Hengst was still reaching out to his mother. “Mama!”
Lyra waved her hand dismissively. “That’s okay, you can keep him. He looks good on you,” she said and disappeared behind a corner.
“Mama!”
“What do you know, buddy,” Nathan said. “Looks like your mommy don’t want you no more.”
The boy looked at Nathan curiously. Then, as if he’d understood every word, he let out an angry squeal.
“You know what, I think you’re exactly right. Let’s go inside and tell your mommy this ain’t gonna fly.”
A few steps into the house, Nathan walked into a wall of dense, stale air that smelled of cigarette smoke and rotting garbage. As he walked past the doorway to the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of empty cans and bottles on the table and swarms of flies patrolling the air over a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink. He followed the cluttered corridor to the living room where Lyra was waiting. The room was dark and gloomy. The blinds were closed, the windows shut. Bands of cigarette smoke wafted in the air like fog on a cold November morning. The little light in the room came from the TV screen, its flickering glow illuminating the sullen face of Shiva Morgan who was sitting in a ragged looking armchair, holding a cigarette in one hand and a half empty glass in the other. Her dirty ash blonde hair was greasy and unkempt, her dressing gown covered in indefinable stains. It took a few seconds for Nathan’s presence to register with her. When she finally noticed him standing in the doorway with her grandchild on his arm, she raised her head.
“Are you here to sell cookies?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you understand English? Are … you … selling … cookies? You’re a cub scout, aren’t you?”
Nathan looked at Lyra, confused and rather helpless.
“Hey,” she said, raising her hands in defense, “don’t look at me. You wanted to see her, now you deal with her.”
“Right,” Nathan said, trying to compose himself. “Well, would you at least take your son back so I can …”
“Sure,” Lyra said and took Hengst. The boy tried to cling on to Nathan, but to no avail.
“If you’re not selling cookies,” Shiva mumbled, “I have no use for you. Go away.”
“Ma’am,” Nathan said, once again referring to the script on his device, “I’m Private First Class Nathan James. I’m with the National Guard of the state of Massachusetts, and I’m here to deliver your twenty-four-hour emergency evacuation notice. Tomorrow morning at 10.15am, the members of this household are to be taken to West Roxbury subway station for emergency shelter to wait out the aftermath of the impact of the Fat Boy meteor.”
“That’s great,” Shiva said without looking at Nathan, “but I’m not interested.”
“Mother!”
“Ma’am?”
Shiva took a drag of her cigarette. “I’ve never been one to fear that the sky is going to fall on my head.”
“Well, ma’am, it is falling,” Nathan said. “Not the whole sky, obviously, but a pretty big chunk of it.”
“And where is that pretty big chunk of the sky coming down, son? Some place in Asia, isn’t it?”
“North Africa, ma’am. Right on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Africa, Asia, whatever.”
“I heard it’s going to hit the desert,” Lyra said. “Isn’t that right?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s the good news, the only bit of good news about it, that it’s not going to hit a more densely populated area. However, the effects of the impact will be felt all over the world.”
“Africa is thousands of miles away,” Shiva said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Lyra leaned in to Nathan and whispered, “Perhaps it would help my mother if you could spell out to her what exactly those effects will be, because I don’t think she understands.”
Nathan’s glance fell upon the TV. If that woman spent her days sitting in her armchair staring at that screen—and all the empty bottles and food containers seemed to suggest that this was exactly what she was doing—then it was almost impossible for her to have missed the details of what was going to happen. The emergency broadcasts had been going on for weeks, and Nathan wondered what he could do to change the woman’s mind that the TV hadn’t managed to.
Lyra seemed to have read his thoughts. “My mother doesn’t watch the news,” she said. “Especially not space related news. My dad died in a space accident, you know?”
“I see,” Nathan said. This was going to be a nasty piece of work, but he was going to give it a try. He turned back to Shiva. “Ma’am, the asteroid 2114 AB, also known as 517234 Fat Boy, colloquially known simply as Fat Boy, will hit the Sahara desert in the northern African country of Mali, five hundred and fifty miles north of the city of Timbuktu, at approximately 6:34 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. Fat Boy has a diameter of nearly ten miles and a mass of four trillion metric tons, and it will hit the ground at a speed of 14.9 miles per second. Upon impact, a significant amount of Fat Boy’s kinetic energy will be converted into thermal energy—that’s heat to you and me—that will melt and vaporize both Fat Boy and the ground it hits. At approximately 6:55 p.m. the seismic shockwave from the impact will reach the east coast of the United States. Here in this area it will be felt as a magnitude five earthquake that may cause some structural damage.” Nathan paused to look around, then he added, “Especially to older buildings such as this one. Fat Boy’s impact will also create fragmented solid material—rock—which will be ejected from the impact site into a very hot and rapidly expanding impact plume. This impact plume will carry the ejecta material well beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. Upon reentry, which here will be at approximately 7:07 p.m., the debris will heat up significantly. The resulting infrared radiation will be dangerous and potentially lethal to those directly exposed to it. There will literally be fire raining from the sky, causing widespread blazes on the ground. For several hours after the impact, ashes and debris up to the size of small cars will continue to rain down on this area, causing fires and widespread destruction. At approximately 11:52 p.m. the airblast from the impact will have traveled across the Atlantic Ocean and hit the area with wind speeds strong enough to break off or uproot trees and cause more structural damage, especially to structures previously damaged by debris.” Nathan looked at Shiva. “Ma’am, the impact may happen thousands of miles away from here, but its effects to this area will be severe and potentially lethal. I must urge you to seek shelter.”
Shiva shrugged, continuing to stare at the TV with a blank look in her eyes.
Nathan heard Lyra clear her throat, and when he looked at her, she motioned him out of the room with a subtle movement of her head. In the corridor outside she stopped and looked at Nathan.
“Wow,” he said.
“I know, right?”
“How long has she been like this?”
“A year, fifteen months, something like that.”
“But why?”
“Beats me,” Lyra said. “You see, my dad died two and a half years ago. At first, mom was coping all right. I mean, she was grieving of course, and there were a few days here and there when she got really depressed, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing you wouldn’t expect from someone who suddenly lost their spouse of twenty years. But those days were few and far between, and most of the time she was doing all right. She was coping. Then one day I came home from work—I was working at the supermarket at the time—and I found her sitting at the kitchen table between two empty bottles of wine, and she had that empty look on her face that you’ve just seen. Hengst was lying in his crib, crying his heart and soul out. His diapers hadn’t been changed all day, and he hadn’t been fed.”
“That’s terrible,” Nathan said for a lack of something more meaningful. “What happened?”
Lyra shook her head. “I have no idea. She wouldn’t say. All I know is that she hasn’t had a sober day ever since.”
Nathan nodded, unsure what
to say. This was well beyond his scope. He was no family counselor, no psychologist. His job was to deliver a simple message: You. Evacuate. Tomorrow. He had delivered that message to hundreds of households, and in most cases he hadn’t even had to spell out the details of what Fat Boy’s impact was going to do to the planet’s biosphere, because people already knew. Very few were reluctant to leave their properties behind unguarded, but all they needed was a little reminder of fire raining from the sky to win them over for the evacuation plan. Nathan wasn’t an astrophysicist either. He didn’t fully comprehend the mechanics of thermal radiation, earthquakes, and ejecta reentry caused by meteorite impacts. He was only nineteen years old, and he had joined the National Guard straight out of high school. He had been picked for this particular task because it was simple and straightforward and required no expert knowledge, and because most of his higher ranking, more qualified fellow soldiers had been detailed for the more critical tasks surrounding the logistics of evacuating a couple of hundred million people.
“Look,” Nathan said, working his stylus finger across the surface of his device, “I’m confirming your mother for evacuation, but you need to make sure she’s ready when the time comes. No delays will be tolerated. If your mother isn't ready to go when we knock on your door at 10:15 tomorrow, we will have to leave her behind, you understand?”
“Yes,” Lyra said.
“Also, no luggage. The set of clothes you’re wearing and one small bag with personal belongings, keys, wallets, small electronic devices, things like that. Nothing else. No suitcases, no furniture, no nothing. Bring a bottle of water and a couple of sandwiches to see you through the first few hours until you’re settled in. After that, food and drink will be made available to you at the emergency shelter.”
“Okay.”
“Any medical conditions?” Nathan asked. “Diabetes? Any contagious diseases? Anything that requires special assistance or medication?”
Lyra smiled wryly. “You mean apart from my mother’s delirium? No.”
“Right,” Nathan said, ticking boxes. “I have to remind you that alcohol and other intoxicants are not allowed at the emergency shelter. You probably shouldn’t use that as a unique selling proposition with your mother, though. Just make sure she’s ready to go when it’s time. Once she’s at the emergency shelter, there will be people—professionals—who will be able to take care of her, okay?”
“Okay,” Lyra said. “Thank you, Private First Class Nathan James.”
“No problem,” Nathan said and smiled. He turned to leave, and Lyra followed him. Before he opened the front door, he turned back and said, “I know this is none of my business, but …” Once again, he looked around at the clutter and the garbage, the wallpaper peeling off the walls and the mildew in the corners. “This is no place to raise a child.”
Lyra shrugged with resignation. “Well, it’s the only place we have, isn’t it?”
“Right,” Nathan said. “Sorry.” He opened the door. He couldn’t bring himself to remind her that in forty-eight hours her place would probably be reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble and ashes. “Remember, 10:15 tomorrow. Be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Lyra said, and Hengst confirmed, “Yassa!”
* * *
Sweat was running down Nathan’s neck. He was in a hurry. The evacuations had started at six in the morning, and while they were largely going as planned, they weren’t going as scheduled. The procedure had been meticulously planned for months and months, taking into account all possible uncertainties, but it turned out that some things simply couldn’t be planned or predicted with any sufficient degree of accuracy, especially when living things were involved.
The third evacuee they picked up in the morning, a sixty-nine-year-old woman, caused the first delay when her cat jumped out of her arms just as she was about to get on the evacuation bus. The cat hid under the bus, and the woman crawled after her. Regulations were clear on situations like this: evacuees who refuse to get on the bus in time are to be left behind. However, the bus driver refused to move his vehicle as long as there were a cat and an old woman under it, and Nathan and his two fellow soldiers couldn’t bring themselves to use lethal force on them. Both cat and woman could eventually be convinced to get on the bus, but with a four-minute delay.
Pets, it turned out, were a very popular cause for delays. Who could have been able to predict that putting three dog owners and their dogs, all of which had a history of mutual antipathy and occasional aggression, would result in mayhem, and that breaking up the owners would be more difficult than breaking up their dogs? During their training, which had put special emphasis on dealing with evacuees that were difficult to reason with—i.e. children and animals—one of Nathan’s fellow soldiers had asked their commanding officer why they were bothering with evacuating pets at all.
“Because some people,” the officer had said, “would rather leave their kids behind than their pets. Pets have been a source of comfort to people for ten thousand years, and comfort is probably what many people will need the most when they reemerge from the shelter on the morning after and find that we have an entire civilization to rebuild.”
Pets, who didn’t have the mental capacity to understand what was going on but who could sense that something wasn’t quite right, weren’t the only cause for delays. People, who were panicking because they knew exactly what was going on, were another. On Nathan’s bus, a fight broke out between two men over who should sit by the window and who should get the much preferred aisle seat. Everyone was in panic mode, and neither of the men wanted to take the window seat. They both wanted the aisle seat so that in case Fat Boy decided to hit the Earth twelve hours ahead of schedule, they could just get up and run and not be stuck between the window and a portly, stolid seatmate. It took Nathan two warning shots into the air—or rather into the ceiling of the bus—to break up the squabblers. They were the first shots Nathan had ever fired outside of a shooting range. Having to fire warning shots made him feel uncomfortable but he supposed it was still better than shooting the squabblers straight in the head as one of his fellow soldiers on another evacuation bus in a different part of town had done earlier, which, as Nathan had heard on the radio, had caused a big mess and an even bigger delay in the evacuation proceedings.
As Nathan, twenty-two minutes behind schedule, jumped off the bus and walked up to the next house to be evacuated, a look at his sleeve device reminded him of the names of the evacuees: Lyra, Hengst, and Shiva Morgan. The memory of the attractive girl with the blue hair and her adorable toddler put a spring in his step as he climbed the porch, but at the same time he felt apprehensive because the girl’s mother was a likely candidate to cause another delay.
Nathan knocked on the door. His knuckles had barely touched the wood when Lyra tore the door open. Like the toddler on her arm, she was in tears.
“I can’t find her!” she said.
Nathan frowned at her. “What?”
“My mother! I can’t find her!”
Nathan’s heart sank. This was not good. If he were to follow his orders, he’d have to tell her to get on the bus right now, or she’d be left behind, but it was clear that Lyra wasn’t going anywhere without her mother. He turned around to his fellow soldier who was waiting by the open door of the evacuation bus.
“Move on to the next house,” Nathan said. “We’ll catch up. It’ll only be a minute.”
“Come on, Nathan, you know this is against regulations.”
Nathan looked him in the eyes defiantly. “What are you gonna do, shoot me?”
The other soldier hesitated. Then he let out an audible sigh and stepped on the bus. “Hurry up!” he called out to Nathan as the bus started moving with its front door open.
Nathan stepped into the house. “When did you last see her?”
“Last night when I brought her to bed,” Lyra said. “When I wanted to wake her in the morning, her bed was empty.”
“Did she ever disappear before?”
“Never.”
Nathan walked along the hallway, having a close look around. He knew it was an exercise in futility. He wasn’t going to suddenly find Shiva under a pile of junk or crouched behind a dresser. If Lyra said she couldn’t find her, then she most likely wasn’t anywhere inside the house.
“Have you checked the basement?” Nathan asked as he entered the kitchen.
“We don’t have a basement,” Lyra said, sobbing.
Nathan continued to look around. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The kitchen looked just as cluttered and dirty as the day before when he had only briefly glanced at it in passing. There were still those empty bottles on the table and that mountain of dirty dishes in the sink. Through the window, Nathan’s glance fell upon a small wooden shed in the back garden.
“What’s in there?” he asked and pointed.
“My dad’s tools,” Lyra said. “It’s where he used to build things.”
“Did you check it?”
Lyra shook her head. “I was just about to when you knocked.”
Nathan walked closer to the kitchen window and looked outside. The shed in the garden looked even more desolate than the house. Once painted bright red, time and weather had left their mark on it and rendered it a dirty brown color. A pair of grimy windows looked into the garden. The crooked door with the rusty handle was ajar.
“You still use that?”
“My mom’s been in there a couple of times after my father’s death. To grieve, I suppose. Not recently, though. I went to get a hammer once, but that’s about it. We don’t do much handiwork around here anymore.”
Nathan opened the door to the garden and stepped outside. Lyra was about to follow him, but he raised his hand and signaled her to stay behind.
“I got this,” he said. “You stay here.”
Tightening the grip around his machine gun, Nathan slowly walked up to the shed. He didn’t expect Shiva Morgan to suddenly emerge from the shed and attack him with a hatchet or a chainsaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Eschaton - Season One Page 22
