“I’m scared,” Don admitted.
Rodney lifted Don’s hand, kissing his palm once, twice. “I know. I am too. But we’ve made it this far. Might as well see it through to the end.” He looked away. “But I can’t do it by myself. I need you.”
Rare, this, coming from him. Don knew he was loved, knew it to the moon and back, but every now and then, Rodney would talk like this. Pointed. Direct.Real.It was one of the million reasons Don cared so deeply for him. Sometimes, people saw Rodney just as he appeared: a quiet, somewhat ornery old man. He was more. So much more.
“Can we do it?”
“We’ve made it this far,” he said again.
“I suppose we have.”
Rodney turned off the emergency blinkers, flipped the single indicator—even though the road was empty—and began to drive away.
CHAPTER 5
Strangely, driving into Montana—one of the least populated states—proved to be difficult. Many smaller roads had been blocked off. Ranches, farms, neighborhoods where people stood in front of barriers with guns. They didn’t look like police or military. Just people. They didn’t speak, just shouldered their guns if anyone tried to approach. A few tried and were rebuffed. No shots were fired.
More people, more cars. Four lanes of traffic—two east and two west. Slow going, maybe a mile every ten minutes. It was while they were stuck just across the border from South Dakota that Don decided to hear what was new.
He flipped on the radio, spinning the dial until he found a news station. It wasn’t coming in all that clear, but they could make out the words. The first thing they heard: Jupiter had been destroyed. Images from NASA showed the big planet had broken into five large chunks, the biggest the size of a hundred earths. All were being pulled toward the black hole. There was no risk of any part of Jupiter’s remains hitting Earth. Small favors.
Three weeks. That’s what they’d initially thought was left. But now, given the swift destruction of Jupiter, it looked as if things were speeding up. Perhaps fifteen days left. Perhaps ten.
The Man in Charge spoke next. According to the reporter, he had not been seen publicly or heard from in nearly a week. The last time anyone had heard from him was when he’d condemned the rioting, the looting, the destruction. He spoke from an undisclosed location. He said that he wished things could be different. That he never expected this to happen. No one did, he mused. It caught them all by surprise, and though they’d known about the black hole for close to two years (neglecting to mention the public wasn’t made aware until a full year after the discovery), they’d hoped it could be stopped. His faith, he told the listening audience, was now more important than ever. His relationship with God had never been stronger, as was his belief in a Heaven for those deserving. He prayed, he said, prayed for hours and hours. He didn’t get a reply as that’s not how God worked. Instead, he was overcome with a strange sense of calm. He called it part of the grief process, and he’d reached acceptance.
“For billions of years, this planet has survived. What was once molten rock gave way to land, to oceans. And from those oceans, the first hint of life. It evolved. It grew. It grew until eventually, we came. We’ve only been here for a fraction of the Earth’s life. In the grand scheme of things, we’re a grain of sand on an infinite beach. But we mattered. All of us. For better or worse, we mattered. We made music. We wrote books. Machines that chased stars. We created civilizations. We followed religions. We built. We destroyed. We loved. We killed. We started wars.” He paused. “Istarted wars. I did that. I sent your children to die in faraway places, all in the name of preserving peace. Most of you will never forgive me, and I understand why. It seems almost pointless, now, doesn’t it? With what’s coming, earthly desires, earthly complaints, none of it seems important. I wrestle with the idea constantly. I worry about the people who don’t have my faith. What must they think is coming after? I worry about the people whodoshare my faith. What if we’re wrong?
“I don’t think I am, but there is a sliver of doubt. Funny how that works. My faith—especially now—should be absolute. I know the glory of the kingdom of God. I know He will welcome us with open arms and we will only know peace and light. But then doubt creeps in, gnawing at the faith. Chipping away at it. Cracking it. Breaking it apart. If there is a God, if there is a higher power, why is He letting this happen? Why is he sitting idly by while the hour of our ending approaches?
“I don’t have an answer to that. I wish I did. It would make me—and, I suspect, many others—not afraid. But that hasn’t happened. So it’s left to us. The people. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe three weeks from now, the entirety of Earth’s life and history will be gone. That does not change what we did while here. Good and bad. We made choices, decisions that reverberated throughout the world.
“Last night, I looked at the moon for hours. When was the last time you gave any real thought about the moon outside of a landing or an eclipse? When it’s full, we exclaim how big it is, how bright. But like everything else, we see it, and it passes through our minds with no resistance. Then it’s gone until the next time we see it. Isn’t that funny? An orbiting body that affects the tides, the tilt of the earth, and we just… take it for granted. It’s beautiful, really. I will miss it when it’s gone, in the few short hours we have left. I spoke with the remaining crew on the International Space Station just this morning. I asked them about the moon. They said it was even more beautiful up close. They will stay on the ISS until the end.
“And now, a promise: I will speak to you every day around this same time. Experts say that satellite interference won’t occur until the final few days, so I’ll do my best to let you hear me, to give you the most up-to-date information that is available. If possible, stay in your homes. Avoid any and all roadways. All flights have beengrounded, all ships docked. The military has been deployed to major metropolitan areas around the country to ensure the safety of the populace. They have orders to shoot on sight if anyone attempts to disregard their instructions. I did not make this decision lightly. Even if the world falls, that does not give anyone the right to take the law into their own hands. But I am asking you as your leader: The people deployed to protect our interests do not deserve to be forced to take a life on American soil. Please do not force their hands.
“May God bless you. May God bless these United States. And may God bless each and every single one of our souls.”
“The Stars and Stripes Forever” began to play. Such a grating sound.
Don turned off the radio. They’d barely moved five feet since the Man in Charge had started speaking.
Rodney said, “Faith. What a bunch of bullshit. Did you hear that asshole? As ifGodis the answer and reason for everything. They love Him even now. Even as they beg for answers. Trust in His plan, they say. When bad things happen, they happen for areason. That’s a cop-out. Bad things don’t happen because of some infinite force pulling the strings, but because of sheer, rotten luck. Nothing, and I meannothingcan stand against luck. Random happenstance. Chance.Thatis the higher power. That is the altar of reality. Everything is chaos and when and if things happen, it all comes down to luck.”
Don said, “You never believed in fate.”
Rodney snorted. “No. You and me? We weren’t destined to be. We’re here because we worked for it. We worked hard. We survived some of the worst things people can live through. It’s not fate. It was you and me who did it. No one and nothing else.”
Someone honked their horn a few cars behind them. As if that would help. As if that would make anyone move.
“What does it matter then?” Don asked. “Why does any of this matter if it’s all down to luck? We get up every morning not knowing if today is going to be the best day of our lives or the worst. But we still get up because we have to.”
“Not everyone,” Rodney said, and Don felt like screaming. Close, so close. They were getting back there, to that space, to that land where everything was made of shattered glass. They’d been there before—brief visits, as much as grief would allow—but it’d been a while. Not because they’d forgotten. How could they?
It was because it made everything hurt. It made Don feel like a failure. Like he could have—and should have—done more. That was the crux of it: Had they done enough? They were told they had by so many people. Friends. Family. Doctors. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. It just hadn’t.
Don said, “That’s not fair.” It came out harsh, angry. His throat began to close as his eyes burned.
Rodney sighed, looking as old as Don had ever seen him. “No, I don’t suppose that was. I just…” He swallowed thickly. “I’m trying to make sense out of the nonsensical. My head feels like it’s exploding every waking minute. I can’t sleep very well. Food tastes like nothing. I don’t understand anything anymore.”