Regolith

by Brent Reilly

  This would prove crucial because it was the sulfuric clouds and the smoke, not the dust, that caused the nuclear winter that exterminated 65% of all species 65 million years ago. And a planet-wide rainstorm quickly extinguished most fires before their smoke blocked off all sunlight. A fraction of the poisonous ash, soot, and gases from volcanoes meant less sunlight got through, and only a fraction of the acid rain fell.

  Still, with a few billion people dead, and another billion soon to die, the end was just beginning.

  39

  “Full speed ahead!” Captain Wili, wearing a ridiculous pirate’s hat, yelled into the ear of the helmsman who visibly winced. “Between the two aircraft carriers. Make sure you hit the swell dead on or we’re dead.” Wili put the fingertips of one hand against the palm of the other like the letter “T” to signify a perpendicular course. The navigator at first thought he was calling a time out before realizing that one hand was the wave and the other the ship.

  Wili took little comfort that his ship was only three in the world of its size designed to practically fly over the ocean rather than cut through it. His ship, the Lina, was half a kilometer in front of their sister ship, the Lorena. At full speed, minimal ballast, and lightly loaded, it skimmed over the surface water rather than bogart its way through. Until Jackson, nobody ever designed a surface-effects ship this large for commercial trade.

  “More to port,” the captain insisted after studying the scariest radar return of his life. He grabbed the wall mike. “Attention all hands. This is the captain. We are about to drive up a hill of water a couple hundred meters high. Not a wall of water, and not a cresting wave, but a giant swell like a big speed bump, and we are going to 4x4 our way up and over it. All hands to their stations,” which better be redundant given the circumstances.

  The Southern Ocean is freezing, so they all wore wet suits over thermal underwear. Wili also wore his good luck hat, which he knew must look funny, which is why he didn’t put it on until the vet left on the heloplane. He looked like an otter, right down to his bushy mustache. Still, better safe than dead. He even made sure everyone had a water bottle and several protein bars in zip lock bags. As his boss frequently put it, the best way to survive is to prepare for the worst.

  The Fidel Fragment actually hit several hours ago. Even moving faster than a passenger jet, the tsunami still took a while to travel from the Caribbean to the Southern Ocean where they sat on top of six kilometers of water. Like an iceberg, most of the tsunami would stay underwater. They had already survived dozens of smaller waves from other rocks that hit closer, which gave them a good idea of what to expect.

  Unfortunately, those waves toppled dozens of ships.

  Some expert on the news even claimed they were relatively lucky the Fidel Fragment didn’t hit deeper water because then there would have been that much more water flying at them. The Caribbean is relatively shallow, so Fidel displaced relatively little water, and much of that water was immediately corralled by North, Central, and South American coastlines. A strike in the middle of the Atlantic would have sent a wall of water several times taller across coastlines around the world. It would have washed away the American eastern seaboard all the way to the mountains. 250 years earlier, it would have basically wiped out the thirteen colonies. As it was, a series of mega-tsunamis wiped coastlines around the world clean, including Wall Street on Manhattan Island, the White House, and America’s capital.

  Wili figured that various waves colliding in mid-ocean probably made his job easier by sapping each other of strength. By the time the Big One reached him, it had to overcome dozens of smaller tsunamis flowing against it. Smashing against so many islands and coastlines helped. Yet it was still pretty fucking big.

  “Hijo de puta,” he whispered when it came into view.

  Like dozens of other ships that survived, Wili traveled in circles to have some speed when it arrived. He not only had the smallest surviving ship, but also the fastest. Plus, he didn’t have to worry about his fuel supply since he could split seawater into hydrogen gas. Quite literally, he sat on an ocean of fuel.

  All non-essential crewmembers flew on the heloplane, which had enough fuel to reach New Zealand if they capsized, in which case it would drop them inflatable rafts with motors. That foxy veterinarian was filming them, in any case.

  The two of them spent hours searching for that fucking baby raptor. He was shocked as she explained the danger so matter-of-factly. They put on a Kevlar vest, a helmet, and then more Kevlar around their legs because the little ones will sink all four claws into them, then quickly go for the throat or eyes once the person falls to the ground. Her tone of voice didn’t even change as she described previous “episodes” where the little vicious fuckers attacked full grown people like ninjas.

  Wili felt comfortable with weapons, but it quickly became obvious that she knew a lot more than he did. He offered, but she insisted on taking the lead. Being smaller, she fit into tighter spaces. Being apparently fearless, she ventured into much darker spaces as well. He never knew a woman with such balls. Scared shitless, he nevertheless followed her, egged on by her great booty. He wished she had granny panties instead of a tiny thong because it distracted him like hell.

  They never did find the damn thing. Wili nearly blew away his first mate with a 12-guage when he surprised him. God knows where that dinosaur hid.

  Searching in small spaces in this freezing cold made them both sweat, so Wili invited her to shower in his cabin while he made them some fresh coffee. He turned up the temperature, and sure enough, she was lightly dressed after her shower. Just shorts and a t-shirt as she fixed her fair. Thinking they may not survive, she finally talked to him without open contempt or outright hostility, which was refreshing. All while he got to check out her little booty and small titties. Again, she wasn’t any better looking than most of the whores who often accompanied him, and certainly had smaller breasts, but she had something extra. Something fucking sexy.

  Wili usually wasn’t attracted to women so obviously smarter, especially highly educated professionals, but she was an exception to many rules. As they shared his sofa, knees lightly touching, her eyes came alive as she told him about her amazing “kids” and how they were going to revolutionize paleontology and genetics. He had never seen her so animated. She liked to gesture as she described them, often touching his arm to emphasize something, barely touching her kick-ass Colombian coffee. Then she showed him her scars, pulling up her shirt to show how a raptor tried to disembowel her, and pulling up her shorts so he could see how one dug all four claws into her.

  It was all he could do to hide his raging boner. This little PhD girl spent hours searching for a deadly monster, even after suffering traumatic attacks in the past. Thank God she and his non-essential crew had to board the heloplane to search for the super-tsunami. No sooner was she in the air than he masturbated in his shower because a man can’t think clearly with his balls full.

  40

  The professor was the first to recover. Jackson had no idea how long he had been knocked out. Head pounding and ears ringing, Jackson could still hear his dad frantically calling Lisa’s name in the darkness. Not calling to check on his firstborn son, but his granddaughter. Not that Jackson was surprised by his father’s priorities. Everyone preferred Lisa to him.

  Even with earplugs, he could hear a battle raging above. He could even tell the difference between smaller explosions close by and larger ones far away. The shelter shook differently. It sounded like King Kong and Godzilla duking it out to the death. The main body already hit, so this barrage must be pieces that broke off upon the main body’s entry.

  It seemed to take him forever to get his head on straight. Claustrophobic, Jackson tore off his helmet and, breathing heavily, tried to orient himself. Through squinted eyes he saw his wife’s flashlight. The mattresses on top of him suddenly weighed him down like slabs of concrete. He burrowed towards his wife and carefully took off her helmet. Jackson tried calling her name, but
found his mouth and throat inexplicably scratchy. Why the hell didn’t he pocket some gum? She looked asleep. Impatiently he shook her awake, willing her to live.

  Chava came over with his ever-present light and camera. At least, Jackson assumed it was Chava. With the motorcycle helmet still on, it could have been a bald alien.

  Lorena opened her eyes with a yelp, totally disoriented. The first thing she saw was the bald faceless alien blinding her with a bright lamp. Jackson moved his head into her line of sight so they could at least make eye contact. She tried to sit up, but didn’t have the room. Jackson could see the panic building inside her. He quickly pulled her towards the wall so they could stand up like normal people. He sensed others moving under the mattresses and someone, a voice he didn’t recognize, screamed in terror.

  Once his feet planted themselves on the floor, he wrapped his wife in his strong arms and whispered that everything was okay. Lorena hugged him back and he heard her call his name. Then he saw Lisa’s foot stick out between the mattresses and squeezed his way forward. He lifted the mattresses to see his father holding terrified Lisa and patting her hair like a dog. Chava then got there and killed any sense of privacy. With his helmet on but the face plate up, the professor gave his son a relieved thumbs up, then pointed his finger so Lisa would turn her head. It seemed to take a lot of effort, but she slowly adjusted her position to reach out to her parents who dove at her in a fierce group embrace.

  Jackson felt water on his arm. At first he thought someone was peeing on him, but after frantically jerking his head around, he discovered it was only his own tears. Someone kissed his forehead and he was shocked to see it was his own father, who was kissing the top of Lisa and Lorena’s head. To his knowledge, his father hadn’t kissed him since he was a baby. Jackson was shocked to see the professor fight back his own tears. He had not even cried over the death of his wife of fifty years, as far as Jackson knew. The girls, in contrast, were going to flood them.

  Even through his earplugs he could hear someone yelling for help. Disentangling himself from his family hug, he crawled through the mattresses, Chava trailing him, passing the white cameraman who apparently wet himself. Jackson’s ears were plugged, his eyes still glazed over, but his nose worked just fine as the stench of urine gave him yet another reason to feel sick.

  He felt for a pulse and found none. He lifted the guy’s visor up and saw a look of sheer terror. Jackson looked up at Chava’s camera and sadly shook his head in sorrow. He couldn’t even remember the chubby guy’s name.

  Jackson continued toward the screaming, fighting his claustrophobia as he crawled between the mattresses.

  He found Larry filming the Kitt Peak director hunching over his wife, who was screaming bloody murder. None of them wore their helmets. Between her legs was a mess of what must have been their baby. Ah, hell, he didn’t want to see that. He was going to have enough nightmares as it was.

  Another light investigated the mess, which Jackson assumed was Chava. Horror filled Jackson’s face as he carefully crept closer to see if there was anything he could do. Both cameras turned into him. That woman needs a hospital, was his first thought. And she ain’t gonna get one, was his second. He and Dennis shared eye contract and Jackson felt for the man. They both knew she should not have been here, or previously on Kitt Peak, especially since she had free transportation and shelter up north. Her stubbornness just cost them their baby.

  Although he barely knew the man, Jackson hugged him for way longer than he wanted to. Only when he sensed Kowalski mentally pull himself together, did he break off. He motioned for the cameramen to leave them alone. Kowalski was clearly devastated and in no mood to grieve on camera.

  Little Chava scrambled away into the mattresses while Jackson escaped to the side where he could stand upright and not feel like a sardine in a can. He breathed deep a few times in the absolute darkness to relax himself as he side-stepped over to his family. He couldn’t shake the smell of urine, the sight of a bloody embryo, or that woman’s screaming which still echoed in his ears. Jackson needed to see his family again, just to be sure. This whole experience was just too much. Even for him.

  Lisa was missing, as was his wife, so he crawled back between the mattresses to look for them. Like a near-death experience, he moved to the light. Which turned out to be Chava’s, who had a kick ass lamp on his camera. His father was putting Lorena’s helmet back on, over her neck support, while Lisa took a swig from a water bottle through her visor. Boy did that water look good. Better than that $10,000 bottle of wine Lisa downed a little earlier. In the back of his mind he noticed she had not yet peed herself, despite drinking so much. There goes $20. Because she would collect.

  Lisa offered him her bottle and, smiling through a pained expression, quipped, “Worst hangover ever!”

  God he loved his little girl!

  Then thunder struck from above, shaking the shed like a matchbox. Through the mattresses Jackson felt his head slam against the ceiling. Someone’s flashlight spliced open his left cheek and smacked his left eye, which immediately got puffy and teary. He was now as ugly as his mood.

  The gamma-rays! No bullshit, Jackson thought he peed himself, until he saw Lisa’s empty water bottle. His father motioned with his hands for everyone to get flat under the mattresses. Jackson, throat parched, stared at the water on his clothes for a second too long before his father literally kicked him in the butt. Fear only dried his throat that much more.

  Jackson dived deep into his claustrophobia until he found his helmet. His brand new helmet, with its new car smell, saved him from vomiting, but drops from his cheek wound started bloodying his visor.

  Then fucking nothing. Either the silence was deafening, or wearing ear plugs under the best motorcycle helmet money can buy really can cut off all sound. The world was suppose to end in either a bang or a whimper, not in a people sandwich. Damn he needed gum or some hard candy to un-sandpaper his throat. All Jackson could hear was a persistent ringing like someone surgically inserted a phone in his head that he couldn’t answer. All he could see were helmets and gloved hands. All he could smell was piss, vomit, and blood. And all he could feel was fear and anxiety.

  Chava’s camera propped up the mattress between them so that he could film the Jacksons. Jackson didn’t see the point, given you couldn’t even see anyone’s facial expression. Laying there motionless like that, they looked like dummies in a dumpster. And felt even dumber.

  With a camera on her, Lisa felt compelled to perform, so her gloved hand signaled rock, paper, scissors. Jackson gamed up, naturally going to rock. Lisa, anticipating his obviousness, beat him with paper. That bitch kept getting the best of him.

  Then it came, smashing them like a hammer. Whereas the first detonation just violently shook the shed, this threw it around within the confines of the hole in every direction. Thank God they accidentally made the hole too big and he decided to ring it with used tires to function like shock absorbers.

  Jackson expected to spend Judgment Day inside one of his sheds with his family. He just assumed it would be in Fairbanks, where he set up his headquarters. They planned to leave on Saturday, but noooooo, Cooper finally agreed to meet him on Sunday at sunrise. Was that really just this morning?

  The next explosion was going to hurt. Even waiting for it was a real bitch. Which made him think of Sarah Palin. Knowing the White House was not safe from mega-tsunamis, she took her family with her to Belgium to convince the Europeans to join America in stopping the evil communist Chinese invasion of Taiwan. Belgium was probably far enough north to avoid big meteorites and falling regolith, so Jackson Twittered his approval because America needed a president during a crisis. Not that she, in particular, was any good, but even she was better than nothing. She deliberately scheduled this Belgium meeting for Judgment Day because, after months of downplaying the danger, she couldn’t just stay home and drown. She may be a hypocrite, but not a fool. And Jackson knew she only recently woke up to the danger because her family
were not originally suppose to go with her.

  He checked his glow-in-the-dark watch and saw that it was just twenty-three hours ago that his cameras caught that prick Cooper finger-fucking his future daughter-in-law in his driveway. That sure took a lot of balls for a presidential candidate. Lisa knew he had access to the cameras. That was why she tried to distract him, in case he had a window open on his computer screen that showed Cooper driving up. Which, looking back, he should have had. But no, he had to fast forward the muted video of his main camera while talking Cooper to death after they switched positions around the card table. It took all of his self-control to hide this discovery because there was nothing he would have enjoyed more than using the video to smack that arrogant grin off Cooper’s face. He even over-compensated by offering Cooper a billion dollars.

  He inched forward and reached for his wife’s hand, who squeezed back to let him know she was okay. Chava the faceless alien, obsessed with his own reality show, crept closer with his camera. The whole situation seemed so ridiculous that a part of Jackson wanted to laugh. However, his mouth hurt too much to do more than grimace in pain. Just then he discovered that his low back was killing him. Every time he tensed up too much, his back betrayed him. The shrapnel in his left shoulder also bothered him more than usual. He began progressive relaxation exercises to let go of the tension. Maybe focusing on his breathing would distract him from the awful smells nauseating him. It would really suck to vomit in his helmet while being filmed.