Jessica was with him in a second. Her arms enfolded him pulling him to her. "It’s okay -
Lark's
okay," she said, the words spoken with such sincerity and certainty that he found himself believing them too. This event was too big, too huge for it not to hold some kind of cosmic meaning. To be just a random act of an uncaring universe beggared belief. The universe could not be so cruel - could it?
"I have to find her," he said.
"We know, and we are going to help in
any
way we can but the best thing you can do right now - the
only
thing you can do - is wait here," said Jessica, holding him tightly. Her voice was adamant and strong, a lifeline for him to grasp and hold onto, to ease him back to the shore of sanity away from which he was inexorably drifting.
"But what if she's out there alone? What if she's running around those streets lost ... or worse," his voice a panicked bleat.
Thomas joined in, laying a reassuring hand on his back: "James, you know she's with her mother. It's Saturday, where would they be? You checked the house; you know she wasn't there. Was her car in the garage?"
Jim thought back to the garage. "No it was empty."
"Then you know that Simone was not home when this happened. Would she leave Lark on her own in the house? Would she?"
"No."
"Lark is with her mother and you
know
that she will do her best to keep her safe. Don't you?"
"Yes," was the best answer he could muster.
"What we need to do is stay calm," Thomas said. "Stay calm and just wait for her to come to us."
Jim just looked at him. "But what if -" he started to say.
"No 'what ifs'. They are going to be just fine".
Jim did not think that his father-in-law sounded convinced.
* * *
It felt good to be clean again. Jim hadn't realized how disgustingly filthy and smelly he was until he'd caught sight of himself in the mirror of the Shane's entertainment unit. His face looked like it was painted with camouflage, blotches of black and gray, with streaks of white where sweat had dripped. His clothes stank worse than he did and he felt a pang of shame at having spent the last hour in the company of his ex-wife's parents in such a state of dishevelment. But when he stepped out of the shower, he found a pair of Thomas's jeans and a fresh tee shirt neatly laid out for him on the guestroom bed. His own clothes had disappeared but he could make out the faint rumble of the washing machine from elsewhere in the house.
Everything feels so normal
, he thought.
Catching sight of his rejuvenated body in the mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door, he reminded himself of just how
abnormal
his world had actually become. Gone were the wrinkles and gray hair. Back was the muscle tone and, he noticed approvingly, his hairline.
Slipping into the slightly oversized clothes, Jim made his way downstairs.
* * *
"Has anybody tried the TV?" Jim asked as he walked back into the living room.
Surprisingly, they had not.
"You know,” said Thomas, "We hadn't even thought about trying it. The day has been so ... earth-shattering."
The first few channels they surfed were nothing more than movie channels, reruns of old sitcoms, wildlife documentaries, a pre-recorded infomercial for cutlery, and one that just played cartoons.
"Try one of the local stations," Thomas said. He told Jim the station's channel number but when the screen flicked over, an unrecognizable picture filled the screen.
"What's that?" asked Jessica, tilting her head to her shoulder as if that might give her a better idea. "Looks like some sort of fabric." The screen had filled with what looked to be fur under magnification. As they tried to understand what they were looking at a low, sobbing filtered from the TV's speakers.
"Is that someone crying?" Jim said.
Faintly, as if from a distance, Jim could hear what sounded like the sorrowful sobbing of a woman. He reached over and turned the volume up and the woman's weeping filled the room.
"It's the back of a chair," said Jessica suddenly after she had switched her head to the other shoulder. "See?
It's fallen over on its side and I guess the camera must be zoomed in really close ... but it's definitely a chair. You can just make out the back support up there." She pointed to the top of the screen but her excitement wilted as another wave of mournful weeping filled the room.
It felt to the three of them gathered around the TV as though they were the unwitting witnesses to a terrible tragedy; it was at once fascinating and repulsive.
"The poor woman," said Jessica after a minute had passed, and then she reached over and changed the channel.
"Are you hungry," asked Jessica.
Jim hadn't even given food a thought. At the mention of it, his stomach gave a low grumble. How long had this day been? Jim gave Jessica a look of thanks. Jessica smiled and headed towards the kitchen shouting back over her shoulder "Ham and cheese sandwiches okay for you two boys?"
"Sounds great," he replied and as she disappeared into the kitchen he took the time to ask Thomas a question: "How you holding up?"
Thomas took just a second to consider it before answering. "I'm afraid," he said candidly and continued to scan the channels for signs of life.
* * *
Eighteen
Jessica was fetching their sandwiches from the kitchen - thick chunks of sourdough bread with what must have been half a pig packed between each slice - into the living room when they finally found a live broadcast.
On the screen a man in his late forties, his graying hair brushed meticulously across his forehead and the hint of a day's worth of stubble peppering his jaw, sat behind a horseshoe shaped presenters desk with room for another two people on either side of him. The logo of
WWN
, the
World Wide News
network fixed prominently to the front of the desk. The man seemed to be talking to someone off camera as he rearranged papers on his desk, although he was obviously speaking no sound came from the TV. The newscaster looked vaguely familiar and it was Jessica who finally identified him.
"Norm Jones?" she said as she handed Jim his plate of meat.
"Right," said Jim, drawing the word out to twice its length and snapping his fingers in recognition.
Norm Jones had been an anchor with the local Los Angeles
WWN
affiliate for as far back as Jim could remember. He had retired a few years back (or a multitude of years from now, depending on how you chose to view it). Now here he was, looking tired, looking confused, but the familiar face was a reassuring sign that normality had not completely disappeared off the face of the earth, the newsman had become an anchor in a much higher sense of the word.
"Did you turn the sound off?" Jessica asked.
"Nope," Jim said. "They must be having technical problems."
A sudden burst of static from the television was quickly replaced by a strong, sonorous male voice. "-
on yet?
...
Okay ... Apparently, you can now hear me.
" The presenter seemed to relax a little, some of the stiffness leaving his stress-lined face as he settled back into his chair.
"
I have to apologize for the rough construction of this broadcast but as I am sure you are all aware this is not a normal day. We here at WWN are trying to pull together as much information from around the country and the world as we possibly can. Unfortunately, we are operating with limited staff due to the," he paused searching for the appropriate word, "... event. I must also apologize for my ability to present this segment, as it's been ten years since I last sat in this chair and I may be a little rusty
.
"
We have pulled as many news feeds from the network satellites as possible. In summary: This does not appear to be a localized event. From the limited contact we have had with other news networks - and I must stress that it has been very limited-
both here in the US and worldwide, they are experiencing similar, and in some cases far worse circumstances to our own. The consensus of opinion seems to be that there is no current explanation for the event but it does seem clear that an extraordinary occurrence has taken place. We have attempted to contact authorities but have received no reply to our calls. If anybody watching this broadcast is able to explain this situation then we would be most happy to hear from you
.”
Norm rifled through a pile of papers on his desk until he found one he was looking for.
"
In summary, here is what we have learned so far, and I must repeat that all of this is of course unsubstantiated at the moment: The country is in chaos. Emergency services seem to be non-existent; most telecommunications seem to be down, although some areas do appear to have telephone service. There are reports of several large aircraft crashes throughout the state, including several within Los Angeles Airport and its outlying areas. Fires are burning uncontrolled in most parts of the city. Freeways appear to be impassable due to the large number of vehicular accidents; the same applies to most main streets throughout the city.
"
We are receiving similar reports from -"
The newscaster stopped mid-sentence, his left hand moving to his ear as if listening to someone whispering to him.
"-
and I'm getting new information ... yes ... that we are about to receive a special feed from the Whitehouse - are we ready? Do we have the feed lined up? Okay - the Whitehouse
."
Replacing the WWN anchor, another image appeared. A lacquered teak lectern
,
the presidential seal prominently placed on the wooden upright and echoed in a larger form on the wall of the room in the background.
A door opened and a commotion of people entered the room. One man walked to the lectern escorted by two others, their glances at the few press crowded in front and behind the camera as well as their flat-line expressions immediately betrayed them as secret service.
The man at the lectern shuffled a few papers before pulling the microphone closer to his mouth and then looking directly into the camera.
A shock of black hair highlighted a narrow face watched over by carefully manicured eyebrows. Dressed in a black business suit with a blood-red tie, he looked to be in his fifties. A century before, he would have been described as
dapper
but tonight he looked drawn and gray: haggard. Pale puffed flesh under his eyes and pink tinged conjunctiva striated with blood.
A white caption appeared in bold letters at the bottom of the screen -
VICE PRESIDENT NATHANIAL RODERICK.
"
My fellow Americans
," Roderick began, staring deep into the lens of the camera.
"I must first inform you that President Sarandon is incapacitated and, that I, as Vice President, have been appointed as
President Pro Tem
until she is able to resume control
." Roderick's voice carried a certain lofty tone, bordering on arrogant.
"
As you are all by now aware, a major event occurred today, the likes of which no one in the annals of history has ever before faced.
"
It appears that the United States has suffered some form of preemptive attack; we do not know who the assailant is or why they have carried out this cowardly assault but you must rest assured that we are already performing the necessary tasks to understand the full impact of the situation.
"
We do not know if this is a temporary effect or whether it is permanent, but you must have the utmost confidence that the best American minds are now applying themselves to solving this most disastrous of events.