They were also pretty happy I’d chosen to go to the Jamesons’ tonight.
There are widely conflicting views about where the comet’s impact point will be. The experts are saying the unpredictable spin and the unstable nature of the shape make it difficult to determine. Many are saying the object will break up as it enters our atmosphere. If it doesn’t, the opinion is it will strike in the Indian Ocean. It’s a good thing in some ways – no direct impact destruction – but the tsunami it is likely to create will be epic. Anything up to 1000 metres high! That, coupled with the gases ejected, into the atmosphere will cause total chaos.
If it breaks-up however, that’s what the experts find it impossible to model. It could explode in the upper atmosphere sending debris across half the world, it could break in the weak point down the middle and create two massive problems instead of one (landing, well, no one knows). Basically, it seems about as certain as a weather forecast!
So, the Russians have lost their rocket. Great. They lost contact about an hour ago and believe it has had a catastrophic fail. They are saying the chances are it was struck by some debris, probably created by the comet, but they’re not sure.
****
IMPACT NIGHT:
Goddammit! Holy crap. Swear words – all the swear words, in alphabetical order, then backwards, then random, then finishing with the F one, in a number of variations. I’ve just got to write now, I’ve just got to get it all down. Every last second of the last few hours – everything. I’m buzzing, massively buzzing, and the thoughts and the memories are already starting to get confused and I need to put them down. I just feel this urge to recall every last detail – it’s like if I don’t write it here then it will all be completely forgotten.
OK diary – prepare yourself.
6.30pm: It was a perfectly clear night – thank god. I would have been pissed off if the end of the world came and I couldn’t even see the glorious show that would probably bring about my demise.
The air was thick and sounds seemed to travel forever. It was slightly muggy too – unusually so for Adelaide, but it kind of added to the eerie anticipation you could sense everywhere. The noise of dogs barking and birds calling penetrated the thick air. I wonder if they knew their fate, more power to them if they didn’t, I say. I’m jealous.
I know, I know my words are a bit ‘bad romance novel’, but I can’t think of any other way to convey the ‘vibe’ of the night. And it’s the best I could come up with – so bad romance novel it is. Deal with it, diary.
When I arrived at the Jameson’s house there would’ve been about 60 people milling around. I needed to be busy, distracted – I was immediately glad I came – I just had a sense this was the place I was supposed to be. Mr Jameson – Steve – had set-up the big TV on the second floor and he had two smaller TVs on the balcony. It was a great set-up because the house over-looked the city, from the foothills to the sea, so you could see almost endless suburbia, the looming asteroid and get the latest destruction countdown broadcast at the same time.
I knew more than half the people there. There were six families who hung out with the Jamesons and Mum and Dad on a regular basis. Most of the kids were about the same age too – I guess it was the closest I could feel to family. There were a few others I didn’t know, but I was happy enough in their collective company. Most importantly Jamie and Scott were there – they’re both my age and even though they go to private school, they’re alright. I’ve known them for years so I definitely felt comfortable.
The TV was fixed on the Channel 9 broadcast, which had plenty of crosses to NBC in the US and the BBC and Europe. They also managed to get a feed from the International Space Station – either shots of the approaching rock or a birds-eye view of the doomed Earth below. They were the hardest pictures to look at. The Earth looked smaller from that view – smaller and completely vulnerable.
The rest of the broadcast made it feel like an event, like something to watch, not something that would soon impact on us all. In a way it took the edge off the reality we were facing – it was, well normal. Normal like when you see the coverage of an earthquake, or like how they covered the floods in Queensland.
Normal… just too frickin’ normal.
So too was the gathering – at least in the first couple of hours. Once everyone had been introduced and settled in, the drinks started flowing and if you didn’t know it could’ve been any night. Occasionally you’d get a look, a look that said ‘this is it’, but for the first little while it remained unsaid. Scary.
Mr Mochizuki was hilarious. He’d dressed head to toe in Japanese colours, much to his daughter’s embarrassment. He was there to barrack for the Japanese rocket but it also made everyone else smile. He’s so funny.
I snuck off with Scott and Jamie a plate full of BBQ food and a few beers and we hammered the Xbox in the rumpus room – a bit of FIFA. Close games too – they’re both pretty good.
Of course my plan was to stay completely sober. I needed the edge and I knew not being drunk may well be the difference between making it and not. But at some point along the way I thought screw it and helped myself to a Pale Ale or two. The peer pressure may have gotten me over the line but I’m OK with that. I figured a couple of drinks to keep me calm couldn’t hurt.
I’ve got to give the TV stations credit for still broadcasting through this. They are people with lives too. Apparently they asked for volunteers and they easily had enough responses to go ahead. I think the fact that, apart from maybe Perth (with the tsunami), Australia seems like it will dodge the biggest bullet tonight. I guess they assumed everything would go to plan.
9pm: After a while we joined the masses in the lounge room and on the balcony. There had been a massive shift in atmosphere in the hour or so we were away. The general hubbub of dozens of people talking and laughing at the same time was gone. The TV had been turned up and that was about the only noise to be heard apart from the odd whisper.
I drifted away from the boys for a while and just watched the coverage. It was full of experts and crosses and infographics and updates and recaps… it was pretty riveting, to be honest, but at the same time completely useless. They were so fast in bouncing from one important bit of information to the next you felt massively informed, but when you stopped and analysed what was being said there was nothing new. I mean, they had an official ‘guestimation’ of where the impact would be. But that area was huge – thousands of square kilometres of the Indian Ocean – and that info was old news; nothing we didn’t already know. It was the same with everything – already stuff we’d heard before just being said by a different expert or analyst. The only things that was really new was the numbers on the countdown clock, which was permanently on the bottom of the screen. They were new numbers, small numbers. Scary Numbers.
Despite the lack of anything substantial or new, it was really hard not to watch. But there was a point with a few hours to go I just got a little claustrophobic or something and felt the need to get out of there for some Me time (capital ‘M’ because I’m important). I swiped a couple of Paleys and headed down to the back of the Jameson’s garden.
9.30pm: The Jamesons had a nice little spot past the swimming pool where no one ever goes – it used to be an awesome hide-and-seek spot when I was younger. There’s this little wooden canopy with grapevines all over it and beyond that was the side of the shed where there’s a little bench. I just cleared away a few spiderwebs and sat down.
I really couldn’t see too much of the sky from there, but that was OK. I could hear noises from the party, and from other houses in the area. There must’ve been something pretty wild going on down the street as there was screaming and laughing and doof-doof music cranked to 11. Good on ’em. I was just happy to have a beer and a reflective moment and, in a way, the noise of their partae was all the company I needed.
It lasted about five minutes, but it’s what came next that will stay with me as long as I have memories. Alyce, Scott’s older sister, came up
with two more Pales in her hand. She only said two things to me that night, the first one being, ‘There you are’.
Then she sat on the bench beside me and kissed me. I mean this is Alyce – three years older than me Alyce – what? Of course I didn’t complain one bit as I’ve always had a little kid crush on her and I figure it’s better to end existence with a moment like this than a little more self-contemplation!
After a while she took me by the hand and lead me around the back of the shed where she pushed me up against the bricks and kissed me harder. I could see what was happening – she was the hunter and I was her prey. I could see it happening and I wanted it more. God it was hot. Her hands wandered and so did mine. Then she kissed my neck, down to my chest, then stomach and then… wow!
OK sorry, this is getting more Mills & Boon than before and it’s actually really awkward to write about but it was such a big part of the night and something I don’t want to forget. I’m doing my best to embrace the Mills&Boonedness.
Now, I don’t much about her boyfriends in the past or anything but I do know she knew exactly what she was doing. I mean it wasn’t just good – it was phenomenal! I can remember thinking, in the moments my mind ran off on random tangents in the middle of it all, that maybe it wasn’t even us doing this. Maybe we were just characters or actors playing our roles. I guess we kinda were. I s’pose normally we’re driven primarily by what people would think of us if we were caught – maybe now it’s changed to being driven by what we’d think of ourselves if we did nothing. Other people’s judgment may never come. Tomorrow could be nothing – there was nothing to lose.
Eventually she guided me away from the wall and she leaned up against it, facing the brickwork. Then she spoke again – the last thing she said to me – ‘I want you in me’.
It was my turn now. I played with her under her short skirt, through her knickers. I could feel how turned on she was just as she had felt me. Then I glided her g-string down and pressed myself up against her – in her.
OK – here’s the bit where I admit it was awkward at first trying to … erm… dock… that position ain’t easy. But once I could get off of my tippy-toes and the docking was complete I was away.
I’m thinking to myself how ridiculous this is all getting – I mean two girls throw themselves at me in two days. I’ve gone from Mr Average to Ladies’ Man in the space of 24 hours. I have doubled the amount of people I’ve slept with! And not just doubled – had the two hottest encounters of my life. What the hell?
It’s the moment, the enormity, the pressure, the infiniteness, the rock – all of which makes you want to explode or do something completely freakin’ crazy just to know you did some living on Earth while you had a chance.
And, in these moments, we’re just people playing a role in someone else’s final screw-it-all moment while they play a role in yours. I don’t think I can ever fully explain it. It’s just this understanding it was a moment we were drawn or destined for. And that it had to be perfect with absolutely nothing left out – no room for blushing, no place for regret, no time for doubt – just a total obsession to make one unforgettable moment.
And it was unforgettable.
I’ve just got to live long enough to not forget it for as long as I can.
When our moment was over we kissed on the bench a little more before she gave me one last look – a mission sexily completed look, an entirely satisfied look – with a hint of lonely and lost – then she left.
I sat down for a couple minutes more, had some of my beer, toasted the air for the previous 20 minutes and headed back.
10.30pm: When I got back to the party my absence had been noticed – I just told Scott and Jamie I needed a bit of time. Not sure I looked Scott in the eye directly at any point.
Mr Jameson also came over to chat at some point to see how I was feeling. He’s a really nice guy. I know it would’ve been tempting to play a bit of Dad substitute – like Uncle Paul had tried – but Mr Jameson’s too smart for that. It was on the level of a peer, I s’pose, which made me feel pretty happy to talk. Not that I had much to say. I just told him about all the things I’d prepared and how the house was set up should we survive the night. He said I could sleep the night if I needed to. I had really intended to go home tonight but it gave me something to think about at least.
The rest of the moments between then and the impact were a bit of a blur. I know I had chats with just about everyone I knew. There were a lot of well-wishing adults offering me any help I needed until my parent got back. Some of the younger kids pestered me long enough that I played a few games of table tennis with them. It was alright actually – they needed the distraction and I did too. Of course I didn’t let them win, hells no. I did the decent thing and smashed them.
There’s not really much else I remember from those couple of hours in the lead-up apart from joining everyone upstairs and watching the coverage. I remember the groan when the Japanese last hope rocket went the same way as the Russian one – Mr Mochizuki took it pretty hard (a couple of people gave him a dirty look, which I thought was harsh – it wasn’t his rocket). Another thing that stands out to me was not a moment but the general vibe. As minutes passed you could sense the fear growing. The talking all but stopped, the laughter was long gone, families started to migrate together… this was just waiting… there was nothing to do but watch the countdown clock and pray.
I got lost in thought again. I thought about my brother in London and my parents and wondered what they were doing at that moment. I thought about all my preparation and wondered if I’d missed anything. I thought about Alyce and the shed, Fiona J and the visit. I thought about my life. I thought about the rock. I thought about death. I watched the clock.
****
The moment
2am: I’m doing it – I’m gonna write the words down – and it’s probably the most predictable quote from any eye-witness to an epic event – ‘it was like a scene out of a Hollywood movie’. Sometimes I reckon on-the-ground news crews aren’t allowed to go back to the office until they’ve recorded saying it. So I feel so dirty for saying it, but the thing is I can’t think of any other way to explain what I witnessed. It was epic.
In fact, I think I’m going to retire the word epic from my vocabulary now. No future event will ever come close to what just happened. Nothing else will ever be truly epic.
The countdown reached zero. There was confusion on the broadcast as they were following the comet’s entry with the satellite camera and when it hit the atmosphere there was an almighty flash of light somewhere above the Indian Ocean. The flare blinded the lens for a few seconds. But we hadn’t been pulverised into the Earth’s core – we were alive. Everyone cheered and I bellowed so hard tears came to my eyes. I was a-freakin-live!
The commentators were fumbling to relay some meaningful information. Mr Jameson was telling everyone to shut up while he turned the TV up to maximum volume.
But then the night sky lit up bright as day. A ball of glowing fire appeared to our right – it came in from the northwest and just kind of floated past us, right over the city, headed southwest. It looked impossible in so many ways – night became day. This heavy rock just hanging in the sky. It was spinning end over end, with a large jiggered edge sticking out. It must’ve been ripping past at incredible speed but everything seemed so slow motion. It almost looked peaceful, gentle, but it was here to bring chaos and pain. For so many reasons it was impossible.
No one spoke. Everyone just stared in silence at the rock and the vapour trail until it disappeared out of sight high over the hills. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than 5-10 seconds – I think I snapped a few decent pics on my phone, but I wasn’t aiming, just firing blind.
A few seconds later an explosion ripped through the Adelaide plains below – then another. I looked out to see two big plumes of debris billowing into the night air – one down near the airport and the other somewhere between Flinders Medical Centre and Marion Shopping Cen
tre – someone reckoned that was Mitchell Park. Then another small rock went sizzling over our heads – very low and very quick. Surely that impacted into the hills somewhere? Shit got real at that moment. Things had gone from a news story to an event, to a light show, and now, a catastrophe. Underneath those dust clouds there are probably many people dead.
There was panic and whimpering and cuddles and ‘I love yous’ and nervous breathing and swearing – lots of swearing – then things went quiet. Everything and everyone except the TV broadcast on the balcony went quiet. I realised all eyes were glued to the screen.
The TV guy said something like, ‘it seems as if the bulk of the comet has struck the southern most reaches of the Bay of Bengal. Hopefully those in low-lying areas of India, South-East Asia, Africa and, most importantly for us, the West Australian coast, get to higher ground as a matter of urgency, if you haven’t already because of the threat of tsunami. We’re getting reports of large fragments of debris breaking off from the comet. Reports are sketchy at the moment but it looks Australia is in the firing line of some of these smaller fragments. We are hoping and praying for the safety of all Australians and will be keeping you up-to-date with everything as it unfolds.’
I couldn’t help but think, ‘that was a smaller fragment?’ How big did the actual thing look when it impacted the Indian Ocean? And the damage... What on Earth is to come?
There wasn’t much talking for the next few minutes – just watching for updates on the TV. They seemed painfully slow, but it was difficult, I suppose. Any eyewitnesses to the event were probably fried by the blast impact, or killed by tsunamis, or poisoned by toxins or some such thing. And the camera in space really only showed a mass of blinding light.
Diary of a Survivor (Book 1): Apocalypse Page 4
