October 18, 2012

- October 18, 2012

- Midpoint

October 18, 2012

By

William R. Potter

Published by William R. Potter

Copyright © 2011 by William R. Potter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

From the moment Trevor Woodward woke on the third Thursday of October, he knew something was wrong. It was the type of sensation one can’t really explain. You just know that things are not right and you doubt the situation will improve.

He had four hours of work to go on a transmission job in a Cadillac Escalade and only roughly half that remaining until quitting time.

Kelly-Anne, his girlfriend, would not put up with him working late again—not on this night—no way. She expected him home by six and no excuse would placate her.

He lay on his back, rubbing dust from his eye, looking up at the filthy undercarriage of the luxury SUV. There was something vaguely familiar about the vehicle, including a large dent pushing up the passenger side floor pan. The owner had definitely gotten himself high centered and hung up on a stump or boulder on a backwoods trail during some weekend-warrior adventure.

The fact that there was no record of the customer or the truck in the computer perplexed him. Even the smell of the interior, cigar smoke, and cheap cologne was somehow memorable.

He shook his head and reached to the floor at his side for a 12-mm wrench as a grubby steel-toed boot kicked at his own.

“Hey, Woody—dude? It’s almost three. You stopping for coffee or what?” Lance Truman said.

“Nope, you can bring me a black medium though.” Trevor could see only the bottom few inches of his friend and co-worker’s legs.

“Cream? Sugar? No coffee truck, I guess. So I’m making instant.”

“Uh no, black is fine.”

“Hey, Wood. You think it’s the end of the world?”

“Yeah, with a bit of luck.”

“The hell you say that?” Truman kicked at Trevor’s foot again. “I mean, shit. You know Lucy is in the family way.”

By the time Lance Truman had gotten his driver’s licence, he had grown to his present height of nearly six foot six, tipping the scales at one hundred fifty pounds and in the seventeen years since had remained rail thin, apparently not gaining an ounce.

“I’m kidding. Kelly’s folks are stopping in this weekend and well . . . you know?”

“They still on you and Kelly about getting married?”

“Does a bear shit in the Vatican?”

“They’re right. You should marry her.”

“A face like yours and you’d be lucky if any girl would have you, Wood,” Joe Wong said, calling from across the shop floor.

“Least I didn’t buy a girl from the old country.” Trevor wheeled himself out from under the vehicle, brushed himself off, and stood.

Joe Wong was over fifty and no more than five feet tall with a grin that showed several missing teeth. Recently, Wong had returned from two weeks’ vacation in his hometown in China with a pretty wife who was less than half his age.

“You think this asteroid is gonna miss us, Wood?” Wong asked.

Trevor shrugged his shoulders. “Comet.”

“Huh?” Wong moved closer to Trevor.

“It’s a comet. Up there coming at us, you know?”

“Gives a shit, Trev,” Truman said. “That thing hits the earth and we is all cooked?”

“Yeah, I know. Pisses me off that the government has known about this for almost two years and then they spring it on us now.” Trevor walked to his toolbox, opened a drawer, and pulled out a cigarette.

“Thought you quit?” Truman said standing next to Trevor.

Trevor shrugged again.

“Maybe they didn’t want to start a panic.” Truman lit his cigarette and his friends’.

“I heard that at first they thought it was on a collision course with the earth. Then they thought maybe the moon.”

“They don’t fuckin’ know,” Trevor said with a touch more anger in his voice than he intended. “They can’t even tell if it will rain or be sunny tomorrow. How the hell they gonna know what this thing will do?”

“Well, they are the experts,” Truman mumbled.

“Experts? It’s all bullshit, Lance. A huge steaming pile.” Trevor jabbed a finger toward his friend. “This whole thing is a fraud. Remember Y2K. Total bullshit. This will be some huge friggin’ blimp with streaming ads on the side. You know, for Window’s 8 or whatever?”

“Could be,” Wong nodded. “Or it could just be like the thing that wiped out the dinosaurs.”

“Stop it, shit. What do you think, Joe?” Truman asked. “I mean, really?”

“Do I look like a fucking scientist to you?” Wong asked, feigning anger.

“You look like my asshole!”

“You, white-bread sack of shit!”

Both men moved forward to within an inch. A stranger may have believed that a fight would ensue. Then the grimacing features became smiles.

“You Hershey pushers should just do it get it over with,” Trevor said. “I think—I think—” Trevor’s cell phone vibrated on his leg in his pocket before it rang.

“Think what?” Truman said.

“Hold on.”

“Tell us, dude, come on.”

“Just hang on.” Trevor dug in his coveralls for the phone.

“What the—wife calls and you jump?” Truman made a whip-cracking sound with his mouth.

Trevor glanced at the caller ID display and recognized the third call that day from the number. He paused before he answered. “Dad?”

“Steven, is that you?”

“Yeah, Dad. How are you?”

His father always called Trevor by his middle name, as the old man never liked the name that Trevor’s mother had chosen for him.

“I’m good, son. I was looking forward to seeing you for lunch today. Did something come up?”

“Dad, we didn’t have anything planned for today.”

Martin Woodward had recently been diagnosed with dementia. After three doctors came to the same conclusion and the condition progressed to the point where Martin couldn’t be left alone, Trevor’s oldest sister, Rena, had placed Martin in a facility that specialized in patients with Alzheimer’s, advanced Parkinson’s, and dementia.

“You left me a note saying that we would meet for lunch on Saturday.”

“Dad.” Trevor felt a worried, embarrassed feeling for his father. “Dad, it’s Friday.”

“Well, it can’t be. I didn’t go to work today. And your mother is at her bridge club, or is it bowling?”

Trevor’s mother had died more than a year earlier, and Martin had retired long ago. The note that Martin spoke of was weeks old and Trevor had honored it numerous times.

“Dad, I’ll see you tomorrow or on Sunday. I promise.”

“Well, that really is disappointing. You should always honor your promises, son.”

“Dad, I’ll see you soon.”

“You can’t at least talk for a bit? I mean, I did raise you and all.”

“Dad, I’m working. I’ll see you.” He closed the phone and threw the cigarette butt across the shop. “Damn!”

“Did you just hang up on your father, dude?”

Trevor held his breath and a rude comment for his friend.

Trevor, Truman, and Wong sat at a card table, smoking and sipping their coffees. The radio was on and the only news coming from the device had something to do with the comet. The male voice asked his listeners to remain calm and to take care while operating motor vehicles during the event.

In a little more than three hours, the object would pass by the earth, putting on a spectacular show for all that witnessed it. Or perhaps it would slam into the moon and jar the planet’s only natural satellite, enough to change its orbit to affect global weather and tides, causing widespread storms and flooding.

Truman quickly tuned off the broadcast. Trevor smiled. He knew that his friend hated hearing about the end-of-the-world scenarios.

“What’s that feeling you were having, Woody?” Wong asked.

“I . . . uh. Nothing.”

It wasn’t the truth. Trevor felt a strange sensation. He couldn’t put a name to it but it had something to do with his father’s call. He almost always ignored Martin’s calls during work time. Somehow, this time he felt he should take it. He shook his head.

“I think we should all go home and be with our families,” Trevor said.

“Really?” Wong asked.

“Yeah, we should go home.”

“What about the customers?” Truman put his hands up, emphasizing his concern.

“Fuck ’em.”

“What about the boss?”

“You see Donnelly or his little prick of a cousin?”

Lance Truman shook his head and smiled.

“Hey.” Wong stood. “There’s some beer in the fridge. What do you guys think?”

“I dunno,” Truman said.

“Come on, you pussy,” Wong said with a gap-toothed grin.

“Yeah, let’s.” Trevor stood and passed out cans of Pale Ale to his friends. “Might never see you girls again.”

“Woody—dude—come on.”

Trevor put a heavy rock mixed tape in the player and lit another Players filter. Kelly-Anne would freak when she smelled the smoke on him; however, he wasn’t concerned.

She would act like it was the worst thing that he had ever done and then tell him that changes would have to happen if they were to ever get married. Then she would cry and apologise for being so insane.

The cassette jammed, and then a familiar song came on the radio.

“Jesus H Christ, not again!” Truman yelled at the old AM-FM player. “Turn it off.”

The latest Pop Idol TV show winner had covered the old John Lennon classic “Nobody Told Me.” The singer had changed some of the lyrics to suit the times and the show producers flashed computer-generated images and news clips of the comet during the broadcast, and by the following morning, the craze over the comet was in full force.

“Thank Fuck,” Truman said when Wong pulled the plug.

“You taking the lady-friend to see the Rock, Trev?” Wong sat erect in his seat.

“Yeah, I guess. Sick of hearing about the damn thing, you know?”

“No kidding. Wish that asshole had never seen the thing,” Wong said.

“Come on, Trev,” Truman said. “I remember you had an Ivan’s Rock T-shirt a while back.”

Ivan Kolenkov, a Russian astronomer, had first discovered the comet and the media immediately had named it Ivan’s Comet and then it was Ivan’s Rock and finally the Rock.

“Yeah, Lance.” Wong laughed. “It said the Rock . . . who gives a shit?”

“All right—enough.” Trevor stood, holding up his can of beer. “If this is the end of the world, then I would like to say that it’s been a blast working with you butt-grinders. Cheers . . . and good luck.”

“Oh fuck off, Wood!” Truman said.

“Hey, Lance,” Wong said. “Look, man.” Wong reached into an old box of Girl Guide cookies at the center of the table. He held a white cookie and spun it around in his fingers.

“This is your house.” He set the cookie down. “All nice with the yard and the dog and the minivan.” He looked Trevor in the eye and Trevor knew what to do.

“And this is old Ivan, coming in it a million miles per hour.” Trevor clenched his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the cookie.

Wong sat back in his chair, laughing. Trevor enjoyed a long hard chuckle at his friend’s expense. “Dude,” Trevor said, mimicking Truman’s voice. “You should have seen your face when I hit that cookie—shit!”

“Ah, man. That sucks.” He stood. “I need a piss.”

“Come on, Lance. Just kidding.” Wong reached for his friend.

“Have another beer, man.” Trevor stood to console Truman. “When this is over, we can paint up a few rocks and sell ’em on E-bay as pieces of Ivan.”

“Wood is right. I’ll say a big chunk fell in my backyard.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Truman turned and plodded away.

Trevor took a long swallow of his beer and thought about the gag they had played on Lance. He looked at Wong and told him what a great job he had done with the cookie.

“Maybe we should ease up on him, Trev?”

“Yeah, he is pretty spooked.”

Lance Truman went straight to the fridge when he returned from his pee break. He quickly set another can in front of Trevor and Wong and appeared ready to let things end. Trevor noticed Truman’s eye linger on the crushed cookie and then Lance took his seat.

A second later, the silence was broken when Truman opened his can of ale. There was a loud pop and fizz and then Truman shrieked as half of the can’s contents erupted in his face.

“You bastards!” He jumped to his feet, shaking the remaining liquid from his shirt and sweatpants. “You fucking shook ’em up!” Truman’s eyes passed back and forth between the two men. “Who did it?”

“Nobody. We were talking about Ivan and shit.”

“Really, Lance.”

“This is bullshit, Trev. You did this, man!” He pulled at his soaked shirt.

“I swear. I didn’t. It must be frozen or something. You know that old fridge is shit.”

“Fuck! Lucy will take one whiff of me and totally have a shit.”

“Kind of like we do—every damn day—white bread?”

Truman stared at Wong and then glared at Trevor and then back at Wong. “Fucking banana.” He smiled and began to laugh. “I’ll get you jerk offs—just wait.”

The friends shared a laugh that was not fake or forced. It was real, and Trevor enjoyed the moment and hoped it wouldn’t be the last Friday at the shop.

“You guys really think it will go like the cookie, man?”

“Jesus, Lance. It’s all a diversion, bud. Since the U.S. and the Brits pulled out of the Middle East, it’s been a fucking nightmare. Everyone is freaked out about World War Three and sick of all the death counts and bombing raids and massacres in the news from over there. People started fearing a nuclear holocaust again and they didn’t spend any money. We went in another recession and the Yanks are already broke, that’s why they pulled out of Iraq.”

“Right,” Wong said, joining in. “So it gets out about the comet and suddenly the war over there isn’t so scary. It’s all about Ivan.”

“The government experts know that this thing won’t even get half as close as they say and it’s all just a damn conspiracy. The Americans still have their entire B-52 heavy bomber squadron fuelled and armed and ready to go. The Stealths and fighter jets are still there too. They can launch the heavy stuff from Kuwait and Saudi Arabia and end the entire conflict without all the media revealing what’s really going on. Maybe even use some nukes.”

“Woody is right,” Wong said. “Iran, Syria, and all those Arab bastards moved in on Iraq the second the U.S. pulled out.”

“Now they are gearing up to make a move on Israel, and the U.S. won’t allow their only friend in the Middle East to get shit kicked. So they’ll launch an all-out assault while everyone is looking up at Ivan.”

“You think?” Truman stuttered. “An all-out attack . . . tonight?” Truman had a severely worried look on his face. “I mean, Lucy and her parents are religious and some people think Ivan is the hand of God and that he has given us the two years to repent our sins and shit and if we don’t, the comet will hit.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that crap too.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “God will use Ivan to wash the earth clean and start fresh with the next ruling species.”

“He wiped out the dinosaurs to make way for us, but we blew it big time, and now our time is up,” Truman said quietly.

After a few seconds of silence, during which Trevor was certain he could hear Lance Truman’s heart pounding, he let out a sigh.

“Lance, buddy, forget all this shit. Go home and make love to your beautiful wife and soon this will be over . . .”

“Yeah, thanks.” Lance moved toward Trevor with his arms out in front of him.

“What?” Trevor asked retreating a step.

“Huh?”

“You were gonna hug me.”

“Was not.”

“You were going to hug him, man,” Wong said.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Damn right.” Trevor recognized his home phone number when his cell began to buzz in his pocket. “Lola’s rub and tug. Can I—help—you?” Trevor said in a silly voice.

“That supposed to be funny, Trevor?” Kelly-Anne asked in a tone that did little to hide her irritation.

“Just messing around.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not.” Trevor wasn’t sure why he was assuming a defensive posture.

“Yeah, you are. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I had a couple of beers with the guys. I’m fine.” Kelly had recently begun to speak to him with a parental manner in certain situations.

“Sure, and now you are going to drive home?”

“Don’t start with me, Kell. I’m telling you I’m okay.”

“Don’t talk to me with that tone!”

“What tone? There’s no tone.”

“Do not yell at me, Trevor!”

“Yell? YOU WANT FUCKING YELLING?” The line went to dial tone.

When Trevor turned around, he noticed that Lance and Joe were watching his every move. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and told his friends he had to get going.

Trevor sat behind the wheel of his pickup and paused for a moment to decide if he should put on a CD or tune in a radio station. He listened to the final thirty seconds of a song he had not heard before when a news update came on. There was nothing new on the comet, and the voice said to stay tuned for accurate updates on Ivan. He slammed his fist on the tape deck and shifted the transmission into drive.

The drive home would take him nearly an hour, and by the halfway point, his father had called him twice. His gut told him he should take the call; however, he wanted to keep the line open in case Kelly-Anne tried to contact him.

On the corner of King George and Eighty-eighth Street, a man with long, greasy hair and a scruffy beard stood inside a sandwich board that read, Ivan Is God and the Rapture Is Here.

Vehicles honked, and passengers waved at the bearded man and Trevor was certain that everyone had gone Ivan crazy. He, for one, would be glad when the giant chunk of ice was on its way and terrorizing the Martians. He smiled.

However, he couldn’t help wondering if this was his last drive home. Would everything be vaporized in the impact’s blast or frozen when the dust cloud blocked the sun out, or a Tsunami swamped the coast? Or was it all a hoax as he had so boldly told his friends?

His phone rang and vibrated him from his morbid thoughts.

“Trev?” Kell-Anne said when he flipped open his cell.

“Oh hi, babe.”

“You on your way?”

“Yeah, just hitting the bridge.”

“Is it crazy out there?”

“People seem to be driving worse than usual,” he said, as he watched a small imported coupe cut off a garbage truck and nearly get creamed. “Why, is something happening on the news?”

“Just a lot of people in the streets in London, Paris, and New York.”

“What are they doing?” Trevor asked, as a van slammed on its brakes in front of him. “Shit!”

“What?”

“It’s getting a bit wild on the bridge.”

“Be careful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“People are turning this into a huge party, like New Year’s or something.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you in ten,” Trevor said, as he watched a man pushing a shopping cart full of cases of bottled water. Some were preparing for a disaster while others were readying for the biggest bash since Y2K.

Trevor thumbed the remote for the garage door to the underground parking of his condominium complex for the third and fourth time. He then slapped the palm of his hand on the device and then let out a cheer when the door began to rise.

After parking the truck and charging up the stairs to the third floor, he paused outside his apartment door. During the commute conversation, Kelly-Anne didn’t mention the nasty exchange about his drinking and he decided to follow her lead and let the incident pass.

Suddenly the door opened and he was staring at Kelly’s incredible smile. “You lose your key or something?”

“No, I just was thinking a second.” How the hell did she know he was there? Kelly-Anne must have read his expression when she said that she could hear him running up the stairs. She smiled at him and asked him if he would shower before they left for the mountain to watch Ivan’s run.

Trevor glanced at Kelly-Anne and caught her looking at him with a peculiar grin. “Yeah, a shower and then we should get going.” Then he saw that look again. “What?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe we should—you know.” She giggled. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” He moved toward her.

“Yeah. Might not be another chance.”

“Christ, you don’t believe all that shit, do you?”

“You know that me and you are the only people I know that haven’t been hoarding canned food and water for months?”

“I know. It’s caused grocery prices to go up like 30 percent. We talked about this a long time ago. Remember?”

“Yes.” She sighed loudly. “It’s just that . . .”

“What?” He crossed the room and pulled her to him.

“What if all the craziness is for real?” She moved from him. “What if this thing or pieces of it do hit?”

“I donno,” he paused. “But you can feel how tense everyone is. People are about to freak out. Even if nothing happens . . . the stress of it all might cause a panic.”

She nodded.

“It’s the fucking media and all those religious nuts stirring things up.”

“I know. I Googled Ivan and found almost eleven hundred different sites.”

“Take Jesus to be your saviour and you’ll survive Ivan. Imagine how much cash and new church members they’ve lured in?” Trevor shook his head.

“Just do it,” Kelly-Anne whispered.

“Huh? Pardon me?”

“Make love to me. If this is an apocalyptic impact event then just . . .” She began to glide her hands over his body, and she gently kissed his neck and then his cheek on a path to his lips.

Trevor returned her advances and guided her toward the bedroom. As they moved, articles of clothing were removed and dropped along the way, like some steamy Hollywood love scene.

Once in bed, they moved as one as a couple who knew each other’s preferences and cues.

“I love you, Trevor. No matter what happens . . .”

“Nothing is going to happen. Don’t worry, baby.”

“During the last comet—remember that crazy UFO religion where they all killed themselves?” Kelly-Anne said softly.

“Yeah, they thought a spaceship was hiding behind the comet.”

“People have been freaked out about comets since the first cave person looked up and saw a star blaze across the sky with a long burning tail.”

“That cave dude couldn’t join some crazy-assed cult or church or buy a survival kit on E-bay.” He smiled down at her. “Or watch it all happen 24-7 on CNN.”

“Damn Neanderthals had it all,” she said, as Trevor rolled off of her. “Hey, where you going?”

“It’s okay if you just want to talk for a while before we go out.”

“Uh-no, it’s not. If the world is going to go to shit, then I want you to give me your best stuff. Come on now, not your normal half-assed moves,” she giggled. “Time for a wake the neighbors, break the bed, end-of-the-world fuck to end all fucks!”

“I see, so no pressure or anything.”

“None at all.”

“Nice language, by the way. Very ladylike,” he said, as he rolled on top of her.

“Mmm, there’s nothing ladylike about what I’m going to do to you.”

A loud crash from outside on the street woke them from their post coital nap. Trevor slipped himself from the sheets, moved to the window, and pushed the blinds aside. He stared at the scene, not really believing it. A red Firebird had lost control, jumped the curb, and then hit a streetlight post. The lamp came down and landed on a parked sedan.

“What happened? Can you see anything?” Kelly-Anne asked with a hint of anxiety in her voice.

Trevor described what he saw and then headed for the shower. Under the hot stream, he tried to imagine the fear that ancient people must have experienced when a comet suddenly appeared on the horizon. Sirens jarred him from his thoughts, and a second after he stepped from the tub, Kelly-Anne took his place.

“The police and ambulance still aren’t there,” she said. “I hope everyone is okay.”

“Should be a slow night for the cops. Like Halloween, New Year’s, and a million frat parties all rolled into one.”

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