The Aftermath

by Samuel C. Florman

  "Of course, one important question remained unanswered. Where, sixty-five million years ago, did the projectile land? Could such a huge comet or asteroid crash to Earth and create such havoc without leaving its physical footprint?

  "Sure enough, in 1991, a crater that would have been caused by such a giant impactor was discovered in the Yucatan peninsula. Now the picture was complete. Apparently, this event—the fall of a huge object from the sky, followed by the deposit of a layer of material not usually found on the earth's surface—marked the end of the so-called Cretaceous period and the beginning of the Tertiary. It came to be known as the K-T Event.

  "So why"—Dr. Warner posed the question that hung heavy in the already charged ballroom air—"why are we now amazed that this disaster has been repeated in our time?"

  She took a long drink from the glass of water that stood before her on the lectern, and flipped back the bothersome bangs. The question seemed to energize her.

  "And consider," she said, "fire is only one aspect of this scenario. Since the comet landed in the ocean, conflagration was inevitably followed by flood, more specifically, tsunamis, the largest and most dreaded of so-called tidal waves. These ocean monsters probably started with heights of more than two hundred meters and moved across the Pacific at speeds of about eight hundred kilometers per hour, maintaining crests of ten meters as far away as Australia.

  Then, as they approached land, they would probably run up to thirty or forty times the height they achieved over deep ocean. Imagine San Francisco and Los Angeles inundated by ocean waves that rose to a thousand, or even two thousand meters as they approached shore, dwarfing the tallest buildings. Of course, by the time the waves arrived, these cities were likely to have been charred ruins. But to have escaped the fire would only mean being engulfed by the flood.

  "The tsunamis then quickly flooded shores all around the Pacific basin. Yet, clearly, the deluge was not limited to that half of the globe. We ourselves had already seen a very large wave go under our ship, and we are in the Indian Ocean, separated from the Pacific by numerous landmasses. Obviously, large chunks of the comet separated from the main projectile, and some of these fragments must have landed in all the seas, propagating waves to attack every coastal community.

  "As for people on high ground, they would have had little chance to appreciate being protected from the water. Being closest to the burning skies, they would have been the first to be incinerated. And wherever there was snow and ice—think of the Himalayas and the Andes—it would have been quickly transmuted into avalanches and huge flooded rivers, wreaking more devastation.

  "Then, inevitably, there was the darkness. Although most of the vaporized material had plummeted down to the earth's surface, the very tiniest particles remained suspended in the atmosphere, along with ash from the fires, cutting off the sun's rays almost completely. We pray that this condition will not last long."

  From the audience a woman's voice was heard, tremulous but insistent: "Yet our ship stayed intact, and we're alive. How can this be?" Jane Warner was prepared for this question. She located a sheet of paper from her notes. "Of course, I can't be certain about any of this," she said, "but I've run some calculations, and this is my best guess about how we have come to be spared. As I told you before, I learned from my friends in Arizona that the point of the comet's impact was going to be 40 degrees North, 128 degrees West. The antipode to this—the point exactly opposite on the earth's surface—is 40 degrees South, 52 degrees East. But during the forty-five minutes that it took the ejecta particles to encircle the earth, the earth was rotating west to east, moving the antipode eleven degrees of longitude in the opposite direction. So when the rain of fire arrived, the antipode—the point of convergence for the inferno—had moved to 40 degrees South and 41 degrees East. This spot is in open ocean, about fifteen hundred kilometers southeast of the bottom of the African continent, pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

  "Now, you might think that the point most distant from the impact would receive the least amount of rain-down, but that isn't the case. It's true that the rain-down diminishes in severity as it goes farther from its source, but when it reaches the antipode, it meets the stuff coming from the other side, creating a circle of increased intensity, a double dose, as it were. If you painted a globe red, with the intensity of the color showing the intensity of the fiery rain-down, you would see the color getting paler and paler as the distance from the impact grows—but then a sudden increase, a doubling of the intensity, the overlap of material coming from two directions, makes a small red cap at the far side. There is, however, a zone—let's be optimistic and call it a safety zone—where the amount of the descending ejecta has greatly diminished, dwindling away, before it is suddenly augmented by oncoming material at the far pole. This zone can be pictured as a ring, an annulus—sort of a flattened doughnut—centered in the Indian Ocean at the repositioned antipode."

  Jane sensed that many in her audience had already tuned out; but she was nearing the end of her presentation, so she pushed ahead. "Now stay with me just a moment more," she urged. "When we measure the surface of a sphere, we speak in terms of degrees of arc, halfway round the world being 180 degrees. I'm speculating—just speculating, mind you—that at about 160 degrees from the point of impact, the rain of fire dissipated below the level of total destruction and remained providentially weak until being intensified again at about 170 degrees from the point of impact. This would provide a zone of reduced intensity—the flattened doughnut—about 1,100 kilometers wide, with its center at the location I've already cited, 40 degrees South and 41 degrees East. If we plot it on a map, we see that the anullus of sanctuary—the doughnut-shaped safety zone—sweeps down into the Southern Ocean toward Antarctica, doing nobody any good except for a few penguins, perhaps. But if we follow it northward, we observe that it just manages to cover the southeast coast of the African continent, along with the southern tip of Madagascar. Our ship, off the shore of South Africa, midway between Richards Bay and Durban, is comfortably within the magic zone. For this reason, perhaps—just perhaps—we have been spared." Then she concluded, quietly, "At least for the time being."

  —————

  Hours passed, then two days—three. Living in perpetual darkness, the concept of night and day became elusive. They slept, they woke, they paced up and down the corridors and into the public rooms, gathering in groups and talking, supporting each other the best they could. They returned to their cabins to nap fitfully or lie awake thinking about the unthinkable. Captain Nordstrom saw to it that meals were served on schedule, and this remnant of order helped to keep chaotic nightmares at bay.

  The darkness, of course, was not just psychologically oppressive; it was literally the greatest danger that the survivors had to fear. According to the calculations of some catastrophe scientists, which Jane Warner shared with Nordstrom and Hardy, they might be in for a long siege of "nuclear winter" that would seal their doom.

  However, after three days of gloom and ever-increasing cold, it suddenly began to rain. Torrents of water poured down, gradually washing particles from the sky. This was followed on the fourth day by brightening skies and moderating temperatures. Then rainbows appeared, surely the most resplendent display of color that any of them had ever seen. Many in the group, thinking of Noah and the Great Flood, took this as a sign from the heavens, a promise of salvation.

  The returning sun brought with it the hope of life, but also a new health hazard. Considering the fires that had raged in the skies, the survivors had to assume that the ozone layer was probably devastated. Since their supplies of sunscreen lotion were limited, hats and long sleeves became the standard dress code. They all agreed that this was a small enough price to pay for survival.

  When the New Year arrived, a week after the Event, conditions at sea were eerily normal. Still, nobody suggested that they observe the arrival of 2010, let alone celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the American Association of Engineering Societies. T
he thought of that was too bizarre even to mention. There were a few prayer meetings, but that was about the extent of any commemoration ceremony or service.

  Two days later—on the ninth day since the apparent end of the world—the captain decided to head cautiously toward shore, aiming first for Durban, which was to have been the next port of call. But when, on the following morning, the tenth day, they came within viewing distance of what should have been a large city, nothing could be seen other than piles of seeming rubble, with huge clouds of black smoke shrouding the hills behind. So the Queen of Africa headed slightly to the north, back toward Richards Bay.

  Again they waited for the morning light, but again a mass of rubble was all that could be discerned along the shore. The enormous dock facilities that the civil engineers had observed with such interest during their recent visit had been transformed into eccentrically contoured chunks of concrete. However, they could see hills rising inland, and—most welcome sight—several patches of green in the distance. There were some lingering black clouds, indicating the presence of scattered fires, but nothing as forbidding as the scene at Durban. Also, for one long stretch they could see a sand beach with fairly calm surf, a likely landing site for small boats. All in all, the prospect appeared relatively welcoming.

  Yet even as they sailed slowly at what seemed to be a safe distance offshore, there was suddenly a crunching sound, and the ship abruptly halted.

  After an anxious half hour, during which the officers conducted a survey of the vessel, the captain's voice was heard over the loudspeaker system. "Regrettably," he said, "our harbor charts have proved useless in this completely altered landscape, and it seems we have struck a piece of the concrete harbor works that was swept incredibly far from the shore. Everyone aboard is safe and sound. The vessel, however, has begun to take on water and is slowly sinking." He paused to allow the passengers and crew to absorb the impact of this news. "We have no choice but to abandon ship. I do not view this as a dangerous situation, because we are close to shore and the sea is calm. There is no need to panic or to rush. We have ample time. Of course, we want to move as briskly as possible, consistent with good order."

  And so it came to pass that the passengers and crew of the Queen of Africa, having endured fire, darkness, and the threatened end of the world, were now confronted with an experience more commonplace, perhaps, but terrifying nevertheless—the sinking of a ship at sea.

  3

  Captain Johan Nordstrom of Oslo concentrated on the minute-by-minute details of command, moving from one deck to another, directing his crew in the evacuation and salvage operation as his magnificent ship foundered within swimming distance of the African shore. Although there was no respite from the grief for his wife and children that had obsessed him every moment since he first learned of the Event, the demands of the current crisis provided a welcome distraction.

  He strode purposefully along the deck, trailed by his administrative assistant and chief security officer. The chief engineer, Nordstrom's trusted number two officer, remained at the command center on the bridge, keeping the ship's power functioning as long as possible and monitoring the videocams which showed the main points of salvage activity.

  The captain removed his cap, wiped his pale brow, replaced the cap. He felt fortunate to have been sailing on a fine new ship, equal, in the moment of crisis, to the challenge of the seas. It was also fortuitous, thinking of the complicated salvage operation, that the vessel was equipped with the latest and best materials and supplies. She was the Queen of Africa, a beauty of seventy thousand gross tons, modeled after the QE2, and conceived as the flagship of a fleet built to voyage around the continent of her name.

  Up to the end of the twentieth century, as far as the cruise ship industry was concerned, Africa was the forgotten continent. But with the coming of the new millennium, the last great underutilized route for oceangoing cruise ships came into its own. This evolved synergistically with the development of new port facilities in most of the major coastal cities. Another contributing factor was the commercial development and newly achieved prosperity of many African nations. Circumnavigation of the continent became a popular trip—although much too lengthy for the purposes of this group of busy engineers.

  Nordstrom's ship and crew had embarked on a seventeen-day voyage, starting in Mombasa, the main seacoast city of Kenya, calling at several ports along the southeast shore of the continent, and planning to end at Cape Town for a New Year's Day birthday bash for the AAES. These Americans—and most, although not all, were Americans—went to great lengths to celebrate the most insignificant achievements, the captain thought. But it put money in the company's coffers ... and they had been wonderful passengers, intelligent and well behaved. They seemed to appreciate the crew and treated them well.

  Nordstrom himself had often thanked his lucky seafaring stars that he had been blessed not only with a fine ship but also with a superb crew. My dying vessel was well manned, he thought. Although "manned" was an inaccurate usage since about 50 percent of the ship's company was female. It amazed him to think how in just the past few years women had taken on jobs from which they had long been excluded by tradition and prejudice.

  Johan Nordstrom mentally ran through the crew roster. There was the chief engineer, the crew administration assistant, the bosun and bosun's mate, the security officer and his four masters at arms (the ship's "police force"), the radio officer and his three assistants; there were the deck officers, engineering officers, deck supervisors, deckhands, and engine-room workers. On the "hotel" side of the operation—and these were predominantly female—there was the hotel manager who headed the group, along with the purser, cruise director, administration assistant, cruise sales manager, personnel manager, and public-room supervisor. These people, assisted by thirty-five hotel officers, oversaw a veritable army: baggage masters, bedroom stewards, cruise staff, laundry workers, nursery attendants, public-room stewards, receptionists, store managers, printers, and office staff. And, of course, there was the sizable restaurant operation. Responsibility for feeding this floating city was in the hands of an executive chef and five chefs de cuisine, with a staff of more than three hundred, including twenty-two wine stewards and seventeen bartenders.

  Then there were those individuals who are an essential part of any modern cruise ship, but whose worth might be less clear in a community trying to survive in primitive conditions: beauticians, hairdressers, fitness instructors, masseurs, photographers, musicians, entertainers, dancers, casino staff, and a disc jockey. Happily, the captain considered, the talents of an individual are not defined by a job description. The attributes required for practically any job aboard a cruise ship include people skills, an adventurous spirit, a good attitude, and an ability to handle stress. Nordstrom was pleased during these past several days to discover the many fine qualities demonstrated by the members of this motley and high-spirited company.

  Finally, in his mental list he recorded the ship's medical staff: just two physicians, supported by two nurses and a pharmacist, yet a crucial element of the ship's company. Since cruise passengers are assumed to be essentially healthy, doctors are there mainly for emergencies between ports, so a larger number would be superfluous. Fortunately, in the present circumstances, there were among the passengers a dozen or so physicians of various specialties, some of them quite prominent in their fields. Apparently, marriages between engineers and doctors were not at all uncommon. There were also numerous passengers with varying degrees of nursing skills, and a retired laboratory technologist, making it possible to assemble an eminently satisfactory medical establishment. This group had spontaneously organized when the crisis first struck, and had been working dawn to dusk ministering to the needs of passengers and crew. The effects of stress were manifest in several cases of nervous collapse, and a half dozen of outright hysteria. A variety of tranquillizers was dispensed, along with those time-honored remedies of the seafarer—rum and brandy.

  —————


  The surf between the foundering ship and the beach remained reasonably calm, and there were ample facilities for safe evacuation— twenty lifeboats plus fifty-six life rafts. Nevertheless, there was a good deal of confusion and unavoidable jostling as the passengers donned life jackets, gathered together as many personal belongings as could be managed, and hastened to previously assigned emergency stations. The relative composure that had prevailed on board for ten days gave way, for awhile, to barely controlled frenzy. Transfer into the lifeboats was something of a scramble, and it was particularly difficult for some of the older passengers. In the end, there were a few bumps and bruises, but no incapacitating injuries. The crew, displaying the results of effective training, moved expeditiously.

  "Sir, the first lifeboats have been launched." The bosun's mate spoke matter-of-factly to Captain Nordstrom.

  "Thank you, Frederick. Keep me informed by the minute, if you please. We are gaining water all too rapidly."

  "Sir," the younger man acknowledged, and with a crisp salute turned on his heels to return to his station.

  Throughout the afternoon and into evening, boat after boat came and went from ship to shore and back again. First the people, then medical supplies. Next foodstuffs, some of which crew members distributed to the passengers along with water rations that were stored in the lifeboats. Then came bedding, a welcome sight to those who were thinking ahead to the coming nights. As blankets were distributed, fatigue overcame anxiety, and the beach was soon covered with huddled forms, many of them turning restlessly in the fading light. The weather remained dry and mild, for which Nordstrom was grateful.