Sedulity 2: Aftershock (Sedulity Saga)

by David Forsyth

  On the television Fox Rusher had lost the ashen look of terror that had clouded his face while the tsunamis raced towards his mountaintop perch at the Griffith Observatory overlooking Los Angeles. As soon as it became clear that his vantage point was indeed safe from the killer waves, his demeanor shifted back to something approaching business as usual. You could still hear the horror underlying his running commentary on the destruction of Southern California, though now it was seasoned with relief that he had survived it.

  “Debris choked water continues to flow through Griffith Park, swirling around the lower slopes of Mount Hollywood. The water has flowed around this mountain to flood Glendale and up the LA River bed to inundate the San Fernando Valley too, but I believe it’s already starting to recede towards the coastline. Yes, I’m seeing the tops of more hills and what’s left of buildings starting to emerge down below. I see no sign of survivors in the water, but it’s hard to tell with all the wreckage floating around down there.

  “Tens of thousands of people have survived by climbing this mountain and are gathered around the observatory. Many others didn’t make it high enough and were swept away by the waves. We can see survivors gathered on top of other hills that escaped the flood. This is small consolation, compared to the millions that lived in this city, but we can hope that many more people were able to escape farther inland during the hours before the waves arrived.”

  Hank decided that his young friends had seen enough, as had he himself. There was no point in dwelling on the carnage displayed on television. Soon they would start showing instant replay highlights of the annihilation of Southern California. That footage would dominate television coverage until the tsunamis reached the Bay Area in a little more than an hour. Hank patted Romy’s shoulder. “Let’s go see if the suite is available yet. I think we’ve seen enough here.”

  Romy rose to follow him with tears streaming down her face. Fred took a moment longer to stand up, then followed the other two silently out of the theater with his eyes downcast. Everyone reacted to the end of the world as they knew it differently. Hank felt confident that Romy would come to grips with it eventually. He had his doubts about Fred’s ability to cope, but at least the poor guy hadn’t gone ape-shit. Hank would take shell-shocked over screaming psycho any day. Now, if only the crew would allow them to go up to his suite, Hank really needed to take a nap.

  *****

  Armando was completely overwhelmed by the events shown on the little flat screen mounted above his bunk. He shivered in terror as the tsunamis wiped out Long Beach, watched in amazement as the Queen Mary rode the wave into downtown Los Angeles, and turned off the television when he realized the magnitude of death and destruction he was witnessing.

  He couldn’t think about going back to sleep, terrified of what might haunt his dreams. The pain from his burns was a constant ordeal, but the pills the doctor had given him were keeping it bearable. He felt isolated and alone, lying in his bunk, and couldn’t stop worrying about the plot for mutiny that Phong had described. Armando couldn’t handle being alone with his thoughts and fears any longer. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain of climbing out of the top bunk and pulling a bathrobe over his burned, bruised, and bandaged body.

  The ship was rocking with the swells, but Armando had his sea legs back and avoided bumping into the walls as he left his cabin. He made his way down the companionway to the Crew Lounge. It wasn’t as opulent at the bars and nightclubs designed for the passengers, but this was where the crew came to relax and recreate. It contained ping pong and pool tables, a dart board and dance floor, as well as a bar. Crewmembers were allowed to purchase up to three beers or two cocktails per night there. Armando had a feeling that many of the crew would be maxing out their allotment today, after what they had all been through the night before, not to mention what they were seeing on TV. In fact, if Armando had his way, he wouldn’t even charge for drinks or impose a quota tonight.

  The lounge was empty, which was unusual even for midday. Armando assumed that most of the crew were hard at work, cleaning up the ship, making repairs, or otherwise occupied with keeping the passengers safe and the ship afloat. Then it dawned on him that many of the crew were probably injured, like he was, and that many others had been killed by the asteroid strike. No wonder the lounge was deserted.

  Being a bartender, Armando went behind the bar, unlocked the cabinets, and poured himself a drink. Thinking back to his near death experience in the Sky Lounge, he sipped a glass of Johnny Walker Red Label on the rocks, wishing they stocked the crew lounge with Black, Gold, or Blue. That was only a passing thought. His mind was far too preoccupied with the horrors he had witnessed, the fears he felt, and an all-consuming sense of loss. He sat there, nursing his Scotch, until he heard voices approaching. They sounded upset.

  More than a dozen of the crew entered the lounge, several arguing in a language Armando didn’t understand. They were all Asian, most of them Indonesian, but Armando recognized two of his fellow Filipinos and spotted Phong at the back of the pack. The two Indonesians stopped arguing when they spotted Armando behind the bar. It probably took them a moment to recognize Armando beneath all the bandages, but then came smiles and waves.

  “Armando,” said the leader of the group who the bartender recognized as a cook named Baluk. “It’s good to see you up and about. Phong told us you were badly injured.”

  “I’ve seen better days,” Armando replied. “But I couldn’t stand watching anymore of the news, and didn’t want to be alone in my cabin. I decided I needed a drink.” He raised his glass in salute and downed the rest of it.

  “Yes, it’s a terrible day,” Baluk said. “The end of the world, perhaps. Certainly the end of our jobs and duties aboard this ship. It’s time to think about going home to our families.”

  Armando had to appear surprised to hear that. It wouldn’t be good for them to know that Phong had already exposed their plan. “What do you mean?” Armando asked.

  “The world is being destroyed,” Baluk said. “The credit cards carried by the passengers on this ship are worthless now. The same will be true of our paychecks, if we ever get them. There’s no reason to treat these passengers like royalty anymore. No reason to stay on this ship and follow orders from officers that won’t be able to pay us. We want the captain to take us home to find our families. We will go on strike if he refuses. Are you with us, Armando?”

  Armando shook his head in sadness. “Some of what you say may be true, Baluk. It is certainly a different world today than it was yesterday. But all of us would be dead already if the captain hadn’t saved the ship last night. We all owe him our lives and I will follow him anywhere. Besides, most of our homes and families are already gone, swept away by tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanoes.”

  “You can’t know that!” Baluk blurted. “We must try to reach our families! They may need us. That is where our loyalty belongs, not with this ship.”

  Armando shook his head again and used a remote control to turn on the TV mounted above the bar. It was showing clips of the devastating tsunamis hitting one city after another around the entire Pacific Rim.

  “I’m from a coastal fishing village,” Armando said. “I have nothing to go home to. Neither do most of the rest of you. We must pray for our loved ones and thank God that we have survived. Our best chance of staying alive is to stick together and keep this ship running.”

  The men standing in front of the bar displayed various expressions ranging from anger to sorrow. A couple of them turned and wandered away, consumed with their own thoughts. Several others approached the bar and ordered shots of alcohol while staring at the TV. Baluk turned to the man next to him and resumed a heated debate in their native tongue. Then he cajoled as many of the men as possible to accompany him in rounding up more rebellious crewmembers. Phong gave Armando a questioning look, to which Armando nodded that he should go with the rebels for now. Baluk took fewer men out of the lounge than he had brought there, but it was clear that he h
oped to rally more support for his cause elsewhere.

  Armando tried to smile while he filled the remaining men’s glasses with their drinks of choice. He didn’t bother charging them. The drinks were on the house, and would be a bargain if he could convince these men to go back to work and encourage the rest of the crew to remain loyal to the ship and captain. The last thing the Sedulity needed now was a mutiny.

  *****

  Lydia spent hours in the medical center, helping to care for the injured and giving what comfort and encouragement she could. Growing increasingly hungry, she realized that no one had delivered lunch to the medical staff, or the injured passengers and crew either. This disturbed her, so she headed for the main kitchen.

  The place was still a mess, with broken glass and plates simply swept into piles, appliances still overturned from the rollercoaster ride the night before. There were several cooks present, tending to giant pots of soup and stew, but far less kitchen staff than Lydia was accustomed to seeing there.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked the closest chef.

  “Many of the kitchen staff have been assigned to clean other parts of the ship. Others are injured, missing, or dead. And some of them simply walked out a while ago. We’re doing our best to keep food on the tables for the passengers and crew, but it’s nothing fancy.”

  “I understand,” Lydia said. “It’s just that no one has brought anything down to the medical center for all the injured to eat, not to mention those of us caring for them.”

  “Bloody hell!” exclaimed the chef. “We didn’t think about them. I’m so sorry. I’ll send down these pots of stew and soup in a few minutes, along with bowls to serve it in. How many injured are down there?”

  “Hundreds,” Lydia said. “Closer to a thousand, including injured crew and caregivers. The soup and stew will be much appreciated, I’m sure.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Krystos. I’ll send trays of fresh bread and gallons of milk and hot coffee too. We’ll keep food flowing down there, now that you’ve brought it to my attention. I’m truly sorry we overlooked them. It’s been so crazy since last night and I’m really shorthanded.”

  “You said some of your staff walked off the job?” Lydia asked with concern. Now that the priority of getting food to the injured was settled, the idea that some of the crew had deserted their posts sparked new concerns.

  “Yes, ma’am. Most of the Indonesians and Filipinos just disappeared. They were talking among themselves first, and I don’t speak a bloody word of that native stuff,” the British chef explained. “Next time I looked around to place orders, they’d all buggered off. Excuse my French, ma’am. That’s when we had to shift from preparing regular buffet menus to soup and stew.”

  “I see,” Lydia said with a worried frown, because in truth she didn’t see at all. “Have you informed the bridge about this?”

  “Not yet ma’am. I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble and figured they’d be right back. I mean where could they go? I thought maybe they were saying prayers for loved ones at home or something like that. But it’s been more than hour now, and I’m about out of patience.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Lydia said. “Don’t worry about it now. You focus on getting food down to the med center. I’ll go up and tell my husband about the missing kitchen crew. I’m sure he’ll reassign others to assist you. Aside from Engineering keeping the ship running and the bridge crew steering us away from danger, I can’t think of anything more important than feeding everyone – especially those in the med center. The doctors and nurses, including volunteers from the passengers, are doing an amazing job, but it’s heartbreaking down there. So many people with horrible burns. They’ll be grateful for whatever you can send them.”

  “Of course, ma’am. Right away,” the chef said, turning back to stir the stew.

  “Is there a tray of snacks or something I can take to the bridge?” Lydia asked. Her stomach growled, reminding her of why she had come there in the first place.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the chef replied. “In fact, I was about to send a cart up there. It would be a godsend if you take it. That way I can send another waiter down with stuff for the injured. Schmitt!” he called out. “Bring that cart of food for the bridge crew. Mrs. Krystos will be taking it up. I need you to start taking everything else that’s ready down to the med center. The rest of the passengers will have to wait awhile.”

  Lydia smiled when she saw the room service cart loaded with wrapped sandwiches and thermoses of soup. She hoped that it would cheer the mood of her husband and others on the bridge. Of course, she had not been watching television and had no idea how much of the world she knew had been wiped out that day.

  *****

  Captain Krystos was back at the helm, evaluating the weather and monitoring ongoing repairs throughout the ship. He couldn’t take any more of the apocalyptic television coverage of tsunamis wiping out cities and ports around the Pacific Rim. The carnage in California had turned his stomach, and the news coming out of Asia wasn’t any better. Dozens of major ports and seaside communities that he had visited in his long career at sea were completely destroyed. It was too much to process. The only thing positive that he could take from these events was that the Sedulity and the majority of those aboard her were still afloat and it was his responsibility to keep them that way.

  “Status report, Mr. Crawford?” he asked.

  “Ship’s speed 15 knots, course 260 true, seas at four meters, and winds out of the west at 36 knots. Heavy rain, but visibility has improved to 1200 meters, with a bit more light shining through the cloud cover now. It looks like we’re starting to get out from under the worst of the weather, Sir.”

  “That’s good,” the captain stated. “Steady as she goes for another hour, then we’ll decide if conditions have improved enough to turn south for Australia.” He took another minute to stare out at the pounding rain and windswept swells before asking, “How long until we can restore satellite internet and phone service?”

  “They’re working on it, Sir. The rain has cooled off a bit more, so we have three technicians outside working on the sat-dome in shifts. They hope to have it operational within the hour.”

  Captain Krystos nodded before turning towards the navigation room. “Make it a priority, Mr. Crawford. There are lots of people around the world waiting for our weather data, and a lot of people onboard who want to make contact with their loved ones ashore too.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Captain Krystos found Kevin and the professor leaning over the chart table in the navigation room. They appeared somber and dejected, but rose to nod when the captain entered the room.

  “The weather is improving,” the captain remarked.

  “It only seems that way,” Professor Farnsworth replied.

  “What do you mean? The wind speed is dropping now that we’re distancing ourselves from the impact zone. Wave height is lower as well. At this rate I think we can turn south in the next hour.”

  “Yes,” Kevin said. “The local conditions will improve for us, at least in the short-term. The professor was referring to the regional and global projections we’ve been discussing.” Kevin shook his head to indicate those projections were not good.

  “How bad?” the captain asked.

  “You are familiar with the story of Noah’s Ark? The biblical flood?” Farnsworth asked rhetorically. “Many of us have long believed that it has some basis in historical fact. It may describe an event similar to what the world faces now. In fact, there may indeed have been an asteroid strike like this one that wiped out early civilizations, marking the end of the biblical antediluvian period. Similar legends of a Great Flood can be found in Hindu texts, ancient American carvings, even in the story of Gilgamesh, not to mention the legend of Atlantis. It is quite possible that they all describe the same event, and that it was caused by an asteroid striking the ocean. Some experts have linked the Mesopotamian and biblical flood myths to an asteroid or comet strike in the Indian Ocean that c
reated the 19 mile wide undersea Burckle Crater about 5,000 years ago. That was probably about the same size impact as this one. Whether that event, or this one for that matter, can be called an Act of God is open for interpretation.”

  “So what are you predicting?” Captain Krystos asked skeptically. “Forty days and forty nights of rain?”

  “Yes,” Kevin confirmed. “The rain might last even longer than that in many places, and I think the Bible says the flood itself lasted for close to six months. The changes in global climate will be much more long-lived than that.”

  “But a worldwide flood?” the captain pressed. “Is that possible?”

  “Global flooding of rivers, lakes, valleys, and low-lying areas around the world is now inevitable,” the professor said sadly. “Too much of the ocean is being vaporized and thrown into the atmosphere for normal weather patterns to handle it all. The flood waters won’t rise to cover mountains or anything like that – except where the tsunamis strike hardest. However, these floods will sweep away cities, towns, and farms, even in parts of the world unaffected by earthquakes, volcanoes, and tsunamis. Every river on Earth will set new records for flooding, except for areas that cool fast enough for the precipitation to fall as snow.”

  “The conditions won’t be any better in those colder regions either,” Kevin interjected. “Every inch of rain translates into somewhere between five and fifteen inches of snow, depending on how dense it is. We’re expecting up to ten feet of rain to fall over most of the planet in the coming months. Canada, Russia, Scandinavia, and the northern tier of the United States could all be buried under fifty to a hundred feet of snow by December.”

  “Dear God!” Captain Krystos exclaimed in wide eyed horror.

  “It won’t melt next year either,” Kevin added the kicker. “Not enough of it. The cloud cover will be persistent and the sunlight that gets through will be reflected by the snow. The snow that melts in the day will freeze into ice at night, eventually forming glaciers. That alone could trigger an ice age. Throw in cubic miles of ash being spewed into the stratosphere by dozens of volcanoes erupting at once? We’re headed for the deepfreeze.”