The Faithful (39 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

“Ryanne, you’ve done everything you can. It’s time to go.”

I pushed my hair off my face. It felt greasy. Was it wrong to want a shower in the middle of a crisis? Josh looked as exhausted and heartsick as I felt. I opened my mouth to argue, but I knew he was right. There was nothing more I could do; the information had been passed on. We had spent hours on the phone with the MPC, NASA, and the Oval Office, all of whom wanted to hear about the end of the world right from the messengers’ mouths.

Josh moved in on me, perhaps sensing that my resolve was weakening. “I made a promise to your daughter that I would bring you back to her. I intend to keep it.”

Dan hung up the phone just in time to catch this last comment. “Daughter?” he asked. “Since when do you have a daughter, Red?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story. Do you really want to hear it?”

After a moment, Dan shook his head. “I suppose not. I’ll add that to the pile of questions we don’t have time for, along with why he calls you Ryanne and how the hell you knew about these meteorites.” He stood with a grimace. “But Josh is right; there’s nothing more to be done here. It’s time to head for the hills.”

“But, what about—”

“Ryanne.” Josh took my hands in his. “You’ve fought the good fight. You’ve saved thousands if not millions of lives by getting the word out, and the evil SOBs who caused this have less reason to celebrate because of you.”

Dan opened his mouth, and then shook his head and closed it.

“Now it’s time to go.” Josh turned to Dan. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Where are you going?”

“Colorado. We have a place near Idaho Springs. It’s well stocked with supplies, and it should be safe.”

“If you can make it there,” Dan remarked, and then shook his head. “My mom’s in a home in Las Cruces. I can’t leave her.”

“I understand,” Josh said.

“Dan, bring your mom,” I urged.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll hang here.” He swept me up in a bear hug and I buried my head in his shoulder, muffling my sobs against the flannel of his shirt.

“Take care of yourself, Red.” His voice cracked on the last word.

“You too.”

He put me down gently and turned to shake Josh’s hand. “Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”

“Maybe,” Josh said.

“Then again, maybe not.” Dan made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sniffle.

“Right.”

“Take care of her, okay?”

“I will,” Josh promised.

With that, he turned and left. We heard the rumble of his car’s engine and the sound of gravel crunching under his tires as he pulled out. And then there was silence, except for my quiet sobs.

Rather than head back toward Las Cruces, Josh suggested we drive east to avoid the major freeways. I watched the trailer disappear in the passenger mirror, straining to get one more look at the scattering of domed buildings that housed the telescopes. Would they fall away to dust? Or would they be covered in layers of ice, only to be unearthed thousands or millions of years from now like dinosaur fossils? And who would unearth them? Would they be human, or some brand-new species?

“Under normal circumstances, the trip should take ten hours or so, but who knows?” Josh was saying, but everything around me was growing dim. I closed my eyes against a wave of exhaustion, and that was the last I knew until Josh shook me awake some unknown time later.

“Ryanne, look!” Josh’s voice was hoarse.

My eyelids felt like they were welded shut and I moaned, wanting more than anything to sink back into unconsciousness. But Josh was shaking me so hard my head was flopping from side to side like a rag doll’s.

“Ryanne!” he shouted, and I finally managed to open my eyes. The world swam into focus, but it took a while for me to process what I was seeing.

“What the . . . where are we?”

“I think that’s Alamogordo.”

“It’s on fire,” I said stupidly. The fire was enormous, encompassing what might once have been the downtown area. “Do you think a meteorite did this?”

He watched it through the windshield for a minute before shaking his head. “This looks man-made.”

“Who would do something like this?” Miles of black smoke billowed toward the sky, and flakes of gray ash were tumbling down around us like snow.

He gave me a look, and then shrugged. “People are crazy.”

“Can we get around it?”

“I’m going to try.” Josh moved us east toward the edge of the mountains along a rough side road that soon gave way to gravel. The houses were sparse to begin with and trickled off as we continued away from the fire. He found a small gravel lane that angled roughly northbound and eased onto it. We bumped slowly along, creosote and mesquite bushes scratching at the paint of our rental car.

“I wish we had the Suburban,” he said, and I silently agreed. We had rented the best car available, which was a Toyota Camry. It was a decent car, but not meant for off-roading.

The lane meandered toward the fire and then retreated. The second time we got so close, I thought we were going to have to backtrack and find a different way through. I breathed a sigh of relief as we moved away again.

As we neared the center of town, I could see houses and businesses being consumed by the flames. Hundreds of people were milling about as they watched the fire crews work, but in the midst of the chaos there was a grim stillness.

Perhaps it was due to lack of sleep, but I felt emotionally disconnected from it all, as though I was watching a disaster scene play out in a movie. We passed the heart of the fire in tense silence and picked up the main road half a mile past the town. North of Alamogordo, Route 54 was virtually deserted. We drove for miles at a stretch without seeing another vehicle.

We were passing through farmland, miles and miles of flat terrain stretching out to embrace the open sky above. We crossed over a railroad track, and then passed a white clapboard house with wagon wheels sticking out of the dirt and an American flag dancing above the front door.

A man in jeans and a white T-shirt was hammering boards up against the windows as a woman stood watching him in the dusty yard, two young children clinging to the hem of her blue dress. As we drove by, they all turned silently to watch. The younger child, a towheaded boy who couldn’t have been much past his second birthday, lifted his chubby hand in a solemn wave. I lifted mine in return. A moment later they were gone, left behind in the swirling dust of another time, and I was weeping into my open palms.

“Ryanne . . .” Josh reached for me, but I shook my head.

“It’s all so beautiful . . .” I choked out. “It’s all just . . . so . . .
beautiful
. . .”

“Yes,” he managed. “Yes, it is.”

We moved past the farmland and into the empty spaces beyond. I watched the land streak by through a rainbow prism of tears. An hour later, we entered the small town of Carrizozo. Storefronts were boarded up and there were no cars moving or people about. The whole town seemed abandoned.

“This is creepy,” I whispered.

“There’s a Valero,” Josh said. “We’ve still got three quarters of a tank, and gas cans in the trunk, but I’d like to fill up.” But as we approached, we could see the lights were off. A hastily constructed sign informed us the tanks were empty. Across the street, an Alon gas station stood equally abandoned. He shook his head, his mouth fixed in a grim line. An hour later we drove through Corona. The Exxon was also drained and abandoned, and we continued north without a word.

The Camry began to sputter five miles before the small town of Las Vegas, New Mexico.

“No no no no no,” Josh muttered. The car lurched and groaned, losing momentum. He eased onto the gravel shoulder.

“Shit!” he shouted, slamming a hand against the steering wheel, then turned off the car.

“What do you think it is?” I asked.

“Let’s hope it’s just a vapor lock,” Josh said, opening the door and climbing out. I followed, meeting him by the side of the car. He was unscrewing the gas cap.

“If it’s a vapor lock, this should fix it,” he explained.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then it’s probably the fuel filter,” he said grimly, screwing the cap back into place.

“And then what?”

“And then we’re walking.”

Sure enough, the engine sputtered and wheezed but wouldn’t turn over.

“Shit!” Josh said again. He hopped out and stalked around to the front of the car. I followed him, watching as he popped the hood and inspected the engine, feeling as useless as I clearly was. He poked around for a few minutes, grumbling under his breath. I watched the road hopefully, but not surprisingly, it remained empty. The whole world felt like it had been abandoned.

The hood dropped with a bang, startling me.

“That well and truly sucks,” Josh said. I couldn’t have agreed more.

We packed what we could and abandoned the Camry to its fate. The sun was almost directly overhead, kissing the tops of our heads and shoulders with its gentle warmth. We followed our stunted shadows along the deserted highway, moving silently through the stillness of the last day.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

“Sumner,” Lexy whispered. “There’s a man in the yard.”

Sumner jumped up, motioning for the others to stay put. As one, they turned back to the doom being broadcast on the wide-screen TV, and Sumner moved through the kitchen toward the door, grabbing a rifle from the counter on his way by. Chicky was tucked into his waistband. Lexy followed hesitantly behind him. Darkness had settled many hours before, and Sumner stood blinking in the dark, allowing his eyes to adjust before he headed outside.

“Be careful!” she hissed as he cracked open the door. The moon was bright, lighting up the yard with its silvery glow.

He expected to find some tough nut standing out there, gun in hand and ready to rob them of their cache of supplies. Instead, there was a man sprawled facedown on the gravel driveway. A beaten up Ford F-150 was parked sideways against a tree at the edge of the property.

“Damn,” Sumner muttered and stepped out onto the porch. “Hello?” he called, but the man kissing the driveway didn’t move. Sumner followed the muzzle of the rifle down the steps and across the grass. “Hey! Dude?” he called, but still there was no response. He kept his distance, just in case the guy was playing possum.

He had dirty-blond hair that hung toward the gravel in greasy strands. Sumner could see the guy’s rib cage poking out beneath his filthy white T-shirt, and inexplicably he was only wearing one sneaker. Sumner inched forward a couple more feet, keeping the gun trained on the guy’s head. The wind kicked up and the unmistakable scent of whiskey assaulted his nostrils.

“Damn,” he said again, wondering if the guy was dead. “Um, dude? You know drinking and driving is against the law?”

Sumner choked back a sad laugh. What did any of that matter anymore? Laws were made by a civilized world. They served as a thin layer protecting against the anarchy that bubbled just beneath the surface. All it took were a few impending meteorites, and the illusion of stability completely shattered.

Behind him the door creaked open, and Sumner shot a glance in that direction. Phoenix made his way across the grass, his own gun held casually at his side.

“Do you think he’s dead?” Phoenix asked. Emboldened by Phoenix’s presence, Sumner nudged a foot into the guy’s rib cage. There was no response. He wedged his foot under the torso and pushed upward. The guy was light; he rolled over fairly easily. He was also covered in puke, and both Sumner and Phoenix took a step back, noses wrinkling. The man on the ground groaned.

“Well, he’s alive,” Phoenix surmised. The kitchen door creaked open once again, and Sumner heard the others trooping out onto the porch.

“What do we do with him?” Sumner asked.

“Is he alive?” Ora called from the porch.

“Yeah,” Sumner called back. “Drunk and covered in puke. But he’s alive.”

Jack was the last to come out onto the porch, and he took one look at the beat-up truck and the man lying in the driveway and screamed.

“Dad!” The boy ignored the stairs and launched himself toward the man in the driveway. He skidded across the gravel and hunched over the man’s prone body.

“Dad? Dad! Can you hear me?” The man groaned again, but gave no other response.

“Dad! Wake up!”

“So . . .
this
is Keaton Barbetti?” Ora asked incredulously. She had sidled up beside Sumner, and Lexy and Ashlyn weren’t far behind. Only Mrs. Metcalf was missing, having fallen asleep on the couch an hour before.

“Apparently,” Sumner said.

“Not quite what I was picturing,” she remarked.

“And no sheriff,” Sumner said quietly.

Ora’s eyes widened. “Oh . . .
shit
.”

“Jack, stop shaking him,” Sumner called to the boy. “We’ll bring him into the house and get him cleaned up. It would take a bomb to wake him up right now.”

His timing was ironic. As if activated by his words, they heard the first rumble. It sounded very much like thunder, although the Colorado sky was clear and pinpricked with stars.

“Sumner!” Ora screamed, yanking at his sleeve. He turned where she was pointing, toward the south, and gaped.

It started as a sphere of light, brighter than a star but dimmer than the sun. It grew from there, becoming a column of light that angled downward in the southern sky. The distant thunder rumbled and rumbled, and the light grew so bright Sumner had to shield his eyes.

“Oh . . .
no
. . .” he breathed. It was all he was capable of saying.

The rumbling woke Keaton Barbetti. He sat up and his red-rimmed eyes turned toward the sky. “I will show My greatness,” he croaked. “And My holiness . . . and make Myself known in the eyes of many nations . . .”

Sumner blinked at him dumbly. For once, he had no words. When Keaton started reciting the Lord’s Prayer, Sumner turned back to the sky.

The light grew impossibly bright, a bluish-white streak that lit up the southern sky. They watched it approach the earth for an endless amount of time, frozen in silence except for Keaton Barbetti’s jittery prayers and the ominous thunder of the approaching meteorite.

And then the light fanned out and disappeared, leaving them in blinding darkness. There was an eternal moment of silence, and then the ground rocked with violent force, knocking Sumner to his knees. Something like cannon fire pummeled at his eardrums with great, roaring explosions.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

Sumner covered his head and wailed, cheek pressed against the cold gravel and eyes firmly shut. He expected at any moment to be torn to pieces. The world shook and roared, and Sumner lost himself in the chaos.

The ground eventually stilled and the booming receded, becoming a quiet knocking that slowed to silence. Sumner lay hugging the ground, afraid to open his eyes.

“Is everyone okay?” Ora croaked.

The others responded shakily, and Sumner found the nerve to open his eyes. He sat up slowly, trying to assess the damage. A couple of trees on the edge of the property had come down. One of them was lying against the wires strung toward the house. There goes the power, he thought.

The house looked reasonably unscathed, other than porch chairs being turned on their sides and a potted plant that had tumbled off the porch and landed on the bottom stair.

Keaton’s F-150 had shifted sideways and was now perfectly aligned in the driveway. Sumner stared at it, awestruck.

Ora approached him, extending her hands. She had a gash across her right cheek, and the blood dripped black against her pale skin.

“Let’s get inside,” she said shakily. He let her help him to his feet and stood there swaying.

“They didn’t know about that one,” he managed. His voice was little more than a wheeze.

“No,” she agreed, propping a shoulder into his armpit to steady him.

“Where do you think it hit?”

She looked at him for a moment, biting her lip. “To the south.”

“Do you think . . .” But he trailed off, unable to voice his fear.

“I’m sure they’re all right,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and let her lead him toward the house.