The End of America & the rest of the world

by Brian Smith

  Asteroid

  Day One

  The object appeared suddenly out of the sun. Dr. Phil Leicester of the Royal Observatory in England had to look several times to convince himself he hadn't made a mistake.

  "Bloody hell John," he said, "have a look at this."

  His colleague came over to see what bit of excitement had interrupted the usually monotonous work at the observatory.

  He carefully looked through the lens. "It's enormous. Where did it come from?"

  "Straight out of the sun. We would have seen it a long time ago coming from any other direction. But the glare of the sun completely hid it. Come on. Let's try to calculate its course."

  After several hours of taking pictures and measuring the object's progress the result was clear. It was an asteroid roughly the size of Italy, long and round with a large top at one end that made it look rather like a mallet.

  "It's going to hit us," John concluded. "That damn mallet is going to hit us."

  "And we've only got five days left." Phil shook his head. There was nothing more they could do. Observatories around the world had been informed and were watching; governments were in crisis session; news people were in a frenzy; and the religious were imploring all and sundry deities for salvation.

  "So that's what it feels like to look death in the eye," John said. "Total extermination thanks to a bloody piece of rock in the sky."

  Phil noted the bitterness in his voice. "Go home, John, and take a rest. You need it. And besides I'm sure the Americans will have some kind of back-up plan."

  "It's much too big and too close. You know that and I know that. But thanks for the try. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Day Two

  "Oh Phil, why don't you come home?" his wife asked. "You've been at that observatory all night long. Surely there's no more you can do for now. You need a rest. You need to come home." She sighed. "All right, I need you. But please, Phil, do come home now."

  "All right, dear," he reluctantly agreed. Of course his wife was right. There wasn't anything else he could do for the time being and he urgently had to catch up on some sleep.

  Leaving John in charge he put on his coat and got into his car. He drove home listening to the news.

  It has just been announced by both the White House and the Kremlin that the unprecedented threat from the asteroid called the Mallet will be met with all available resources. Both the US and the Russian governments have begun preparing rockets destined to carry nuclear warheads into space. The aim is to change the asteroid's course so it will miss Earth. Scientists have expressed scepticism about the workability of the plan saying there were too many variables and unknowns such as the asteroids composition. But White House speaker Dan Smith reiterated the government's stance that there was no time for long investigations. "We've got to act now, we've got to be bold, because time is short and it's not going to wait for us."

  Meanwhile stock markets across the planet were in free fall today forcing many governments to close them until the end of the crisis.

  Phil switched the radio off again. Just two days ago everything had seemed so clear, so easy, so worthwhile living for. But now? He sighed. At home his wife hugged him tightly not wanting to let go.

  "Oh Phil," she said at last, "is it all going to end like that?"

  "Now, now, dear. You mustn't speak like that. I'm sure the Americans and Russians will be able to deflect it. And next week we'll all be sitting down and having supper again together," he said seeing his two daughters looking at him from the living room.

  His wife looked at him with tears in her eyes. Maybe she sensed that he didn't really believe himself what he had said. The asteroid was simply too big. He couldn't imagine any bomb in the world powerful enough to deflect it, almost like trying to change the course of an ice berg by shooting a revolver at it. And John was right, Mallet was much too close to the Earth already.

  Day Three

  "Do you know yet where it's going to hit?" his wife asked.

  Phil nodded. "Somewhere in North America. Possibly the Mid-West."

  She looked relieved. "That's far away, isn't it?"

  He shook his head. "Not far enough. Nowhere on Earth would be far enough. When it impacts it will create a shockwave of fire that will go all around Earth. No place will be safe.

  She still looked doubtful. "It's hard to imagine anything could be that powerful."

  "We've had impacts in the past of objects that were not even half the size of Asteroid Mallet and those impacts wiped out sixty to ninety percent of all living beings on the Earth. After the shockwave trillions of tons of ash darkened the sky for years and caused an ice age. Only some small creatures such as rodents survived underground.

  If Mallet hits us, Earth will become an icy world. Only rats still have a future.

  His wife looked irritated. "How can you say such a thing Phil, honestly I don't know what you're thinking at times. Don't make me upset."

  Phil was about to say something in reply but closed his mouth again. He knew better than to argue with her and, after all, it didn't matter. He watched his wife as she busied herself making tea. It was her way to escape from reality, a little ritual of home comfort and safety that kept everything else at bay. "But how much longer," he wondered, "how much longer?"

  Day Four

  Phil Leicester watched the progress of the American rocket on his screen. He wasn't really supposed to be able to receive the signal but thanks to some of his friends in the U.S. he had managed to sneak in. "And besides," he thought, "no one is going to mind, not now."

  The rocket hurtled through space on a collision course with its target Asteroid Mallet. The asteroid was looming large now and both day and night it was visible in the sky, a celestial harbinger of doom. The rocket approached its target carrying the largest bomb available from America's nuclear arsenal. Then there was a tremendous explosion as the hydrogen bomb detonated, a blinding flash of light in the sky that people had been warned not to look at without suitable eye protection. Phil heard the cheers from the American control room through his not quite legal satellite connection. "Well I wonder," he murmured, "Have they really pulled it off?"

  Scientists immediately began to measure any change in Mallet's movement, but were soon disappointed. Asteroid Mallet had been given a slight spin by the explosion but was still on the same course as before.

  Now all eyes were on the Russian rocket. There would be no more time after it to prepare further missions. It was, quite literally, humanity's last shot. And humanity watched the rocket on TV as it disappeared through clouds into the sky and beyond. Radar kept track of its course, it approached its target and all of humanity united in front of TV sets around the world, held its collective breath.

  The countdown to the explosion began, ten, nine,.., three, two, one,..

  And then there was a great silence.

  "Oh my God," the reporter on TV said. "it's failed to detonate. The Russian bomb has not exploded. We don't know why. Was it a technical problem or did the rocket get damaged by debris? We don't know and it doesn't really matter. The main question is: What is going to happen? Do governments have any back-up plans?"

  Phil switched the TV off. He knew there was no back-up plan. Tomorrow afternoon Asteroid Mallet would impact somewhere in the American Mid-West and there was nothing anyone could do anymore. He stood up and picked up his coat.

  Where're you going?" John asked.

  "Home," he replied simply. "There's nothing left to do for us. Don't waste your time here, John. Spend your last day with your family, because that's all the time you've got left." He turned and walked off without waiting for a reply.

  Day Five

  Phil was sitting on the sofa at home watching TV with his family. They had stayed up all night so as not to waste a single minute of the short time that was left to them. Like many others they'd decided to have one last party and enjoy themselves. "Let's have a jolly good time," Phil had said. "No point in sitting around morose and ful
l of self pity."

  And so they'd had a great party with friends, neighbours and even some strangers who joined in spontaneously. Someone had the great idea of throwing dirty dishes out of the window and so everything went flying, glasses, plates, cups and anything else. "No need to wash dishes tomorrow," someone said as his wife's favourite crockery set, an inheritance from her mother, went out of the window. Even his wife laughed in a crazy drunken way.

  But now they were tired, the day had come and TV was bringing cruel reality back into their life.

  Reports from all over America show a wave of suicides with many people preferring to take their lives rather than wait for a fiery death from up above. Millions of families have formed suicide pacts and are killing themselves often with gas, with poison and even by shooting each other.

  The President has announced that he is going to deploy the nation's entire nuclear arsenal as Asteroid Mallet reaches the Earth's atmosphere in a last ditch attempt to destroy it or at least reduce it in size. He has also asked Americans not to forsake hope and pray for salvation, but this seems to have done little to stem the wave of suicides.

  In many large cities street battles have erupted as desperate people are looting shops and stores. They were seen either exchanging gunfire with shopkeepers or killing each other in the scramble for what are considered vital supplies.

  Emergency services have come to a standstill as many workers see no point in turning up for duty. This as aerial pictures show the streets of cities littered with thousands of dead people.

  Phil switched from channel to channel but everywhere was the same dreadful news. "Oh what the hell," he said and switched it off in disgust. "What's the point in watching this stuff?"

  "What's the point of anything now, Dad?" his daughter asked with tears in her eyes. She was young, had only just started life and wasn't ready to die.

  Later that day those few Americans who weren't dead or hiding underground watched Asteroid Mallet in the sky. The time of the impact approached inexorably. It came and it went and Asteroid Mallet could still be seen in the sky though, as some thought, not quite so near anymore. It was the great anti-climax. There was no impact, the President didn't get the chance to deploy his nuclear arsenal and the world didn't end.

  "I don't understand," Phil Leicester and thousands of other scientists said. "The American bomb didn't deflect the asteroid. So why did it miss the Earth?"

  Quickly all the original data was examined and re-examined, and at last the mistake was found: a technician didn't adjust one of the numbers from metrical to imperial.

  "What a sad irony," Phil Leicester said when he heard the news. "Mallet never was on collision course, it was always going to miss us."

  But his wife didn't hear him. "My crockery set," she said unhappily. "It was my mother's favourite. And now it's all gone, smashed to smithereens because of you and your party."

  "My party," he replied indignantly. There was nothing wrong with the party. Can't you just be happy we're still alive?"

  "Well, of course I'm happy about that. But without the party all our dishes and my crockery set wouldn't be broken."

  He sighed. It really was no use trying to argue with her logic. The world didn't end, they didn't die but she had to be unhappy because of some broken dishes. And she would keep reminding him of them and the party for years to come. He distinctly remembered her throwing dishes out of the window too, but he was sure she had already forgotten about that and would strongly deny it if he ever reminded her. And so, wisely perhaps, he decided to say no more about the matter and hope that it would slowly be forgotten.

  Further investigation revealed that the technician responsible for the mistake was dead. Along with his family he had preferred suicide to waiting for the asteroid's impact. And so there was no one left to punish. People in many countries began to pick up the pieces of their lives that had unexpectedly resumed.

  But it was too late for America; three quarters of the population were dead, its economy was in utter ruin and the dollar wasn't worth the paper it was printed on anymore.

  Water

  In Antarctica summer had begun. The shelf ice that surrounded the continent was all but gone and everywhere millions of creatures were enjoying their new sense of freedom. Penguins were frolicking in the water, jumping over waves and chasing fish. Birds were flying about diving into the water to catch fish. Seals and sea lions either lay on beaches or were hunting in the ocean. And the fish were busy gulping down plankton and trying not to get eaten. Only the polar bears didn't do very much, but that is because there are no polar bears down south; they all live in the Arctic.

  Most of the Antarctic landmass is covered in ice, some of it up to two miles thick. It is an ancient layer of ice that was accumulated over thousands of years. Every year snow falls covering last years snow and thus pressure on layers of snow continuously increases every year until the snow is crushed and turned into ice.

  This ice goes down deep, very deep. It may sometimes contain vast pockets of water like giant underground lakes. And sometimes the ice is so thick and heavy it may even hold down a volcanic eruption.

  But deep down, at the bottom where the ice meets solid ground something else happens to the ice. The pressure from above is so great that the ice becomes liquid. Could one touch it under such great pressure it might feel a bit like oil. And like the oil in a machine it also enables the ice to slowly move and slide across the land into the sea. It doesn't usually move as it is held in place by the continental shelf ice, but for the first time in centuries if not millennia that shelf ice has completely melted.

  Jack Bower drew up at the gas station with his SUV. After several hours of criss-crossing the Californian countryside, turning up dirt and dust, and shooting at rocks and some hapless snakes his gas guzzling monster had almost run dry.

  "Hi Jack, what's it today?"

  "Fill her right up, as usual Mike. Wouldn't want to disappoint our global warming conspiracy freaks."

  Mike laughed. "You know about that oil platform that blew up last month?"

  "Yea, what about it."

  "That was no accident, I'm telling ya. That was the government. They blew it up to scare Americans away from oil."

  "Not me, man. Not me. My SUV and me, never scared shall be."

  Mike laughed again. "Not turning into a poet are you?"

  "I'll tell ya what, Mike, if those east coast pussies want to scare me away from oil I'll have a very simple answer," he said and patted the semi-automatic on the seat next to him. "Always keep it plain and simple is what I say and folks will get the message."

  Mike grinned. "That's the spirit man. And you can always count on me too when the time comes."

  After paying Jack pulled away from the gas station. "God damn government," he thought. "They've got oil prices up again. There's plenty of oil, I know that, but they just keep putting prices up to keep the little man down. Damn, to keep me down. But I won't be kept down. Oh no. Not me."

  And that was the moment a plan began to be formed in Jack Bower's mind. It wasn't really a plan yet, more of a simple idea, but soon a lot more would come of it than even he himself knew at the time.

  A few days later Jack was back in the countryside where he often played war games with his pals from the militia. This time he was target practising with his new fifty caliber gun. The range and power of his new gun delighted him. "You're just the thing," he said and patted the rifle when he'd shot up all the cans he'd brought along.

  The idea he'd been brooding on had now attained a new kind of reality in his mind, had become more tangible and he was satisfied with the progress.

  "You just wait, you east coast pussies. You want to scare me off with your high gas prices? I'll show you something, I will."

  Muttering to himself he walked around and inspected the area. He was alone that day. There were few shrubs and boulders around. The land was mostly flat. A few hundred yards away were some mounds and the other direction was the 'nullah'
as they liked to call it. The nullah was an empty dry river bed. One of the militia had spent some time in Asia years ago and introduced the term. Hidden in the banks of the nullah, behind some boulders and in a few other places were tunnel entrances. These were the result of decades of weekend war games where all sorts of wars from WWII to Vietnam were re-enacted or where some future wars from their fantasy were diligently prepared.

  Jack nodded. He knew all the secrets this place held and was sure it would do. "If the feds want me, let'em try come here."

  A few weeks later the President was on election campaign in California. Determined to make the world a better place he had decided to put global warming firmly on the agenda for his second term in office. He had a strong lead in the polls and after his opponent was shown on TV taking part in a witch ritual in church his lead had increased even more. He felt confident he could address at least one controversial topic.

  "My friends, my fellow Americans," he began his speech at a rally somewhere in California. "It is easy and convenient to pretend that problems don't exist. We can just close our eyes and not see them anymore. But that doesn't make them go away. That's not the spirit that has made America great. America is great today because those before us did not close their eyes. Those before us stood with their eyes wide open, they worked hard, they gave their sweat and sometimes their blood to find answers to the problems they faced. That is the spirit that made America great.

  Do we have the same spirit today? I say yes because I believe in America. I believe in the greatness Americans carry in their hearts.

  There are many problems we face today just as we have always done. But there is one problem, one challenge that stands out from the rest: Global Warming.

  It may not sound like much, but it is the gravest threat this country has faced since Pearl Harbor.

  How can this be, you may ask.

  Does it really matter if the world gets a few degrees warmer? Isn't it a nice thing if we have warmer weather in New York and Chicago? Don't folks in Alaska also deserve some palm trees and sunshine?

  I've got to tell you, it does matter. It's not the question of getting warmer weather, it's the question of getting more weather; more storms, more hurricanes, more floods, more heat waves. It's a question of more folks getting hurt or even killed. It's a question of trillions of dollars in damages caused by this weather. It may even be a question of maintaining our territorial integrity. For when the seas rise and cover our land, our farmland, our cities, what army could defend us then? It would be too late to do anything.

  That's why I'm asking you now, my fellow Americans. Take my hand and let's face this challenge together. Let's do it for a better more prosperous America tomorrow!"

  Jack Bower watched the speech on TV. "I knew it, I just goddamn knew it," he said to no one in particular. "It's a goddamn conspiracy. It's ZOG and those Bilderbergers. They want to take our freedom away. First it's oil and then our guns. But not with me, not with me."

  He clenched his fists crushing a beer can he had just emptied. He looked around. Everything was ready for D-Day. It had cost a lot and he'd even had to borrow from his militia pals, but it was for a good cause. Of that he was sure. Now his SUV was armoured and he'd even sewn a suit made of material from bullet proof vests.

  "Oh yea, I'm ready you tyrant," and he shook his fist at the screen where a smiling President was waving to a cheering crowd.

  He switched off the TV and lay down to sleep for a few hours. It was better to be rested before undertaking such a difficult and dangerous mission. "After all," he thought, "when my day, my hour of glory has come, I'll give them something they'll never forget again." And with this pleasant thought on his mind he fell asleep.

  In the early evening Jack Bower was ready. He was in the position he had been dreaming of for weeks and months. He was lying flat under a camouflage net on the top of a little hill some three quarters of a mile from the interstate. His SUV stood on the other side of the hill. It would take him no more than a minute to reach if he ran down the hill. But that didn't matter now. It was hot in his self-made bullet proof suit and sweat ran down his face. He was all wet inside the suit, but that didn't matter to him either. There was only one thing that mattered to him now. He looked ahead through the telescope of his fifty caliber rifle.

  Soon, soon the President's campaign bus would be coming along the interstate driving westward and creating ideal light conditions. The people on the bus would be looking into the sun while he had the sun behind him with his target nicely illuminated by the evening sun.

  Then it came. He could see it from far away. It drew nearer and nearer until he could make out flags and banners. When it was near enough he pulled the trigger. The supersonic projectile left the mouth of the rifle and sped across the land. It entered the bus through the windshield and tore through the driver's chest. The bus veered out of control turning towards Jack. His second bullet penetrated the middle of the windshield and tore all the way down the aisle ripping through several people standing there. The bus tipped to one side and slid across the asphalt before it came to a halt. The driver of the secret service car following the bus never knew what hit him. Moments after the bus had overturned another bullet came through the bulletproof windshield and killed him. Jack reloaded and fired again. He fired several more times until the bus caught fire forcing everyone out.

  A cruising helicopter finally made out Jack's position and a sniper opened fire.

  "Damn bastard," Jack thought. He tried to return fire at the helicopter but the sniper was too good. He took some hits but was saved by his suit. Forced to drop his gun he ran down to his SUV and drove off with the helicopter in pursuit. The SUV worked hard across some rocky terrain until they reached a dirt track. All the while the sniper kept firing but the steel plating of the SUV absorbed all the shots.

  He turned onto a country road. Soon the flashing lights of a state trooper appeared in his rear mirror. "Well, well, got company, have we?" he said with a grim smile.

  The chase went on for several miles at high speed. The solitary car was joined by another and then by another. Then he noticed first one news helicopter in the sky soon to be followed by more. "Hey man, I'm on my own favourite show now," he laughed.

  Up ahead was a road block. "You want to rip up my tyres, do you?" He went on at full speed with the patrol car close behind. At the last moment he slammed his brakes causing the patrol car to slam into him and the two police cars behind to crush the patrol car.

  He laughed crazily. Before the SUV came to a full stop he put his foot back on the gas and turned off the road driving around the road block. The officers shot at him but he just returned a middle finger.

  "Now the real fun begins," he grinned as he approached the militia's training ground. The police vehicles were not so close behind him anymore as they had become more cautious. He turned off the road back onto a dirt track. "Surprise, surprise," he said. "You've got no idea where I'm going and no idea what's waiting for you or you'd have your pants full already."

  He pulled up alongside the nullah and dropped down the side. After firing at the pursuing police car from under his SUV he watched the helicopter as it turned to one side. Seeing Jack outside his armoured vehicle the sniper saw his chance and the helicopter drew closer.

  "That's right baby," Jack said. "Come and get me. I'm right here."

  He noted that the police cars had stopped and the officers were taking cover behind their vehicles. He grinned.

  "Oh goodie, goodie. It's just you and me," he shouted at the helicopter.

  The helicopter was quite close now, the sniper getting ready for a killing shot. Suddenly Jack put his hands into the sand and pulled out the RPG he had hidden there. In a trice he brought it up to his shoulder, aimed and fired. The pilot saw the RPG blazing through the air and tried to evade it but it was too late. The RPG hit the cockpit. The helicopter started falling to one side and hit the ground some fifty yards from the nullah and burst into flames.
r />   "The sweet smell of victory," Jack said. "Live on TV. I just love it."

  He looked back at the police on the ground. "Trying to flank me, eh? Two can play that game."

  He fired a few more rounds under the SUV and then slid down to the bottom of the nullah. He entered a tunnel through a concealed entrance and then quickly closed it again before anyone could see where he had gone. He fixed a light to his head and moved along the tunnel. At a crossing he took a right turn and went along a straight tunnel until he saw the hatch he was looking for.

  "Here we go," he said and switched off the light. He slowly lifted the hatch and peered out. He was behind the police cars.

  "Not five yards away," he thought.

  Some policemen were still pointing their guns in the direction of the SUV while others were involved in a flanking movement to get him from the side.

  Jack almost laughed. "Funny to see you guys from behind. Now just look what Uncle Jack has got for you."

  He quietly drew the hatch to one side. Then he pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed it through the open door of the nearest car. It exploded and turned the car into a ball of fire. He quickly closed the hatch and moved through the tunnel system to a different vantage point.

  "These tunnels are great," he thought. "Thirty years of work have come to this day, this day of victory."

  He walked up an incline and after a few minutes he was right under the top of the hill. He opened a small hole and peered out. More vehicles had arrived including some large black cars.

  "So the feds have come, I see. Well it's a pleasure meeting you gentlemen.

  He saw several of them inspecting his SUV.

  "What do we have here, then? You didn't really think I'd let you have my SUV, did you?"

  He pulled out a small radio transmitter, switched it on and pressed the one button on it. The SUV exploded into a huge fireball. Several people were killed instantly. Others lay around wounded yelling in agony or calling for help.

  "Now what do you say to that? The feds calling for help. I said I'd show you pussies. And you don't even know where I am. So near and yet so far. Well, let me help you a little."

  He aimed an AK47 out of the opening. He waited till people were back on their feet and then opened up. He held the trigger until the last round was gone.

  "He's up on the hill," he heard someone shout.

  "Yea right, wise guy. Come and get me."

  But no one had the stomach to run up the hill against automatic fire and instead those who could move sought shelter in the nullah. A number of rifles appeared over the ridge and began to return fire at him.

  "Now ain't that great?" he said. "Just where I love to see you."

  He reloaded the AK47 and fired in the direction of the nullah so that there was no doubt in anyone's mind about his position. Then he closed the opening and moved back down the tunnel again. This time he reached a point a bit further down the nullah. He opened a hatch and saw men and women in different uniforms and in plain clothes shooting over the ridge at where they though he was still hiding.

  "Oh this is beautiful," he said. "All lined up like a bunch of cans ready for taking pot shots at."

  He slipped off the safety catch, aimed and opened fire. The effect was instantaneous. Bullets ripped through their backs and several people rolled down screaming in agony. Only two of them managed to scramble over the ridge and run away past the parked cars towards the road.

  "I'm superman," he shouted after them. "I'm invincible, you pussies. You can never get me. Just run away back home and hide under your beds." He laughed savagely and vanished back into the tunnel system.

  Many thousand miles away something very different was happening. For several years cracks had been appearing in the west Antarctic ice shield. The shelf ice that had always restrained the ice shield wasn't there anymore allowing the cracks to widen, imperceptibly at first but then at an ever increasing rate. And then, one day the breaking point was reached. The area where the cracks appeared was not strong enough anymore to hold the ice together. The enormous ice mass began to move towards the ocean sliding across the layer of oily liquid ice at the bottom. It moved very slowly at first but kept gathering momentum and after a few hours the entire ice shield slammed into the ocean.

  When there is a seaquake the result can sometimes be a tsunami. A huge wave that travels across the ocean at high speed and that can be thirty or forty feet high when it crashes into a shore.

  If a volcanic island exploded or an asteroid plunged into the ocean the result would be a mega tsunami.

  But when a trillion trillion tons of ice hit the ocean the result is beyond words.

  A mile high wall of water raced through the ocean that destroyed everything in its way, swept across islands and washed hundreds of miles inland where it hit a larger landmass. The wave and the rise in sea level dislodged the east Antarctic ice shield and caused a second tsunami. The devastation caused around the world was without precedent and made the second world war look like child's play. Whole nations such as Holland, England and Bangladesh vanished under the sea. Low lying agricultural areas everywhere were on the sea floor. In one day the global sea level rose by over three hundred feet. Any land lower than that was covered by water.

  Waves now lapped at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. When Jack Bower was celebrating his 'glorious victory over the feds and other conspiracy freaks' as he called it, the water came rushing up and engulfed California. It came pouring into Jack's tunnels and drowned him like a rat.

  Oil

  I am writing these words on an old style of typewriter. The keys are all metal so I can see which letters I am hitting, but part of the body used to be plastic; it has long gone. There was a time when I could have written quickly but now my eyes are tired and weary and my thin bony fingers don't move easily anymore so that I can only push one key at a time. I am a sere old man.

  The story I am about to tell is not a pleasant one I fear. I have just begun my return trip from New York or maybe I should say what used to be New York. The city has been empty for some thirty years now and it is much too dangerous to enter it. The glass panes from windows all fell out a long time ago, of course, but now there is an ever present peril of falling debris as steel is rusting away year after year and old concrete is slowly yet inexorably disintegrating. The only part of New York still accessible is Staten Island and our unforgettable Lady Liberty. She is as beautiful as ever. It was wonderful to see her again, just like in old times. Well, almost anyway. The memory of a million bright and colourful lights that once turned night into day in New York is both a pleasant and a painful one. Pleasant because those truly were the good old days, and painful because of all that has happened since.

  But I digress.

  I am sitting in the compartment of a train, a steam train fueled with wood and greased with animal fats, on my way back to the small town that I call home now. My story is not a special one; I am an ordinary person. It will be about love and pain, a simple man's life. But above all it will be a story about the law of unintended consequences.

  "Good morning Mr. Griffiths. How are you?"

  "Pretty pukka, thank you Mitch," I replied. "And yourself?"

  "Pretty pukka, too," he replied with a grin.

  I smiled too. When I arrived in New York from England I found a job as a replacement teacher at a local high school within days. On my first day at work someone asked me how I was and I replied with a cheerful "pretty pukka" which in England would be understood as meaning "pretty good". Since then it has become somewhat of a joke with my students.

  I like working at my new high school. The kids are nice and I get along well with my colleagues. But most of all I'm happy with my new home. When I go home to my flat - oops I meant to write apartment - Jane is waiting for me. She is a biologist and, more importantly, she is going to be my wife. We've arranged our wedding for autumn. It's astounding how many things can happen in a mere fortnight; I've left my country, found a job in America,
fallen in love and arranged to get married. It's mind boggling really.

  "Quick marriage - long regrets" an older colleague warned me yesterday. Maybe that's what happened to him. I don't care. I'm floating through the universe on my own pink cloud.

  What happens after I get home? Hey, none of your business! Get your own girlfriend and find out.

  Anyway our wedding day came and went, we went on our wedding trip and twelve years later we had a wonderful family with three adorable kids Tom, Lucy and Laurel. At least I think they're adorable, but that's the prerogative of every father.

  Jane seems to be happy with her job, something to do with microbiology. "How are the germs today?" I usually ask her when she comes home.

  "As happy as can be," she usually replies.

  "All right but don't give me any unwanted gifts," I say. "Don't you worry, they're not that kind of germs," is her reply and we leave it at that.

  She doesn't really like to talk about what she's doing. I don't mind. I'm not very fond of germs anyway. I get more than enough at work. Yes, I'm still at the same school. Have you noticed how just one person gets sick at first and then goes to school coughing and sneezing to make sure everyone else catches the same nasty disease too? It's called the flu season and people exchange more 'gifts' during that time than over Christmas. Personally I prefer Christmas gifts. Maybe I'm just destined to become a grumpy old man after forty years at one school who can't appreciate the fun in life.

  At least that might have been my destiny, but it came very differently. The hand fate dealt me was nothing I could ever have expected, not even in my wildest, or should I say, most drunken moments.

  One day Jane came home from work with the word 'news' written all over her face. "I'm on TV tonight," she said with a big happy grin.

  But push her as I might, I couldn't get one word out of her what it was about.

  "Just wait and see," she said, "and you'll know what I've been working on all these years."

  So we allowed the kids to stay up rather longer than usual and at the right time sat down on our sofa to watch the news.

  "Hello. My name is Mike Callum and I welcome you to a new edition of Science Today. Today's guest on the program is Dr. Jane Griffiths from New York.

  Hi Jane, good to have you with us."

  "Thank you Mike, it's great to be here."

  "Now then, Jane. I understand that you are going to show us some bacteria today that are capable of performing something truly remarkable."

  "That's right, Mike. But first let me say something about the background to my research. As you know oil is a very important thing in our lives. We need it to power all sorts of vehicles, to produce electricity, to make rubber and plastic, and even to make some medicines. It would be difficult to imagine our lives without oil."

  "My Ford Mustang certainly wouldn't be happy without it," Mike laughed.

  Jane smiled. "But sometimes things go wrong and oil becomes a problem. This could be a comparatively minor incident such as the diesel tank of a bus running out or it could be a huge disaster where an oil tanker at sea breaks apart and millions of gallons of oil pollute the environment. We all know what that means from TV: dead fish, dead birds, black beaches and more. Cleaning up the mess is often impossible and extremely expensive. It can take an eco-system decades to recover from a major spill. But now we have come up with a new kind of solution. It has been known for quite a while that a certain kind of bacteria can feed on oil."

  "You mean they could actually eat up an oil spill?"

  "Not yet, Mike. They work much too slowly to have any practical value. But in our lab we have been able to take these bacteria and change them. We have genetically engineered them so they work much faster. Now, in fact, they're truly voracious."

  "All right, Jane. You've prepared an experiment so our viewers can see how this works."

  "That's right, Mike. Here is a jar. First I pour some dry sand into it and then I add half a cup of oil. You can see the oil seeping through the sand. If this was on a beach it would be very difficult and expensive to clean. But now look what I can do. I take this syringe and inject a few drops of this clear liquid containing the bacteria inside the sticky sand."

  "All right, Jane. Now we filmed this over two and a half hours and as you can see in fast motion the bacteria literally eat their way through the oil until nothing is left. That's just fantastic. But isn't there a danger that these bacteria could get into an oil well for example?"

  "No, Mike. That's impossible. The bacteria have a very short lifespan with an extremely high reproductive rate. That's why they were able to eat up the oil so quickly. But it also means that without any more oil they quickly die from starvation. They're also very sensitive to oxygen. If they get exposed to oxygen they die quickly. That's why I had to inject them into the oil."

  "Well, Jane that opens up great possibilities. Thank you for being with us today?"

  "That's wonderful, sweetie. I had no idea you were working on anything like that. It's incredible."

  Jane was beaming. "And you know what," she said. "It may soon be put to practical use. An oil platform in the gulf has blown out. Millions of gallons are gushing into the sea and the government has asked our lab if we can help.

  A fortnight later beaches from Texas to Florida were covered in thick black oil. It was a disaster without precedent. And so Dr. Jane Griffiths and her bacteria were called to the rescue. She and some helpers travelled from beach to beach and injected bacteria rich liquid into oily sand. It worked like in a dream. Never before had oil polluted beaches been clean so rapidly. Of course they didn't really get clean as fresh oil kept being washed ashore, but the bacteria were there eating up any oil that came their way. In fact there never was so little oil that the bacteria had a chance to starve to death. They spread into the ocean and started consuming oil and tar balls in the water. Their performance exceeded everyone's wildest dreams.

  And so Dr. Jane Griffiths, my wife, was celebrated and feted as a hero across the country.

  But when you fly high, too close to the sun, your wings can get burnt and you fall down. That's what happened to Jane, my dear poor Jane.

  You see, while the bacteria were busy digesting all that oil they multiplied to an incredible extent. They had a very short life cycle. And they came into contact with many other bacteria. All this helped them to exchange DNA with other bacteria and to mutate. They didn't really change that much or become evil or anything like that. They just didn't want to die. Who does after all? They were now able to stay alive a long time after the oil was gone until they found their next meal; and they were quite happy to mix with oxygen and let the wind blow them to the four corners of the Earth. It's the law of unintended consequences. And what followed was our worst nightmare come true.

  One day not much later we were all at home. From the thirty-sixth the view is great. Especially when you have those big modern windows that reach from the floor to the ceiling. "Don't lean against the window, honey," my wife said to Tom. But he didn't listen. "Oh Mum. It's safe, look!" And he pushed against the glass. Of course he was right. The windows were safe. They were built to withstand storms. Why wouldn't they be safe? Why not indeed, if it weren't for the rubber seals that held the glass in place. Tom had pushed against the glass many times before. Only this time it fell out. For a brief moment he stood in the empty frame trying to regain his balance, but then he was gone. For ever.

  The bacteria had widened their menu to include products made from oil such as rubber and plastic.

  Soon windows everywhere were falling. Electric cables were bared and caused short circuits. Anything made of rubber or plastic began to disintegrate. Cars, buses and aircraft stopped working. There was no electricity anymore. No food supply to the cities. That had always come on trucks, but they didn't work anymore either. If the food doesn't come to you, why then you have to go to the food. That's what we thought. It's what everyone thought.

  We packed a few essentials in a rucksa
ck and left our home for good. Not that it mattered. Who wants to live thirty-six floors up when there's no elevator? When there's no glass in the windows to keep the wind out. Only Tom was staying in New York. We left three days after his funeral.

  It's a really long way from the city to the country when you have to walk. Especially on roads covered with broken glass and jammed with all sorts of vehicles that were just left wherever they had stopped working.

  There were people around us everywhere; long throngs of hungry eyes, staring, looking for food. But there was none.

  "Daddy, my feet hurt." It was Lucy, our youngest. She's just four. Her feet were bleeding, so I carried her.

  When we reached the first farm there was no more food to be had. Only the farmer was still there, murdered by the food crazy mob. We spent our first night in the country sleeping on grass, the children between Jane and myself. It was the beginning of our new life.

  "Daddy, I'm hungry Daddy." Laurel woke me up the next day. Actually it wasn't day yet. There was just a faint light in the east. First dawn.

  "I'm sorry, Laurel. We'll have to walk on until we find something. There's nothing here."

  We set off and by and by others awoke too, till the road was crowded again.

  Then there was a shout. "That's the bitch! There she is!" He walked up to Jane pointing his finger in her face. "You goddamn bitch! You took my life away! I want food! Give me my life back!"

  She tried to say something but he spat right into her face.

  I pushed him back with one hand while carrying Lucy on my other arm. A crowd was forming around us.

  "Come on quickly," I said to Jane. We tried to walk away but the man kept following and shouting, working up the crowd into a frenzy. In films this is the time when a hero appears on the scene to rescue the proverbial damsel in distress. There was no hero.

  People kicked and punched me and others dragged Jane away. Lucy and Laurel were screaming "Mummy", but no one heard or even cared.

  I later found her poor battered body. We gave her a simple burial. I was alone with the children now. And they were terrified of other people.

  How many weeks can you walk with two young children? There was little food; occasionally some fruit on trees, usually just grain growing in the fields.

  "Are you looking for a place to stay?" a kindly voice asked one day.

  I turned.

  "Oh please yes," Lucy burst out before I could say anything.

  "You'd better come with me then," the kind voice said again. He was an elderly farmer.

  "Thank you, sir. It's very good of you," I said.

  "I also had young kids once. You'll have to work, though, if you want to eat."

  "Whatever you say, sir."

  "And stop calling me 'sir'. My name's Jake." He held out his hand.

  "I'm Steve," I said and shook his hand.

  We walked to his farm. It was a small place and I could see a number of other people working in the fields harvesting the wheat.

  "Here's another one, Mary," the farmer said to his wife.

  "Oh Jake," she said with reproach in her eyes.

  There were too many already I suppose. But when she saw Laurel and especially Lucy her heart softened.

  "Oh very well, then. A few more won't matter, I suppose.

  She gave us a little soup each and promised to look after the kids. I had to go straight to the fields and help with the harvest. Cutting grain stalks with a kitchen knife is backbreaking work. But at least we lived.

  After the weeks on the road the time with Jake and Mary was wonderful. It was a pleasant mild autumn and we slept on the hay in the barn. We were protected from the cool night air and the hay was warm. An Indian summer for everyone.

  But every autumn is followed by winter. That winter we didn't think of snowballs and other winter fun. It was cold, bitterly cold. The only warmth we had was from a small stove in the kitchen. We took it in turns to spend some time there. Soon the inevitable happened. First one man got a cough, then another. It spread quickly. Lucy got pneumonia. She died. Poor little Lucy. So young and yet her life was over already. Don't expect me to write many words about this. I can't. It's too painful.

  Now I only had Laurel. I think he is the only reason I stayed alive then, because he needed me.

  In the spring I faced the difficult choice of staying or heading out into the unknown. Mary decided the question for me.

  "After that winter there isn't much left for sowing," she said pulling me aside. "That means a small harvest this year."

  She looked at Laurel and I understood.

  We set out the same day heading south. The desperate crowds from the year before had gone. The lack of food and the cold winter had done away with them. Travelling was easier, sometimes a farmer gave us a lift on a cart and we didn't starve.

  "Where're we going Daddy?" Laurel asked me day after day.

  "I don't know lad. We've got to find a place of our own. A place where we can live. Until then we'll have to keep on going."

  And then we found that place. The little town of Wymore had its own newspaper, still printed with an old printing press from the early 1900s. It was old, but it worked. And they needed someone to typeset.

  I worked there for thirty-five years. Now Laurel is doing my job. I'm on my way to Wymore now. The steam locomotive should pull into the station soon, right on time and I'm sure Laurel will be standing there waiting for me.

  It was good to see New York again one last time. It has brought back many nice memories. But it has also reminded me of poor Tom who never left the city, of Jane who is lying somewhere by the roadside, and poor little Lucy who is buried at the farm.

  I wonder if Laurel will print my story.

  If he does he should call it:

  The Law of Unintended Consequences