And Then there were Seventy-Eight Jasper Willett did not climb to the rank of Colonel by being scared. But right now, he was fighting terror. His wife, Helen, and his babies, not that they were little children anymore, were trapped on the surface, a place doomed to death. Jasper's heart beating, his pulse racing, and he was terrified that they would die, and he would be helpless to save them.
He had tried to get them on board, he really had. But a bastard reporter, something Hwang, had weaseled his way onto the ship, along with his wife and kid, taking away the spots Jasper had had reserved for his family.
A reasonable man would blame the reporter for killing his family, but all Jasper could think about was how he had killed his own Helen, and his dear, sweet children, Sam and Jamie. How he had failed them as a loving husband and father. Why should he live when they died?
He had tried to get out of the ship when he heard his family couldn't come along, he had tried to find another captain, someone with no family, so he could spend his last hours with them. But NASA wouldn't let him back out, and Helen begged him to live, and forget about them.
Like he could.
Now he had another death on his hands: The death of his co-pilot, Tom Donas. Tom was killed trying to apprehend that idiot child-terrorist. If only Jasper had gone in first, after all, the Mayflower was his ship, and all of the people on it his responsibility. But no, now Tom was dead, just like all of the other billions who died on the Hellhole formerly know as Earth, the former home to humanity. Luckily he had gotten those two kids to raise the sails; if he didn't, the he would find himself the murderer of 78, as well as the last of humanity.
Jasper had originally considered going to raise the sails by himself, then dying when they went into burn. But then he realized he had to make the people on board the ship safe, before he could pass away. So he went back to his original plan.
Jasper sighed, and picked up the gun. Helen was dead. Jamie was dead. Sam was dead. Tom was dead. The people of the Mayflower were safe.
His work was done. With one movement of his finger, he would be dead.
He squeezed.
I love you Helen, he thought quickly.
And then everything went black.
Within a second, the number of surviving humans was reduced to 78.