Page 10 of The Last Stars in the Sky
Later, I will recall that feeling, examine it like an artifact, try to remember how that sense of contentedness felt, stealing through my bones, turning them soft. Making me hope. It will be a long, long time before I ever feel that again. In fact, it will be never, at least not in the way I did then, with such a blessed ignorance of all that was to come.
I thought I’d already suffered then, I’ddonemy time, what with Daniel losing his job, Mattie being suspended, as if these laughable trivialities somehowcountedfor something. The truth was I had absolutely no idea. No idea at all.
I’d hold on to the memory of that night for a few seconds at most, trying to imbue myself with its peace and power, before it evaporated like the mist on the lake, ghostly shreds of another time, another life, when everything was so very, very simple.
Because just eight hours after I sat there on the sofa, feeling so happy, so hopeful, the world as I knew it, asanyoneknew it, had ended.
FIVE
I wake to the sound of the generator crankily kick-starting to life. After a three-day power outage fifteen or so years ago, my parents invested in a large propane generator that squats outside the kitchen window, to use if any such outages happened again. None did, but the generator was a reassurance to them, a way to feel at least a little self-sufficient, the way they wanted to back in the seventies, when it seemed like everyone was looking to own a couple of chickens, call themselves a commune.
As I blink sleep out of my eyes, I wonder why it’s starting up now. I’m amazed it can still run after ten years; hazily I recall that Darlene might have tested it every so often.
I blink some more and then sit up. Outside the window the lake is like glass, as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the trees on its shoreline perfectly, the dense evergreen as well as the bare branches of the maples and birches. The sky is the hazy blue of morning; by breakfast it will have hardened to a deep, penetrating blue, a cold, sunny day. The weather matches my mood—bright, determined. I clamber out of bed.
I dress quickly, my breath creating frosty puffs in the air. There is frost on the inside of the windowpanes again, and the railings of the deck are dusted with snow. I imagine Ruby’sdelight; when we first told her we were coming up here, she asked if she could bring a sled. By Christmas we could very well likely have several feet of snow. The thought makes me smile.
As I come into the living room, I feel a flicker of exasperation that Daniel is already up but has let the fire die down. The room is cold, and he is crouched in front of the TV, his fingers pressed to his lips. The screen is full of fire, some explosion somewhere, no doubt. I don’t want to know about it.
“It’s freezing in here,” I say, making sure to keep my voice mild. Daniel doesn’t respond. I press my lips together and go to poke at the ashes before throwing another log on the stirred-up embers. He still hasn’t spoken as I go into the kitchen and discover he hasn’t made coffee either. The generator is still whirring away outside, and I return to the living room; Daniel has not moved an inch. A flicker of unease ripples through me.
“Daniel?” I ask. “Did the power go out?”
He gives a little shake of his head, almost like a twitch, and reluctantly I move my gaze to the TV screen. I thought it was the news, but it looks like a home movie of some kind, the camera swinging all over the place, from a distance. The sight is of fire, an awful, indistinguishable blaze filling up the whole screen.
“Good Lord,” I say. I can’t make out any buildings or people, just fire and smoke. “Whereisthat?”
Daniel doesn’t reply for a second, his gaze glued to the screen. Then, in little more than a whisper: “New York.”
For a second, I can’t speak. I can’t think. That surreal, burning landscape of destruction?New York? “What?” My voice is thin. “Where in New York? Why aren’t they showing anything else, some commentary or something?” I want him to explain it to me, give me an answer that’s neat and tidy, but already I’m sensing, on a deeply visceral level, that it’s not going to happen.
Slowly Daniel turns to face me. He reminds me, weirdly, of an old man. Something about his eyes, his mouth…hehaschanged. Aged, even though he looks the same. “It’s New York,” he states in a low voice, the words coming hesitantly, as if he has to find them, then lay them down. “And WashingtonDC. And Chicago. And Los Angeles. And Houston. And…Miami, I think. Phoenix…”
I take a step toward him, then freeze. For a second, I’m caught in a maelstrom of emotions; I feel suddenly, incredibly furious, as if there is something to blame him for, and I’m also terrified, frozen in indecision, because I don’t want to ask him any more questions, yet of course I have to know. “What,” I ask in an oddly cold voice, “are you talking about?”
“Alex…” He pauses, takes a breath, then starts again. “There have been nuclear strikes, Alex. Several. Many, even. Overnight.”
He stares at me, his expression stricken and grim, and I stare back, refusing to let the words compute.Nuclear strikes? I have a sudden urge to laugh wildly.Are you serious, Daniel? What do you think this is, some stupid action movie about a tornado or an asteroid where we all have to escape the destruction?The world as we know it ends? Cue the action scene, the car chase, the explosions when I decide to take a bathroom break because I can’t even tell what’s happening?
I close my mouth, which has dropped open, and turn back to the TV. I’m searching for something recognizable in the blazing, flattened landscape that looks like something from Mars, a lunar landscape of nothingness but fire.
“How did they film that?” I ask almost belligerently. It is an absurd question, but I’m searching for loopholes. My mind is already racing, considering hoaxes, cyber hacking, conspiracy theories, someone has taken over a TV station…
I need this not to be true.
“I think it must be a drone or something. I don’t know.” He shakes his head slowly. “All of Manhattan has been…has beendestroyed.” He speaks almost wonderingly, if he can’t believe what he is saying. “There was a newsperson earlier before it cut off. The whole metro area—” He stops, and realization slams into me. The metro area…Westport, where we used to live. Where all our friends are. Our lives are, or at least were…
My gaze swings back to the TV, but it’s just the same aerial shot, a canvas of orange and red, impossible to make out anything but fire. Is it running on a loop? Is it even real? There’s no other footage, no voiceover, nothing.
“You said Washington,” I say slowly. “And Chicago. LA…”
“I think so. That’s what they said before it cut off. The whole infrastructure of the country must have been completely damaged, even destroyed…” He trails off, his gaze drawn inexorably to the screen, also looking for answers that are not there.Nothingis there.
I think of the generator, waking me up this morning. The annoyance I felt a few moments ago, at the fire going out, the lack of fresh coffee. I’m edging closer to an abyss, but I don’t want to look down. I can’t. I won’t.
I blink slowly, trying to frame this in a way that makes sense, that is possible. I want to sayokay, so what we’ll do is…but I can’t get there. It’s an impossible, fathomless leap.
And then it hits me, and I gasp if I’ve been punched, winded, reeling. “Sam…”
