by Darst, Matt
“It’s like a beautiful cosmic dance,” Anne gushes. Some dances, it seems, are longer than others. If the orbital path takes less than two hundred years, the comet is classified as a short-period comet. More than 200 years, the comet is deemed to be long-term.
Away from the sun, a comet is generally just ice and rock (solidified carbon, organic material, nitrogen, oxygen, and water) several miles wide. The ice and rock forms a nucleus. As the comet approaches the sun, the surface ice starts to melt. Gases and dust are expelled, creating a large, glowing aura. This, the head or coma, can grow thousands of miles, surpassing the width of most of the solar system’s planets. Solar winds rake the comet, dislodging gas and dust and forming two distinct tails. The longer of the two, the blue gas tail, can reach several million miles in length.
The material that is blown from the comet follows in its parent’s orbit. The orbits of planets intersect with the comet’s path. The rocks and dust, now called meteors, slam into the atmosphere, creating brilliant displays, meteor showers. The heat destroys most before they can reach the Earth’s surface.
Those meteorites that survive are interstellar shuttles, carrying a whole suite of organic materials, amino acids, and even living cells safely to the Earth. Large meteors usually explode before impact, 600 to 15,000 miles above the surface, their precious cargo protected within the debris, within a cosmic rain.
Isaac Newton theorized comets played a role in creating life. Earth’s early oceans were full of organic molecules carried by comets and primitive meteorites. These organisms would eventually evolve into multi-cellular creatures.
Wright considers this. The ability to give life, and then to take it away in increments, first the dinosaurs, now us.
“Anne,” Wright asks, “do you want to tell us how you know all this?”
“My mom was an astrologist, before,” she replies innocently. “She taught me a lot.”
The admission strikes Wright. Anne is fearless. Astrology borders on heresy for two reasons: it is predictive and only God has that power, and it borders on hard science, on astronomy. Yet here this young woman sits, a testimony to the fact that the tighter the church clenches the more freedoms slip through its iron grip.
All of them are testimonials to this freedom in their own ways, really: Dr. Heston’s stubborn reluctance to let go of science; Burt’s escape into his banned comics; Van’s bad-boy image and his love of illicit books and movies; and Ian’s freedom of thought, his hunger for knowledge. She asks herself, just how much freedom has the church seized? Just how much freedom can they ever really seize?
“What’s this other paper?” Burt asks, pointing to Wright’s timeline.
“Just working on a theory,” Wright says. “Technically, your theory.”
Wright modifies her timeline. She crosses through drought, plague, and war, replacing each word with “Comet.” She has more questions for Anne. “What is it called when a comet approaches the sun?”
It’s called the perihelion.
“Do you know of any specific perihelions?”
Some. Which ones does Wright want?
“Any,” Wright replies. “All.”
Wright compiles a less-than-complete list. She writes “DNK” when Anne does not know the specific period.
Comet: Borrelly
Orbital P: couple years (short)
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Brorsen-Metcalf
Orbital P: 70 years
Known approach to the sun: 1989 or 1990
Comet: D’Arrest
Orbital P: less than 10 years
Known approach to the sun: 2008
Comet: Encke
Orbital P: 3.3 years
Known approach to the sun: 2007
Comet: Giacoboni-Zinner
Orbital P: DNK
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Hale-Bopp
Orbital P: 4000 years
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Halley
Orbital P: 76 years
Known approach to the sun: 1997
Comet: Hyakutake
Orbital P: 30,000 years
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Ikeya-Seki
Orbital P: 900 years
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Shoemaker
Orbital P: DNK
Known approach to the sun: DNK
Comet: Swift-Tuttle
Orbital P: 120 years
Known approach to the sun: 1980(?)
Comet: Tempel
Orbital P: 5 to 6 years
Known approach to the sun: 2005
Comet: Tempel-Tuttle
Orbital P: 33 years
Known approach to the sun: 1998
Wright focuses on those orbits between twenty and a hundred years, narrowing her list down to Brorsen-Metcalf, Halley, and Tempel-Tuttle. She then works backwards, documenting the orbital periods, noting those perihelions by year if they occurred within a dozen years or so of a vampiric incident or epidemic.
Coronado/Zuni Indian attacks, New Mexico, 1540
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1529
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1533
Tadhq O’Carroll, Ireland, 1552
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1566 (post)
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1567 (post)
Cormac McCarthy, Ireland, 1601
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1605
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1600
Istria vampire epidemic, 1642
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1636
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1633
Croatia (Giure Grando), 1672
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1681 (post)
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1666
Rohr accounts (“De Maticatione Mortnorum,” or “On the Chewing Dead”), 1679
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1681 (post)
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1666
Hungary vampire epidemic, 1692-1699
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1681
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1698
East Prussia (a.k.a. Northern Poland) vampire hysteria, 1710
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1707
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1698
Haidamack, Hungary (Count of Cabreras), 1715
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1707
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: NA
East Prussia II, 1721
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1733 (post)
Hungary II, 1725-1734
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1733
Austria Serbia, 1730-1734
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1733
East Prussia III, 1750
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: NA
Silesia/Olmutz incident, 1755
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1757 (post)
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1767 (post)
Wallachia, 1756
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: 1757 (post)
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1767 (post)
Russia, 1772
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1777 (post)
Halley perihelion: 1757
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1767
Cologne, Germany, 1790
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1777
&
nbsp; Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1799 (post)
Tillinghast, 1796
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1799 (close)
Rose family, Rhode Island, 1874
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1866
New England (Mercy Brown), 1892
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1899 (post)
Manchester, England (Hillgate sighting), 1969
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: NA
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1965
Malawi (Governor Eric Chawaya), 2002-2003
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1989
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1998
Romania (Toma Petre), 2004
Brorsen-Metcalf perihelion: 1989
Halley perihelion: NA
Tempel-Tuttle perihelion: 1998
Tempel-Tuttle seems a prime candidate. Almost. Unfortunately, five of the epidemics occurred just prior to its perihelion. More importantly, three of the most significant outbreaks—Hungary 1692-1699, Hungary 1725-1734, and Austrian Serbia 1730-1734—although ending post-perihelion, began three to seven years prior.
“Shit,” Wright whispers. Perhaps it isn’t Tempel-Tuttle at all. Perhaps it’s not even a comet.
“But that doesn’t matter,” Anne explains, confronted by Wright’s concerns. Meteor storms follow a comet’s pass near the sun because the gases, dust, and ice are superheated. But they also can occur as the comet approaches the sun. Comets start expelling vapor and rock years before reaching perihelion.
“Years?” Wrights asks, almost begs, for confirmation.
“Sure,” Anne says. There are dozens of accounts of the Leonid meteors—those meteors created by Tempel-Tuttle—preceding perihelion by ten or more years. “Think of a comet like an ice cream cone. What’s your favorite?”
“I don’t know,” Wright says. “Vanilla.”
“No, vanilla can’t be your favorite,” Anne states.
Wright is growing frustrated. “Why not?”
“No one likes vanilla,” Anne says, “unless, of course, they’re covering it in chocolate or putting it in a float or something.”
“Of course,” Wright says, mockingly. “Fine. Mint chocolate chip.”
“Oh my gosh,” Anne gushes, “That’s my favorite, too! I think I love mint chocolate chip milkshakes the best—”
“Anne, please,” Wright interrupts sternly. “Please tell me about comets.”
Anne frowns a bit. “Right, comets. Imagine you have a cone of mint chocolate chip—do you like cones or would you rather have it in a cup?”
“Anne,” Wright growls.
“Cone it is,” Anne declares. “Mint chocolate chip ice cream in a sugar cone. Well, as soon as you buy that ice cream, it starts to melt, right? It melts down the side of the cone. You can lick most of it before it drips, but some always does. That always happens a little before you go out into the sun. But, if it’s a summer day, and you walk outside with it, suddenly, the ice cream melts even faster. It’s going to run down your fingers and drip on the ground and make a big mess, right?” She smiles.
Ice cream. An odd but effective metaphor that all but seals Wright’s conclusion. Tempel-Tuttle has been killing, in drips, for years. As meteors melted and slid from the comet like trickles from a scoop on a cone, they fell, millions slamming the Earth at speeds more than 150,000 miles per hour. They carried with them the seeds of epidemics past and present, becoming more virulent each pass as the sun’s rays deconstructed and rearranged the invader’s genetic material.
Perhaps the church was right in one regard.
Perhaps it truly is the end.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Head Off (or a Dog’s Tale)
The next morning, the residents pull Wright from the cage. They offered Creedy the traditional last request. He asked to see Wright one last time.
They lead her to him, past a swarm of inmates busily making plans, busily readying themselves for their departure. They are packing and fueling a bus. Wright sniggers. It is a diesel. With all that noise, they’ll bring every ghoul in the county to them. They may as well ring a dinner bell. A gong. They won’t make it twenty miles.
“You know,” Creedy says as they slip the noose around his neck. “I never told you what Franklin’s ships were called.”
“Sir John Franklin?” Wright asks, tearing.
Creedy nods, and smiles lightly as they tighten the knot. “One was the Terror. The other was the Erebus.”
The inmates spin him round. He faces the sky and miles of land.
“The Erebus?” Wright poses.
“Yes,” he says over his shoulder. “Erebus. It’s the name of the mouth to Hell.” The mutineers prepare to push him from the tower.
“It’s a comet,” Wright calls quickly. “The comet is Tempel-Tuttle.”
“Tempel-Tuttle,” he says to himself. She cannot see his wide grin.
He steps from the ledge before he can be shoved, before Wright can thank him. The rope whirs as it un-spools. She watches it slipping away, uncoiling like some massive frightened snake. She watches it disappear, yard by yard, until it snaps taut.
And then she allows herself a release like never before. The tears fall in torrents.
**
“Ira?” Chaplain Cadavori asks, anxiously.
It is always a bad idea to interrupt Ridge when he’s working out, especially when he’s trying to blow off steam. And lately, Ridge is always blowing off steam.
Ridge is bench-pressing his weight, plus nearly half more.
The weight room is Spartan, just like the cells, devoid of any posters or photos or anything else conveying individuality or revealing a sense of self to another.
Ridge ignores the chaplain. He grunts through another set, finishing with a climactic yawp, and rests the bar on the rack. He huffs once, twice, then sits. He is, despite his diminutive size, a brick, thick across the chest and arms. “What do you want?” he finally demands.
The chaplain can’t make eye contact. He stares at Ridge’s knotted hands, the very hands that strangled Connor in his sleep. “Can I talk to you about the prisoners?”
It is a funny question, one that could invite a query: Which, them or us? But it invokes no such response from Ridge. He knows exactly who his prisoners are. “They will be executed.”
Ridge cannot bring them along, not even the women. They know the truth, and he must return to society something other than an inmate. He has concocted an elaborate back story to ingratiate them into their new society. They are missionaries, helping the indigent and the homeless and the lost by spreading the word of God in post-Katrina New Orleans. The story goes: they fended for themselves with other survivors until another hurricane struck. They are all that’s left, and they were forced to move north per God’s will.
They will rehearse this story over and over and over. Those who can’t learn and stick to it will find their trip cut severely short.
Cadavori is uncomfortable with Ridge’s answer. “But they haven’t done anything wrong, per se. How can we execute women and children and expect to stay in the good graces of God?”
“Easy,” Ridge says. “We just need more rope. Then we can push them all from the turret.”
“Yes,” the chaplain reasons, “we could do that. But measure the risks.”
Like?
Like some search party finding their twisting, writhing bodies hanging from the parapet. Wouldn’t it be better to simply imprison Wright and her companions for eternity, thus resolving two issues? First, they avoid killing innocents and slandering Christianity. They would surely curry favor with their Lord and Savior for their blessed trip by showing such mercy.