Moonfall

SPECIAL BROADCAST FROM WHITE HOUSE. 11:45 P.M.

"My Fellow Americans,

"As you are aware, several tidal waves have struck the East Coast of the United States. The collision earlier this evening between the Moon and Comet Tomiko has filled the sky with debris. Pieces of the disintegrating Moon have been falling on land and into the ocean. Waves caused by these objects have struck several of our cities. New Haven, New Orleans, Charleston, have all been hit very hard. Even inland cities have been struck. So far most of the damage has been in the Western Hemisphere, because our side of the globe is presently turned toward the Moon.

"We have reason to believe the worst is over. And the news is not all bad. The West Coast, so far, has been spared. The nation's heartland is almost untouched.

"Tonight we will do what Americans have always done in times of crisis: We will draw together, and we will survive. We will work through this, we will maintain our faith in God, and we will still be here when the Sun comes up."

Later, Henry regretted that last line. Al had resisted it, but the president thought it had power and would become memorable. A line often quoted, and perhaps appealed to in future emergencies.

In fact, he realized too late it sounded unduly pessimistic. Manhattan. 11:49 P.M.

The sea wave that hit the New York area wasn't at all the type that a lifetime of catastrophe films would have led the party-goers on Louise's rooftop to expect. There was no unfurling of the water, no crest, no foam. Every river and bay in the area simply rose and spilled into Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Jersey shore. Standing toward the rear of the crowd gathered around the TV, which flashed pictures shot from helicopters, Marilyn watched the high seas surge forward over wharfs and ferries and riverside roads.

She was sipping her umpteenth daiquiri (a drink she favored because she could put them away all night without visible effect) when it occurred to her that maybe they were hitting her hard. The water was coming here. And 77th Street was still jammed.

She edged away from the crowd, went back out onto the terrace, and looked down at the traffic. They were bumper to bumper, not moving, a city electrical repair truck, a tanker, a beer truck, a city bus, a police car, a couple of taxis. The doors were popping open and the drivers were climbing out and people were pouring out of the bus and starting to run. But they really had no place to go.

Where was Larry?

Talking to one of the managers. She hurried past him, went out the door and took the elevator down to the ground floor.

She stepped out into a narrow lobby and hurried to the front of the building. Now she could hear screams and shouts outside. And the roar of a helicopter.

She reached the entryway. The inner and outer doors were about eight feet apart and designed for security. But the lock on the inner door would catch once she let it close. She'd be locked out. She looked around for a chair to brace it open, but didn't see one. Back near the elevator, a small table supported a lamp. She put the lamp on the floor, and used the table to guarantee her retreat. Then she opened the front door and looked out into the street.

People were running, walking, hobbling away from the river toward the park. A few sat in their vehicles looking bewildered. She stood on the top step, suddenly aware of a rumble. The ground shook and it felt like an approaching subway.

A middle-aged couple in evening clothes were hurrying past. The man looked up and saw her. "Run!" he cried.

The roar was coming from the west, over toward Broadway. And getting louder. People began to scramble out of the bus. Someone fell, but nobody stopped to help. A taxi, trying to get clear of the stopped vehicles, leaped the curb, ran down a young woman, and plowed into a hydrant. Water spouted into the air, gleaming beneath a streetlight.

At the same moment, a black flood turned the corner, roared over trucks and cars, swept away the Breyers Ice Cream signs on the third floor of the Carmody Building. The streetlight went out. Air horns exploded.

"This way!" Marilyn called. "Up here!" But her voice was lost in the general chaos.

People streamed past, screaming. Someone was trying to climb atop a bread truck. Marilyn went halfway down the steps, tried to seize a woman's arm to catch her attention, but was pushed aside.

Now someone finally noticed the escape route she was offering: a boy, about ten, with his mother in tow. She thought they'd been on the bus, but she wasn't sure. They were threading their way through the stopped traffic and were still fifteen yards away when he looked up and saw Marilyn holding the door. The woman was terrified. They both called out to her and began to run.

Marilyn measured the distance and knew it would be very close. Their faces filled with fear. The woman tripped and went down, and to Marilyn's horror the boy stopped and ran back. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she watched, knowing there was no chance. If she waited, the flood would take her, too. The moment congealed, froze before her eyes, the river rising and pouring over the trucks, swallowing everything, and the woman trying to push the boy in her direction. The child was sobbing, tugging at her, and Marilyn pulled the door shut as the water surged past.

The building trembled with the blow. Windows elsewhere in the house exploded and a torrent poured in. More gouted from an electrical fixture. She screamed her frustration and kicked the table away from the inner door, letting it close behind her, and splashed back down to the elevator lobby, the water already ankle deep. She pushed the button and sobbed and waited a long time for the elevator to come. When it did she lunged into it and the lights went out and she was plunged into absolute darkness. The doors started to close and her survival instincts took hold. She blocked the doors, held them open, and squeezed back out into the lobby. When she was clear, she let go, and they shut with a wet clack, but the elevator didn't move.

She stumbled through the dark, trying to remember where the stairs were. The building creaked and seemed to sink. The floor had gotten slippery and the torrent knocked her down.

She struggled to her feet, half swimming. The water swirled around her thighs. Something, a wooden lamp, floated past. She tried to feel her way along the wall. But the wall went on and on and did not open into the staircase. Had it been on the other side? Or was it at the other end of the corridor, near the front door? She couldn't remember, couldn't even be sure where the front of the building was anymore.

She cried out. The water roared. It was at her shoulders now and she was off her feet.

It stank of oil and dead fish and rotted wood. She kicked out of her shoes. Where was Larry? Didn't he even notice for God's sake she was missing?

The flood was coming in so fast now that she couldn't make any headway against it. She found the elevator doors again.

Something bumped her head.

The ceiling.

Somewhere above she heard shouts. Someone calling her name.

She opened her mouth to respond but it filled with water. Then, behind her, she saw light.

It was the stairway. Someone was in the stairway.

"Help!" she cried.

"Over here!" It was Larry!

The stairs had become a waterfall. She pushed toward it, fighting the current, fighting her own exhaustion.

He appeared, carrying a flashlight, hanging on to the handrail. He leaned out and reached for her, caught her.

"What are you doing down here?" he cried.

Under the circumstances it was an incredible question. "Drowning," she said, knowing he couldn't hear her. But he held tight.

Louise found a robe for her and offered her a bedroom. But she was hyper after the experience, despite being cold and bone-weary, and couldn't sleep.

They were alone in the bedroom. Louise had found some extra clothes for Larry too, a size too large, but that hardly mattered. He seemed as shaken by the experience as she, and that perception brought a glow she hadn't known for a long time.

"I thought I was going to lose you." He lay beside her, his features shrouded in shadow. An illuminated clock threw off the only light in the room.

She sank back into the pillows. "It all happened so quickly." She'd been crying and he kept trying to tell her everything was okay, that they were safe now. She hadn't been able to explain about the people on the sidewalk, about the boy and his mother, and every time she tried the tears came again.

"I love you," he said. "I didn't know I was married to a hero."

It wasn't as if he hadn't spoken the words in a long time. He told her religiously, faithfully, every day that he loved her. Much as he always commented that dinner was good. It was a courtesy, extended reflexively. But not this time. His voice sounded strange.

"I love you too, Larry," she said, feeling tides of emotion and remembering that less than an hour before she'd been contemplating the advantages of trading him for Marv.

His free hand insinuated itself into the robe. But she pushed it away and he looked hurt.

"Marilyn," he said again, bewildered, "It's all right."

But she was peering through the dark, looking again at the boy, into his accusing eyes. They'd been hazel, she thought. And she knew she'd be seeing them for the rest of her life.