“Sir, we have lost all power. The backup generators will not start, and the one that did start exploded. We have lost contact with everyone. We
don’t know if it is just because the meteor cloud is obscuring everything
or if, as Jean believes, some kind of element from the meteor cloud has
rendered all electronics useless,” the tall, skinny, balding man facing the
president told him before frowning in displeasure and continuing. “Sir,
what’s more is that we cannot open the doors. They are all controlled
electronically. There are manual overrides, but they’re hard to get to
without power tools. For now, the doors are stuck. I’ve got men trying
to take them apart now, because if we cannot get the power back on, we
will have to leave this shelter. We have too many people here. The air
will last close to 78 hours—then we will all be dead.”
The president, Markus Allumin, frowned at his secretary of state, his
face showing worry. He ran his hands back through his greying black
hair, and his blue eyes seemed to pierce Edwards as he studied the man
who had helped him gain the office he held today. Then he motioned for
everyone but his secretary to leave the office.
When they had all left, the president turned his back on Edwards to
study the map behind his desk. In his hand, he held a couple of pieces
of paper.
“We have both read this,” he told Edwards, “and I am willing to bet it is
right on the money. If that is the case, then we both know no amount
of tinkering you’re doing with the electronics of this place will get our
power back on. Not now, and probably not fifty to a hundred years from
now. Jean Perry is one of the most respected scientists in his field of
study. He now believes that some kind of chemical in this meteor cloud
has interacted with and neutralized all of the electrons on our planet. If
that is the case, we have a severe problem getting our country through.
No cars, planes, phones, or electronic gadgets will work anymore.
Anything with gas explodes—just like our generator did—which was
one of the things Jean speculated about in his report. And you heard the
Secretary of Defense. No gun works. No bullet will fire, though some
have exploded, rendering the gun useless.”
Frustrated, he turned back to Edwards, studying him critically. “We are
going to go through the Dark Ages all over again. Those who survive
this are going to need strong direction and protection. Jean estimates
there will be nearly two feet of ash worldwide when all is said and done.
We will be without sunlight for months. The temperature is going to
plummet drastically. No crops are going to grow. People are going to
starve. Some are going to turn to savagery. And our government system
is going to collapse. So, from this second on, we start planning how to
save our country.”
After Edwards left, Markus sat in his chair and slowly began to draft
a plan that might save the country and help restore peace to the places
where it would revert to savagery.
Day Four: July Fourth
Location: National Park, Wyoming
Derek was walking down the same road he and his family had driven
up just four days before the big meteor storm. Around him was nothing
but darkness. Ash swirled in eddies as he walked through the haze in
the air. Now and then, he would walk off the road and had to crawl on
his hands and knees, sifting through the ash to find it again. Following
it was the only hope he had of ever reaching anyone again.
He wore his makeshift backpack on his back, and in his arms, he held the
still-glowing meteorite. He hugged it close, feeling its warmth keeping
him alive, so warm that his leather jacket was stuffed in the backpack.
With just jeans and a T-shirt on, he felt hot. It was a feeling that he
would rather have than be as cold as the frozen ash that crunched under
his feet. At his waist, strapped to his belt, hung the hunting knife, and
on his feet, tied tight, were his dad’s hiking boots.
Through the meteor’s light, he could see the frozen branches of trees
by the road. Everything was dark, and the meteor’s light had trouble
piercing too far into the ashy haze that filled the air. Now and then,
Derek would have to climb a fallen tree to continue following the road.
The meteor storm had been bad. He could not believe just how many
trees had been knocked over. Once, he lost the road for hours, trying
to go around a section where all the trees had been knocked over like
bowling pins.
Around Derek’s face was a makeshift wrap that he had cut from one
of his burnt shirts. His eyes burned from all the ash, his chest burned
where the meteor had touched him, and his skin was dry and irritated.
To top it off, he was starving for meat. He had eaten the last of his jerky
yesterday while thinking about his fourteenth birthday, which was today
if he had the day correct. He still had one and a half water canteens and
a little burnt oatmeal. He was tempted to drink and eat the rest to fill
his growling stomach.
Either way, he would have to find and boil some water tonight if he could
get a fire started. The matches did not work right, and with the flint? It
was almost impossible, though he got it to work with much effort.
He came through a group of trees, and to his surprise, he saw light up
ahead. It turned out to be coming from the first building he had seen
since the storm. At the same time he saw the building, he saw the first
human in days.
The man looked up when he saw the light coming from Derek, and he
stared in shock at seeing him. Then he collapsed onto the ground.
Surprised, Derek hurried forward. He rushed to the man and put the
meteor on the ground next to him, bending over the man to see if he was
still alive. As he did, he got hit from behind, hard.
Derek heard a weird ringing in his ears and thought he might pass out
as he fell to his knees, holding his head, seeing stars as pain crashed in
around him. He saw movement and instinctively rolled out of the way to
see a baseball bat swish through the air above where his head had been.
Anger and fear overrode his pain, and he pulled his knife, slashing the
air at his side.
He felt his knife snag briefly, cutting through clothing, then he heard a
scream rip through the darkness as he got unsteadily on his feet.
“Get the light he was carrying, and I will take care of him,” a loud,
commanding voice demanded. He was the one Derek knew had the bat.
The voice came from a shadow on Derek’s right.
“My face! Son of a bitch cut my face!” the man without the bat growled
as he stumbled into the light the meteor gave off.
Derek caught a glimpse of the man’s face as he tried to duck the baseball
bat again. This time, the bat caught him on the back of the head as he
moved away, sending him sprawling into the ash-filled street. He rolled,
forcing himself to move through the pain, and heard the bat slam into
the road. Then he was on his feet again.
By then, the bleeding man—who had faked his fall to lure Derek to
him—had reached the glowing meteor. Derek saw him bend over and try
to pick it up. A second later, a horrified, pain-filled scream tore through
the night as the man’s hands blistered and burned from touching the
meteor. He dropped it and stared at his hands in agony.
The man with the bat turned at the unexpected cry from his partner.
Seeing his chance, Derek lunged and slashed at the hand holding the bat.
The man grunted in pain and dropped the weapon, grabbing at his
wrist, where Derek had just sliced through the tendons.
Full of anger, Derek stepped forward, lifting the knife toward the man.
Seeing him coming, the man’s eyes went wide with fear, and he turned
and ran. The man with the cut face and burned hands followed, ignoring
the glowing meteor.
Suddenly shaking, Derek walked slowly to the meteor, coughing from all
the dust he’d breathed in. He adjusted the makeshift scarf over his face
and studied the meteor. It seemed unharmed. He bent down, picked it
up, and as soon as his fingers touched it, it vibrated in his hands. Then,
just as quickly, it settled, sending warmth through his body.
He sheathed his knife and began looking around for the things that had
fallen from his backpack, coughing the whole time. Once he was sure
he’d found everything, he turned to the building. In its window, he saw
the flicker of a candle—and on the porch, two elderly people stood, each
holding a shotgun.
When Derek looked toward them, the one closest to him gestured with
his weapon, signaling for him to keep walking.
“I’ll be telling you like I told them: strangers aren’t welcome here. Beat
it,” the old man said in a harsh voice.
“Herb! He has light, and you saw those men attack him,” the old woman
beside him said in a kind, worried tone.
“Em—shut up,” the old man growled, again motioning for Derek to move
on. “Leave, or I’ll shoot!” he threatened.
Angry, the old lady threw down her gun. “No, Herb!” she said, turning
to Derek with urgency. “That boy needs help. I understand turning away
those men, but this? Can’t you see—he’s only a boy. A wounded one at
that. And he has light!” She whispered the last part in an astonished
tone.
Derek watched them both nervously. The back of his head felt mushy as
he touched it gently, and he could feel blood running down his scalp. He
held the meteor closer to his chest and made a silent vow: next time he
approached anyone, he would hide it—before someone else tried to kill
him for it.
“Boy? What’s your name?” the old lady asked.
It took Derek a moment to realize she was speaking to him. He coughed
to clear his throat, then winced—both from how raw it felt and from the
pain that echoed through his skull.
When his voice finally came, it was cracked and hoarse. It didn’t sound
like his voice at all.
“Derek,” he told her. “I was just looking for someplace to stay—and
maybe some food. I don’t want any trouble. I’ve been walking since the
meteors fell. This is the first place I’ve seen.” He paused, then added, “I
can keep going if you want me to,” speaking with more strength than
he actually felt.
The old man coughed, spat, and motioned for the woman to pick up her
shotgun.
“You’re lying,” he growled. “Ain’t nothing could survive in the open
these last four days. You’d’ve frozen to death or been hit by one of their
asteroids. Now get on—we don’t need anyone taking what little we’ve
got.”
Tired and frustrated, Derek turned to walk away.
“Derek,” the old lady called out, worriedly. She leaned her shotgun
against the door. “Derek, my dear, stop right there. Let me take a look
at you. You don’t look in any shape to go walking off alone,” she said
quickly, pushing the old man aside before he could stop her.
“Emma! Damn it, Emma!” the old man barked. “Get back here! It’s not
safe out there. Those men could still be lurking—this could be one of
their tricks.” He hesitated, then followed after her, raising his shotgun
and training it on Derek.
Derek turned toward them as they approached. He cradled the meteor
protectively against his chest, almost as if to comfort it. As the old lady
neared, the meteor suddenly vibrated—almost as if warning them to stay
back. But it stopped after a second, as Derek gently ran his fingers over
it, trying to calm it down.
As Emma approached, she stared at the light coming from the object the
boy was holding. She was genuinely surprised when, as she got closer, she
began to feel warmer. Once she was close to him, she stopped, looking
at him curiously.
“What do you have there?” she asked, her voice full of wonder.
Derek wasn’t sure how to answer, but a lie came quickly to him. “It’s a
new kind of heater my dad was working on,” he said.
“How does it work?” she asked in amazement. “Nothing in our house
works anymore—no electricity, no batteries. It was even hard to get the
candles to light.”
Noticing how muffled she sounded, Derek studied her carefully. It was
like her nose was stuffed up. He gestured to the meteor in his arms.
“I’m not sure how it works. My dad never explained it to me. I’m sorry,
ma’am. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I wasn’t lying, though. My
family and I were vacationing in the park when the meteors hit.”
He quickly wiped his eyes with his forearm as tears threatened to fall at
the memory of his parents’ deaths.
“Shh. It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice kind and comforting. “You’re
not causing any trouble. Don’t you mind, Herb. Now, let me see your
head. You’re bleeding pretty badly. I saw those men hit you, and I fired
my gun to scare them off—but for some reason, it wouldn’t fire. Herb
even tried his, and it didn’t work either.”
“Emma, dear,” the old man said in a low, angry voice. “If those men hear
that our guns don’t work, they’ll be back to take everything we have by
force.”
He turned a sharp look on Derek, sizing him up. Derek suddenly felt
wary. Something told him that Herb wasn’t as worried about violence
as he claimed.
“But what’s done is done,” Herb continued. “Now, both of you get inside.
It’s not safe out here. I’ll keep watch.”
Derek turned to him. “I’m okay. I can help you keep watch, in case
they—”
“No, no, dear,” Emma said gently, wrapping an arm around his shoulder
and steering him toward the house. “You can’t see it, but your head’s
bashed up something awful. Now you come with me, and I’ll patch it
up the best I can. Then, if you’re feeling better, you can help Herb watch
the place. But I don’t think you should sleep—not with a knock to the
head like that. You might not wake up. I can tell by your eyes—you’ve
got yourself a concussion.”
Emma led the strange boy into her home and shop, then paused to watch
as he looked around. The object in his arms lit the room more brightly
than all her candles combined.
But what truly struck her as strange was his eyes.
When she’d looked into them to check for signs of a concussion, they
had flashed silver.
At first, she thought it might be a trick of the light from whatever he was
carrying—but then she saw the same flash in the glow of her candles.
His eyes had flashed silver.
Derek was led to the kitchen table, and Emma pulled out a chair for him.
He carefully—though reluctantly—placed the meteor in the center of the
table. When he tried to take his hands off it, he struggled. It was as if
the meteor didn’t want him to let go. Surprised, he ran his hands lightly
over its surface to reassure it.
Then he turned to Emma as she stepped closer to examine it.
“Be careful not to touch it. It can be very hot,” he warned her as he
carefully took off his makeshift scarf; it was, to his dismay, soaked in
blood.
Emma nodded politely. “Yes, I saw what it did to that man when he tried
to take it from you,” she said, trying to reassure him, even as her mind
reeled with questions. Why could this boy handle the object with his
bare hands, while it had severely burned the other man?
She studied the object with fascination. Already, much to her relief, she
could feel it warming the kitchen. She had never seen anything like this
“heating device.” It looked exotic—but then again, with so many new
gadgets coming out each year, she wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize
it.
“Take a seat right there,” she told Derek. “Let me see if I can clean you
up a bit.”
Derek shrugged off his backpack and hooked it onto one of the chairs
before sitting down at the table, right next to the meteor. He leaned
forward slightly, allowing her to inspect the back of his head. That’s
when he noticed the back of his shirt was also soaked with blood.
“You said you were visiting the park with your family when the meteors
came?” she asked gently, hoping to distract him. At the same time, she
cleaned the wound—a task made difficult by the ash caked onto his skin
and tangled in his hair. Just by looking at him, she could tell he had been
out in the storm a long time.
Sitting in the chair, Derek felt himself beginning to doze. Exhaustion
was creeping up, making it harder and harder to stay upright. But her
question snapped him awake, and he rubbed his eyes to keep them open.
“When the meteors came, my mom and dad were in the RV. I was
rushing back and saw them trying to call me into it… Then it exploded.
They never made it out,” he said, trying to keep the tears from falling.
Emma handed him a bottle of water while she finished cleaning both
head wounds, listening as he told her how he had hidden on the side of
the mountain and made it as far as he had.
When she finished tending to him, she used a candle to light a fire in the
fireplace and began heating a large can of soup. While he ate, she shared
her and Herb’s story—how they owned the store, the gas station, and the
house; how they’d sealed it up tight to keep out the ash and hold in what
little warmth they could make; and how they used nose filters that fit
inside their nostrils to help them breathe better.
Once he was done eating, Derek couldn’t resist picking up the meteor
again. Instantly, its warmth and comfort flooded through him. He
realized just how attached he had grown to it over the past few days. He
didn’t know what it was, but he knew, without a doubt, that it had kept
him alive. Without its miraculous heat, he would’ve frozen to death.
He snapped back to attention when he realized Emma was watching him
curiously as he ran his fingers along one of the swirling silver stripes,
tracing it from the bottom of the meteor back up.
Emma smiled. “I’d treat that heater with reverence, too, after all you’ve
been through. It’s been getting mighty cold without sunlight, and it’ll
likely get colder still. The last three nights have been horrible. It’s nice to
feel some warmth again.” She paused, then added, “You can stay as long
as you want—as long as you help Herb watch the house. I feel like those
two men might come back. Things could get bad now. This weather’s
gonna make people desperate, and we could use extra hands in case
trouble comes our way.”
She smiled again, looking hopeful. “That ain’t likely though. We’re far
from everybody. Not many folks would even try walking through this
weather, not without light. I think those two men you ran off’ll be the
last ones we see around here.”
“I’m thinking she’s right,” Herb said as he entered the kitchen, rubbing
his arms for warmth. “Them men’ll be back, though. You hurt one pretty
bad, slicing his wrist like that. There’s plenty of blood out there. If it
weren’t so dark, we’d see it plain as day. They couldn’t have gone far—
and when they do come back, we ain’t got no guns to fight with.”
He gave Derek a long, appraising look.
“I’m old. Even hurt like they are, they’re still good enough to take Em
and me. But with your help—and the heat you brought—we might have
a shot. Don’t get me wrong, boy, I fought in my time. I know how to
knife fight, sword fight, and even fence. But guns? That’s always been
my strong point. Without ‘em… Well, stay as long as you want, so long
as you’re helping me keep Emma safe.”
Grateful to be able to stay, Derek nodded.
“I can help keep watch. I’m not hurt too bad—just a little tired,” he said
with a big yawn. “I don’t know how much help I can be if those men
come back. That was my first real fight. I’ve been taking Jeet Kune Do
since I was eight, but I didn’t remember any of it when they attacked
me,” he admitted honestly.
The old man smiled—his first smile since Derek had arrived.
“You handled yourself pretty well, considering how dark it was and how
young you are. Most kids wouldn’t have gotten back up after taking a
hit like that from a baseball bat. But you took two and still fought them
off. So your training must’ve taught you something. Most other kids
would’ve gotten themselves killed.-”
Just then, a noise sounded from the roof—like someone trying to walk
across it.
Derek saw Emma’s eyes widen. Herb took off at a run, grabbing something
from near the doorway. Derek glimpsed a sword—the kind he’d seen
army recruiters carry in commercials. As Herb dashed upstairs, Derek
sprang to his feet, but Emma stopped him with a gentle touch on the
shoulder.
“It could be a diversion,” she said quickly. “Go watch the front window
and see if you spot anything. I’ll check the ones in the back.”
Derek nodded and moved toward the front of the house, pulling his
knife from its sheath. He passed from the warm kitchen light into the
semi-darkness of the living room, where only a single candle flickered.
The room had two large windows and a front door. Inside, it was
clean but cluttered. A big-screen TV hung on one wall with a large
couch in front of it, a loveseat to the side, dressers along the walls, an
entertainment system, a table, and a few other pieces of furniture.
He moved quickly to one of the windows and crouched down, careful not
to be seen. Peeking out, he caught sight of a shadowed figure swinging
a bat—right at his head.
Reflexively, Derek tucked into a roll, the bat crashing into the glass
behind him, missing his face by inches. He came up on his feet just as
the man smashed through the rest of the window and jumped into the
room.
“Son of a bitch! How did I miss you?” the man growled.
It was the one Derek had cut across the face. In the candlelight, Derek
could see a deep, ragged gash that ran from the man’s forehead down his
cheek and even through his coat to his chest. Though it wasn’t bleeding
heavily, the entire front of the man’s coat was soaked with blood, as were
the hands holding the bat.
“You think that knife scares me, boy?” the man sneered, then charged,
swinging the bat with all his might.
Derek almost froze, his heart pounding at the man’s sudden attack. He
didn’t think he had ever been so scared. But beneath the fear, a calm part
of his mind—shaped by years of dojo training—watched the man’s every
move. The attacker telegraphed each action, making it easy for Derek to
predict his intent. Derek waited until the man committed to his swing,
then dove forward, rolling to the side just as the bat whooshed over his
head. As he passed, he slashed his knife toward the man.
But before the blade could hamstring the bat-wielder, Derek cried out in
pain—another man had appeared, slamming a metal pipe into his wrist.
The blow nearly knocked the knife from his hand. Only a flash of instinct
saved him: he had glimpsed the pipe a second before it connected and
managed to shift his arm downward. Instead of a direct hit, the pipe
only grazed his wrist. Still, it hurt like hell.
The man with the pipe landed awkwardly after jumping through the
same window. Derek reacted instantly—kicking at the man’s knee. The
strike hit the side instead of the front, but it was enough to knock the
man off balance. He crashed into the wall, crying out in pain as his
injured wrist slammed against it to break his fall. Derek saw blood spray
into the air as the man’s bandage came loose.
Derek tried to regain his footing, but the man with the bat was already
swinging again, trying to take Derek’s head off. Derek dove backward.
The bat grazed his nose, and pain exploded in his face as blood streamed
down. He cried out as the back of his head collided with the couch,
stunned.
The man stood over him, grinning cruelly. Derek could see in his eyes—
he thought he had won.
But anger surged through Derek. He pushed forward from the couch
and drove his knife upward, jabbing it deep into the man’s arm—the one
cocked to swing the bat again.
At that moment, Herb charged into the room, sword in hand and raised
in a front guard stance.
Both intruders froze at the sight of the weapon.
They panicked.
Without a word, they scrambled back through the broken window and
disappeared into the darkness.
By then, it was growing hard to see inside the house—ash poured in
through the broken window, swirling through the air. The mix of blood
and ash clogging his nose sent Derek into a fit of coughing, his lungs
seizing as he struggled to breathe.
Herb ran to the window, peering out into the darkness, trying to track
the retreating men.
“You okay, son?” he asked over his shoulder.
Derek tried to answer, but the coughing overtook him, wracking his
body until he couldn’t speak—or breathe.
“Em! Come help the boy! I need to fix this damn window and keep the
blasted ash out!”
Derek staggered, choking, his lungs burning as if they were swelling
shut. He couldn’t breathe.
He barely felt it when Herb caught him—everything was spinning. Then,
everything went black.