Under a Broken Sun

by Kevin P Sheridan

  “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 muscu
lar 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.

  “The plane crash,” he replied. “Broke my leg and dislocated my shoulder. I was lucky.”

  Ashley sat down on the cot next to him, I got the cot on the other side of the fire.

  Ashley took his hand. “What was it like?”

  He paused and looked down at her small hand dwarfed by his. The touch a female. It's been ten years.

  “Horrifying," he finally said. "The pilot did a tremendous job guiding the plane down, and we were fortunate to be over Iowa farmlands. But the landing was still bouncy, and the plane split in half. The noise was terrible. Screams, the engines whining.” He stared into the flame. “Our part flipped – you’d be surprised how many people weren’t buckled in. Someone landed on my shoulder, then we rolled and they flew away. It was like some horrifying cartoon – bodies going in directions that defied gravity. Being twisted in ways that didn’t look human.” He shuddered and quieted down.

  We told him of our adventures, and he nodded at the part when the earthquake hit. “You can tell what that did here,” he said. “We still walk by piles of rubble and hear someone call out for help, though not as much anymore.”

  He shuffled the bag behind him. He handed out cookies to us, and gave us a bottle of water each. “No water shortage?” I asked.

  He took a bite out of a cookie and shook his head. “We’re next to a river. My first task was to set up a water filtration system.” He pointed to the wall behind us. There were garbage cans and hoses and at the end of it all a nozzle. “I can pump through thirty gallons of pure water an hour from this,” he said proudly. “It uses a three-part filtration process, beginning with –“

  I held up my hand. “Ok, Dad. I get it.”

  He looked a little annoyed, then chuckled. “You never did want to learn. Always a doer.”

  I took a bite of the stale, cardboard tasting cookie. “I’m just really tired. Ok? I crossed the country to get here, and it took a bit out of me.” I flopped down on the cot, my back to him. I could feel the adrenaline build up. Just like old times.

  I heard him shuffle around, and felt a hotter flame on my back. I turned over and the torch had become a small fire. Dad lowered a large, lightweight pipe, probably eight inches wide, down over it. Then he went to the far wall and slid a cover to the left, revealing an opening outside, I assumed. The smoke from the fire began to drift up the pipe. He saw me watching him. “Keeps the smoke from hanging out around us. Go to sleep.”

  I rolled over. Ashley asked “Will this be a big war? Is it going on everywhere?”

  He stoked the fire. “Probably. This is the time of great reckoning,” he said. “When humanity decides if we are truly subjected to the whims of a God, or are capable of standing together on our own.”

  She went on. “They’re saying we caused this. Science, technology, out of control.” I turned over to catch his reaction to this. He wasn’t
pleased.

  “There are a great many lies that these people have put out there, hoping the weak minded and scared believe it. But we didn’t cause this. We have the truth, the facts, the logic. They have faith.”

  I smiled. “They’d say the same thing about you.”

  “These people are delusional. They pray to a supreme, man-made being for an intervention that will only come by happenstance or randomness. If it happens, God’s answered their prayers. If it doesn’t then it’s all part of God’s plan. How can you argue with that? That’s logic? Nonsense.”

  I thought of Tolbert. I thought of his dangling body, swaying from the drop. “Not everyone who prays is your enemy,” I said. I knew what he meant. The relationship with God is meant to be personal. One on one. Whatever shape God takes.

  “They should be shot,” Dad huffed.

  I rolled back over. “Now you really are starting to sound like them,” I said. And he was. These two sides were going to clash in a nasty battle. I just wanted to sit it out and watch from the sidelines.

  He looked up at me. “Yes, well, they’re also saying they have a virgin mother and a holy child who is the second coming.”

  Virgin mother? I shot up. “Holy shit. Marilyn.” I looked at Ashley. She realized it the same time I did.

  “Who’s Marilyn?” Dad asked. “Thought your friend’s name was Ashley.”

  “Marilyn’s the virgin mother. I mean, she’s not really a virgin. Or she might be, I don’t know. We found an abandoned baby in a tunnel in Pennsylvania. She took it as her own. Even stayed behind us to care for it." That explained a lot. Why Marilyn stood reverently on the platform. Her uncomfortable look. They were using her. I wanted then, more than anything, to leave. To go find her, and bring her back. She wasn’t any savior. She was a cutter. Like me.

  I stood up. “I’ve got to go. If I can get to Marilyn before the fighting starts-“

  “How do you know she wants to be gotten?” Dad asked.

  I sat back down. I never really thought about it. Did she look miserable on the platform? Or was she just sad that they had to do their job? Would she want to leave? She’d be in a high place of authority, she might really enjoy that. I looked across the fire to Ashley, whose eyes reflected the orange glow of the fire more than usual. There were tears in them. She knew why I wanted to go to Marilyn. And I told her I wouldn't leave her.