Grandpa Joe comes over for dinner during the week. Dad hovers and doesn’t allow me to talk to Grandpa Joe alone. It’s like we’re prisoners and Dad is the guard. When I can’t take it anymore, I just blurt out my question over pizza.
“Did you see Dr. Cologne on the news?”
“Nope, I missed that.” Grandpa Joe takes a bite of pepperoni and doesn’t say another word about the subject.
Dad sighs.
Saturday, I invite Londyn to sleep over. Something we’ve never done. She rolls out a sleeping bag on my floor and we fight over who gets to cuddle with Bubbles. I let her win.
I click off the light and climb into my bed.
“Good night,” I say. The moon lights the room enough that I can see half of Londyn’s face.
“T-minus three more days,” she says. “I don’t feel ready.”
“You’re ready,” I say. “You have supplies, and you will come here. We’ll be fine.”
“Why won’t people believe us? It’s like a horror movie where we tell everyone not to go into the basement, and they still do.”
“Have you heard from your dad?” I ask.
“He promises that he’s taking it seriously. But he won’t come home. Maybe after impact, he’ll finally change his mind. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“I’m sorry.” I turn toward the window. The moon is nearly full, and the sky is clear. The night sky a week from now will be completely different. We’ll be covered in real darkness.
“Do you think Mack will be okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, because that’s what I want to be true.
“He jokes about it and plays along.” She props herself up on her elbow. “I don’t think he’s being serious.”
“I know.”
“And he’s blind. He’s capable of anything in this world, but after, will things be different? It’s going to be hard. It won’t be the hallways of school. It’ll be the woods or city streets with abandoned cars and zombies.”
“We’ll watch out for him,” I say. And I want that to be true too. It’s impossible to know where people will end up. Families will be sticking together. Groups of friends from middle school aren’t going to matter.
“I’m glad I got to know you, Norie.” She calls me the name I once hated but now don’t mind.
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been nice to me, and I didn’t always make it easy.”
“I haven’t always been nice to you,” I say.
“I know,” she laughs. “I was trying to take the high road. You were mean for a while. Like really mean.”
“Okay. I get it. You weren’t very nice either. You threw a basketball at my nose.”
“I did? When?”
I can’t believe she doesn’t remember. “And you forced me to drink toilet water.”
“And you forced me to drink toilet water.”
“Okay, let’s agree we were both awful people.”
“Yeah, we’re not the type meant to save the world.”
“I look forward to suffering in the apocalypse with you.” I laugh, but I’m completely serious.
The website headline on the night of April 5 is clear.
IMPACT APRIL 7, 10 A.M. EST
I read the post. The time is plus or minus three hours. So it could be as early as 7 a.m. or as late as 1 p.m. We’re less than forty-eight hours from the next mass extinction. Suddenly my skin is cold, but my insides feel hot. My heart races, and I can hear it in my ears.
The post says nothing about location but promises an update tomorrow. An initial prediction should be possible. I imagine Dr. Cologne tracking the asteroid’s course the way a meteorologist forecasts a hurricane’s path.
I send a text to the Nature Club group. They reply with emojis and GIFs.
I call Londyn. She listens and then hangs up because she needs to reach her dad.
I call Mack. He assures me we will be all right.
I call Grandpa Joe. He doesn’t answer, and I leave a message.
I tell Dad. He shakes his head and says for the millionth time, “It’s not real.”
None of it feels like I’m doing enough. Desperate, I email Dr. Cologne, knowing Dad will be angry.
Dear Dr. Cologne,
I’m afraid. No one will listen to me. What can I do?
Sincerely,
E.J.D.
I watch my email all night waiting for a reply. I fall asleep before midnight. For some reason, I wake up at 3 a.m., and there’s a response.
E.J.D.,
Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Don’t waste a moment. Next week, you don’t want to be saying “I should have…”
Best of luck. Stay safe.
Marty
My heart races again. He’s right. I text Mack and Londyn. They don’t reply, and I assume they’re sleeping. It’s up to me. I need to make every kid at school aware.
There’s only one way to reach the whole school at once. I know I’ll get in trouble. Big trouble. But none of that will matter after Tuesday. Nothing will matter after Tuesday.
This is going to involve public speaking and an accomplice or two. I send another text to both Mack and Londyn.
ME: I need you!!!
ME: We’re taking this to the next level.
* * *
• • •
I stay up the rest of the night preparing and writing notes on index cards with everything I need to say. I end up with thirty-two of them. It’s not likely I’ll get through all of them.
Londyn calls me around six, and I give her the plan. She’s in. I never had any doubts. Mack is the one I’m worried about. He doesn’t call me until two minutes before I need to leave for school.
“Dude, what’s up?”
“I need your help.” I explain the plan.
“That’s not going to work, and even if it—”
“Stop! Are you going to help me or not?” There isn’t time to debate. This needs to happen today.
“No,” he says. “It’s a bad idea, Elle. Just give it up.”
I knew this might happen, but I’m still shocked. Mack always says yes to everything. He’s all in all the time.
“Anyway, it’s not like I’d make a very good lookout. I’m blind.”
“Stop joking. This is not a joke!”
“You need to stop. You’ve done everything you can. You started a club. You wrote a newsletter. You’ve shared that…that website.” Mack is definitely not joking anymore.
“You don’t believe it.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird that there’s not another scientist in the entire world who will back him up? I mean…come on.”
“You don’t believe it,” I say again.
“I’d believe it if NASA or any other space agency said it was even remotely possible. No one agrees with Cologne.”
“That’s not true. The website is full of physicists and astronomers who say he’s right.”
“Those posts could be from anyone.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation now. A day before the world is going to end. You’ve been with me since the beginning, Mack. You’re my best friend. Why would you—”
“It was fun. We were having fun. The club. The bucket list. Even the drinking-the-toilet-water part.”
Dad calls me from downstairs. It’s time to go to school.
But the room is spinning, and everything is happening at once. The world’s ending. Mack won’t help me. He won’t be around. This is it. This is the start of the end.
“Elle? You there?”
“No.” I hang up and head to my last day of school ever.
So, we’re going to storm the newsroom, hijack the camera, and warn the whole school that we
may die tomorrow.” Londyn reviews my plan.
“Pretty much.”
The studio for the morning announcements is a room in the back of the media center. There are windows with blinds between the two spaces, allowing us to peek through.
The morning-news crew has had the same eight kids all year. They rotate jobs. Each day, there are two anchors, at least one cameraperson, and a producer who makes sure that everything goes smoothly.
“What about Ms. Richmond?” Londyn points at the media specialist. She’s the only teacher around. “Do you think she’ll have a key?”
Ms. Richmond sits at the checkout desk.
“We’ll barricade the door. Move a desk in front of it. She won’t be able to push it open. She’ll have to go for help.”
“What about them?” Londyn bites her lip and nods toward the four kids preparing for the announcements. “We need them out.”
“I know. What do you think? Maybe a distraction of some kind.”
“I could faint,” Londyn suggests. “Or pretend I’m choking.”
“Do you think they’ll come running to your aid?” I ask.
“They might not offer to help, but they’ll come to watch. Maybe even take a video of my final moments—hoping I pee my pants. And then they’d post it online.”
“I think we should lie. We’ll tell them that they’re wanted in the office or something.”
“It’s worth a try.”
I didn’t eat breakfast, and my stomach should feel empty. Instead, it feels full of cement. This has to work.
But before we go into the studio, I hear a familiar voice. It’s Mack.
“Hey, Ms. Richmond.” He’s talking to the media specialist. “Can you assist me, please? I can’t find a book.”
“Sure, Mack.” She stands up. Everyone knows and loves Mack, which is annoying most of the time. But now he’s using his powers to help me. At least, that’s what I think he’s doing.
“I want the Braille version of Counting by 7s.”
“Let’s search.” She walks out from behind the desk. The Braille library is in a separate room down a small hallway.
“I thought you said Mack wasn’t part of the plan,” Londyn whispers.
“I don’t know what he’s doing. But this is our chance. Come on.”
I watch Mack and Ms. Richmond disappear down the hallway. I take a breath. I hope the kids in the studio believe my lie about being needed in the office. Keep it simple. Don’t overexplain.
But Londyn speaks first.
“Oh my God!” She pushes open the door. “There’s a raccoon loose in the hall.”
“Really?” the girl asks.
“It’s freaking out. Hissing and running all over. Probably has rabies. We were told to stay here. They’re going to do a lockdown drill any minute.”
“I wanna see,” one of the boys says.
“No, stay here,” Londyn says.
I can only nod.
But the news crew takes off. Luckily, they leave all the camera equipment behind. This isn’t exactly Channel 12 Action News.
“Let’s roll!” Londyn says as soon as the room is clear. She quietly shuts the door, twists the lock, and slides a desk in front of it. “Do you know how to turn on the camera?”
“I think so.” And even though morning announcements aren’t supposed to start for five more minutes, I press the button, and I’m live.
I skip the Pledge of Allegiance and take a seat at the news desk.
“Good morning.” My voice shakes. “My name is Eleanor Dross. I’m the author—or co-author—of the Doomsday Express. You probably already know that. Um…and I have a special announcement.” I pull the note cards from the back pocket of my jeans. Londyn gives me two thumbs up.
“Tomorrow, Earth will be hit by an asteroid over three miles wide. The damage from the impact will be massive. The crater could be a hundred miles across. But the devastation will span the globe. No electricity. No clean water. Food will be scarce.”
A sudden loud knock on the door makes me jump. It’s the student news crew.
“People have chosen not to believe. But this will not be the first time a space rock has hit Earth. The dinosaurs went extinct after a massive asteroid hit the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico sixty-five million years ago. Most didn’t die instantly. The world experienced an ice age and the large animals starved.”
The kids bang and kick at the door. Behind them, I see Ms. Richmond jogging across the media center.
“Keep going,” Londyn says.
“A small meteor, about a tenth the size of 2010PL7, exploded over Tunguska in 1908. It destroyed almost eight hundred square miles of forest.”
A muffled voice vibrates through the door. “Unlock this door now.”
Londyn sits on the desk. Her legs swing freely. She smiles and doesn’t turn around.
“We’re running out of time. You need to be ready. Stay home tomorrow. Stock up on all the food, water, and medicine that you can. This event could change the world for months or more likely years.”
Ms. Richmond is playing with keys. Mr. Young, the vice principal, has joined her. They get the door unlocked and try to shove their way in.
“It’s all online!” I share Dr. Cologne’s website address. I repeat it three times. “Please trust me. Take care of yourselves. You can survive this. Good luck, Hawks.”
The door knocks against the desk and Londyn laughs. “Better hurry.”
“And to my Nature Club allies, you know what to do. This is what we’ve been preparing for.” I give the peace sign and then turn off the camera. I’ve never given anyone the peace sign, but this feels like the right time.
“Nicely done, Norie.” Londyn hops off the desk. It falls forward as the vice principal and two teachers push open the door.
“Careful,” Londyn warns. “This equipment is expensive.”
Getting suspended requires a lot of conversations and paperwork—Dad and I arrive home only about thirty minutes earlier than if I’d taken the bus. I’m not allowed to return for four days. That’s after impact, so I guess my public school days are over. Mr. Young suggested in-school suspension, but I flipped out.
Dad was polite and calm at school. And in the van, he kept quiet. Now that we’re home, I want him to flip out.
He goes to the kitchen and turns on the coffee maker. I follow, still hoping for some yelling or at least a serious lecture.
“I looked at the website today,” he says as he scoops grounds into the back of the coffee maker.
I’m not sure if this is good news or not, so I say nothing.
“Cologne still predicts the impact is tomorrow. Correct?” He’s looking at the coffee maker, not me.
“Yes.”
“So after tomorrow, things will go back to normal?” He finally turns to me.
“There’s no normal after tomorrow. We should—”
“Eleanor!” he interrupts. “If there’s no asteroid, then what? Will you be able to go back to school without trying to start a riot? Will you do your work? What’s going to happen?”
I blink a few times. The questions are ridiculous, and I don’t have real answers. I try to guess what he wants to hear. “Yeah, everything will go back to normal.”
The smell of coffee fills the kitchen. He takes a deep breath. “I hope so.”
In my room, I need to do two things—check on my friends and on the website. I open my computer first. Dr. Cologne posted that he’s in an underground bunker, but he doesn’t say where. The impact is still predicted for 10 a.m. tomorrow, and the location remains unknown.
Next, I call Londyn. She received the same fate I did—four-day suspension. A woman answers Londyn’s phone. Could be her mom, but it’s probably her aunt.
“Um, hello,” I mumble.
“
Eleanor, Londyn is not allowed on her phone while she is suspended. Do not call or text. She is unavailable.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You should be! That was a stupid prank. I’m disappointed in both of you.”
It feels like she slapped me through the phone. My mouth hangs open and my eyes blur.
“Not a prank,” I finally say. But she’s hung up.
Next, I call Mack. He doesn’t answer, so I send a text.
ME: What’s up?
It took me several tries to come up with that message. Sorry and Thank you and Are you okay? all felt wrong.
When the boys get home, they’re excited to see Dad. It’s a beautiful spring Carolina day with clear blue skies and warm weather. They take Bubbles for a walk. I seem to be the only one who senses the looming doom.
A half hour later, Mack finally replies.
MACK: Just got home
ME: did you get in trouble?
MACK: I was questioned I charmed my way out of it
ME: of course you did
MACK: All they had was circumstantial evidence
ME: what does that mean?
MACK: Means they have no proof
MACK: And I didn’t do anything wrong
I pace around my room. It’s true. He didn’t technically do anything wrong, but he knew I was planning to overthrow the school-run media and kinda-sorta assisted.
ME: glad you’re not in trouble
MACK: I gotta go TTYL
ME: WAIT!!!!!!!!
ME: where are you going to go tomorrow?
ME: do you have a place
ME: you can always come here
MACK: I’ll be fine I promise
MACK: We’ll talk soon
Yes, we will. I call him immediately, but he doesn’t answer. It rolls over to voice mail. I try again and again. It doesn’t even ring. He’s turned off his phone.
* * *
• • •
I can’t eat dinner. I can barely breathe. End of the world is trending across all the social media. I’ve checked and rechecked the website. Dr. Cologne has promised that we are at least ten hours away. I searched the internet for more information, but it all points back to his site.
The World Ends in April Page 19