how he was going to survive the underground seclusion without any food or water. He felt like he was running into his own subterranean tomb. But at this point, anything was better than taking his chances with the comet. The comet! He still could not believe his previous information could be so wrong about the comet. He had done the mathematical calculations hundreds of times and come up with the same result on every single occasion. How he'd managed to screw things up so badly he did not know but the thought of Comet Clement smashing above him at any moment made Earl's legs pump harder than he thought possible.

Earl wondered how much longer it would take him to reach the end of the tunnel. This thought no sooner popped into his mind when a white light appeared in the distance. At first, Earl figured the light was one of the lanterns placed on the ground to illuminate the tunnel. But after following the path for a few seconds longer, the light became much brighter than any lantern he had set up.

A white light, Earl thought to himself, suddenly coming to a screeching halt before reaching the end of the tunnel. Am I dead already? Did the comet hit without me knowing? He stood still for several tense moments, contemplating his possible death. No, I can't be dead. I made it to the tunnel still alive. I would've realized if the tunnel collapsed and buried me.

Earl took a few tentative steps forward, watching in awe as the intensity of the white light became greater. When he finally reached the end of the tunnel, he was shocked to see that the white light led to a large doorway.

A doorway? That's a good sign, he thought. The stories he heard of people dying had the white light leading to the gates of Heaven, not the doorway of Heaven. Less afraid of what lay ahead of him, Earl stepped through the doorway and into a cavernous, brightly-lit room. The floor of the room was steel - as were all of the walls - and the structure appeared to be very well braced, stabilized for the comet strike that would take place at any moment. Earl could not take his attention away from the huge room.

I don't remember building any of this, he thought, staring in awe at his luxurious surroundings.

Dozens of racks of canned food lined two of the walls, the cans stacked five rows deep. The other two walls held large barrels. Earl somehow knew they were filled with water. The center of the room was designed like the living room of his former house, a luxuriant space that his ex-wife had spent thousands of dollars to complete. The only different piece of furniture was a king-sized bed, one larger than Earl had ever slept in.

If I'm going to spend years living underground, I might as well do it in style.

He looked around the room in admiration until he remembered the comet. He looked back at the doorway and saw the large vaulted door still open. Earl rushed over and closed the steel door, using much of his diminished strength to close the heavy door. Nothing is getting past that door, Earl thought to himself. His room was just about as perfect as he could have hoped, even if he did not have a single memory about how or when he'd built it. But with the imminent comet strike moments away, worrying about a minor detail like memory loss was not central in Earl's mind.

With nothing left to do but wait, Earl walked to the middle of the room and sat on his bed. Although adrenaline flowed throughout his body, his muscles still ached and screamed for rest. He was surprised to find the bed's blanket felt like vinyl, a material not well suited for comfort.

What am I doing? Complaining that my blanket isn't comfortable enough? I should be thanking my lucky stars that I built this place. If it was actually me who built it...

For some unknown reason, Earl's gaze was drawn to the room's ceiling. Similar to the walls and floor, the ceiling was made of some sort of metal, probably steel. Unlike the rest of the room, the ceiling was not yet completed. In the far corner of the room, the metal ceiling came to a halt where a large dirt area was not yet covered. Earl immediately became panicked.

The room won't be properly braced if the ceiling isn't finished. This whole room will crumble like a house of cards if the pieces aren't in their proper place.

Earl got off the bed and ran toward the unfinished corner, where he saw something laying on the ground that he hadn't noticed before: slabs of metal and a torch. He looked at the ceiling and knew that finishing the job would take time, much more than he had left before the comet strike. But he couldn't just give up and accept his fate. The more work he could finish in the next few minutes meant a greater chance for survival. Earl's frantic mind tried to establish a plan but he did not even see a ladder.

How else am I going to reach the ceiling?

The food racks were the only objects tall enough for him to climb to reach the ceiling. Earl began to run toward one of the racks but did not make it halfway across the room when the comet hit.

He heard the explosion of the comet strike before he actually felt anything. The magnitude of the sound was so intense that the noise vibration shook his entire body. It felt like driving in a small car playing loud music with the bass turned all the way up. Earl did not have much time to feel just the vibration, though.

Seconds after the shaking engulfed him, a rough jolt sent Earl airborne, crashing down to the ground ten feet from where he previously stood. The room shook violently. Earl was thrown around the room like a rag doll in the mouth of an angry pit bull. As his body jerked, he watched all the large racks tumble to the ground. Thousands of food cans became vicious flying projectiles, as Earl felt every can pelting his body. As if that pain wasn't bad enough, dozens of water-filled barrels tipped over and rolled uncontrollably throughout the room, running over everything that got in their path.

Once Earl oriented himself, he got used to the shaking and remained somewhat balanced on his two feet. He found himself able to avoid some of the barrels and flying cans that were soaring toward him.

This isn't so bad, he thought. I should be able to survive this...

But then, most of the lights clicked off. The last remaining light illuminated the unfinished corner of the room, which glowed ominously. Earl anxiously watched the ceiling to see if it would hold but just as he dreaded, it began to fall apart. Earl watched in horror as dirt began pouring through the opening in the ceiling.

Maybe the rest of the place will hold steady, even if that part of the ceiling collapses.

As his thoughts veered toward optimism, the rest of the metal ceiling began to peel away, exposing more and more of the underground room to a downpour of dirt. It took less than a minute for most of the room to completely disappear under mounds of earth, as the walls began to collapse as well.

I'm going to be buried alive.

Although he knew this was a possibility, he never stopped to think what being buried alive would be like. As he stood in the corner of the room - being hunted down by falling soil - he pictured himself completely engulfed, with no air to breathe and no chance to move. At this moment, Earl wished he had stayed on the surface and allowed the comet to annihilate him quickly instead of this slow torture. When the ceiling completely gave way and dirt poured down over his body, Earl thought only about needing a little more time to finish the ceiling Dirt already covered his legs and torso and as it poured over his head and his world became black, Earl wondered how his fate could have been different if he had just kept in touch with the rest of the 'Inner Circle.'

When Earl opened his eyes, he was met with the darkness of night. Immediately thinking about the comet in the night sky, his heart skipped a beat. He frantically looked out the truck's front and back windows, relieved to find the sky devoid of flaming fireballs. Although his nightmare seemed to last forever, a glance at his dashboard clock showed Earl he'd only been asleep a few minutes. His dream, every detail of which he remembered in vivid detail, seemed to last much longer.

A few minutes of deep breathing helped relieve his nerves. Earl got out of his truck and glanced at the entire load of dirt in the back of his pickup. Looking at the dirt and thinking of his nightmare made Earl realize he needed a break from dirt. Besides, another thought was swimming through his mind, a thought that might change the direction of his well-laid plans.

Is the comet still on the same course? Or did Marshall, Mansfield and Armour trick me into thinking it's coming later than it really is?

Although Earl could not imagine how the other members of the 'Inner Circle' had tricked him, the thought of dirt burying him alive clouded his mind with irrational thought. He questioned everything he thought he knew and realized there was only one way to ease his worries.

Earl walked into his cabin, his mind completely re-energized even though his body still suffered from exhaustion. The easiest way to check the location of the comet was to find it in the sky and track its progress, like he and Armour had done when they first discovered it. But unfortunately, Earl had no idea where in the sky he could find Comet Clement at the present moment. Every piece of information the coordinates, the numbers containing the comet's location in the sky, the projected trajectory it was following was no longer in Earl's possession. Upon being released from Mimosa Grove, he found that all of his notes about the comet were gone, no doubt taken by the government. Trying to find the comet in the night sky with none of those numbers would be like trying to find one particular grain of sand on an entire beach.

That left Earl with one option: he had to contact the people who would know the correct comet information. He doubted the members of the 'Inner Circle' would accept him back into their prestigious group but because he had kept silent (mostly) about the big secret, Earl thought they might at least tell him if the comet was on the same path as originally expected. As long as he did not ask for more than that, Earl hoped they would grant him this one piece of information. The only way he would find out was to contact them.

Earl walked to the corner of his living room. He glanced all around, praying that the government had not installed hidden cameras anywhere. He lifted the rug and pulled up a loose floorboard. He reached into the small space under the floor until his fingers touched what he was looking for. Because Earl figured the government searched his cabin on a regular basis, he was thankful they hadn't stumbled upon this hiding spot.

The writing on the small slip of paper contained a phone number, a number Earl never expected to use. Peter Mansfield had given him this number nearly five years ago, telling Earl it was a special line, a direct line straight to him that he set up specifically for the members of the 'Inner Circle.' Since the group always contacted him and not the other way around, Earl never needed to use it. He'd hidden it away soon after Mansfield gave it to him, concealing it in one of his hundreds of books. Earl had nearly forgotten about the piece of paper, too, remembering it only after he was released from Mimosa Grove and in the process of moving to his new cabin. He was proud of the job he did in hiding the phone number, as the slip of paper was the only thing the government had not discovered when they ransacked his old home.

Earl picked up his telephone and dialed the number. After his last encounter with Peter Mansfield, he did not expect the President's Chief of Staff to be happy to hear from him. But there was nothing he could do to change that now, except maybe apologize for the unfortunate gun incident. Earl's heart fluttered with nervousness as the phone rang, yet he was disappointed to hear a mechanical voice pick up on the other end.

"We're sorry, we cannot complete your call as dialed. That line has been disconnected," an operator's voice droned, rendering the previously important piece of paper completely worthless.

The care he took in finding a hiding spot for the slip of paper had gone for naught. His options had now been reduced to the same option any normal American had in trying to contact the President of the United States. He sat down at his small kitchen table but not before grabbing a pen and piece of paper. He thought for a few minutes on how best to get the attention of Mansfield or the President and finally settled on exactly what to write. Most of what Earl planned to write would be vague, but he had to at least include a few major clues to leave no doubt about who he was.

Dear President Marshall: I am writing this letter in reference to an opponent who is traveling a far distance and will be reaching Earth in the next seven years or so. You will remember me as an advisor prior to a six-month vacation that the government was so nice to provide for me. I would like to help with any INNER problems that might be enCIRCLEing you at the present moment. If you no longer wish for my advice, I understand. But I would greatly appreciate if you could confirm the exact arrival of our quickly moving friend. I'm positive you know where to find me, and I'm sure you might be able to listen in on me.

Sincerely, Josh Clement

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

June 14, 2013 "Dear Mr. President, You don't know me, and I'm not even sure that you'll know what I'm talking about. A few years ago, I believe you put a man to work on a very secret mission. I was not supposed to know about the details and I promise this man did not tell me much. Although I have only been waiting a few years, it feels much longer to me. I wonder if you could tell me what ever happened to Neil Peterson."

Emily Peterson crumpled the piece of paper and threw it across the room. It landed atop a small pile of similarly crumpled pages. Nothing she wrote sounded good enough and she'd reached the point of extreme frustration. She knew the President had to receive thousands of letters every day; only the best ones could make it to his desk. Emily remembered her teacher telling the class that the President was a very busy man and that he only read letters that were considered extremely urgent.

This is urgent. I just wish I could make it seem that way, she thought.

But she could not find the right words to portray this importance. With every silly-sounding sentence she wrote, Emily's anger became greater and greater, until she reached the point of tears. She tried writing again but did not finish one sentence before giving up. She threw the pencil for good measure and watched it disappear behind old boxes of junk.

Emily sat at a small, antique desk in her grandmother's attic. The attic was her favorite room in the old house, the only place where she could escape for some privacy. While strict and sometimes mean, her grandmother cared for her well. But the old woman was very intrusive. Writing a letter to the President about her father was the last thing her grandmother needed to find out about, especially since her mother's mother hated any mention of Neil.

"Your father was a low-life," her grandmother had said once. "He left you and your mother and did not even show up when your mother died or when you were in the hospital."

Emily had tried to stick up for her father but she could not make her grandmother understand that he was in the middle of a secret mission. Her grandmother began to cry at 'that horrible lie,' which caused Emily to cry in return. The girl never brought up her father's name again, although she desperately wanted her grandmother to understand that he could not come back for her mother's funeral. After the accident, Emily hoped her father would end his secret mission but figured he hadn't heard what happened. She knew her father would not abandon her if he could truly help it.

At least she hoped that was the case...

Before Emily ever wrote "Dear Mr. President" on the next sheet of paper, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. She quickly closed her notebook and was surprised to see her grandmother coming into the attic. The older woman usually did not come to the upper-most level of the house. Emily immediately regretted not going downstairs within the past few hours to show her grandmother that she was still alive. Emily glanced around the attic, suddenly wishing she hadn't made such a mess, something she knew her 'neat-freak' grandmother hated.

"Did a bomb explode up here?" the old woman asked. Boxes of her mother's old toys and clothes were opened, something Emily did on a regular basis to feel like part of her mother was still alive. Emily could still smell her mother's familiar scent whenever she sniffed some of the clothes.

"You'd better make sure this room is spotless before you come downstairs, young lady," Emily's grandmother lectured.

Emily noticed that her grandmother did not immediately notice the crumpled up paper that littered the far side of the room. Emily did not want her to find out what she was writing so she quickly stood from the desk and started to clean, hoping her grandmother would leave her alone.

Virginia Long watched her young granddaughter hobble across the attic, carefully picking up her mother's old toys. The girl had thick braces on both of her legs and the older woman wondered why the doctors did not just put her in a wheelchair. After all, Emily's legs were just about useless. If it weren't for the crutches strapped to her arms, Emily would hardly be able to stand, let alone walk. The little girl was resilient though, and over the past six months had become well accustomed to them.

Emily had already picked up most of the toys when her grandmother took a few steps toward her, grabbing her body and tightly embracing her. Emily did not have to look to realize the old woman was crying. She often cried out of nowhere.

"It's okay, Em," her grandmother said between quiet sobs. "You don't have to worry about the mess. Nobody comes up here but you."