The Takeover, page 11
Cynthia sighed. They were treating this whole thing as a lark instead of the catastrophe it was. Ashley, meanwhile, was sunk in a depression so deep nothing could shake her out of it.
Who knew, maybe Will, Josh, and Kaley had the right of it—why not think of it as an adventure? Given the state of the world these days, she supposed a tire swing in a barn loft was pretty low on the totem pole of things to be concerned about. She decided to lighten up on the kids, and on her husband, and let them have their fun.
Woof was barking up a storm and periodically sticking his entire snout down the prairie dog hole. Kaley was laughing and staking out another prairie dog hole in the immediate vicinity, hoping one would pop up. All Cynthia could think of was rabies and bubonic plague, but she held her tongue and didn’t call out to them. She was going to try to turn over a new leaf and not worry so much. What good did it do anyway?
Ashley moped into the kitchen and sat down on a stool, looking utterly defeated.
“Hey, babe,” her mom said, putting her arm around her shoulders. “How you holding up?”
“I hate this place. None of my friends are here.”
“I know, sweetie, but they’re only half an hour away. You can still see them at school.”
“But there’s nowhere to shop or hang out. I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere.”
“You could always join your sister and hunt prairie dogs.”
Silence. “Is there anything to eat?”
“No, I still have to go shopping. Wanna come with? We could check out the town of Hygiene on our way to Longmont.”
“What town? There’s, like, two old cafes and a post office.” Ashley moped back out of the kitchen on her way to her bedroom, which was still piled high with unopened boxes.
Josh came in from the garage with a box that was sagging at the bottom and looked like it might fall apart at any moment. “Dad?” he called up the stairs. “Where do you want these books?”
“Up here,” came the reply.
“Why don’t you buy e-books like the rest of us?” Josh grumbled as he trudged up the stairs. “These are heavy.”
“They’re called novels, and stop complaining. Help me unpack, will you?”
“Okay, okay,” Josh said. “But you promised you’d help me hook up my video game later, remember?”
Cynthia thought about all the work going into this one move and wished they’d been able to rent the place for a year. But the owner had been vehement: one month only. He wanted the place for himself after that (lucky bastard), which made sense since there were no domes anywhere in sight for miles.
Which meant they’d have to do this all over again somewhere else in another month.
Wasn’t life grand?
Interlude: Jump 6
October 30
As the domes continued to jump and merge, the question on everyone’s mind was: Exactly how many more jumps would there be? It was a question no one could answer, even though the answer was of the utmost importance. The domes were already a huge problem for human and animal alike, but five or six more jumps would be catastrophic—and beyond that, cataclysmic.
At least the domes were predictable in certain respects: scientists could now say with some certainty that if the domes kept jumping, doubling in diameter each time, they would follow a growth rate that looked something like this going forward:
Jump # Jump Day Dome Diameter Dome Area
6 30 Oct 2041 0.2 mi < 0.1 sq mi
7 9 Nov 2041 0.4 mi 0.1 sq mi
8 19 Nov 2041 0.8 mi 0.5 sq mi
9 29 Nov 2041 1½ mi 2 sq mi
10 9 Dec 2041 3 mi 7 sq mi
11 19 Dec 2041 6 mi 28 sq mi
12 29 Dec 2041 12 mi 113 sq mi
13 8 Jan 2042 24 mi 452 sq mi
14 18 Jan 2042 48 mi 1,810 sq mi
There was little point in calculating beyond the 18 January date. By then, based on scientists’ calculations, most of the available land on Earth would be covered by domes. Human and animal alike would have little land left to live on and would have to survive as best they could in the interstices between domes. Billions would asphyxiate. Some small patches of habitable land and some remote islands would continue to support life, so humanity would avoid outright extinction, but that was rather small comfort for the rest of mankind. The hard truth of it was, most of the human race was facing a death sentence within the next three months if the domes didn’t stop jumping.
Such news did little to help people sleep at night, but that didn’t stop doomsday prophets, news anchors, and scientists alike from trumpeting doomsday scenarios to the heavens. They couldn’t seem to help themselves.
A surprising number of people seemed fascinated by their own approaching death sentence. Some appeared almost greedy for it. It was a strange phenomenon akin to a death wish on a species-wide scale. There was much talk of mankind being a plague on the Earth and how the planet would be better off without us. But even those who could accept the end of humanity with equanimity had trouble accepting the end of all or nearly all terrestrial animal life.
Survivalists, meanwhile, decried what they saw as defeatist attitudes and made their own plans. They reckoned where the domes were most likely to leave gaps and hunkered down in those spots, preparing for all-out war with the aliens (and each other, no doubt). Others set off in boats or planes for the most remote islands they could find—much to the vexation of locals who already lived there. Such intruders rarely received a warm welcome, and some, it was said, disappeared under mysterious circumstances. A few uber-wealthy billionaires took the direct approach and purchased their own islands, complete with fresh-running water and fruit trees, as a sort of insurance policy against the end of the world. Who might or might not be invited onto these private island paradises was the subject of much speculation over the coming days and weeks on daytime talk shows.
Meanwhile, anger was boiling over at the aliens who were behind all this—but it was hard to vent anger at an invisible foe. The aliens felt unreal because they were unrevealed: faceless, nameless, amorphous somethings.
Our fellow humans, on the other hand, made for much easier targets. They were in our faces every day, and it seemed we didn’t like each other all that much—at least not when we were being pushed—pushed out of our homes, pushed onto other people’s lands, pushed to the very limits of poverty and hunger—maybe even pushed off a cliff with nowhere left to go.
Chapter 12
October 30 – NBC Nightly News, New York
Good evening, this is Cory Phillips. Thanks for being with us tonight. This is a historic night for all of us here at NBC News as it’s our final broadcast from our studio headquarters at 30 Rockefeller Plaza. The dome outside the studio is expected to jump at any moment. The other two domes in Manhattan have already jumped. If our broadcast should suddenly cut out, you’ll know why. But never fear: all of us here at the studio will be able to exit the dome safely, and our Chicago affiliate is standing by to pick up wherever we leave off. Tomorrow night I’ll be coming to you live from our new headquarters at the NBC Tower in Chicago.
“Now let’s get started with the news. We have a lot to cover tonight, as always seems to be the case on jump days. Let’s begin with Jim McDonald in Manhattan. Jim?”
“Thanks Cory. I’m standing as close as I can get to the statue of the Charging Bull, the symbol of Wall Street, which was swallowed up earlier this afternoon when the Wall Street Dome jumped. The entombment of this symbol of financial optimism is a blow to the psyches of New Yorkers everywhere. The dome, now nearly a quarter-mile in diameter, stretches from the Charging Bull at its northern edge to Battery Park at its southern edge.
“Meanwhile, numerous skyscrapers along Broadway and State Street have become inaccessible since the jump. While their tops still tower over the dome, the question becomes how to access them, now that their ground floors have been cut off.
“Adding to the fun, Battery Tunnel is now closed, along with Bowling Green subway station. Subway lines aren’t deep enough here in New York to escape the dome’s—or rather I should say sphere’s—current 200-foot depth. Electrical, gas, water, and sewer lines have also been cut off as a result of the sphere’s recent expansion. Utility crews are working frantically to fix these problems, but as you can imagine, they’re overwhelmed. Cory, back to you.”
“What a mess. Thanks for that report, Jim. Now let’s turn to Mindy McGuire, who’s standing by just outside our studios.”
“Thanks Cory. As you mentioned at the beginning of the broadcast, the jump is imminent for the Rockefeller Dome, and when it does jump, it’s expected to have a major impact on Central Manhattan. At that point it will stretch from 50th Street north to 46th Street south, forming a circle that will include the western half of Rockefeller Center, which includes our own studios.
“The Rockefeller Center subway station has been closed in anticipation of the jump. Trains will continue to run uptown and downtown on either side of the station, but people will now have to get out and walk to the next subway station along the line if they want to continue onward. Taller buildings in the jump zone have already been cleared of occupants to avoid their getting trapped above the dome’s ceiling, which would keep them from being able to exit the building, short of a helicopter ride from the roof. Cory?”
“Thanks Mindy. Next we have Kristen Howard in Central Park. Kristen, what can you tell us about the situation there?”
“Cory, when the Central Park Dome jumped earlier this afternoon, it cut off a tiny corner of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Otherwise, the country’s largest art museum is still safe for one more jump. But you can only imagine the frantic levels of activity that have been taking place here over the past several days.
“Specialized moving vans have been moving precious works of art out of The Met and taking them to—well, we don’t know to where. We’ve tried interviewing museum curators to get a better handle on where all this fine art is going, but they’re keeping mum about it—which makes sense when you consider the billions of dollars worth of irreplaceable art being transported even as we speak. Each moving van is flanked by armed security vehicles, and any attempt to follow them is strongly rebuffed. We should know: we tried. Cory, back to you.”
“Thanks Kristen. Now let’s turn our attention to the nation’s capital, where the Capitol Dome has jumped to within spitting distance of the Capitol Building itself. For more on that, let’s check in with our Washington correspondent, Stephanie Wilson.”
“Thanks Cory. I’m standing near the Capitol Reflecting Pool, which, as you can see, was cut in two today when the dome jumped earlier this afternoon. The dome is now less than one hundred feet away from the western steps of the Capitol Building, and sena—”
[WHITE NOISE]
Oval Office, Washington D.C.
“So much for that broadcast,” Gil Lametti sighed, turning off the TV in the Oval Office. “All four major broadcast networks were headquartered in New York City, but not any longer. Feels like the end of an era, doesn’t it?”
The President grunted; he was busy signing documents at his desk.
“Mark, I’ve been thinking—“
“Never a good sign.”
Lametti continued, undeterred. “These domes—they’re like a string of hurricanes heading straight for us, one right after the other, each one increasing in size and strength.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right now we’re at Category 3, let’s say, but coming up fast is a Cat 4, then a Cat 5, then a Cat 6.”
“There is no Cat 6,” said the President, still only half paying attention. “Five is the highest.”
“Exactly. Now picture Categories 7, 8, and 9, striking not just one coastal city but every city in America all at once. Hundreds of millions of citizens, all affected at the exact same time.”
The President stopped signing and looked up, troubled. “What an awful thought.”
Lametti nodded. “Twenty million people live in Greater New York alone. Picture it: twenty million New Yorkers all displaced at once. All trying to get away from the city at the same time. It’s like a disaster movie unreeling in slow motion. We can see it coming, and we can predict its outcome—but we can’t stop it.”
“What are you getting at? What do you think we should do?”
“Evacuate our biggest cities, starting with New York and L.A.”
The President nearly knocked his chair over he stood up so fast. “What? Are you kidding me, Gil?”
Lametti put his hands up in a whoa motion. “In stages,” he said. “Neighborhood by neighborhood, depending on which neighborhoods are closest to the domes.”
“Where are we going to put twenty million displaced New Yorkers, Gil?”
“That’s exactly the question we should be asking ourselves, Mark. Because it’s coming and we need to deal with it before it’s too late.”
“Twenty million New Yorkers,” murmured the President. “Fifteen million Angelenos. Ten million Chicagoans. And that’s just three of fifty metropolitan areas in the U.S. with populations over a million. There’s no way FEMA can handle those kinds of numbers.”
“I know,” said Lametti. “We have an enormous problem on our hands. Or we will, assuming these domes keep jumping.”
“Maybe they’ll stop.”
“Maybe that’s wishful thinking.”
“So out of the four hundred million or so people in the United States, how many, exactly, do you think are going to be displaced?”
Lametti shrugged. “It’s anyone’s guess at this point. Maybe a quarter? Maybe half? Who knows? But we’d better start planning for it now.”
“Most will never go, even if we order it.”
“You can use your bully pulpit to encourage them to evacuate while they still can. Better an orderly retreat than a chaotic one.”
The President snorted. “Retreat. That’s exactly what we’re talking about here, a retreat from an unseen enemy.”
“Well, the domes are advancing, and we can’t stop them. What else would you call it?”
“So let me get this straight: you think we may have to evacuate something on the order of a hundred or two hundred million people nationwide? Where do you suggest we put them all?”
“In tent cities, for starters. We could begin setting those up immediately. And we could start identifying dome-free lands for laying out new cities from scratch.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Gil. You want to build new cities in the midst of the worst crisis our country has ever faced?”
“It’s better than doing nothing, isn’t it?”
The President shook his head and sighed. “I suppose.” He got up from his desk and paced for a minute. “All right, Gil, go ahead and build your tent cities. And build your actual cities if you really think you can pull it off. But let me see the maps of where you plan to put them before you break ground.”
“Fair enough. What about funding?”
The President gave a weary shrug. “What about it? Congress is a mess. They’re too caught up with their precious Capitol Building being threatened to get any actual work done. I’m sure you know the dome jumped to within a hundred feet of it today.”
Lametti nodded.
“Well, all they can do is make speeches about it—on the western steps, of course, as close as possible to the dome’s edge. They’re preening for the cameras like teenagers taking selfies near a cliff’s edge. Ten more days—just ten more days—and the Capitol Building will be cut in half, and won’t that be symbolic.”
“A little too symbolic, if you ask me. So how should we proceed, Mark?”
The President thought for a moment. “I’ll do what I always do nowadays: I’ll issue an executive order and wait for Congress to scream bloody murder. We’ll figure out the funding as we go along. Maybe the money we’re saving on stationing troops overseas can be funneled into building tent cities—and real cities, too, assuming we can manage it. Hopefully Congress won’t object too loudly.”
“Oh, they’ll object all right,” said Lametti. “That’s all they do these days. But they’re so disorganized, they couldn’t stop a dead bill in its tracks.”
“Good point. Let’s move forward then. What the hell, we’re already hundreds of trillions of dollars in debt. What can a few extra trillion matter?”
“That’s the spirit, Mark. I’ll get right on it.”
Longmont, Colorado
“This feels kinda creepy, waiting in the dark for a dome to swallow us up,” Josh said.
He and Kaley and their dad were in their old house in Longmont, sitting together on the sectional sofa in the living room as the evening gloom deepened. The furniture was still in place, but there were no lamps, paintings, photos, knickknacks, or television to make things feel cozy. Echoes sounded in the foyer without the braided rug to soften things up, and the house felt too quiet by half without the tick of clocks, or the distant sound of music pounding from Aubrey’s room, or Woof’s barks, or other familiar sounds to which they’d all grown accustomed.
Earlier on, Josh had wandered up to his bedroom for a nostalgic look around. He had beaten a quick retreat—it didn’t feel like his anymore, empty as it was. Could this really be where they’d called home for so many years?
Will turned on the flashlight for the umpteenth time to make sure it was still working, then turned it off again. “I agree, this is creepy. And the night before Halloween, no less. Are you two sure you want to go through with this?”
“Yeah,” both kids said with limited enthusiasm. They both seemed bound by some pact they’d made in the past and couldn’t get out of now.
“When’s it supposed to jump?” Kaley asked.
