Under a Broken Sun (28 page)

Louie smiled and nodded.  I didn't know how to calm him down, physically.  Hugging felt out of the question.  I just what my father always did.  I ruffled his hair.  “You’re a great kid, and I owe you my life.  I'll be back.  I’m not leaving you or Tommy or Bill ever again.  Ok?”

He hugged me.  Little bastard.

The President, Ashley and I walked down the stairs and out of the building.  Six soldiers armed with automatic weapons surrounded us, eying every building ahead, to the side and behind us.  Their fingers hovered on the trigger, safeties off.  We walked in the shadows to avoid the direct sun

“You know they’re coming,” I said.  “A bunch of religious fanatics.  From the east.”

The president nodded.  “And from the south and west.  Even some armed forces personnel from the national guard and the Air Force."

"How did word get around so fast?"

"Hill's network is very tight and well known to each other.  He put into place a sort of pony express long before this happened.  They've been planning for Armageddon for years."

“But not about Chicago – about my dad.”

“No, which is why the fight that’s coming will probably go on all over America.  This won’t be the last of it.”

We had to walk around the crumpled ruins of an office building, a bizarre bronze piece of art sticking up.  Nature cleaned house, and swept up the ruins into a pile to be scooped up and thrown out.  And all over the county throngs of people danced in celebration at our suffering, as if to say "we told you so".  Sad.

“I’ve sent out word to all military bases in the country.  We’ll let the fanatics come, hold them off, while reinforcements arrive from behind.”

“You don’t seem too worried,” Ashley said.

He shot us a quick smile.  “My faith lies with humanity that we’ll survive.  I just hope other people share my faith.”

He didn’t see the mob I saw in Gary, Indiana.  He didn’t hear their roar when Tolbert bounced at the bottom of the rope.  He didn’t see the guy in the convenience store or his brains scattered about when Marilyn shot him.

Marilyn.  What the hell was she doing on the platform?  She didn’t look comfortable, but there she was, holding the kid, what was her name?  Eve.  Holding Eve in front of a man about to be executed.  Was that the fucking children’s matinee? 

Ashley tugged on my hand and brought me back.  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

I looked down at her.  What was I thinking about?  “Nothing,” I said.

We came to a three story building that seemed to be largely intact, despite the much larger building next to it being reduced to rubble.  It stood next to the river, on the opposite side of a bridge, one half fallen into the river.  “I’m assuming this is all from the same earthquake we felt in Pittsburgh,” I said to President Douglas. 

“That’s correct.  According to our experts the instability in temperature triggered the New Madrid, San Andreas and Ramapo  fault lines in California, Missouri and New York.  They estimated each one at eight plus on the Richter scale. The Mississippi Valley is destroyed, the Hudson Valley…God only knows how many millions of people lost their lives.  The flooding has already started and the polarize caps are shrinking rapidly.  Philadelphia is quickly becoming beach front property as they melt.”  He opened the front door for us and we walked inside of a standard office building, like something housing your dentist or doctor. 

President Douglas pointed up.  “He’s either up on the roof, or in his office on the third floor.  He’s a brilliant man, Adam.  He saved my life.  I’d have been in Air Force One if he hadn’t called and told me to stand down.  I trust him implicitly.  Tell him I said hi.”

The President turned to go, “Oh, and tell him I want that report he owes me by tomorrow morning.”

The walk up to the roof should’ve been harder, but we’ve done so much walking I felt like my legs were made of steel and could’ve climbed the Sears Tower if they had to.  The stairwell was in much the same shape as the Sears Tower – crumbled steps, big blocks of concrete that we had to climb around.  Took a lot longer than your standard trek up a flight of stairs.

We reached the top and opened the door.  My stomach was in knots, waiting, unsure of what to expect.  Time was I would’ve strolled past my dad in silence, put headphones on and tuned out the world.  He would walk by as well, resigned to the fact that the musical wall between us would never be torn down. 

I stood at the door and saw him bent over a desk, writing notes under the shade of a canopy tent with his back to us.  He had a telescope with him, which he would occasionally check, then write more notes.  Ashley finally pushed me forward. 

I stepped forward, noticing things I would’ve taken for granted before.  The thinning hair on the back of his head, his shuffling movements from desk to telescope, the way he mumbled to himself.  He was tall – taller than me by an inch or so.  Always made him more intimidating.  Huge hands, too, that hurt like a motherfucker when smacking your ass. 

With all these thoughts flowing through my head, each step closer to him seemed to make me a year younger.  By the time I stood behind him I’d be a sniveling toddler.

I cleared my throat.  “No time,” he said, waving me off.

“Dad?” I said, barely above a whisper.

He stopped.  Stood straight up.  Turned.  In his eyes, the minute he saw me, I recognized him.  Not the man, but the soul.  His body was more crooked; his eyes, though, were the same.  I didn’t expect the love in there.  My body had tensed up for a fight.  A ‘what took you so long’ or ‘what the hell have you done to yourself now’ kind of fight.  But none of that happened.

He rushed over and hugged me.  Tight.  “Oh my God,” he whispered.  “Adam, my son.”

I hugged him back.  And for the first time, with my cross digging into my chest as a reminder, I cried.  I mean really, really cried.  I didn’t want to cut to prevent it.  I didn’t give a shit that Ashley was there.  I wouldn’t have cared if the fucking six o’clock news was there.  I had done it.  I had made it to my destination.  The largest goal of my life, and I accomplished it. 

He backed me off, straightening himself up.  "Ok, ok.  Enough of that.  Stop it."  He swallowed any hint of tears.  He cleared his throat and pretended not to feel.  Welcome to my life.

Maybe I didn't really want him back.

"Seriously, Dad?  I just travelled halfway across the country.  That's all you've got?"

He turned around.  Back to work.  "Too much to do.  Reunion later."

Bullshit.  My life had changed.  He needed to know that.  I grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.  "Will you drop the bullshit for fuck's sake?"

"Don't you talk to me that way, young man," he said.

"Knock it off, Dad!  Now's not the time for this stone face bullshit-"

"Now is EXACTLY the time!"  He voice quivered.  His eyes became shinier with the wetness.  "I am not in the position to feel anything right now.  I've got a report to complete.  People need me to explain.  To guide them through this.  Do you have any idea the responsibility I have?"

He turned back around, pretending to stare at his notes on his desk.  I put a hand on his shoulder.  "Yeah, but you're not alone.  I came back to you.  You have your family back."

"What's left of it," he whispered.  He looked up.  "It was my fault."

"What?  No it wasn't.  You didn't cause this."

He started to cry.  As God as my witness, the motherfucker started to cry, harder than I've ever heard him - or any grown man ever - cry.

"I should've done something.  I could've stopped it."

"Dad, it was a celestial anomaly.  A random occurrence-"

"I should've said something."

"What could you have said?"

He turned and looked at me, his lips shaking, his face wearing that grotesque mask men wear when they lose it.  His look, his eyes, begged me for forgiveness.  Forgive what?  "I should have stopped her."

Too many people.  Who her? 

Oh. 

Mom.

"I should've gotten her help."  He collapsed in my arms.  And I mean collapsed.  I guided him down to the rooftop, next to the concrete wall.  "I should've stopped her," he said, over and over again.

The car.  The jump.  He was playing it all over in his head.  "She jumped, Dad," I said, my arms wrapped tightly around him.  I looked up at Ashley, but she just teared up where she stood.  She had no references for this - no idea how to act or what to say.  "Her choice."

"I could've influenced her."  Ten years he's been holding this in.  Ten years of iciness, melting away in the 120 degree temperature. 

I didn't know what to say.  I just sat on the roof, holding my father, letting him soak my shirt with his tears.

Finally, he sniffled, and pulled away.  "Sorry-" he started, but I wouldn't let him finish.

"It's ok," I said.

"No.  No father worth his weight should ever cry in front of his son," he said with a self-depreciating laugh.

"No father worth his weight should be afraid to," I said.  I meant it.  At that moment, Dad was the bravest man I knew.   Holding back tears is easy, just requires muscular strength.  But letting yourself cry requires strength from inside.  I forgave him - for everything.

I helped him up, brushed him off, straightened him out.

He looked at me, deeply, really seeing me.  Maybe seeing my soul in my eyes, who the hell knows.  He frowned.  I guess I looked different, more stubble on my chin, longer hair, probably smelled like a port-a-john left open in the sun.  “You’re a mess,” he said.

"Well, yeah, Dad, it's been a rough haul."  He nodded and smiled.  

Ashley let out a cough behind us.  “Oh shit,” I said, turning back to her.  “I’m sorry.  Dad, this is Ashley.  Ashley…um,”

“Harper,” she said, saving me.  “Pleased to meet you Mr. – I mean Dr. Dawson.”

My dad turned and gave her a warm smile, one I hadn't seen in years.  He took her hand.  "The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Harper." 

“What happened, Dad?” I asked.

“Ah.  The sun,” he said.  “Horrible.”

He turned back around and guided me to the drawings, notes and equations all over it that I began to decipher.  On one end was a circle, then another, smaller circle to the right of it. 

“Earth,” Dad said, pointing to the smaller circle, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “The sun.”  He pointed to larger one.  “Somewhere, way out to the left, beyond the paper, a gamma ray burst shot out from a hyper-nova.”

“A hyper-nova?” Ashley asked.

Dad nodded.  “An imploding star.  But a massive star.  A red giant most like.”

“How far away?” I asked.

“About 550 million light years." 

“Antares?”

Dad pointed to a map of the stars, in the middle of the Scorpio constellation.  “Most likely.  We were fortunate it happened when it did.  If we had been on the other end of the sun, the ozone would’ve been destroyed, and us immediately following it.”

Ashley didn't get it.  "How far is 550 million light years?" she asked.

"Well, if this drawing were to scale, and the sun was this size here, the supernova probably would’ve been somewhere in Wisconsin.”

Ashley looked to the north.  “That’s a long way,”

“Yes,” Dad said, returning to the drawing.

I looked up at him.  "The sun blocked us from being fried instantly?”

"Probably."

“So now we’re just going to fry slowly,” I said.

“Probably.”  Dad was never the best with bad news.  "The gamma ray burst hit the sun on one side like a needle going into a balloon.  Only the balloon didn't pop, and when the needle exited the other side, a solar flare was released.  Good thing the burst had lost most of its energy, or else the sun might’ve exploded."

"How big was the flare?" I asked.

"If Mercury had been in the right position, it would've been destroyed."

It made sense.  "That's what wiped out the electronics.  The magnetosphere?”

“The flare didn’t just disrupt it.  It blew a hole in it, just as I thought.  So now our current understanding of electricity is obsolete.  The flare not only disrupted the magnetic field of the earth, but tilted us ever so slightly on our axis.  Remember how I used to say everything had to be just right and in balance for life to grow on earth?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well it’s not.  Not anymore.  Our understanding of the laws of physics has changed.  Magnetism’s changed.  We have to reinvent electricity, relearn how electrons work now.”  He turned back to the paper.  “Everything’s changed."

“Humans haven’t,” Ashley said.  Dad grunted a laugh in agreement.

I turned and watched the clouds moving in from the west.  A big cloud.  “Storm’s coming,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” he said, joining me to look at the cloud.  It hovered above the earth like a pillowy spaceship.  Just like in Pittsburgh, it drifted our way.  “ ‘And what beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?’”

“Huh?”

“William Butler Yeats.  Come, let’s get downstairs where it’s safe.  The basement of this building is still cool.  We can sleep there the rest of the day.”

That suggestion hit home.  Sleep.  At the sound of the word my legs got heavy and felt like toothpicks holding up a concrete block.  We followed Dad back down the stairs, out of the main stair well, and then to another door.  Before opening it he grabbed a torch from a pile of wood nearby.  A soldier standing guard quickly broke out a lighter and lit it for him.  Must be nice.

We went down another flight of stairs, into darkness thick as mud.  The torch lit up our small area, and revealed several blankets, pillows, foodstuff, and other supplies.  Dad put the torch into a makeshift Christmas tree stand so it stood upright in the middle of the floor.  “Nice digs,” I said.  “Who sleeps here with you?”

“The soldiers rotate watches and stay down here.  It’s not that bad.  There’s an emergency shower over by the cleaning supplies.  We do what we can to make things seem normal.  Helps keep the depression and insanity away.”

He settled down on his bed – a military cot six inches or so off the floor.  He grunted as his twisted body lowered down.  “You ok?” I asked.