Mass Destruction

7 hours to Thunderbolt

“I’m glad I can’t see what this wet stuff is,” Cynthia said.

“Cynthia, don’t get your hopes up. Before the lights went out, I saw some awful things out on the floor.” David freed them and they stood.

She linked her arms with his, leaning against his as if her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

“Don’t. Just help me find Dad.”

“Okay, take my hand and don’t touch anything. Do you still have your shoes on?

“Yes.” She couldn’t lose her red-heeled shoes, although she’d changed her heals for flats.

“I’ll go first. Be careful where you step.”

Making their way to the side of the podium was difficult with the curtain bunched up. On the way, they ran into that reporter, Stan What’s-His-name—literally. He also had fallen behind the podium and had been spared from the onslaught of glass, rock and body pieces.

“David, is that you?” Stan asked. He sounded relieved.

“Yes, and Cynthia is here with me.”

“Are you two all right?”

“We seem to be,” David said. “How about you?”

“If I hadn’t fallen into the curtain, I would probably be dead.”

“I think we were lucky,” Cynthia said. She stepped ahead of David, reached out to Stan. “Will you help me find my dad?”

“I was talking to him before the first meteorite hit,” Stan said. “He had just walked down off the podium and was talking to someone in the front row.”

“Dad,” Cynthia shouted.

“Professor Volinsky,” David joined in. “Where are you?”

Moans, groans and calls for help emanated throughout the auditorium. The sound permeated Cynthia’s heart. How could she help when there was so much destruction? It was still dark with only the light from the fires outside to guide them. Even the streetlights were out. Cynthia could make out the shapes of others wandering around looking for loved ones.

Who would have thought such destruction could take place inside such a large facility?

Cynthia rounded the front corner of the podium, still calling for Dad.

“Don’t look, Cynthia,” David said. He took the lead, stepped over a dead body.

“I can’t see anything anyway,” Cynthia said. “I’ve got too much dust in my eyes.”

David pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to Cynthia.

“No, don’t. Not now.” Cynthia took a step back, held up her hands. “I’m okay. I’ve got to find dad first.”

“Here. Take it.” David pressed the handkerchief into her other hand.

“Doctor Volinsky,” Stan called out again.

“I’m right here. Don’t shout.” Manny’s voice sounded muffled.

“Dad,” Cynthia cried. “Keep talking. We can’t see you.”

“That’s because the lights are out.” His voice seemed to come from their feet.

The three of them bent down. David reached out with his hands but felt nothing.

“Under here,” Manny said. He knocked on the wood of the front of the podium.

“How did you get behind there?” Stan said.

“I have no idea. One minute I was talking to Professor Hansteen about Birkeland’s Currents and the next thing I knew, we were both under here.”

“Must have been the same blast that knocked us into the curtains,” David said.

Cynthia pulled at the wood. “Don’t move. I’ll see if I can find an opening.”

“Careful. Watch out for glass,” Stan said.

“I’ve got David’s handkerchief.” She was glad she’d taken it.

“If you’ll just go a little to your right, I think there’s a broken panel.”

“Here it is.” Cynthia tugged on a handle. “David, help me move it out of the way.”

It took all three of them, tugging and pulling, to finally get the wedged panel unstuck. Once removed, Manny and professor Hansteen scrambled out. They all stood breathing heavy. Though not always religious, Cynthia offered a prayer of thanks for their survival.

“Oh, Abba,” Cynthia hugged Dad. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

In the absence of light, David and Stan patted Manny and Professor Hansteen in greeting.

A pair of small emergency lights on either side of the hall flickered on.

Cynthia put her hand to her face and stifled a scream.

“Oh, my God,” Stan cried out.

A scene of death and horror met her eyes. There had to have been thousands of people in the auditorium for the presentation. Very few had left in the twenty minutes after Dad told them to flee and he transmission ended before the first meteorite fragment hit.

Most of the chairs and people had been pushed toward the west side of the hall by the force of the blasts. Severed heads and limbs along with burst torsos washed against the wall. Tables and chairs, flying instruments of death, poked out at crazy angles among the bodies. Cynthia stifled her screams by placing her fist over her mouth. Such carnage, such devastation.

Blood ran in rivulets over the crushed and mangled pile of bodies in the corner. It pooled on the dust covering the carpet. Cynthia did a quick estimate. At least several hundred dead at first sight. Those not killed wandered aimlessly, some with severe lacerations, others hardly a scratch.

She couldn’t help any of them.

Cynthia sobbed. David wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed against his chest.

A man with a huge gash on his forehead was trying to punch numbers into a cell phone he held in the hand of his obviously broken arm. A woman pushed a chair in front of her as she hopped and dragged a broken leg behind her. She seemed determined to get to the back exit.

Stan ran to her and tried to grab her arm, but she fought him off. “Please … let me help you,” Stan said.

He finally convinced her to sit in the chair and wait for help.

“There won’t be any help,” David said when Stan came back.

“What do you mean?” Cynthia said, composed and gathered again. She was a doctor. She didn’t fall apart.

“There are too many scenes like this all over the city,” David said. “Think of the movie theaters, restaurants and malls. What about the people at the baseball game, in the hotels, the homeless on the streets, the tourists and the private homes? They’ll all need help.”

“He’s right,” Stan said. “There’s little we can do for all these people. “Even if we could get all the injured into the cars and limos, we’d find the hospitals swamped.”

“Besides,” David said, “I doubt we could get through. Too many roads are destroyed with bridges down and chunks taken out of the street.”

Cynthia turned to Dad. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Manny squinted his eyes, pointed to the far side of the hall. “Is that Elena?”

“Yes, it is,” David said, peering in the dim light. “Look at her go.”

Elena had organized a few of the uninjured men around her. They were digging through the rubble, pulling out tables, setting up a temporary triage area.

“You two go help Elena,” Manny said. “Stan, let’s see if we can find some of the staff. They can’t all be dead. We need more help … and tablecloths or blankets to wrap the dead.”

Cynthia and David ran to Elena, hugged when they met.

“Oh, David,” Elena said. “I’m so glad to see you.” She squeezed him tight.

“How did you survive, Elena?” Cynthia said, touching Elena’s arm.

“I was in the restroom, Elena said. “It completely missed that part of the building.”

For the next few hours, David, Cynthia, Elena, and John, how also survived by a small miracle, worked beside Stan, professor Hansteen and dozens of others who were unhurt. They wrapped bodies in tablecloths, dressed cuts and applied splints. There wasn’t much else they could do but they did their best.

At nearly 2 am David looked up to see Manny slumped on a chair, eyes glazed over, arms loose at his sides. “Cynthia,” he called out. She looked at David. He pointed to Manny.

Cynthia rushed over to Manny, “Dad, are you all right?”

“We can’t do any more. We have to let someone know there are dead to be picked up.”

David winced at the job ahead of the soldiers. “It will probably be the military that gets that assignment.”

“This is only the first wave of destruction,” Manny said. “There’s more on the way. When the planet gets closer, the electromagnetic discharge will dig up huge chunks of earth——like jagged thunderbolts from Zeus.”

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” Cynthia put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry I never listened.”

“The planet’s discharge will carve up the earth, launching dust, sand, even boulders back down.”

“How much time do we have?” Cynthia asked.

“It should all be over seventy-two hours after it starts,” Manny said,

“Seventy-two hours,” Cynthia said. “Where can we go to be safe?”

“To the subways, along with everyone else who thinks of it,” David said.

Cynthia looked to David, then back to Manny, who had that faraway look in his eyes.

“And they shall go into the holes of the rocks, and into the caves of the earth, for fear of the Lord, and for the glory of his majesty, when he ariseth to shake terribly the earth.”