"I'm sure you'll be all right," Sister Rita said. "And Julie must have a strong immunity if she was with you all that time and never got sick. How can we do this, Father?"
"Do what?" Alex demanded. "I won't let Julie go to an evacuation center. Can't you just take her in here?"
"Who said anything about an evacuation center?" Father Mulrooney asked. "Do you think a bus is stopping here tomorrow at one to take Sister Rita to an evacuation center?"
"Father Mulrooney, please," Sister Rita said. "Alex, the church has evacuated almost all of the religious. A handful, including Father Mulrooney, are choosing to stay on, to minister to the needs of those who can't leave. But at his insistence, I'll be going tomorrow on a bus to the campus of Saint Ursula College, in Georgia. The church is using it as a kind of holding station for its religious, until it knows where to send us to do its work."
"But Julie and I haven't taken any vows," Alex said. "How can we go there?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Sister Rita said.
Father Mulrooney looked thoughtful. "Christ is merciful," he said. "I'm sure He won't mind if we simply claim Mr. Morales is a seminarian. Who knows, one day he might be. We'll give him Mr. Kim's identification papers. That should suffice to get him to St. Ursula's, and once there, I'm sure he'll be allowed to stay until he can find a more suitable location."
"My aunt and uncle moved to Tulsa," Alex said.
"Excellent," Father Mulrooney said. "Surely, Sister Rita, your order could stand a young postulant?"
"A very young postulant," Sister Rita said with a laugh. "And I doubt Julie will ever take holy vows. But I do still have Sister Joanne's papers and clothing. As long as I'm with her to vouch for her, I don't think anyone will question Julie too carefully."
"You would do this?" Alex asked. "You'll be breaking the rules."
"Sometimes the rules don't work," Father Mulrooney replied. "Now you and your sister must return tomorrow morning, first thing. Do you still have food in your home?"
"A little," Alex said.
"Excellent," Father Mulrooney said. "If need be, we can bribe the driver with a can or two. Save some for yourselves, though, since the drive will be long and no food will be supplied. Take only the most essential items. Everyone is allowed one bag, and we'll give you each one, so you'll look less like students."
"Julie can sit next to me for the whole ride," Sister Rita said. "We'll be on the same bus together, but it will cause less suspicion if you don't sit together."
Alex nodded. "I can't thank you enough," he said.
"Your future is our thanks," Father Mulrooney replied. "Now go home and tell your sister what needs to be done. Be here first thing in the morning. Chapel is, of course, mandatory."
Thursday, December 29
"Hurry up," Alex said to Julie. "We don't have all day."
"I'm hurrying," Julie grumbled. "You sure you have every thing?"
Alex went through the plastic bag one more time. Two changes of underwear, rigorously scrubbed the day before and still a little damp. All remaining cans of food and a can opener, two forks. Whatever information he could find about Carlos's regiment. The photograph Uncle Jimmy had taken of all of them, the papers from Mr. Flynn, and all their birth and baptismal certificates, which he planned on putting in a pocket once he changed at Vincent de Paul. Bri's note he carried in his shirt pocket.
"Oh," he said. "My St. Christopher medal." Mami had given it to him before his first summer with the Fresh Air Fund family. He raced around the living room trying to find it.
"I have it," Julie said, coming out of her bedroom. "Bri put it on you when you were sick, but it kept falling off, so I took it and put it away. Here."
"Thanks," he said. "You have everything?"
Julie nodded. "I'm taking the lipstick Kevin gave me," she said. "I don't care if postulants don't wear lipstick. I want it."
Kevin would like that, Alex thought. "Do you have something of Bri's?" he asked. "Something to remember her by?"
"I have Bri," Julie said. "In my heart. I don't need anything else." She paused. "Except you," she said. "I need you."
Alex nodded. "I need you, too," he said. "Come on. It's time for us to go."
* * *
LIFE AS WE KNEW IT
BY SUSAN BETH PFEFFER
When Miranda first hears the warnings that an asteroid is headed on a collision path with the moon, they just sound like an excuse for extra homework assignments. But her disbelief turns to fear in a split second as the entire world witnesses a lunar impact that knocks the moon closer in orbit, catastrophically altering the earth's climate.
Everything else in Miranda's life fades away as supermarkets run out of food, gas goes up to more than ten dollars a gallon, and school is closed indefinitely.
But what Miranda and her family don't realize is that the worst is yet to come.
Told in Miranda's diary entries, Life As We Knew It is a heart-pounding account of her struggle to hold on to the most important resource of all—hope—in an increasingly desperate and unfamiliar time.
May 18
Sometimes when Mom is getting ready to write a book she says she doesn't know where to start, that the ending is so clear to her that the beginning doesn't seem important anymore. I feel that way now only I don't know what the ending is, not even what the ending is tonight. We've been trying to get Dad on his land line and cell phone for hours and all we get are the kind of rapid-paced busy signals that mean the circuits are tied up. I don't know how much longer Mom'll keep trying or whether we'll talk to him before I fall asleep. If I fall asleep.
This morning seems like a million years ago. I remember seeing the moon in the sunrise sky. It was a half moon, but it was clearly visible and I looked at it and thought about how tonight the meteor was going to hit it and how exciting that would be.
But it wasn't like we talked about it on the bus going to school. Sammi was complaining about the dress code for the prom, nothing strapless, nothing too short, and how she wanted a dress she could wear when she went clubbing. Megan got on the bus with some of her church friends and they sat together. Maybe they talked about the meteor, but I think they just prayed. They do that on the bus sometimes or read Bible verses.
The whole school day was just normal.
I remember being bored in French class.
I stayed for swim practice after school, and then Mom picked me up. She said she'd invited Mrs. Nesbitt to watch the meteor along with us but Mrs. Nesbitt had said she'd be more comfortable watching at home. So it was just going to be Jonny and Mom and me for the big event. That's what she called it: the big event.
She also told me to finish my homework early so we could make a party of it after supper. So that's what I did. I finished two of my moon assignments and did my math homework and then we ate supper and watched CNN until around 8:30.
All CNN talked about was the moon. They had a bunch of astronomers on and you could see how excited they were.
"Maybe after I'm through playing second for the Yankees, I'll be an astronomer," Jonny said.
I'd been thinking the exact same thing (well, not about playing second for the Yankees). The astronomers looked like they loved what they were doing. You could see how excited they were that this asteroid was going to make a direct hit on the moon. They had charts and computer projections and graphics, but basically they looked like big kids at Christmas.
Mom had gotten out Matt's telescope and she'd found the really good pair of binoculars that had somehow hidden themselves last summer. She'd even baked chocolate chip cookies for the event, so we carried a plate out and napkins. We decided to watch from the road, since we figured we'd have a better view from up front. Mom and I brought out lawn chairs, but Jonny decided to use the telescope. We didn't know exactly how long the hit was going to take or if there'd be something exciting to see afterward.
It seemed like everyone on the road was out tonight. Some of the people were on their decks having late bar
becues, but most everyone else was in front of their houses, like we were. The only one I didn't see was Mr. Hopkins, but I could tell from the glow in his living room that he was watching on TV.
It was like a big block party. The houses are so widespread on our road, you couldn't really hear anything, just a general happy buzz.
When it got closer to 9:30, things got really quiet. You could sense how we were all craning our necks, looking toward the sky. Jonny was at the telescope, and he was the first one who shouted that the asteroid was coming. He could see it in the night sky, and then we all could, the biggest shooting star you could imagine. It was a lot smaller than the moon, but bigger than anything else I'd ever seen in the sky. It looked like it was blazing and we all cheered when we saw it.
For a moment I thought about all the people throughout history who saw Halley's Comet and didn't know what it was, just that it was there and frightening and awe inspiring. For the briefest flick of a second, I could have been a 16-year-old in the Middle Ages looking up at the sky, marveling at its mysteries, or an Aztec or an Apache. For that tiny instant, I was every 16-year-old in history, not knowing what the skies foretold about my future.
And then it hit. Even though we knew it was going to, we were still shocked when the asteroid actually made contact with the moon. With our moon. At that second, I think we all realized that it was Our Moon and if it was attacked, then we were attacked.
Or maybe nobody thought that. I know most of the people on the road cheered, but then we all stopped cheering and a woman a few houses down screamed and then a man screamed, "Oh my God!" and people were yelling "What? What?" like one of us knew the answer.
I know all those astronomers I'd watched an hour earlier on CNN can explain just what happened and how and why and they'll be explaining on CNN tonight and tomorrow and I guess until the next big story happens. I know I can't explain, because I don't really know what happened and I sure don't know why.
But the moon wasn't a half moon anymore. It was tilted and wrong and a three-quarter moon and it got larger, way larger, large like a moon rising on the horizon, only it wasn't rising. It was smack in the middle of the sky, way too big, way too visible. You could see details on the craters even without the binoculars that before I'd seen with Matt's telescope.
It wasn't like a big chunk of it flew off into space. It wasn't like we could hear the sound of the impact, or even that the asteroid hit the moon dead center. It was like if you're playing marbles and one marble hits another on its side and pushes it diagonally.
It was still our moon and it was still just a big dead rock in the sky, but it wasn't benign anymore. It was terrifying, and you could feel the panic swell all around us. Some people raced to their cars and started speeding away. Others began praying or weeping. One household began singing "The Star Spangled Banner."
"I'm going to call Matt," Mom said, like that was the most natural thing in the world to do. "Come on in, kids. We'll see what CNN has to say about all this."
"Mom, is the world coming to an end?" Jonny asked, picking up the plate of cookies and ramming one into his mouth.
"No, it isn't," Mom said, folding her lawn chair and carrying it to the front of the house. "And yes, you do have to go to school tomorrow."
We laughed at that. I'd been wondering the same thing.
Jonny put the cookies away and I turned the TV back on. Only there was no CNN.
"Maybe I'm wrong," Mom said. "Maybe the world really is coming to an end."
"Should I try Fox News?" I asked.
Mom shuddered. "We're not that desperate," she said. "Try one of the networks. They'll have their own set of astronomers."
Most of the networks were off, but our local channel seemed to be carrying NBC out of Philly. Even that was weird, because we get New York City feeds.
Mom kept trying to get Matt's cell phone, but without any luck. The Philly news broadcasters didn't seem to know much more than we did, although they were reporting some looting and general panic in the streets.
"Go check how things are outside," Mom told me, so I went back out. I could see the glow from Mrs. Nesbitt's TV set. There was still some praying going on in someone's backyard, but at least the screaming had stopped.
I forced myself to look at the moon. I think I was afraid I'd see it had grown even bigger, that it really was lumbering its way to earth to crush us all to death, but it didn't seem to have gotten any larger. It was still off, though, still tilted in a funny way, and still too large for the night sky. And it was still three quarters.
"My cell phone is out!" someone screamed a few doors down, and she sounded the way we'd felt when we saw CNN was gone. Civilization had ended.
"Check your cell phone," I told Mom when I came back in, so she did, and hers wasn't working, either.
"I guess cell phones are out in this part of the country," she said.
"I'm sure Matt's okay," I said. "Why don't I check e-mails? Maybe he sent us one from his laptop."
So I went online, or rather I tried to go online, because our Internet connection was dead.
"He's fine," Mom said when I told her. "There's no reason to think he isn't fine. The moon is right where it belongs. Matt'll call us when he has the chance."
And that was the one thing Mom said all evening that turned out to be true. Because about ten minutes later, the phone rang, and it was Matt.
"I can't talk long," he said. "I'm at a pay phone and there's a line of people waiting for me to finish. I just wanted to check in and let you know I'm okay."
"Where are you?" Mom asked.
"In town," he said. "When we realized our cells weren't working, some of us drove to town just so we could phone in. I'll talk to you tomorrow when things aren't so crazy."
"Be careful," Mom said and Matt promised he would be.
I guess it was around then Jonny asked if we could call Dad, and Mom started trying to reach him. But the phone lines were crazy all over. I asked her to call Grandma in Las Vegas, but we couldn't get through to her, either.
We sat down in front of the TV to see what was happening to the rest of the world. The funniest thing was that Mom and I both jumped up at the exact same moment to get the chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen. I beat her to it, and brought the plate in. We all started devouring them. Mom would eat a cookie, sit still for a few moments, then get up and try Dad or Grandma. Jonny, who's really good about limiting the number of sweets he eats, just kept ramming cookies into his mouth. I would have eaten an entire box of chocolates if there'd been any in the house.
The TV connection went in and out, but we never got cable back. Finally Jonny thought to bring out a radio, and we turned that on. We couldn't get any of the New York stations, but Philly was coming in strong.
At first they didn't seem to know much more than we did. The moon got hit, like we'd been told it would. Only something had been miscalculated.
But before some astronomer could come on and explain to the rest of us just what had gone wrong, there was a bulletin. First we heard it on the radio, and then we got enough TV reception to see it as well, so we turned the radio off.
Whoever was broadcasting the news must have heard it over his little earphone, because he actually turned pale and then said, "Are you sure? Has that been confirmed?" He paused for a moment to listen to the reply, and then he kind of turned to face the camera.
Mom grasped my hand and Jonny's. "It'll be all right," she said. "Whatever it is, we'll get through this."
The newsman cleared his throat, like taking an extra few seconds was going to change what he had to say. "We are receiving reports of widespread tsunamis," he said. "The tides. As most of you know, the moon controls the tides. And the moon, well, whatever happened this evening at nine thirty-seven PM—and we don't know just what really did happen, but whatever it was—the tides were affected. Yes, yes, I got that. The tides seem to have swelled far beyond their normal boundaries. The reports coming in are from people in airplanes who happe
ned to be flying overhead at the time. Massive flooding has been reported all over the eastern seaboard. There has been some confirmation of this, but these reports are all preliminary. Sometimes you hear the worst and it doesn't prove that way at all. Wait a second."
I quickly thought about who I knew on the eastern seaboard. Matt's in Ithaca and Dad's in Springfield. Neither one was anywhere near the ocean.
"New York City," Mom said. "Boston." She has publishers in both cities and goes there on business.
"I'm sure everybody's fine," I said. "You'll go online tomorrow and send everybody e-mails and make sure they're okay."
"All right, we are getting some confirmation," the newsman said. "There are confirmed reports of tidal waves twenty feet or higher in New York City. All power there has been lost, so these are very sketchy reports. The tides don't seem to be stopping. AP is reporting that the Statue of Liberty has been washed out to sea."
Mom started crying. Jonny was just staring at the TV like it was broadcasting in a foreign language.
I got up and tried Dad again. Then I tried Grandma. But all I got was the busy-circuit signal.
"We're getting an unconfirmed report that all of Cape Cod has been flooded," the newsman said. "Again, this is unconfirmed. But the AP is reporting that Cape Cod,"—and he paused for a moment and swallowed—"that Cape Cod has been completely submerged. The same seems to be true of the barrier islands off the Carolina coast. Just gone." He stopped again to listen to whatever was being said through his earpiece. "All right. There is confirmation of massive damage to Miami. Many deaths, many casualties."
"We don't know what he's saying is true," Mom said. "Things get exaggerated. Tomorrow morning we may find out all this didn't really happen. Or if it did, it wasn't nearly as bad as they thought it was. Maybe we should just turn the TV off now and wait until tomorrow to see what really happened. We may be scaring ourselves for no reason whatsoever."
Only she didn't turn the TV off.
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