A week would pass before the seas grew calm, for great tsunami do not strike once and dissipate, but reflect back like radar off the land masses they encounter, returning again and again to repeat their destruction. Because of the extent of the devastation, an exact accounting of the dead would never be possible. Most estimates put the final number at nearly 200 million. Perhaps five percent of that number died aboard the millions of boats and ships that traverse the seas and sail among the thousands of Pacific Islands.[33]
And yet despite the magnitude of the disaster above the surface, an additional calamity was brewing beneath the waves. For a full week the tsunami reflected back and forth across the Pacific, not only from Asia to the Americas, but also from Siberia and Alaska to the Antarctic, bringing with them dramatic shifts in ocean temperature, wreaking havoc on the ocean’s fragile ecosystem. Even greater was the damage wrought by trillions of tons of debris, carried across the ocean from the site of the impact, which clouded the waters and turned the Pacific’s surface a bloody red as 720 billion tons of iron particles from the asteroid turned to rust.[34] The murky waters blocked out much of the sun’s light, preventing photosynthesis by the phytoplankton, the delicate sea plants that serve not only as the bottom link in the food chain, but also provide the oxygen needed to maintain sea life. As the phytoplankton died, so did the sea animals that depend upon it for food, followed quickly by each higher level of the food chain. Soon too, the oxygen level of the ocean dropped. Within two weeks, nearly all sea life in the Pacific perished.[35]
And so, like the first, John and Cohen’s second prophecy had been brutally fulfilled. Two more prophesies remained.
Chapter 7
Wormwood
Four weeks later
Deep in the void of space, 116 million miles from the sun, three clusters of warheads raced at more than twenty-five thousand miles per hour toward the asteroid designated 2031 KF. Twenty-three million miles away, the panic-stricken population of a devastated planet waited in anxious anticipation for word on their attempt to destroy the menacing form. Failure would mean the end of their species.
At 7:27:32 A.M. GMT the first group of forty cone-shaped twenty-megaton warheads began to deploy in a predetermined pattern, preparing to intercept the thirty-mile-wide colossus, which was advancing toward the Earth at 65,000 miles per hour. So far everything was going according to schedule, but the biggest test was just ahead. In ten minutes, as they came to within a hundred meters of the speeding asteroid, the warheads would detonate in a first attempt to destroy the target. With a combined head-on speed of more than 90,000 miles per hour, the window of opportunity for detonation within 100 meters was less than .002 seconds.
Now only about half the distance between Earth and Mars, the massive asteroid shone in the night sky like a great star. If there were total or partial failure, a second and third group of warheads launched after the first at intervals of thirty-five minutes would provide two additional opportunities. Among the second and third volleys, infrared-sensing devices would monitor the success of the preceding volley and provide telemetry to target any remaining large pieces that were headed toward Earth.
It would take two minutes and four seconds for both the signal and the light of the first cluster’s interception to travel back to Earth. Those in the hemisphere facing the asteroid would see the flash as quickly as the scientists would begin to receive data.
The event lit up the planet like a second sun. A moment later, as the light passed and people rubbed away the spots from their eyes, they searched in vain for the threatening star. Telemetry from the trailing missiles soon confirmed what the naked eye perceived. To everyone’s extreme relief and many people’s surprise, the interception was a complete success, far more successful than even the most optimistic projections. The largest portion of the asteroid’s mass had been reduced to pieces ranging in size from dust to chunks no larger than a few cubic feet. And of the few pieces larger than that, none were now headed toward the Earth.
As details came of the interception’s success, there was brief consideration given to using the warheads of the second and third clusters to further disperse the material that remained on a course for Earth, but after careful analysis, it was determined that the remaining fragments posed no threat and that detonation of the warheads would only serve to further irradiate them.
The decision was made, therefore, to disperse the warhead clusters and, once they were fully clear of the asteroid debris, they were detonated. Scientific review of the interception would conclude that the unanticipated success of the first volley was due to an unusual feature of the asteroid’s composition. The predominantly iron mass was apparently honeycombed with veins of stone or of a metal much more brittle than iron, causing it to easily break apart.
Across the planet, huge celebrations were held to mark the successful destruction of the third asteroid. To a visitor from another world, it would have seemed the strangest of festivals, for as the Earth’s surviving inhabitants rejoiced and drank to their achievement, fires still burned across two ravaged continents, the largest of the planet’s oceans lay barren, and widespread volcanic activity spewed plumes of steam, carbon dioxide, sulfur gasses, ash, and cinders into the atmosphere.
Two weeks later
Despite the growing cover of smoke and volcanic ash, the skies provided an unprecedented display of fireworks, which lit up the sky like a blazing torch for two nights as millions of tons of dust and small particles from the third asteroid plunged through the atmosphere.[36] The warheads had done their job exceptionally well, leaving very few fragments large enough to survive the trip through the atmosphere and reach Earth in identifiable pieces. Like most meteorites, the small chunks of the asteroid began to melt as soon as they reached the stratosphere, each providing a brief streak of fire in the darkened sky as they disintegrated into tiny molten dust particles that cooled and fell harmlessly and unnoticed to the Earth’s surface.
Two days later
Villa Valeria, Argentina
Juan Perez held his grandfather’s hand in eager excitement as they walked together in the cold night air just before dawn toward the nine-acre lake and adventure. In his other hand Juan held his brand new fishing rod. Today was Juan’s sixth birthday and it was to be marked by his first fishing trip. His head was filled with anticipation of the enormous fish he would catch and of the look that would come over his mother’s face when he returned home and showed them to her.
The cloud of volcanic ash high above them blocked out much of the starlight, and the moon appeared as if in a deep, black fog. His grandfather held the flashlight under his arm so they could see the path as they made their way toward the lake, and though they were still twenty yards from the shore, Juan walked on tip-toe as he remembered his grandfather’s admonition to be careful not to scare the fish.
A light breeze at their backs shifted, and as it did, it brought with it the unmistakable stench of rotting fish. Juan reached up to hold his nose and nearly poked his grandfather in the eye with his fishing rod. Ducking to avoid his grandson’s pole, Juan’s grandfather released his hand and then went slowly toward the lake, leaving Juan where he stood, still holding his nose. Juan was happy to stay behind, suddenly not so sure that fishing was as wonderful as he thought it might be.
Lifting his flashlight to illuminate the surface of the lake, Juan’s grandfather found the source of the smell. As far as he could see, bloated fish floated belly up, covering the surface of the lake.
Mt. Gretna, Pennsylvania
The alarm clock rang and Betty Overholt reached to turn it off and then buried her face in her pillow as she groped for the switch to turn on the lamp. It was 4:15 A.M. Slowly she peeked out from the pillow to let her eyes adjust to the light, and her nostrils filled with the delightful aroma of fresh coffee and bacon from the kitchen. As usual, her husband Paul was already up and had started breakfast. She had always envied his ability to get up each morning at the same time without an alarm. It was
in his genes, she guessed. The son, grandson, and great grandson of dairymen, Paul Overholt had never known anything else. When he was in high school he had thought of becoming a lawyer, but on the day after he turned seventeen his parents and two older brothers died in the Disaster and left him alone with the farm.
When Betty got to the kitchen, Paul had already started eating. With one exception, it was the same breakfast he always had: three scrambled eggs from their hens, six strips of bacon from the hog they had butchered last month, a large glass of milk fresh from the cow the night before, and a double-sized cup of coffee. The only thing missing from his normal fare was four pieces of toast. Bread had become extremely hard to find and very expensive since the blight on grassy plants, including wheat, rye, and corn. At Betty’s place were smaller portions of the same, except the coffee — she had never gotten used to coffee made with the sulfur water from their well.
Paul left the house and started toward the barn while Betty cleaned up from breakfast and put the dishes in the dishwasher. It would be another hour until dawn, but Paul had walked the path so many times there was usually no need for him to carry a flashlight. Besides, there was the light at the barn that he turned on from the porch as he left the house. For the past month, however, the combination of smoke from the fires in the west and volcanic ash in the upper atmosphere had so darkened the night skies that Betty insisted he carry a light, lest he trip over something. It was cool too; it had been for the past couple of weeks. The television news said the temperature was averaging eighteen degrees below normal because of the ash.
It really wasn’t necessary that Paul begin milking so early. He had thinned his herd in order to conserve the hay he had from the previous year. But this was the time he was used to, and what the cows were used to as well. Like Paul, the cows needed no alarm clock to know when it was milking time. Every morning they’d be there, waiting when he arrived.
Paul was luckier than most. The previous winter had been very mild, and the Overholt farm still had a silo full of corn and a barn full of hay from the previous year. That and the fact that Paul had planted most of his fields in clover, which wasn’t affected by the blight, meant that he could keep most of his cows and continue milking. Despite everything — actually, because of everything — it was turning out to be a good year for the Overholts: Milk prices were sky high. Beef was low as farmers thinned their herds, but that was sure to change later in the year.
Paul was only halfway to the barn when he first sensed that something was wrong. The cows were too quiet. It wasn’t that cows are noisy animals, but with sixty cows in the loafing area outside the barn, there was usually a moo to be heard here and there, and the sound of manure or urine as it hit the ground in the holding pen was almost a constant. As he got closer, Paul could see by the light from the barn that there were no cows waiting.
It wasn’t that unusual for a few of his cows to be missing, and on occasion none would be there, but that was rare. Paul Overholt cupped his hands around his mouth to form a mini-megaphone and called out, “Sook, cowwww! Sook, sook, sook, sook, cowwww!” It was the same call that his father and grandfather had used. Most everyone he knew called their cows the same way. He didn’t even think to question the fact that it sounded silly.
The cows would be there soon enough; their late arrival would just give him a chance to get ready. Paul walked into the cooler room and checked the 1,500-gallon stainless steel cooler to be sure everything was operating correctly. The temperature of the milk in the cooler from last night’s milking was precisely 39 degrees Fahrenheit, just right. The next thing to do was to run a strong chlorine solution through the pipes of the system to kill any bacteria. Having completed that, Paul thought that at least a few of the cows should have gotten to the barn.
At that moment Betty walked in. “Where are the cows?” she said as she pulled away the scarf she used to filter out the smoke and ash.
“Aren’t they out there yet?” Paul asked.
“Not a one,” she answered.
“I called them.”
“I know. I heard you.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess I must have left the gate closed last night. I don’t think so, but I’ll go check. Go ahead and fill the feeders with silage and mix up some iodine dip.”
Paul left the milk barn and walked down toward the field by the creek. He couldn’t remember closing the gate, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had done something without thinking about it, especially when he had something else on his mind. Last night he had been thinking about a conversation about religion he had with his brothers on the night before the Disaster and . . .
Paul stumbled and fell to the ground. He had tripped over something — a cow. It didn’t move as he fell, so it was unlikely it was just asleep. Paul wished he had brought the flashlight. He looked closely and even in the dark could see it was bloated, meaning it had been dead for several hours. Quickly he went to the barn, got the flashlight, and headed back. He found the dead cow and shone the light on it. There was no sign of a predator; no blood anywhere, so it wasn’t some crazy hunter; the cow’s belly wasn’t discolored so it hadn’t been struck by lightning; and the cow was not a new milker, so it couldn’t be milk fever. He’d have to check closer when it was light and call the vet to find out what had killed her. He didn’t want something spreading among his herd. Depending on what it was, he might also have to dump the previous night’s milk.
For now there was still another puzzle that needed to be solved. Paul continued toward the gate he thought he might have left closed. It was wide open. He called the cows again but heard nothing. Paul brought his light to bear on something lying on the path. It was another cow, bloated and stiff. He ran toward the creek at the end of the field. There was another cow and it was dead, too. And then another, and another. Paul froze and lifted the light above his head. All around him and especially down by the creek, cows lay motionless.
Gdansk, Poland
Dr. Alexander Zielenski carried his five-year-old daughter, Anna, in his arms to the emergency room at St. Stanisława Hospital. She had gotten sick during the night with what seemed like a common stomach ache, but as time passed the symptoms grew worse instead of better. He tried to treat the illness himself, but after she had several fits of uncontrollable vomiting, followed by severe purging, he had decided to bring Anna to the hospital. The parking lot was full, which was unusual for this time of day, so he drove around to the physicians’ lot and parked in his reserved spot. Entering the emergency room, he discovered why the lot was full. All around him men, women, and children waited to be seen. The few who were well enough sat in chairs or on benches. Others lay on the floor, comforted by family members. The air reeked with the fetor of vomit.
Dr. Zielenski scanned their faces. Their features were sunken, as if they had suffered severe malnourishment.
“Thank goodness you’re here, Alexander,” he heard a familiar voice say from behind him. “We need all the help we can get.”
Turning, he saw his colleague, Dr. Josef Markiewicz. “Oh, my,” Dr. Markiewicz said as he saw Anna in her father’s arms. “It’s hit poor Anna, too.”
“What is it?” Zielenski asked.
“We’re not sure, yet,” Markiewicz answered, leading Zielenski into an empty office where they could talk privately. “Based on the symptoms, we’re guessing its cholera, but we’re running tests to be sure. The onset is marked by burning in the stomach and throat, followed by severe vomiting and then diarrhea. The stools are all fecal at first, but later take on a rice-water appearance, and often contain blood. The patient suffers from extreme thirst and dehydration, but anything they drink comes back up within minutes. There is weakness and physical collapse; the features become sunken; the skin moist and cyanotic; and additional pain comes from cramping in the calves. The pulse is increasingly weak and irregular, and respiration becomes more and more difficult. Death—”
“You’ve had deaths!” Zielenski interrupted, i
nstinctively holding his daughter more tightly to him.
“Three here so far. I spoke with Lech at St. Tadeusz. They’ve had two so far and I understand there have been more than a dozen in Warsaw.”
“I had no idea. How could cholera strike so quickly over such a widespread area?”
Dr. Markiewicz shook his head.
“I’ve got to get Anna cared for,” Zielenski said, satisfied he understood what was happening, though he didn’t know the cause.
“Let’s get her checked in and we can start her on an IV right away to restore her fluids.”
At that moment the door opened and in stepped Dr. Jakob Nowak. “Good,” he began, “one of the nurses said you were in here.”
“I’ve got to get my daughter started on an IV. Can this wait?” Zielenski asked.
“This will only take a minute,” Nowak insisted. “We were wrong. It isn’t cholera.”
“Then what?” Zielenski asked, not giving Nowak a chance to finish.
“All these people have been poisoned,” Nowak said. “It’s arsenic,” he continued before Zielenski could interrupt again. “It’s all over Poland.”
“But how?” Zielenski asked in disbelief.
“It’s in the water.”
Chapter 8
Birth of an Age Page 9