Monday, January 23, 2012

Cataclysm IV

This is the final excerpt I'm going to post from this story for a while: I'm not going to serialize it.



Chapter 4



            The next morning we both rose as early as made sense, and after donning our snow gear, we left my apartment. I carried my sledgehammer, and Melody a crowbar I’d given her.
            Snow had fallen in massive heaps, suffocating everything under a huge blanket of snow and ice. The city was almost silent, sounds muffled by the snowfall under the indigo-grey sky. In the long distance, a wolf howled, the sound ricocheting off the skyscrapers of downtown like a phantom’s cry. Cars were spun here and there, some of them demolished, others seemingly unharmed. Bodies were in many of them, frozen lumps welded to the wheel of their vehicle with the cold. Melody gritted her teeth and shuddered when we passed too closely. Here and there fresher bodies lay in the street, some appeared half-eaten, some more unnaturally damaged, with long gashes to the face and neck, or a skull crushed in. Anarchy was beginning its long rule, I knew.
            We reached Hancock’s Sporting Shop within a couple hours of walking. It was dark, and appeared oddly unmolested. The windows were in place, the doors seemed intact. We walked closer.
            Inside, a flashlight suddenly played across one of the front windows.
            “Someone’s inside.” I told Melody.
            “They could be dangerous, we need to be careful.”
            “Follow my lead.” I walked through the alley at the side of the store to the service door at the back, and swung my sledge like a battering ram, smashing the catch. The door sagged open, and I pulled my guard flashlight from my belt, shining it into the dark room. Nothing dangerous caught my eye, and I entered.
            The backrooms were quite expansive in the store, and it was obvious whoever was in there had not heard our entry. Melody crept next to me, taking everything in.
            I stepped into the sales floor of the store, and the figure noticed us.
            “Ha!” He shouted, turning. A raised gun pointed at us. “Trying to sneak up on me, eh?”
            “Who are you?” I demanded.
            “Who are you?” He snapped back.
            “I’m Simon Mensa. I’ve come for supplies with my friend, Melody Wright. I am claiming this store, and you will be allowed to take your pick of things when we’ve finished.”
            The stranger obviously seemed confused that I was giving ultimatums when he had the pistol trained on us, and the strangeness of it seemed to discomfit him.
            “Or,” I continued, “You can join us for companionship, food, shelter, and assistance. We need all the help we can get.”
            “How many of you are there?” All I could see was a silhouette in the dim light, but he seemed to be less hostile.
            “Just us two, but I have plans to find more survivors and begin to rebuild what has been lost.”
            The figure lowered the gun. “I would like that. I really would.” He stepped forward, and I saw it was a young black man, wearing a knit cap and a ski jacket. “I’m Darius Seeley.” He gestured with the flashlight at the pile behind him. “I work—used to—work here. I’ve been gathering some stuff.”
            “Well, the first thing you need to know is that that gun isn’t going to work.”
            “What?”
            “Try it.”
            He pointed it at the front windows and pulled the trigger. There was a solid pop, and the shell dropped from the barrel. The casing ejected with a jingle.
            “What the-“
            “Something must have changed when the world did.” Melody said. “Guns don’t work anymore.”
            “So I was threatening you…”
            Melody laughed. “You could have threatened us with a hamburger patty for all the good it would have done you.”
            Darius broke into a sheepish smile. “I guess I feel like a proper idiot.”
            “One of the first things we need are weapons. There are a lot of looters and thugs still going around, and we’re going to need some means of protecting ourselves. Did you sell crossbows?”
            “Over here.” Darius walked to a corner of the store, and Melody and I followed. She was smiling broadly at him, and he kept glancing at her. Briefly, I felt a flash of something. Jealousy? Anger? I crushed the thoughts down and tried not to think about them.
            Hancock’s had eight crossbows in stock, as well as three or four recurve bows and ten or so compound bows. I took down all the recurve bows, and four of the crossbows.
            “We never know when we’re going to need food or protection, and how many other survivors we’re going to come across.” I told Melody and Darius. “We should try to get as many supplies as possible in this one run.”
            “How are we going to carry them all?” Darius asked. Melody grinned suddenly.
            “I have an idea.” She ran behind the sales counter and got up on the countertop. Behind the counter were the kayaks, and she pulled one down. Losing control, she almost fell off the counter, and then dropped it. She grinned at us as it dropped down, and then awkwardly pulled the other one off as well.
            “We can make a sled to carry the things we need back to your house, Simon.”       The idea was excellent. Darius and I roped the kayaks together as Melody found three pallets in the back that we could put on the flat tops. Using bungee cords, we began tying the pallets down onto the kayaks, creating a sort of rough sled. Together we piled the bows, crossbows, and survival gear onto the sled: fishing poles, rope, an anchor, tents, sleeping bags, flint and tinder lighters, jackets, axes. While Darius and Melody did this, I picked up a long machete from the hiking section, and an eighteen inch survival knife from behind the counter. It was going to get worse before it got better: there was no sense in being unprepared.
            As we were about to go, there was a suddenly rhythmic sound, and I glanced out the large front windows. Five men on horseback trotted toward the store from down the deserted street. They stopped in front of the door and dismounted. One of them, a giant of a man, stepped toward the door after pulling a fire axe from the saddle. With a sudden motion he smashed the front door open.
            Melody shrieked, and Darius stepped in front of her. Like me, he had a machete, and he stood shoulder to shoulder with me, watching the men approach.
            The giant spoke first as the other men stepped through the ruined entrance.
            “Well, hello there.” His voice was smooth as oil, but a note of danger rode the edge. “I hadn’t realized this was someone else’s territory.”
            “We were gathering some supplies we needed to survive.” I told them. “We’ve finished, you are welcome to whatever is left.”
            “Or, we’re welcome to whatever is in the store.” The man said smoothly. “On your pathetic sled or not.”
            “This is ours, and we need it.” I said. Darius shifted beside me. “I don’t want to resort to violence. There is plenty to go around.”
            The leader stepped forward as his men stood behind him, pulling out weapons of their own. “I don’t think I’ve made myself clear. My name is Jack Fortenbleu, but you will refer to me as Axe. In the advent of the fall of any semblance of government, I have graciously agreed to lead these fledgling societies to achieve greatness and rebuild to our former glory.” He stepped forward and smiled, stretching out a gloved hand. “So, will you follow me, or will you go your own way, starveling wretches huddled in the snow?”
            I thought about it for a second. I didn’t trust the man as far as I could throw a dishwasher, but what he had said made sense. As soon as I considered that, a thought dawned in my head, incoherent at first, but rapidly gaining traction. This man was obviously after his own gain, using a powerful idea to secure his own power. But if there was another society that could offer some hope, help in these dark times then maybe mankind would have something to live for, and not be forced to survive under a petty tyrant.
            “Your offer is most kind,” I said. “but I feel that I would be more comfortable striking out on my own and being my own man. I cannot speak for my companions.”
            “I’ll stay with Simon.” Melody said. The speed of her answer surprised and flattered me.
            “How many of you are there, Axe?” Darius asked.
            “We have gathered fifteen survivors.” Axe said. “And we will continue to grow in numbers and power.”
            “I think I will stay with Simon as well, then.” Darius said.
            Axe took a deep breath, not smiling anymore. “Very well then. But know this: I will bring this entire city, this entire continent, under my control. And your little faction will be enemies to me, because you will be taking my provisions, my territory, and sapping my authority. If we meet again, we shall meet as enemies, and not as potential allies.”
            He seemed deadly serious, and from the look of him, he could easily follow up on his promise. But a chance of living alone and unmolested, able to gather those around me that wanted to rebuild, as opposed to living under someone who wanted to gather others under him, and build his own wealth and power made for an easy choice.
            “I understand.” I told him. He signaled his followers, and they stepped out the door. Axe faced us.
            “You have now heard of us, the Iceborn. Do not forget that name.” With that, the giant man stepped out the ruined door, mounted his horse, and trotted off, followed by his soldiers.
            “Where did they get the horses?” I asked.
            “Elysia Mounted Police.” Melody said. “I saw the crest on their saddles.”
            “Well, that means one or two of them might be in the mounted police.” Darius said. “They had to get into the stables, and they’re attached to the prison.”
            “Whoever they were, they’re dangerous. We can’t afford to let them track us.”
            “That won’t be a problem.” Melody said wryly, pointing outside. Snow had begun to fall in fat gobs, covering the already frosted ground with a thick layer of snow. The buildings farther away were soon obscured from view.
            “We’re going to have to go back to your apartment.” Melody said. “It’ll be pretty dangerous in the snow.”
            “It’s too small to accommodate three of us comfortably.” I said. “The Emerson hotel downtown will be a good place to camp out.”

Cataclysm III


Chapter 2



            I didn’t know her name, but I knew who she was. She had been summarily the object of affection/lust for half the guys in the complex when she moved in with a female roommate. During the summer, they had rarely worn much more than a bikini top and shorts, and spent most of their time lounging near the pool, or driving around in a red Jeep Wrangler one of the girls had. When the roommate moved out, she stayed, and her comings and goings stayed of great interest to the eligible men of the complex. I stayed out of the news, but every time a male visitor came to her apartment, speculation would run like disease as to who it might be. I had heard she was going to school for art, but I didn’t know if that was a rumor.
            Right now she was huddled on my bed, having wrapped my comforters around her. She sat there, shivering like a tiny mountain. I sat looking through some survival books I had gathered over the years.
            “What are those?” She asked, pointing to my wall. I glanced up and saw what she was looking at.
            “Fencing awards.” I told her.
            “As in, building fences?”
            “Swordfighting.” I said. “I was a fencer in college.”
            “So those came from winning competitions?”
            “Yeah.” I felt vaguely embarrassed, but somewhat proud. I’d never had anyone to show them off to, besides my teammates.
            “Were you pretty good?”
            “I was B rated,” I said.
            “That’s good?”
            “Well, you have to win in a competition that consists of quite a few people and most of them have to be A’s and B’s.”
            “Wow.” She was quiet a moment, and then said “Why didn’t your gun work?”
            “I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s just my weapon, though. I think that something has qualitatively changed about our world. The gunpowder exploded, just not with the force needed to propel the slug very far.”
            “Do you even know what happened?”
            I briefly explained what had been planned for the night before. She looked disgusted.
            “So, we’re going to be stuck in winter for how long?”
            “I don’t really know.” I admitted. “I do know that the earth is moving toward the sun at a gradual pace, but that’s an incredibly tiny increment.”
            “Can we just spur on global warming?” She said, half-kidding. “Run our cars, use up plastic bags…”
            “I don’t know if that’ll work. A lot of the data was gathered over such a short time some people believed that the warming trend was cyclical. Which means that your actions probably had little to do with global warming as it was presented. And if gunpowder won’t combust correctly, there are other changes that might have occurred in gasoline engines as well.”
            “So cars won’t work anymore? Global warming was caused by humans.”
            I shrugged. “Not really. The twentieth century was among the coolest in human history.”
            “Then why would the government push something like this on us?” She asked.
            “Power?” I guessed. “Never waste a good crisis. It allowed them more control.”
            She sighed and flopped backwards onto my bed. “It’s all so much to handle. No more swimming or popsicles-“
            “The entire world is a popsicle,” I broke in.
            “-or beaches or summer or watermelon.” Her voice started to shake.
            “Stop.” I said. “You can’t think about it that way. We’ll find a way to reverse the effects.”
            She sat up. “I suppose you’re right.” She gave me a suddenly curious look, and laughed. “I haven’t even asked what your name is.”
            “Simon Mensa.”
            “I’m Melody Wright.” She smiled. I suddenly felt slightly out of sorts and turned away awkwardly.
            “I need to do some planning. You should get some rest.”
            The apartment fell quiet as I picked up pencil and paper.






Chapter 3




            Since time was practically nonexistent, as the bluish orb hanging in the sky appeared to never move or change color, I switched my digital watch to military time. It was apparently four in the afternoon now, but I didn’t feel tired. According to the calendar and what memories I could drag together, the event—or The Cataclysm, as I had dubbed it—had happened today: January first, 2021, at 6:17 A.M. GMT. I resolved to begin keeping an accurate calendar as far as I could, and schedule rigorously to avoid losing my mind. As Melody slept, I started piecing together what I knew of the event that had so drastically altered our world. I started writing.

1.      Earth has been fundamentally altered and is in the midst of a severe ice age.
2.      Some, if not all, forms of combustion appear to be obsolete. Gunpowder among those.
3.      Sunlight, moonlight, or natural day and night cycles are altered qualitatively. There appears to be no distinction between night and day.
4.      Radio waves are possibly obsolete: no radio signal, not even white noise, has broadcast.
5.      Electricity appears to still function normally.
6.      Much of humanity appears to have suffered some sort of shock-based aneurism of the brain. From data collected, survival chances are around ten percent, but data is too incomplete to form hypothesis.
7.      Government appears to be at a total collapse as a result of genocide.
8.      There have been no broadcasts on television.
9.      The internet has been destroyed.

I stared at my list. Just the first three things were overwhelming, and I felt sick looking at the rest of the list.
There was a way out, right? Firstly, without firearms, the world would revert back to melee weapons, so I needed, first and foremost, to gather a supply of hand to hand weapons, or forge my own if the need struck. Secondly, survivors were going to need to stick together, much as Melody and I had done. Looters and gangs were going to run rampant, and the government was a non-issue. Thirdly, food sources were an issue. When canned food ran out, how would we cook food? Gas-run generators might not work, so some other form of electricity to cook food, or perhaps gas stoves, would be necessary. Liquid propane grills might work as well.
            The first thing that I needed to do was search the building for more survivors and supplies. The second thing was find a sporting goods store: they would have the items I needed to begin this harsh life.

            I awoke with a start. Melody was standing over me, wearing some kind of fluffy robe and a blanket draped around her shoulders.
            “How long have you been sleeping?” She asked. I groaned and sat up on my couch. The propane heater I had set up was still glowing at the other end of the room, taking the edge off the chill.
            “Not long enough.” I rubbed my face.
            “I need to call my mother.” Her voice was small. “I want to make sure she’s all right.”
            “I doubt your phone or mine will work.”
            “I tried, my cell is dead.”
            I tried to see her expression in the dimness. We needed candles, badly.
            “My landline is over there.”
            She tried it, and a moment later slammed the phone down. She sank down, back against the wall and started to cry.
            “Did it not-“
            “No!” She screamed. “Of course it didn’t work! Nothing is working!” She broke into fresh sobs.
            Helplessly, I moved toward her.
            “Don’t touch me!” She screamed. I raised my hands.
            “Okay. I won’t. I’m leaving, I’ll be back in a few hours. If you want to stay with me, then you can. If you don’t, you’re welcome to leave. Just lock my door when you go.”
            I put on my snow gear and stepped outside, closing the door behind me. She’d be gone by the time I returned, I knew.
            The rest of the apartment building was quiet, the sun, I guess it was, hanging still in the icy air. I found a sledgehammer in the caretaker’s shed behind the office, and began to go through the apartments, knocking the door in where necessary. Every home, every room displayed the carnage of the cataclysm. Bodies lay in pools of frozen blood, some of them from whatever unknown shock had killed them, some of them from looter’s hands. I filled pillowcases with things I would need: scissors, can openers, canned food, some candles, blankets, pillows, knives when I found them. In one apartment I found some skis and poles, and I took those as well. With each house I felt more and more despair. No one had survived the initial destruction, it seemed, save Melody and me.
            I returned when the low hanging sun began to lower further. I had been wrong when I thought there was no difference, day seemed to be a cool blue light, about seven hours long, and whatever night had become was fast approaching.
            Melody was inside when I arrived, and I dropped the supplies I had taken. She gave me a half-smile when she looked up from my small Coleman stove she had pirated from somewhere in my apartment.
            “I thought the least I could do is make us something to eat.”

Cataclysm II


Chapter 1.

            I awoke in Hell.
            If it was Hell, though, it was the Norse hell, where time and bone froze alike, and the damned were forced to wander.
            I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the freezing darkness. I was pinned by something that yielded slightly when I struggled. I pushed hard against my prison, and it shattered like an egg.
            Like a phoenix of ice, I was reborn.
            The darkness was not so complete when I stood, bluish light filtering through the densely indigo air through my shattered apartment windows. A bluish blob the size of my index nail  hung in the darkly blue sky. The moon? The sun?
            I kicked my feet free of the drywall that had fallen and stood next to my collapsed bed. What had happened? I had fallen asleep late last night, perhaps two or three. My uniform for my next shift as a security guard for the munitions plant I worked at was hanging on the door, along with my Glock. The air was bitterly frigid and felt thicker. Whatever had happened had cause some amount of damage, but I couldn’t hear sirens, or even see lights. What time was it? What day was it?
            I dressed in a long sleeve shirt and a thin hoodie, then put my parka over that. Long underwear, jeans, snow pants, a pair of regular socks, and then over those, my thick woolen socks, then my heavy winter boots. It hadn’t had a chance to snow yet here, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I was already feeling numb.
            The door leading out of my apartment was frosted, but after heaving on it it swung in with a crunch. Outside, the situation was even worse than I thought. The city had huge swathes of buildings that had partially collapsed. The metropolitan area of Elysia was huge, stuck in the massive, rolling forests of Missouri. Surrounding the city, small hamlets dotted the woods. Lights were out all over the place, and only here and there a light glowed in Elysia, as far as I could see. A wolf bayed in the distance, and dogs, here and there, barked. Otherwise, there was silence.
            I grabbed my pistol and holster and belted them under my parka. It was going to be dangerous. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. No answer. Mrs. Hamstead was aging, though, and it was possible she was hurt. The door was locked, but a window was unlocked, and I climbed inside. Her house was in even worse shape than mine. Her refrigerator had fallen over, and was lying open, food scattered across the floor. Lights had shattered, and glass glittered everywhere. I stepped gingerly over a picture of her and her grandkids and walked to her bedroom.
            “Mrs. Hamstead?” The small apartment was silent. I pushed the door open and saw that the ceiling had collapsed, but the slight figure in the bed had no debris on her.
            “Mrs. Hamstead, are you okay?” She didn’t stir, and a sick feeling came over me. She was facing away from me, and I stepped forward and shook her.
            “Mrs. Hamstead?” She rolled onto her back, and I felt sick. Where her eyes should be were sockets, and bloody tracks ran down her face. Blood had bubbled from her mouth and stained her flowery nightgown. Her frail body was bruised red and black. I stepped back. She was old, perhaps whatever had knocked down so many buildings had killed her. Even so, I felt ill. She had been kind to me, and her death struck me deeply.
            I tried the next two apartments, and the result was the same. After I entered a young couple’s two bedroom flat and found both of them and their two year old daughter all dead, the same way, I staggered onto the balcony and vomited, retching over the side to the frozen ground twenty feet below. Whatever catastrophe had caused this was unlikely to have only spared me. I knew that I needed to keep looking.
            I heard a faint cry when I passed a door a few down from mine on my way back to my apartment. I paused, pressing my ear against the glass window. The cry came again. Another survivor? I tried the window and front door. Both locked. I kicked the door in.
            Inside, a small fire licked from wiring touching a cabinet, but the cabinet was too soaked with frost from a gaping gash in the wall to catch. I moved into the bedroom. The bed was clear, save for a heavy beam across the legs of the inhabitant. The beam shifted easily, and the person who had called for help sat up and looked at me.
            “What do you want?” She demanded. I stopped, surprised.
            “I was saving you.”
            “More like you wanted to rape me. I could have moved the beam.”
            “Then why didn’t you?” I retorted. Her arrogance in presuming I had come to rape her astonished me.
            “Fine then.” I snapped. “Freeze.” I turned and walked from the room.
            “Wait!” I heard her cry. There was a thump from the bedroom. I paused and turned. She had tried to get out of the bed and had fallen. She was only wearing panties and a nightshirt, and I could see her long legs were bruised and bleeding. I helped her up.
            “It’s…so cold.” She moaned.
            “I need to take you to my apartment. Are you comfortable with that?”
            “How do I know you’re not going to rape me?”
            “You don’t.”
 She gaped at me, then recoiled. “Then why on earth should I go with you?” She snapped.
“Because you can either go with me, or stay here and die. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
She appeared for a moment to almost reject my offer, but a wave of pain crossed her face. She trembled, hands going gingerly to her wounds.
“Oh God,” She breathed, “I don’t know what’s happened.”
“Are you coming?” My breath was leaving clouds in the air.
“Why should I come?”
“Food, heat, companionship. We need to stick together with other survivors or we’ll have no chance.”
“Oh, fine.” She said. “At least get me some pants so I know you won’t be ogling me.”
“You’re not worthy of ogling right now.” She glanced at me sharply, then sighed.
“I have sweatpants in my chest of drawers.” She said, sitting carefully on the bed.
I got her a pair, and found a suitcase in her closet that I filled with clothing she would need; bras, underwear, sweatpants, hoodies, some long sleeve shirts and thermal socks. She watched me pack the bag in silence after sliding into the sweatpants, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail.
“What about toiletries?” She asked.
“You can get those together as you need them.” I answered. “How much food do you have?”
“Some.” She said. “Mainly frozen food.” She snorted and gave a wry smile. “I guess most of it’s frozen now.”
“I’ll see what you have.”
She had a duffel bag in one of her coat closets, and I began throwing canned goods into it, as well as some frozen food I knew would keep for a while. The vegetables were spoiled, but the meat would keep.
            She emerged from the bedroom.
            “I can’t move the suitcase.”
            “I’ll get it.” I said.
            We moved down the hall, me carrying everything, her with her small back of toiletries. The air was still a dark blue, the blotch of whatever celestial body was ruling the sky high overhead. There was about as much light as a winter dawn filtering through the indigo sky.
            Without warning, I heard a crash, and a man jumped out of the window of an apartment down the walkway. When he turned and saw us, he grinned. He was wearing a knit cap and a winter coat, and carrying a baseball bat. He dropped a sack he had been carrying and began moving toward us.
            “What’s this?” he leered. “Walking corpses?”
            “Don’t come any closer if you mean harm.” I said firmly. He kept walking, about fifty feet away. I pulled my pistol out, chambering a round with a practiced movement.
            “Don’t move.”
            He ignored the gun, hefted the bat, and charged. I fired, but there was a loud thud, and the bullet dropped from the barrel. The girl shrieked, backpedaling as the looter swung his bat. I ducked underneath his swing, letting it pass overhead as I slammed my head into his stomach. He gasped and I brought the pistol up into his crotch. I straightened, and as he doubled over I cracked his head with the butt of the pistol. He staggered, and I snatched the bat away. Cursing, he pulled a long knife from a sheath at his side. My vision flickered, and I swung the bat as hard as I could. The dent it left in his head was sickeningly visible through the knit cap, and he fell forward, leaking blood. I stood, breathing heavily. The chaos had begun so soon.
            The girl wretched behind me, and I heard vomit splatter against the concrete. Quickly and distastefully I searched the body. I left the cash he had, took the gold coins in his pocket. His boots were my size, so I took them, as well as the knife and sheath, and the aluminum bat.
            “We need to get inside.” I told the girl. She nodded, and I saw that she was crying. I helped her into my apartment, then closed and bolted the door. I slid my couch over in front of the door, and then leaned my bookcase across the window. It wasn’t much, but it would help.
            Inside my bedroom, I pulled out a propane heater. I lit it with a match, and then pulled my gloves off and began to warm my hands. The girl took a seat on the bed. As I took my jacket, I heard a small sound behind me. I turned and saw that she was sobbing. I took a breath and crossed to the bed, sitting next to her. She cried harder, leaning against my shoulder.
            “There there.” I said. I felt completely useless; I had never comforted a crying woman before.
            “What’s going on?” She sobbed into my shoulder. “Is this all a bad dream?”
            “I wish it was.”

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Cataclysm

Elysian Journal
           
Prague, Czech Republic- Dr. Peter Rankin of New York announced earlier today that C4, or the Commission for Counteracting Climate Change, has reached a decision regarding new extraplasmic protective technologies. The decision has been heralded as forward thinking and revolutionary in the battle against climate change, carried on since the late twentieth century.

“What we proposed is a two-pronged action. First, we would use extraplasmic generators placed at varying latitudes around the Earth, and on floating rigs in the oceans.” Dr. Rankin told the Journal. “Without delving too much into the actual nitty-gritty of the science, we’re going to qualitatively change the ozone about the Earth to develop a more reflective quality in order to reflect more heat into outer space.” Dr. Rankin’s second prong of the plan, he later explained, is to move the Earth using antimatter rockets anchored in Earth’s atmosphere to actually alter the orbit of the planet.

“The change is going to be extremely minimal, and the Earth’s rotational patterns are going to shift less than a quarter of an inch farther from the sun. However, this shift will be enough to lower the average temperature of our planet by two degrees, in order to create a buffer zone to match any further warming.”

Many conservative and religious fundamentalist groups have expressed concern over the action. “Dr. Rankin means well, but the data does not reflect an exponential curve in the warming, but rather a cyclical pattern.” Edgar Orson, of the Christian Science Foundation said. “Such a drastic move as actually altering the Earth’s orbit could have effects that would leave the world reeling, if not destroy it altogether.”

Despite opposition, NATO, the U.N. and E.U. have all agreed to the plan set forth by C4. “These are drastic times, and drastic measures are a requirement for survival,” Secretary General of the United Nations Pyotr Ilyich said Tuesday at an international press meeting in Moscow. “We must act quickly, or be wiped out by the thoughtlessness of our forefathers. Fortune favors those bold enough to step toward victory; without boldness, we are a dead race on a dead world.”

The plan is slated for execution on the first of January, 2021, a scant eight weeks from the date of this writing. Despite the controversy, Dr. Rankin remains convinced the action agreed upon is the best course. “The plan has been adopted quickly because of the enormous amount of testing, calculation, and planning that has gone into its creation. The most brilliant minds in science have gathered behind this plan. I would swear on a god I don’t believe in, this plan is absolutely foolproof. Nothing will go wrong, because nothing can.”


Chapter 1.

            I awoke in Hell.
            If it was Hell, though, it was the Norse hell, where time and bone froze alike, and the damned were forced to wander.
            I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the freezing darkness. I was pinned by something that yielded slightly when I struggled. I pushed hard against my prison, and it shattered like an egg.
            Like a phoenix of ice, I was reborn.
            The darkness was not so complete when I stood, bluish light filtering through the densely indigo air through my shattered apartment windows. A bluish blob the size of my index nail  hung in the darkly blue sky. The moon? The sun?
            I kicked my feet free of the drywall that had fallen and stood next to my collapsed bed. What had happened? I had fallen asleep late last night, perhaps two or three. My uniform for my next shift as a security guard for the munitions plant I worked at was hanging on the door, along with my Glock. The air was bitterly frigid and felt thicker. Whatever had happened had cause some amount of damage, but I couldn’t hear sirens, or even see lights. What time was it? What day was it?
            I dressed in a long sleeve shirt and a thin hoodie, then put my parka over that. Long underwear, jeans, snow pants, a pair of regular socks, and then over those, my thick woolen socks, then my heavy winter boots. It hadn’t had a chance to snow yet here, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I was already feeling numb.
            The door leading out of my apartment was frosted, but after heaving on it it swung in with a crunch. Outside, the situation was even worse than I thought. The city had huge swathes of buildings that had partially collapsed. The metropolitan area of Elysia was huge, stuck in the massive, rolling forests of Missouri. Surrounding the city, small hamlets dotted the woods. Lights were out all over the place, and only here and there a light glowed in Elysia, as far as I could see. A wolf bayed in the distance, and dogs, here and there, barked. Otherwise, there was silence.
            I grabbed my pistol and holster and belted them under my parka. It was going to be dangerous. I knocked on my neighbor’s door. No answer. Mrs. Hamstead was aging, though, and it was possible she was hurt. The door was locked, but a window was unlocked, and I climbed inside. Her house was in even worse shape than mine. Her refrigerator had fallen over, and was lying open, food scattered across the floor. Lights had shattered, and glass glittered everywhere. I stepped gingerly over a picture of her and her grandkids and walked to her bedroom.
            “Mrs. Hamstead?” The small apartment was silent. I pushed the door open and saw that the ceiling had collapsed, but the slight figure in the bed had no debris on her.
            “Mrs. Hamstead, are you okay?” She didn’t stir, and a sick feeling came over me. She was facing away from me, and I stepped forward and shook her.
            “Mrs. Hamstead?” She rolled onto her back, and I felt sick. Where her eyes should be were sockets, and bloody tracks ran down her face. Blood had bubbled from her mouth and stained her flowery nightgown. Her frail body was bruised red and black. I stepped back. She was old, perhaps whatever had knocked down so many buildings had killed her. Even so, I felt ill. She had been kind to me, and her death struck me deeply.