End of Days (22 page)

Shortly after the signals were sent, a worldwide press release announced the impending explosion. This was done not just to celebrate the accomplishment—or to avert further attacks by announcing that the time for violent protest had passed—but to warn people. Staring at the explosion without protective goggles would result in temporary or, worse, permanent eye damage, possibly even blindness. What was known for sure was that for a flash lasting no longer than ten seconds, the sun would no longer be the brightest object in our solar system. For that brief period, the half of the planet turned away from the sun and facing the asteroid, the half of the planet in darkness, would experience a brightness stronger than any midday sun.

For some this was already the crowning achievement of human civilization. Not only did mankind possess the technology and knowledge to create this explosion, but it
had also achieved the level of sophistication necessary for the international co-operation it took to realize this goal.

For others—for many outside the gates—this was just more confirmation of the power of evil. The fire in the sky would be a sign of the unholy alliance between mankind and the Devil, and science was the religion of that evil.

It would be, unquestionably, the most watched event in the history of the planet. Nine billion pairs of eyes—covered by protective shields, or watching through the filter of television or the Internet—would be looking upward, seeing this as either a signal of their potential rescue or the beginning of the end—the apocalypse, the End of Days, the Rapture being set into motion.

There were a million stars in the sky. Billy was amazed to see them. Many nights he came out alone just to stare and to think. Logically, he knew those same stars shone above New York, but in all the times he’d been on the roof of that apartment building he’d never seen them as clearly. Certainly, as civilization had retreated, as electricity had been lost, as the city had plunged into chaos, more and more of the night sky had become visible, but still, not the way it was here. He wondered if the others ever stood on the roof in New York, looking up, thinking of him the way he thought of them. Probably not. They’d be too busy trying to survive.

In those quiet moments when he sat by himself, then and now, he often thought about things. Not just what
surrounded him but what had preceded him. The pictures of his family, which were in his room, framed and on the wall, brought back memories that he’d thought were lost forever. Or, more precisely, that he’d thought he’d never
allow
himself to have again.

And he’d started wondering a great deal about the afterlife, too. That was a luxury he could never have afforded in the days when death lurked around every corner. If there was something after death, he wondered what had become of his mother and his father and his brother. If they were anywhere, he thought it must be up there in the stars. When he was outside on a night like this maybe they could look down on him and feel happy for him. He couldn’t help but think about how their deaths had put into motion the mechanism that would ultimately allow him to survive, and in his survival, a little part of them survived, too. Somehow all of this gave their deaths a purpose beyond anything he could even have imagined—the law of unintended consequences at work once more.

Tonight, he was far from alone. All around him were residents of the complex, well over a thousand people outside on the damp grass and among the rocks, sitting in the dark, looking up, waiting. They all were either already wearing or holding protective goggles.

Despite the size of the crowd it was eerily silent. There was a sense of occasion, a seriousness that was as present in the air as the cool mist of the forest.

Billy looked around at the kids. He knew them all. He liked them. He understood why they were the way they
were. Still, sometimes he felt like shaking some of them just to get a reaction. Not that they were perfect. Being able to speak seven languages didn’t stop somebody from being conceited. Being a specialist in biomechanics didn’t guarantee confidence. Being able to play musical instruments didn’t necessarily come with the soul to do anything more than robotically reproduce other people’s creativity. But, all in all, they were nice, and they had an innocence about them that allowed him to let down his guard—at least a little. Nobody here meant him any harm.

Most of the people outside had been told just a few hours ago, just after the official announcement, that they would be assembling to watch the detonation. Billy had known for over a week, though, because Joshua Fitchett had known. It was more and more obvious now that Fitchett’s power extended into the International Aerospace Research Institute. He obviously had agents, moles, informants, because he seemed to know everything that was going on. And more and more, he shared this information with Billy.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

Billy turned. It was Christina.

“Yes, it is nice,” he replied.

“I heard that it’s going to be brighter than day,” she said.

“That’s what I heard, too.”

“Do you think it’s going to work?” she asked. “Will it destroy the asteroid?”

“You’d be better off finding somebody who specializes in space and asking them,” Billy joked.

“You’d know better.”

“Me? Why would you think that?” he asked.

“Because you know lots of things you don’t let on about,” she explained. “I know how much time you spend with Mr. Fitchett, and how close the two of you are. He must tell you things he doesn’t tell the rest of us,” she said.

“We talk about lots of things,” Billy admitted. Sometimes Billy was told specifically by Fitchett to keep things confidential. Other things Billy kept to himself almost instinctively, as if to tell anybody would break the bond between the two of them—a bond so strong that he hadn’t felt anything like it since the death of his family. Although, more and more, he was beginning to feel a similar kind of connection with Christina.

“You knew about what was going to happen tonight a few days ago, didn’t you?” she asked.

It would have been impossible to answer that question without either breaking a trust or telling her a lie. He wasn’t going to break a trust, but he didn’t want to lie to her.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me. I know that Joshua trusts you and you don’t want to betray that trust.” She paused. “I just wanted you to know that I know.”

She had read not only his thoughts but his emotions. Another sign of the growing bond between them.

“I’ve never lied to you about anything,” Billy said. That was the truth, but the strangest part for him was how much it mattered. He’d spent years doing whatever was needed to survive, and lying was the least of the sins he’d committed.

“I understand.” She reached out and took his hand.

For a few brief seconds he forgot all about what was going to happen in the sky and the crowd of people who surrounded them. All he could think of was her, and he hoped that his hand wasn’t too sweaty.

That he and Christina would be a pair was a fact that they both seemed to understand in an unspoken way. Sometimes he thought he should make the unspoken
spoken
, but he was afraid that she’d tell him he was wrong, tell him she had chosen somebody else. When had her feelings become so important to him?

“You know,” he began hesitantly, “I really don’t like to keep anything from you.”

She smiled. It was something she’d been doing more often these days. Not a polite smile, but a full, beautiful, happy smile. And somehow he knew that he was the reason for it.

“You’re very important—”

“Please ensure that you are wearing your eye protection!” a mechanized voice called out over the speakers. “The light pulse is imminent. Put on your eye protection!”

Christina let go of his hand and they both put on their goggles. All around them people were doing the same. Billy looked at Christina.

“Here, let me help.”

He reached over and adjusted her goggles, snugging them into place. She took his hand again, and all he wanted to do was take off those goggles and look into her eyes—but of course they couldn’t do that. They both turned to look skyward. It was only going to be a few more—

The sky became brilliantly bright, so bright that people turned away slightly and recoiled, as if the weight of the light was slamming against them! Impossibly, it seemed, the glare got brighter and brighter, and then it quickly began to fade until it was gone and they were left in the dark once again.

In the sudden darkness after the brilliant light, eyes had trouble adjusting and some people panicked, assuming that they’d been blinded despite their protective goggles. Cries filled the air and goggles were tossed to the ground before eyes began to readjust and people realized they could see again.

They all stood, looking up at the night sky as the stars once again became visible. And then in some way it was as if it had never happened at all, as if it had been some sort of mass hallucination leaving no proof of its passage except that it had been shared.

All across the planet it wasn’t just eyes but hearts and heads that tried to react. Was that it? Had it worked? Had they been saved? Collectively, nine billion people held their breath and waited for an answer.

Sheppard shuffled the papers in front of him on the conference table. It was a nervous response, really. He was waiting for the meeting to start. Before him were reports from all the institute’s departments. They contained the known, the unknown, and the best guesses about what was to come.

It had been almost two full months since the detonation. Those who had hoped for instant answers, instant salvation, had been frustrated.

They knew that the detonation itself had been perfect and complete and a scientific achievement unparalleled in human history. And some encouraging results had been apparent almost instantly. What had been one large asteroid mass had been blasted into tens of thousands of much smaller fragments. For the next two months scientists had tracked the path of this debris field. The force of the explosion had caused an ongoing momentum, and the field had
continued to expand in size. From that data they were able to predict that the outer edges and the fragments they contained were most certain to pass wide of the Earth. So at least parts of the asteroid had been diverted.

Other answers, though, had doggedly defied definition. The core was still too obscured, hidden from electronic Earth eyes, for scientists to see what was at the centre of the cloud. How big were the fragments? How many were there? What danger did they still pose to life on Earth?

Their efforts to assess the situation had been limited by the continued deterioration and destruction in the outside world. Factions of Judgment Day had destroyed observatories, and repairing or replacing the optical equipment was problematic. Best guesses were more “guess” and less “best”—yet with each passing week the picture was getting clearer.

Many people had assumed that when answers weren’t immediately forthcoming it meant the worst—that the explosions had been ineffective and the asteroid fragments were still going to doom the planet. More and more people had then abandoned even the last thin veneer of civilized behaviour, and chaos now reigned supreme. Others had embraced religion and were trying, in different ways, to “do the right thing,” many of them repudiating the violent, fanatical stance adopted by the Judgment Day zealots in favour of a fatalistic acceptance of the end.

Others simply accepted the explanation that the scientists just didn’t know—yet. They quietly went about their daily lives, hoping and praying and trying to survive in a world that continued to spiral downward with increased speed.

Today’s meeting was to provide the most up-to-date assessment of the situation. Answers had been promised. There was only one question that mattered, though, only one answer that was needed. How big were the fragments that remained on a collision course with Earth?

The scientists and department heads filed into the room, taking their assigned seats. Sheppard might once have been tempted to allow the meeting to evolve as it naturally would, to not press or push the agenda as each department reported, to allow for hope, even if it was a false hope. But he had had enough of hope now, false or otherwise. Today he just wanted the answers. To him, it was preferable to know they were going to die than to continue living in limbo.

“I want to hear from one group only, just one report,” he said to the assembled gathering. “I want to know about the fragments that still remain on an intercept course with Earth.”

It felt as though the entire group collectively took a breath and then held it. This was the elephant in the room, and he’d tackled it head on.

A man cleared his throat. “I want to be clear that due to a number of constraints, some variables exist that—”

“We understand the limitations, and nobody is going to hold you personally accountable. We’re not going to kill the messenger,” Sheppard said. “Just tell us.”

He cleared his throat again. “We can confirm that the fragments continue to disperse, and this increased dispersal will result in at least 40 percent of the original mass of the asteroid no longer being on an intercept course with Earth.”

Sheppard knew that he wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t already widely known.

“And the remaining 60 percent?” Sheppard asked.

“A further 10 to 25 percent is believed to have been reduced to pieces small enough—from granular up to two metres in size—that they will burn up in the atmosphere on entry and won’t reach the surface of the planet.”

“That accounts for between 50 and 75 percent of the asteroid. And the remaining parts?”

“It is almost impossible to say with complete certainty.”

“I don’t expect complete certainty!” Sheppard snapped. “Just tell us what you think.”

He took a deep breath. “We believe there are perhaps three hundred significant fragments that will impact the surface of the planet, and the biggest of these could be up to three hundred metres in diameter.”